Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep306: Episode 306: Chanting in the Woods

Episode Date: January 10, 2026

Tonight’s opening tale of occult insanity is ‘The Chanting in the Woods’, by Sargumphigaus, 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/User:SargumphigausWe follow that with ‘Charles Bonnet Syndrome’, by Mr. Stuff, 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/Charles_Bonnet_SyndromeWe round off this evening’s entertainment with ‘The Possession Complex’, by Jurodinhero, 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/The_Possession_Complex

Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Strange chanting can be so creepy because it taps into our instinctive fear of the unknown and the unseen. Repetitive voices, especially when they lack clear meaning, can feel ritualistic and uncontrollable, as if something ancient or powerful is being summoned. The steady rhythm can also be hypnotic, overriding rational thought and creating a sense of lost agency. Mind with unfamiliar tones or languages, chanting suggests hidden in tensions, making us uneasy because we can't tell whether we're meant to witness it or fear it. As we shall see in the opening story this evening.

Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale is made contains strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. The chanting in the woods. I saw a comfy ghost. I don't sleep with my window open anymore. No matter how hot it gets outside, that bastard stays closed.

It's been this way for a long time, since I was very young. Not a real hit with the ladies during summertime. People usually recommend air conditioners, and I usually go with a prospect when I have company. But when it's in, I don't sleep well at all, because I can only imagine how easy it would be for anyone to bypass them. There's a single perk to an AC though. besides the relief from the hot stickiness of the summer's humidity,

that's a steady hum which stifles the silence. I don't like the silence, you see. There was a time when it brought me an almost zen-like level of peace and tranquility, but now I find it invasive, dangerous. Silence never comes alone. From time to time I can still hear the chanting, from my youth. I can hear them all wordlessly and yet with prestigious synchronicity and harmony with one another, their conjoined voices echo out from the woods like the gentle

and yet threatening breeze that precedes a violent hailstorm, rhythmic yet senseless. It never went away, and yet I know they've all moved on or died. I know this all very well. I was about nine years old, my dad and I lived in this old rented two-family apartment house in a town called Bridgewater in the state of Massachusetts. We lived on the bottom floor. The second floor wasn't used. It had been recently vacated by its prior residence. It was in a quiet neighborhood, very quiet, very suburban with plenty of woods.

Behind our house, there was a backyard that proceeded into a large forest that spanned for miles out. I used to play in them. My dad and my mother were recently divorced, so there were just the three of us living there. Me, him and the dog Cash. He was named after the late country singer Johnny Cash. It was an old Scottish terrier. You know the type. Ankle biters with really ugly bearded faces.

They got him as a pop when I was still in diapers, and he was my lifelong friend. It may have been something of an idiot, but at the time he was all I had. I cried and cried when Mom tried to take him. In the end, he was left in my father's care for my sake. Cash and I would spend a lot of time playing in the woods. When you're young, your imagination is a very powerful thing, and the woods had an almost magic quality in terms of supplementation from my imagination. I'd play, build forts, climb trees.

One time me and Cash travelled in so far, I actually got lost. We were losing daylight as it was October, and the light was fading in a much faster rate. I began to panic, afraid I'd be trapped out here in the pitch black. As we walked around, frantic for landmarks, or anything familiar. That's when I saw it. The clearing with a large rock in the centre. It wasn't exactly uncommon to see graffiti and vandalism in the woods.

The public forest is known quite well for trees with messages carved into them. Names, swastikas, Brad and Jan forever in a nice cute heart. Stuff like that. Not to mention the pseudo-gang name spray painted on rocks. That was the impression I got of this place, hang out for older kids. Something wasn't right. Me being only nine, my mind wasn't exactly capable of comprehending the connotations of symbols and other things. Yet there was something really off about these images.

I've never seen anything like them before. The surrounding trees had crudely shaped images of what appeared to be a goat man hybrid, like a stick figure with an unnecessarily detailed goat's head imposed over where. you'd expect to see a very basic stick-figure face. These images were drawn over and over and over again, all over the trees that surrounded the clearing, almost obsessively so. Not just at the basic human height level,

but all up the trees, as if whoever carved them had used to ladder. The rock itself had red markings all over it. Letters that I had never seen before. Underneath, though, was written in black spray paint a message I could actually read. It said, Behold the wisdom of the horn.

Below that, there were five painted lines. They were all the same height except for the two outer lines that were twice the height and spiraled outwards at the top. What really scared me about this place, though, were the dolls. They were hanging from the branches

around the clearing. They appeared to have been woven out of sticks and poorly so. Taking a closer look, I realised what was so scary about them. While the stick dolls were clearly constructed with the grace of shitty arts and craft students, the heads of them were dry and clean skulls of animals. I didn't know what of, but they were bleached white, dry and clean in their hollow sockets. I can't explain it effectively without sounding insane.

There was something sentient about them, watchful and bleeding. I could feel their eyes on me, though they'd none to watch with. I felt fear, not my own fear, mind you, but something, an aura of emotion that made absolutely no sense. You've ever been at an underage drinking party that got crashed by the police? Well, it's that kind of fear. A fear that comes synonymously with trouble. I can't explain why I did it, but I reached up and touched one. Maybe it was a child's general inquisitive nature that compelled me.

maybe it was fascination or an intense desire to quell my fear and convince myself that they were just dolls and not the watchful spirits I'd eventually come to believe they were. When I touched it, the skull fell off. The doll unwound itself, only a piece of it remained attached to the rawhide rope that it was suspended from. The skull cracked when it hit the ground, and when it happened there was a certainty that quirled inside me. as naive as a nine-year-old could be. There was also a certainty that remained with me to this day. I don't belong here.

Cash immediately started barking when the doll fell, and it startled me so effectively that I let out a scream. I looked up. The sky was glowing red with the darkness not too far behind. The sun was going down, and I had to get out of here. Cash was staring at me. black eyes wide open and tail wagging violently. He was barking at me insistently.

He began to growl at something, maybe air, maybe ghosts. When I approached him, he turned and ran. Cash was my only companion in this unnatural place, and I would have been damned if I was going to let him betray me to solitude here. And so I gave chase. I ran for my life. The last thing I saw before I chased Cash was something that really messed with me.

All the other dolls that were hanging when I had first arrived, they were dangling, some even spinning lazily in the breeze. Yet as I ran after cash, I saw every single doll on the sight was completely stationary, staring and facing me directly. I was dismissive of this detail, as I was more afraid of being alone.

I never let cash out of my sight. He led me straight home. I never loved my dog more than when I realized what he'd done for me. Dogs are never lost. They always know the way. Before I went to bed, I told my dad what I'd seen. He laughed it off and told me it was just teenagers being punks. I should just let it go.

I found it comforting and was almost willing to let it go. I even fell asleep without any trouble. That night was when I heard it for the first time. The noise that would haunt me to this very day. I woke up and could hear noise coming through my window. When I got up and looked out to listen closer, that's when I realized it was chanting. Voices, dozens, maybe.

They were coming from in the woods. I could hear them loudly and rhythmically. I didn't know what they were saying, but I could tell it was ceremonious, like a hymn you hear people sing in churches, except it felt dark, violent even. I immediately thought, about the clearing with the rock, the dolls, the fear.

I knew in my bones that the chanting was coming from there. What scared me the most was that it wasn't far, I mean it wasn't far at all. The chanting went on for hours. I just lied there in bed, wide-eyed with fear listening to it, praying that it would stop. I wouldn't, though. It went until four in the morning when the early birds began to walk. wake up. I stopped playing in the woods. My dad noticed the behavior immediately and asked if I was all right. I told him about the chanting and again he shrugged his shoulders and said it was probably

teenagers drinking beers and having a party. I asked him why they'd drink beer and chant the same sound for five hours. He told me they weren't chanting that I'd imagined it and I should close the window from now on. Well, I probably should have listened to him but I didn't. curiosity got the better of me the next night the chanting me again again at exactly 11 o'clock it seemed louder than before I couldn't sleep hearing it but I couldn't bring myself to close the window

I don't know why I thought this way probably because I was just a child I dimwittedly thought at the time that if I closed my window I wouldn't be able to hear them coming if they decided to break into the house yes the logic is flawed I know I'd still be chanting as they emerge from the woods and across my yard and not be nice and quiet about it, but, well, that's how I thought back then. That's why I couldn't close the window, because I had to know if they were coming.

This went on for several days. Every night from 11 to 4 exactly on the dot. Sometimes I could see in the woods, way, way, way out there, a faint glow like the light of a fire. but it was so faint and far in between that I didn't know whether to acknowledge or dismiss it as a trick of my own eyes. Other times I would successfully fall asleep due to exhaustion. I'd wake up several hours later in panic, still able to hear it. I asked my dad if Cash could come sleep in my room on the third night, and he said it'd be fine. I felt better knowing I had the dog to keep me company while I'd hear this noise.

Better yet, if I could hear them coming, he would too then be a dog about it and start barking out the window at them i anticipated a good night's sleep and he felt silly for not thinking about this solution earlier i fell asleep at eight with cash sleeping at the foot of my bed i woke up at quarter past eleven to cash barking he was on his two hind legs tail wagging spastically and he was barking out of the window ears pointing up barking growling, howling out the window. I immediately got out of bed and looked out the window towards the woods. Nothing. Nothing at all. Cash was very agitated, growling and looking at me, then back out the window and barking. The chanting was still going on, same as the last couple of days.

I remember feeling uncomfortable that Cash was barking at the noise, that if he was in danger of getting their attention. I tried to calm him down. That's when my dad came in. He stumbled in grogly and picked up the dog and turned to walk out the door with him, mumbling about him, shutting the hell up. I called his name,

but he was so asleep, he was practically dead on his feet. I screamed at him. Dad, the woods. That got his attention. He turned around and walked up to me, looked out the window, and then back at me.

"'This again,' he mumbled. "'Look, boy, it's just your imagination.' "'No, listen, that's what Cash was going crazy about. "'There are people singing in the woods. Just listen.' He looked carefully out the window. Cash was growling in his arms as his head turned out the window. "'I listened too, but there was nothing. "'No sound, total silence.'

I couldn't believe it. Could this have been a coincidence? My dad told me to go to sleep and left the room, mumbling insults at Gash. The silence chilled me far more than the chanting ever had. At least when they were singing their malicious hymns, there was a sense of distance between them and me. But right now, I know they're out there, but didn't know where. I had no bearings whatsoever. It was even worse, what wrought unprecedented

terror upon me, was that there was no nighttime ambience in those woods, no crickets. Evenings brought them out in droves this time of year, and even when they were chanting I could still hear them. But now it was quieter than a bone-chilling winter nights, pure silence. How long did I stare out that window, those woods across my backyard? Well, I have no idea, but when I woke up the next day, I was still sitting in the chair I'd planted right by it. about two. That morning over breakfast I insisted that there was really chanting out there, but my dad wasn't hearing any of it. He put his foot down and told me he wouldn't hear any more of this, and I needed to grow up and take responsibility and stop being so afraid all the time.

You know, typical tough guy dad shit. I didn't even bother to bring up the lack of crickets, knowing full well that he'd have made up an explanation for that as well. So I kept quiet and ate my breakfast. Later that day, I was waiting for my mom to pick me up at the end of my dad's driveway to bring me to my grandma's house where she was currently living. It was Friday and my mom had me on the weekends. As I was waiting, a large black pickup truck was passing by the house very slowly. Came to a stop right in front of me. There were two men in the truck, older about my dad's age. First, I thought maybe they were friends of his, but this thought didn't last. The driver rolled down his window and looked at me.

He was bored and was wearing abnormally slim sunglasses. He was smoking a thin cigar or cigarillo. I remember the strong smell of it. He looked to me as if he was sizing me up, investigating for a moment until finally he smiled at me and reached over and hit his friend on the shoulder and pointed me out to him. He too was bored and wearing the same sunglasses. They said something to each other,

and then the driver looked back at me, with a terrible smile and drove away, waving slowly at me as he did so. They passed me by three more times before my mum finally picked me up. I didn't give those two any thoughts, and just took comfort in the thought that I'd be sleeping somewhere else

for the next couple of nights. The weekend went by without a hitch, sleeping over at Grandma's house was such a relief. When I told her and Mum about the voices in the woods, they just looked at each other and told me to tell Dad about it, frustrated I argued that I did but it was pointless and she too used the it's just your imagination crap

same as dad not once during the whole experience did the memory leave my mind of the two men in the truck or the distant chanting soon enough I would have to return Sunday night came along and I was dropped back off at my dad's house

where I'd spend the whole day dreading the inevitable nightfall dreading the answer of whether or not I would hear the chanting in the woods. Hear those strange people singing their dark songs in unison. I beg my dad to let me keep cash in the room with me tonight, but he said no, leave me to face what happened next alone. So, come bedtime, I was sitting on my chair by the window, staring into the darkness until the hour came.

I stayed up until eleven, expecting to hear it. But what I got was silence. No singing. No crickets either. Just pure silence. Couldn't tell if I was relieved or terrified. Maybe they'd moved on all of them. Maybe they went somewhere else to play their creepy games. It took some self-convincing, but I managed to calm myself to such a state of mind where I could actually go to sleep, knowing that I was safe. Reluctantly, I crawled into my bed and closed my eyes. I woke up to the most bone-chillingly fucked up thing I'd ever seen. It was surreal.

A freaking image of it every time I slept. My brain immediately surged itself into full function, beyond consciousness and straight into full-fledged fight or flight mode, as a cold, rough hand forced its way over my mouth and shoved my face into my own mattress. I felt a body much larger than mine bear down on me. I felt the jagged kneecap rammed. itself directly into my stomach as I was then pulled out of my bed and wrestled into a standing

position the cold hand still holding my mouth shut another hand wedging my left hand directly behind my back and pulling upwards until the pain became so unbearable and from my arm was going to come off a voice whispered into my ear his breath was ice cold yes said another voice across the room My eyes were well adjusted to the darkness as it was, and I could see through the moonlight shining into my now opened window, a man wearing a horrible mask. At first I thought he had the head of a goat, but I knew better. The goat stared with lifeless marbles where his eyes should have been. His head was a mask made out of the severed head of a goat, or a ram, not properly stuffed and half-wrotted. His horns curled into spirals jutting out of its head

And random patches of the fur were missing Simply to show raw, blistering skin I tried to scream But the hand over my mouth tightened its grip My arm behind my back pulled to near breaking points Scream and we will kill you The voice whispered into my ear My eyes couldn't

Nope, they wouldn't break away from that horrible person wearing the severed goat's head as a mask. He was shirtless, wearing a necklace of what appeared to be bones. It was horribly emaciated, and there were markings all up and down his torso. In his right hand he held a knife about the size of my forearm. Its build wasn't like any knife I'd ever seen. Took a step closer to me and pressed it up against my throat. The steel was bitterly cold, and the tip of the blade was sharper than anything I'd ever felt.

It had take less than four ounces of pressure to open my throat with it, and they knew that I knew it. I couldn't cry. I couldn't even breathe. In its other hand, it held a basic candle. Tomorrow, the thing said, his voice muffled by the lifeless dead goat mask. You'll exit your house at midnight. You'll light this candle, place it on the ground in the center of your yard. you'll sit behind it,

legs crossed, right foot on top of your left knee, and vice versa. If you don't do this, the voice whispered into my ear. The blood of your loved ones will be on your hands. The goat man quickly retreated the blade

from my neck. I don't remember what happened next. I remember waking up in my bed, panting and crying. My dad came in to see what was wrong with me, and when I told him, He told me it was just a nightmare. At this point, he sat down at the end of my bed.

He looked very wary, like he didn't want to say what he was about to say. He rubbed his eyes with his fists and wearily explained to me that this was all just me stressing out over the divorce, that maybe we should look into talking to a therapist about these voices and hallucinations I'd been having. I remember feeling so betrayed, so alone by the unfairness of that. He argued with him that everything I was seeing and hearing was true. It was too late. He and Mom had talked it out. My behavior, my claims. They thought I was losing my shit over the divorce. Their minds were made up. Nothing I was going to say would have convinced them otherwise. And of course, in hindsight, it only made perfect sense. Who would believe a nine-year-old when they say they were hearing voices? I was silent the whole day. Cash sat with me in my room as I wasted the daylight playing video. games. I didn't speak to my old man, not once. I could see the weary looks on his face when he'd

walked by my room, but he didn't want to press the issue. He just looked as defeated as I did. He spent most of his time on the phone. It wasn't until later that day. I found myself recalling what the goat thing had said to me before everything went dark, but I had to light a candle at midnight. But when I woke up that morning, there was nothing in my room. There was a sudden sense of hope, because when I'd searched around my room trying to find his candle, it was nowhere to be found. It never, even to this day, have I searched so hard for something, only to be frantically pleased by the end results. It was gone. And I'd been alleviated from the duties imposed on me by these strange interlopers?

The relief was unbelievable, like I was severed from a horrible burden. Even the thought of being forced to see a shrink didn't seem so harsh compared to the prospect. that maybe these attackers really were just a bad dream. A severely realistic dream, mind you. But a dream nonetheless. Maybe, maybe the whole situation really was over. Maybe these horrible people did move on, and that the goat man was simply a mental projection

of my own imaginative expectation towards whatever it was that those unnatural proceedings just beyond my sights were. You know, speculation. Well nightfall came For the first time in a week I felt no fear at the prospect of it Well that felt good My things were getting back to normal

But I was wrong I was so wrong When I placed my head on my pillow Eyes already closing Consciousness already drifting away I felt a lump under my pillow Curiously I reached down there and felt something Something long and smooth

I pulled out a candle, a tall, thin, waxed candle with a nice long wick. It was red, just like the one that the goat man was holding. My heart sank. My mouth went dry, and tears ran down my cheeks, and in that moment I relived the entirety of last night all over again. To the very last detail, the guy holding me whispered in my ear how the blood of the ones I loved would be on my hands. Suddenly, I was back in hell.

I was back in the realm of terror. How did they get the candle under my pillow? I overlooked it this whole time. I laid in bed until midnight. Didn't dare close my eyes for fear of being held at knife point again, for fear of coming face to face with that horrible goat creature. The night was silent, no crickets, no birds, nothing. dead silence

I could see that it had turned 12-01 memory of the goat mask in my mind uttering its instructions to me over and over again go outside let the candle sit behind it do it while the blood of my loved ones would be on my hands at the time I didn't know what it meant to have blood on your hands

the following day I'd learn exactly what it meant part three around ten minutes in I must up the courage to walk over to my window and look out of it. What I saw choked me on the spot.

Side by side of the entrance of the woods I saw men. Shadowed by the night, standing side by side. There must have been 20 of them. None of them were saying anything. They were all dead silent, and I could feel their eyes on me.

It was just as strong as when I fell the eyes of the dolls on me back at their sight. In a way, felt like the same presence, the same intelligence. Well, I can't explain. And I saw him, the goat man, or rather the silhouette of him, standing in the center of the figures. It was still, and still as a stone.

But I could make out that face shape. Oh, the jutting horns. Yes, I could make it all out. Well, I chickened out. I couldn't go out there. I just couldn't. I hidden my bed, blankets over my head, and I shuncts. of my head and I shun my eyes tight, crying the whole night. I didn't fall asleep until I heard

the early morning birds. I was awake by 11.30. Surely after breakfast, I heard my dad shouting in the front yard. I went out to check and see what was happening, what it was that was upsetting him so much. As I went out the front door, I could hear him more clearly. I could hear the pain in his voice. A knot formed in my throat And a harrowing sensation crawled across my skin I wasn't ready to learn about the events that transpired That was truly the scariest part The moment before actualisation

These people had mentioned blood on my hands I didn't know what it meant But I had a very vague idea that it meant my family getting hurt I thought they got my dad When I got to him I saw that he was on his knees crying Cash had been killed, hit by a car. There he lay, goofy, pointed ears,

his absurdly silly dog beard, black staring eyes, and hanging tongue. Stationery, forever. The sort of his centre torso had been collapsed, and I could see opening is in his rear side, his ribs jelling out, his entrails. son my dad cried out as he turned to hug me it's okay he quickly led me back into the house away from cash's lifeless body away from my best friend dead and mutilated on the side of the road the last thing i remember seeing as i was brought into the house was a large pickup truck driving by slowly I saw the same two bald men, as old as dad, staring at me through oddly slim sunglasses.

I saw blood on the front tire, and I saw the driver point directly at me, and Cash's death was my fault. As I said that out loud, my dad held me tight and said with stone called certainty that it wasn't my fault, but sometimes these things happen. He told me exactly what you'd expect a father to tell his kid when their pet is killed in a random, and seemingly pointless accident. But I knew better. The people in the woods that killed cash, and it was all because I didn't do what they said. Because I was a coward.

His blood was on my hands, just as they said it would be. When I went into my room to cry, I saw outside my window a man in the centre of the backyard, a man with no shirt on. He was wearing a mask made out of a severed goat's head, hollowed out on the inside. In the daylight, it was far more disturbing to see

because I could almost smell the lack of sanitation it had to have exerted. I could see that it was surrounded by flies, but even worse than that, I saw a note it was holding up, a piece of paper with a single word written across it. Midnight. Well, I couldn't handle it.

I ran outside to chase him down, but when I got out there he was gone. My hate and anger somehow superseded my guilt and sadness because I ran far into the woods before realizing that this time if I got lost, I wouldn't have cash to leave me back to the house. I'd be all alone. No, I would have whatever was in there with me. I could feel eyes in here.

I could feel eyes everywhere. My every move was being watched, from the autumn canopy to the bushes just yards away. I knew I was surrounded in here And as my senses came more clear From the adrenaline-fuel rage I was experiencing I realized that it was getting stronger by the minute Then I noticed the smell

The stench At time I thought it smelled like bagged milk Or bologna left in the refrigerator for too long It was strong, too strong My eyes began to water I could feel my stomach began to turn How could a smell be so painful to endure? Then it occurred to me.

They'd killed my best friend. There was only one more life they could take. My dad's. The presence became stronger. I could hear whispering in the wind. The smell grew more powerful with every breath. Any second I was certain I'd be overwhelmed by God knows what. I realized that if I didn't do what they demanded of me,

I'd be taken here and now. What could I have done? I shook my head and began to cry. Okay, I'll do it. The relief was instantaneous. The woods became brighter, the smell gone, the feeling of being watched replaced by what could only be described as serenity. The forest went from a den of unspeakable terror to a place of, well,

it was just woods again, just as it always was. I came back home and helped my dad dig Cash's grave. He said I go by and buried him. He made up a cute dog bone-shaped tombstone out of the leftover wood from his old workshop. And that was that. My mum came over that day,

and we all went out to dinner, and the food was the best I ever had. We gave Cash a little toast, and that was that. In the back of my mind, it was midnight. Midnight. I spent another silent night staring at my clock, watching the numbers transform every 60 seconds.

The weight was agonizing. Each passing minute was like a minute removed from my life. At night I was certain that I was going to die. And I was trapped. They would have killed my parents if I tried anything. Killing Cash made that entirely too clear to me. 1155. 1156.

1157. 1158. 1159. I looked out the window. There they all were, side by side, shadows of people, and the goat man in the centre. All their eyes were on me. I looked at the clock Midnight

Looked back out the window And they were all gone They knew They knew I was going to come out tonight They'd killed my dog And then threatening to kill me on the spot after I followed them into the woods They knew that I was broken They knew my spirit was shattered

And that I was more afraid of what would happen If I didn't come out Over what would happen if I did I grabbed the candle and walked into my backyard. The darkness was thick, thicker than usual, and the smell. Sour milk, spoiled lunchmeat, blood rot decay, shit, puke, bile, and death. My skin began to crawl, and a shiver took me over. Breathing became difficult.

I could scarcely make out the forest before me. It wasn't just an entrance or a boundary. It was a living, breathing thing, and it was anticipating my every movement. As I took a step into my yard, a jolt of terror shot through me as I passed through the motion sensors and activated the backyard light. There was relief in the light. Safety at least, for a little while anyways. Use my father's lighter to spark up the candle. I planted it to the cold, dewy grass, and sat down nice and slowly, ready to cross my legs. I never sat in the full position that I was instructed to because, as I was in the process of sitting down, I saw it.

Two green eyes. Have you ever shined your light directly on an animal's face way off in the distance in the dead of night? At a distance where it was too far away to make out what it looks like, but not far enough for their eyes to not catch and reflect the light. This is exactly what I saw. It seemed to be high above the ground, higher than that it seemed to be high above the ground, higher than that. than a coyote's height and higher even than a human's height. It appeared to be pacing back and forth in the woods. I could hear the leaves shuffling with each step it was taking,

constantly coming in and out of existence due to the unseen trees eclipsing those glowing shards of light, those glaring eyes. They must have been reflecting off of the backyard lights. I could hear it breathing. It sounded painful to me. The air came out in short sporadic breaths And when it did I felt the huffs of frozen air Ranked with that rotten stench go right through me

I don't remember how long it paced like this Never leaving the outskirts of the woods Never breaking eye contact with me Every now and then it would stop And lower closer to the ground Until its eyes were level with me It would remain in that position Like a cat load of the ground

Prepping to pounce on its pranks It would only stay in this position for ten seconds at a time before it would rise back up and pace more. After it had done this several times, I realized something was stopping it. The light was dumpstruck, frozen in place. My throat was so tight the air was barely getting in me, barely getting out of me. There was a powerful sense etched within my soul

that any sudden movement would scent this unspeakable thing into a frenzy at me, light or not. I didn't know if it was going to outright kill me here in the backyard, or if it was going to drag me into the woods and eat me alive there. I didn't know what the relationship was between this and the psychopaths that ordered me out here. What I did know was that with each moment it wasn't getting me, it was getting madder. I couldn't let it get me. I couldn't let it take me away.

Theoretically, I was safe in the light, except the thing was that this motion sensor light ran on a tilt. timer. I knew that timer would soon run out, and when it did, the light would go, and nothing would stop it from getting me. With all my courage, all my willpower, I forced myself to stand up, letting out a hoarse breath. The eyes immediately stopped moving when it saw me stand. I couldn't tell you for certain, but I was almost positive. They narrowed. The prospect of me escaping infuriated it to such a level that it began to stalk towards me. I could tell it was moving forward, threateningly, showing a willingness to brave the light.

It took a step back, and when I did it took a swift step forward. I could almost see its shape, tall, thin, bony, too dark to distinguish any specific features, except, well, it had horns, large, curled spiral-like horns. Or at least it looked like it did. I don't remember running back to the house. I don't remember making it inside. I don't remember anything after the point where the light shut off. It was sudden, as if death had caught me. The time I was up, the light shut down and enveloped me in darkness.

I recall hearing it scream. It sounded like a child denied its toy. Or was that me? When the light died, I freaking ran. It was hours later when I came to my senses. My dad was holding me. My mom was there too, and I was crying. Later they'd tell me that I was screaming.

Don't let it get me. Don't let it get me. Over and over again. Don't let it get me. I don't remember that myself. I never saw that creature again. I never saw the man with the goat mask again. The two old men in the pickup truck,

never saw them again either. That day forward I always slept with a window shut. The next day my dad and my mom took me out, side to explain that nothing had happened. We saw displaced grass, mixed with mud, and we even saw gore masks on the trees. I thought this would have been evidence enough to plead my case, but it wasn't. My dad immediately laughed at me, telling me he figured the whole thing out. I'd had an encounter with the deer. Those markings in the tree were from antlers that it charged at me because it felt threatened. This was a convenient explanation that I'd

Frickin' wish to God was true, but I knew otherwise. Several weeks later, I heard that there was a missing person search that took place in those woods, but I myself hadn't seen or heard anything at that time. My dad and my therapist insisted that this knowledge would only further convince people that I was a schizophrenic, so they stopped me from looking into it. Yes, I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia disorder. They said I got it through my inability to cope with the divorce. They told me that I had retracted into a delusion

because I felt responsible for the family's collapse and that my youthful undeveloped mind couldn't process the guilt properly. But these cultists and their beast were just agents of personal symbolism. Something like that. For a while I believed everything they told me. The lies felt safe. The lies were comfortable. several years later, they would tell me that I'd made a full recovery.

It was an easy process since I'd never had another encounter again. At that point in time, I was so angry I just told them what they wanted to hear. When I became old enough, I severed all ties with my parents, and I moved out of the States. Once I was on my own, I looked into the town's archives and researched as much information as I could about that time when I was nine. The missing persons reports. the man-hunt in those woods which lasted several days, all they found was one man. He'd been torn apart, his limbs removed, his organs missing.

They found that he was wearing a peculiar mass, the head of a ram, but its innards were carefully carved and hollowed to fit over a human's head. When they removed the helmet, they saw that he died with an expression of absolute horror on his face. I took pleasure in that. I'd like to believe that these men were cultists that they were attempting to appease some unseen unnamed god, a god that absolutely should not have existed, a god that had no right to walk among men,

and that during their attempt to appease it, I'd botched their ritual by breaking an important piece of the process. The doll, and in their attempt to salvage it, they'd force me into offering myself up as a sacrifice to it. but its failure to do whatever it was going to do to me that night destroyed the whole operation. I'd prefer to believe that in the name of vengeance this angry thing turned on its own worshippers, killing them all and dragging them all back to wherever it had come from. It's the only thing that makes sense to me. There is just one thing I still couldn't figure out. Why is it that, no matter where I go, when I'm all alone, in quiet places in the dead,

of night. Why can I still hear them chanting that unholy sermon that I heard so long ago in the woods when I was nine? Charles Bonnet syndrome by Mr. Stubb. I saw her with a condition called Charles Bonnet syndrome or visual release hallucinations if you want to get more technical. It's a condition that's far more common than you might realize. It's estimated that as many as half of people with gradual loss of vision will experience one or more bounce over their lifetime. I'm willing to bet that most of you have never heard of it. The reason for that is because most sufferers are scared to tell anybody what we experience. I know I was.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Andrew, and I'm 26. Two years ago, I woke up with awful blurred vision. Every single edge in detail clouded as if somebody had smeared. Vaseline on a camera lens. And it never got better. I was scared then, got over to Dr. Harper's surgery as fast as I could, suddenly needing to take a cab rather than climb in the car I'd driven without incident ever since I'd bought

it three years prior. The doctor did some tests, asked me some questions. Have you been much thirstyer lately? How often do you urinate? How you describe your tiredness levels? Then gave me the diagnosis that changed my life forever. diabetes type one he explained that i would need to take insulin shots with every meal that eating the wrong foods without monitoring my blood sugar could see me drop into a coma or worse and then he got to my eyes andrew your diabetes has resulted in maculopathy do you know what that is i shook my head dumbly already reeling with the shock of my diagnosis

Dr. Harper went on. That's when the diabetes affects the blood vessels at the back of your eye, blocking them and causing them to leak into the macula, the central part of your retina that helps you perceive color and fine detail. When these blood vessels leak into the macula, it can cause significant damage. With a lump in my throat, I asked, Okay, so, how do I make this better?

I couldn't see Harper's face properly when he spoke. But his tone of voice was enough to tell me what I'd been dreading. I'm sorry, Andrew. He replied gravely. Perhaps if we caught this a little sooner, we might have had some treatment options available to us. I'm afraid the damage has been pretty extensive. We can take steps to arrest the development of the condition,

but I'm afraid it's irreversible. I felt as if my world had come crashing down around me. I was just 24, still at my physical peak. I was active, playing basketball. and cycling a couple of times a week. And on my health, my body and my sight had been taken from me. The first six months were tough.

I broke up with my girlfriend, a sweet girl called Holly, who tried to make it work, but couldn't because I was so damn angry all the time. I lost my job because if there's one thing an architect needs, it's his eyes. I even fell out with a lot of my friends, making excuses to not meet with them

until they stopped asking. In truth, it was jealousy on my part, envy that they got to keep on living while everything I'd ever hoped for had been snatched away. I became a recluse, never leaving my apartment, barely bothering to wash, shave or get dressed each day. I was so sure that my life was over, stopped even trying to live it. I was an asshole. It took me a long time to realize this, but in the end it was the nurse assigned to visit me at home. At all no-nonsense experienced woman called Lois, who brought this to my attention.

attention. You're an asshole, she said. What? I gasped, shocked at her language. So you've got diabetes. Do you know how many people do? She asked. Then, before waiting for my answer, she continued.

Do you think they all hide in their apartments, refusing to get on with their lives? Losing your vision is a terrible thing, and you do have my sympathy, but, Andrew, it's no excuse to give up. Yeah, but you don't. I argued, trying to defend myself, and she hadn't finished. Understand, she growled. The bravest men I know was paralyzed from the neck down when he was just a child and he hasn't given up. You can do so much more with your life. You have people that want to help you do that.

But you can't even be bothered to shave that ugly fucking beard off. Stop being a crybaby and make a freaking difference. Of course, it didn't happen overnight. and I argued with her. I was furious at her blunt insensitivity and told her to leave. I said I'd tell her superiors. She laughed and told me I wouldn't. You won't because you're a smart guy,

and you've got too much pride for that, she said. I'll see you next week. That night, I shaved. I opened my curtains and actually looked around. Things were blurry, but when I really looked, I could see the thing scattered around my heart. home. The mess I'd let it become. When Lewis came back the following week, the place was tidy. I was clean-shaven, dressed. I'd even attempted to comb my hair. She didn't say anything about it,

didn't mention the argument of the week before. She took me out for coffee down the street. She guided me along the sidewalk to the coffee shop, talking to me, reassuring me. It was daunting, even though it was less than a block away. I felt so proud when I got there. We talked, me and Lois. I think I even laughed. Afterwards, she walked me home, and then when she helped me back inside, she said, It's nice to meet you at last, Andrew. That day was the beginning of my new life. I moved to a new apartment, a ground floor place, and joined a group of other young people with visual impairments.

I made friends. I got out every day, even if it was just for a short walk. But I made a point to seeing what I could of the world. I bought what I could But the Sawyers The whole couple that ran the local store Would bring my groceries by once a week Clark's a gruffold coot

So he refuses to coddle me And he's told me that he respects me For being like I am For maintaining my independence For not giving up And for a guy like him That's one of the Swedish things I've ever heard Things were going so well

And then One year ago It started. I walked into my living room, a mug of coffee in my hand, and I saw a Victorian funeral carriage stood right there on my rug, complete with two huge, proud horses in full livery, adorned with long black plumes in their bridles. They stood perfectly still,

while the driver, a small bearded man in beardy costume and a top hat, fidgeted with the reins and peered at me expectantly. bizarrely they were far clearer than the usual blurry shapes that I could see I damn near pierced my pants I dropped the cup spilling scalding hot coffee over my bare feet jumping backwards with a cry of pain and alarm when I return my attention to the horses and carriage back in the room they were gone

but in that moment I wondered if I was going mad apparently most of us do which is understandable How would you feel if you'd seen that exact same sight in your home? Unless you're Jack the Ripper, I imagine many of you do not have a coach and horses just laying around. I certainly didn't. Eventually, after much quiet swearing to myself, and more than a little self-delusion, I managed to convince myself that I had not seen what I thought I had, that it was merely a very vivid daydream.

This seemed to work, and I got on with living, even if I entered that same room a little more cautiously in the days that followed. And finally, I forgot about it. Two weeks later, I saw a giant, floating, swirling, orange ball in my bathroom. I damn near, pissed myself again. I stood staring at it, this bizarre, rotating, levitating globe that was a little larger than a beach ball, hanging mid-air over my top. open mouth for a full ten seconds

before finally screwing my eyelids tightly closed and whispering to myself that isn't there that isn't there after five seconds I opened my eyes again it wasn't there have you ever had cause to doubt your own sanity

to wonder whether what you perceive is truly there or if your mind has betrayed you honestly compared to the loss of my vision the prospect of losing my wits was so much more terrifying I'd fought against adversity and took pride in the fact that I'm now not just a survivor. I'm someone who's living his own life.

How could I do that if I was insane? I barely slept that night, and I remained jumpy for days afterwards. Any sign of movement or any unfamiliar shape would set my pulse racing or caused me to doubt whether it was truly there. It was the toughest time I'd ever been through, worse even than that time when I was diagnosed with diabetes. At least when Dr. Harper had told me about the diabetes, I had a definite prognosis. I was given facts by a medical professional.

My affliction was physical. It had a name, and most important, it had a treatment plan. This, this was something else. My own mind had turned against me. My senses and perception of reality had become twisted and unreliable. It's only when you're in that position that you realize just how horrifying it is. Your senses and the way in which your brain interprets them are your only true defences against danger. You perceive danger and you avoid it, preventing your body from becoming harmed.

What happens when you can't trust your perception to alert you to dangers that are truly there? Lois picked up on the problem first, noticing my skittish manner. She asked what was wrong if I needed to talk about anything. But I told her no, I was fine, but I hadn't been sleeping well. Well, that last part was true. I hadn't been able to sleep a wink. Just the very thought of being institutionalised. Spending the rest of my days, sedated, blue-pajama-clad zombie in a white room with the only echoing cries of my fellow inmates for company.

That terrified me beyond measure. What was the alternative? Live life as a risk to myself and others. Ultimately, I chose to ignore it. A reason that if I was able to function around other people without them realizing what was going on, that was good enough. A full month passed before the next incident. I really did think that maybe I'd put this whole mess behind me.

With every passing day my confidence had grown, so that Wednesday morning I stepped out onto the sunny street feeling pretty carefree. Each Wednesday I'd treat myself to a latte down at Joe's, the same coffee shop that I'd visited with Lois. It was a custom that gave me a great deal of pleasure, one of the seen me forge friendships with other regulars as well as the staff, including Joe himself. It's made my way down the street, white stick in hand. I glanced about me, taking in the colours and shapes of the world around me.

I enjoyed the feel of the sun on my face, and the sounds of the bird singing. It was a good day. And then I saw them, a party of pilgrims, six of them all dressed in settler era attire, sitting cross-legged on the asphalt. They didn't look at me, instead they were engaged in a heated yet strangely silent conversation. I froze, staring at them. Still, they argued, gesticulating furiously at one another. However, I couldn't hear their angry voices, despite the fact that,

judging by their ill temperament, they must be screaming at one another. Paralyzed by shock, the white stick fell from my numb fingers, clattering to the side. I turned to leave, desperate to flee from the haunting side of the colonists in the road, but I was so panicked in such a hurry that I stepped on my cane, rolled underfoot, and before I knew it, I pitched over, tumbling too hard to the ground below. I didn't quite break my fall in time, banging my cheek hard on the floor and skinning my palms. I heard a cry from a passerby, a friendly, concerned woman who rushed to my side. She knelt beside me helping me up, applying a Kleenex to my throbbing cheek, which she informed me was bleeding.

I tried to tell her that I was okay, but there was nothing to worry about, but this good Samaritan insisted on driving me to Dr. Harper's office to get my injuries looked at. Art too. Now I think back to it. I'm pretty sure that she knew my obvious distress was nothing to do with the fall. At the time I was embarrassed and angry. Now I realized I owe her a debt of gratitude. Without her intervention, I don't know how much longer this would have gone on before I cracked up and ended up in an asylum after breaking down through sheer stress.

Andrew, why don't you tell me what happened? Dr. Harper asked, gently dabbing at my cheek with disinfectant. I explained that I'd just lost my balance, that no harm was done. I think she saw through my feeble protestations and my underlying agitation. He didn't press. He didn't force the matter. he simply asked what might have caused my clumsiness. Then he asked how I'd been as of late. When I'd finished mumbling my way through the most non-committal answer I could muster, a gentle, reassuring hand on my shoulder. Andrew, he repeated gently.

Why don't you tell me what happened? I burst into tears. I told him how scared I was, how I'd fought so hard for my independence, and now I knew it would be taken from me. He listened patiently and asked me to tell him why I ever thought that. I paused then, took a deep breath and thought about it. This was the point of no return. But really, what other option did I have?

So with tears running down my cheeks, I told Dr. Harper everything. I told him about the horse and carriage, the orange globe and the pilgrims. I told him how I'd been living each day in fear, how terrified I was. that I was losing my mind. Talk to Harper thought for a while, and then he said, Andrew, I don't think you're losing your mind. A sense of relief at that moment was so powerful, it overwhelmed me, rendering me speechless.

You say that even though you've seen these things, you never heard any noise from them. Have you detected any odors or experienced any other physical sensations, such as touching them? I shook my head, no. and he patted my shoulder once again. Andrew, have you ever heard of Charles Bonnet syndrome? He asked.

Charles Bone? Who? I asked, confused by this sudden, unexpected turn of conversation. Okay, let me explain. Dr. Harper said kindly. Charles Bonnet was a Swiss naturalist who was born in the 1700s. He discovered a curious condition in his elderly grandfather, who was nearly completely blood.

due to cataracts. Now, the old man regularly experienced visual hallucinations, including random patterns and even people and places. Sound familiar? Yeah, I replied, still confused. Am I suffering dementia? No, Andrew, not at all, Dr. Harper reassured me. Do you know how perception works?

In layman's terms, your eyes take light in, by the iris and pupil, which is then processed via the... retina and translated into electrical signals which are decoded by the brain, which simply organizes these signals into recognizable images. With me so far? I nodded again, finally starting to understand. When the retina becomes damaged, such as those that have undergone macular degeneration, those signals become warped and jumbled, Dr. Harper went on. The brain still receives them, so it does its job, translating these distorted signals into an image. It kind of feels. It kind of

the gaps in for you. Sometimes it fills these gaps in with colors, patterns, creatures, and places that aren't present. This is called Charles Bonnet syndrome. I nearly wept with relief. So I'm not mad, I cried. Not at all, the doctor replied. This is an entirely physical condition. Your mind is in full working order. If you were suffering any form of mental illness, your delusions wouldn't be limited to just this one sense. You'd hear these interlopers, and smell them, even feel them. This is a condition solely related to your eyes,

not your brain. As I left Dr. Harper's office, I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Sure, my vision was still an issue, but now I knew it was only a problem with my eyes, not my mind. I knew I could handle this situation. I was ready to face the world again.

Since then, I've seen plenty of, of weird visions. I saw a huge waterfall in the park, complete with a hazy mist and butterflies flitting about it. I saw a Native American warrior, complete with a huge feather headdress, sitting at a stool at the counter in the coffee shop. I saw an intricate and quite impossible structure of scaffolding

criss-crossing the entire front of my apartment block. Hell on the 4th of July last year, I even saw a great swooping green dragon in the sky, twisting and cavorting through the air overhead. All looked utterly and completely real, yet now I knew that they were simply tricks of the eye. They were no longer disturbing. In fact, I actually came to quite enjoy them,

even looking at them as unique and entertaining little shows or works of art that existed purely for my pleasure and nobody else's. I came to welcome them. Then, a month ago, I saw her. It was night time. It's always night time when I see her, and I was just getting ready for bed. I walked into the kitchen to get myself a glass of water,

and actually cried out in alarm when I spotted the figure in the corner. She was tall, by far the tallest woman I'd ever seen, and even though she stood hunched, she still had at least six inches on me. I was used to seeing characters in dated and bizarre dress, and this was different somehow. It didn't seem like an outfit from any one time, instead a bizarre mishmash of items.

She wore a tuxedo jacket, figure-hugging and black, tailored to the female body shape over a dirty old ruffled dress shirt. To complete the ensemble, she wore a bright red bow tie. On her hands which she held out to either side as if shrugging, or maybe feeling for rain, she wore dirty white gloves. Her fingers were disproportionately long, almost spidery, and occasionally they twitched, as if she longed to grip and squeeze something in them. On the lower half she wore shorts the same crimson as her bow tie, over opaque black nylons. On her legs were long, lithe, attractive, if truth be told, the legs of a dancer.

She also wore red heels, the same hue as her shorts and bowtie, but they sparkled and shimmered, bringing to mine Julie Gardner's ruby slippers from the Wizard of Oz. As strange as this ensemble was, I couldn't tear my eyes from her face. Most of it was obscured by a jaunty bowler hat, tipped and tilted to hide her eyes and nose, but beneath the brim of her hat I could see the deathly pale skin of her face and a grin. that sent shivers down my spine. It was wide, too wide, with entirely too many teeth. A smile is meant to be an expression of warmth,

it's meant to feel welcoming and benevolent. But the look on this woman's face oozed malice. It felt much like the sort of glee I'd expect from a snake as it corners a rat, was that she had a third arm sprouting from her back, curled up and over her head like a scorpion's tail. It was longer than any arm should be, and the hand only had three fingers like a claw. It was pointed straight at me. As I swore in dismay and stumbled sideways, it seemed to track my movement.

I stood staring at the creepy figure for a few seconds, trying to get my head around the situation. She just stood there in the corner, grinning back. Finally, I realized that this was just another of my hallucinations, and breathed an audible sigh of relief. One of the tricks I've picked up over the months of suffering with the Charles Bonnet syndrome is to break the line of vision toward which how the stimulus is causing my brain to interpret the images into a hallucinations. Think of it like restarting a faulty computer, how refreshing the system debugs it. And to this end, I close my eyes and count a five.

Then, when I reopen them, the hallucination is gone. So as I stared at the horrifying, malformed figure in my kitchen, I knew that, and make the image go away. I simply had to close my eyes. I'll be honest here. When I counted to five, I hesitated a little before opening my eyes. I'd opened my eyes, and she'd still been stood there, smiling that wicked smile at me. I think I might have had a heart attack.

Oh, she wasn't, and I breathed another long sigh of relief, fetched my glass of water, and went back to bed. The tall woman haunted my thoughts in the days after I saw her. She was different to the other visions I'd had And somehow she felt more real It was this agitation that my buddy Jason picked up on We met for lunch the following Friday Jason was one of those same friends

I'd tried to drive away shortly after I'd lost my vision Yet he'd refused to give up on me Continuing to get in touch week after week Good friends are hard to come by But great friends The ones will be by your side for life Are even rarer Jason, God bless his kind heart, is one of the latter.

You've got to tell me what's going on, dude, he said as we sat down over pizza. What do you mean? I asked, trying to brush it off. You're so distracted. It's like you're looking for something in here all the time. You've eaten like one slice of pizza in the time it's taken me to eat four. So, I repeat, you've got to tell me what's going on, Jason said, waving a slice of pizza around for emphasis. It's nothing, I replied, feeling a little stupid. I just had a hallucination a couple of nights ago that really got to me. I thought you were cool with those now, he asked, putting the pizza sliced down. Yeah, I am. I mean, I was, but this was different, I replied, reside now to

talking about it. She scared me. She? Jason asked. His interest clearly peaked. Tell me about So I did. I described the tall woman and how she'd appeared to me. I explained that unlike any of my other hallucinations, she felt more real, that she was the first to feature such a weird and unsettling mutation.

Sure, I'd seen smaller versions of people in the past. A phenomenon referred to as Lilliputian by medical professionals. But the extra appendage and impossibly distorted face was something I had yet to encounter thus far. I think it was that, combined with the unnerving expectant stance that had disturbed me the most. So, Jason said after I'd finished, you said she had great legs? Shut up, you asshole, I laughed, throwing my napkin at him. Now, seriously, I get it, man, Jason replied, passing the napkin back to me.

I walked into a room when a giant mutant was waiting for me. It scared the shit out of me, too. But you know what caused you to see. this. It's like the coachman and that waterfall you saw. It's a condition that you know you have, and it's one that you know how to deal with, okay? I know, I know, I replied. Thanks, man. You're right. I did feel better, too, so I smiled at him, took a big bite of my pizzer and changed the subject, asking him about his psycho-ex, a conversation he was all too happy to dive into. Art three. The next time I saw the tall woman, just under a week later, I was brushing my teeth.

I stood at the wash-basin, brushing away, and I spotted a figure in the mirror. She was out in the dark hallway, peeking around the door behind me. The same sinister grin I'd seen before, stretched her narrow face into a distorted grimace. That early bowler hat pushed down over her eyes once again. Each of those three long spidery hands gripped the doorframe. Now, as crazy as this sounds, it felt like she was trying to avoid being spotted. I cried out, spitting toothpaste foam all over the mirror, my toothbrush clattering into the basin. I spun around, my heart thumping in my chest, my breathing ragged in my throat.

She wasn't there. Of course she wasn't. The doorway was empty. I tiptoed forward, hesitantly, trying to look around the doorframe into the hallway without actually sticking my neck out into its shadowy confines. The second sticked by as I drew closer and closer. I couldn't see anything so finally, with a whisperer self-affirmation, I stepped out at the bathroom. The hallway was empty, as was the rest of my apartment. I was shaken again. This was the first time I'd seen a hallucination in a reflection, and I wasn't even sure that I'd actually seen it. Now, as I sit here writing this, knowing what would follow, I think I thought

like that to try to protect myself, to shield myself from the truth. Well, I was an idiot. A full fortnight passed without incident. Sure, I saw a flash of colour one day, a dancing yellow lightning bolt that zigzag back and forth on the street outside my apartment, but that was exactly the sort of thing I'd come to expect from my condition. It was exciting, otherworldly, but it wasn't scary, not like she was. In retrospect, that fortnight was blissful. It was a reminder of what life could be like, the existence that I'd carved out for myself since my diagnosis. Life was good. The night that changed the way I viewed the tall woman last night, I'd been out for a couple of drinks. I met the other guys with visual impairment,

for dinner, and we'd ended up at a bar afterwards. I wasn't hammered, but we got through plenty of beer between us, and by the time I stepped out into the cool night air, I felt decidedly lightheaded. It took me a while to make it home, laughing and talking to a couple of the other guys from our group as we strolled along. It had been a great evening. Probably the last truly good one I'll ever have.

I bid the other guys good night, and fumbling with my key, I let myself in. With swaying steps, I strolled into my hallway, slamming the door a little too loudly behind me. Took off my jacket, hung it on the hook by the door, then hit the light switch. She was waiting at the end of the hallway. All three hands held aloft into claws, reaching for me, that same maddening, malevolent grin on her pale face. I swore again louder than ever, actually jumping back a step, recoiling from the impossibly tall and terrifying figure lying in weight in my own home.

The tall woman didn't move. She just stood there staring and smiling at me. I stared back, but I sure as hell didn't smile. Jesus Christ, I muttered under my breath. You know how you can feel a little paranoid after a few beers? That feeling of non-specific post-alcohol dread. I would imagine that combined with a giant grinning mutant woman suddenly a appearing in your home.

Suffice to say, it was very, very, very uncool. I do not need this, I sighed and close my eyes. One, two, three, four,

five. When I opened my eyes, the face was just a foot from my own, grinning wider than ever. She dashed the length of the hallway and was now stood so close that her long, grasping arms were either side of me, her fingers twitching and clawing at the air around my face. I could see her chest heaving as if she were actually laughing silently at my attempts to dismiss her. As if the thought that I could ever be free from her

was amusing. I screamed, a full-bodied shriek of terror, and actually dropped to my knees, covering my head as if to fend off an expected blow. It never came. Finally, I lowered my hands, gasping for breath, shaking. The hallway was empty. A tall woman nowhere to be seen. I stayed there on my knees for a moment, gasping for breath, and I was on my feet. I turned and ran, ran out of the apartment, out of the building and into the street. I stood there, shivering, terrified beyond reason, without a clue as to what I'd do next. Finally, I pulled my phone from my pocket, and I made a phone call. Hey Andy, what's up? Jason asked.

Jason, I need you to come here, I said, sobbing. Jason didn't ask why, didn't complain. Instead, he simply replied, I'm on my way. Less than 20 minutes later, his car pulled up outside, and he dashed over to the steps outside my building, where I was sitting, shivering. He threw his jacket around my shoulders and asked what happened. His voice failed with concern.

"'She's in there,' I stammered. "'The tall woman. She's back.' "'Okay, okay,' he said, gently helping me to my feet. "'Come on, man. Let's go in there and check it out.' "'I wish I could say that I was brave when we went inside, but I'd be lying. "'I cowered behind Jason, one hand on his shoulder as we made our way through my home. "'Of course, we didn't find a thing. but talking a giant mutant woman in a pokey little one-bed apartment.

Where the hell was she going to hide? Finally, after we checked every single room twice, I had to admit that she was gone. I'm so sorry, man, I apologized, feeling genuinely stupid. I got scared. I'm sorry, man. Hey, forget about it, buddy, Jason said. So, I'm here now.

Where do you keep your booze? Half a bottle of bourbon later, we were both feeling pretty talkative. She's, you know, just kind of different, you know, I tried to explain. I get it, I get it, he said. It's like you saw something bad, and you feel bad, and that's bad. No, he didn't get it. She's different, you know, I explained. Never had a repeat hallucination before.

They've never been scary, you know. She's not like the other. others. Dude, Jason said, taking another sip of bourbon. You've got like Charlie Boney's syndrome and you know that makes you see shit. So, uh, you waved his hands in the air like a magician who'd just performed a trick. I know, I know, I replied. Now listen, Andy, he said, you know it makes you see shit.

It's just your eyes, yeah. You didn't hear anything. You didn't feel anything. This is how that stuff goes. It's your eyes, and I know it's scary, man, but you've been through like hell and high water in your life so far. You're tough. One of the bravest, toughest guys I know. You can handle some creepy hallucination bitch.

I laughed. Couldn't help it. She's a very creepy hallucination bitch, though, dude. He laughed too, and we both took a drink. You know, that could help, he said finally, his voice thoughtful. What? Drinking, I asked. No, yeah, it does, he giggled.

I mean, like demystifying her. You should give her a name, something stupid so she's not scary. I've got to say as much as I like creepy hallucination, bitch. There's a bit of a mouthful, I laughed. Yeah, I get that, he replied. Suddenly something he'd said came back to me. How about Helen? I suggested.

Helen Highwater Awesome, he said, then raised his glass Here's to Helen, buddy. To Helen. I smiled and drained my glass. Jason spent the night on my sofa, mainly because he's had too much to drink to even think about getting behind the wheel of a vehicle,

but honestly, I think the reason he drank so much was so he'd have an excuse to stay and keep an eye on me. I'm glad he did. Knowing that he was there made me feel safer, and I was able to get some sleep. It gave me a sense of security to know that if the strange vision I just christened Helen was to appear again,

I'd be able to call on him for support. This morning, we both needed support. Feels like a mule kicked me in the head, he groaned when I made my way into the living room. Yep, I replied to my own head thumping. Jose. Jose, he replied firmly, staggering to his feet. As we drank strong,

strong black coffee and ate muffins. We didn't talk much. Finally, Jason broke the silence. So, um, you feel cool now? He asked. His mouth's still full of blueberry muffin. I nodded. Yeah, I think so. I'm not still freaked out about, you know who? He asked. Helen? I replied with a smile. No, I really don't think I am. Reckon I can handle some creepy hallucination bitch. Good, he laughed, giving me a hearty pat on the back. That's cool, man. I bet you can.

Now, as I sit here cowering in my bathroom, too scared to go out into my apartment. I know we were both wrong. About everything. Remember how earlier I told you that the thought of being institutionalized that the very idea of losing my grasp on reality was the most terrifying thing I could imagine. Well, now I'd welcome that, because the alternative is far, far worse. After breakfast I said goodbye to Jason, and he climbed into his car and drove away. The day passed without incident, and when Lois stopped by this afternoon, she even commented on how upbeat I seemed.

Oh, you got a lady in your life? she asked casually. I laughed at that, wondering what she'd think if she knew the truth. "'Yeah,' I chuckled. "'Something like that. "'Good for you,' she sniffed. "'You make sure you treat her right. "'That tickled me even more, and I had to bite my lip. "'Sure,' I replied.

"'I'll do my best. "'Tonight, still a little wipe from the exertions of the previous evening, "'I decided to turn in early. "'I brushed my teeth, wash my hands and face, "'and got changed. Finally I fetched a glass of water and walked into my bedroom Climmed into bed and instantly felt so, so relaxed Within mere seconds I was ready for sleep

That sudden overwhelming drowsiness that comes When you spent a whole day keeping sleep at bay I decided that resistance was futile And sat up to switch off the light I nearly didn't see her But as I reached with a switch I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye My heart leapt into my throat as I turned to the foot of my bed.

The tall woman was crouching there, her grinning face staring at me from just beyond my feet. So many teeth. Her long slender finger spread out over my blankets, twitching slightly as she gripped the end of the bed. Slowly, excruciatingly so. Her third misshapen arm came into view over her shoulder, joining her other hands on my bedding. I froze, utterly petrified. I was at a crossroads here, arriving at a pivotal moment that had been coming for some time. She watched me, grinning, as if she was waiting to see what I'd do, cruel amusement flickering across her pale face. At this time I'd had enough.

You don't scare me anymore, I said. My voice filled with the defiance and anger. I'm not letting you do this to me. I reached out across to the light switch. Good night, Helen, I said triumphantly, and flicked it, plunging the room into darkness. I laid there, a sense of tremendous pride surging through me, and I grinned to myself in my warm, comfortable bed, overjoyed at the emotional victory of overcoming my own fear,

and then it happened. The thing that led me here, something that's heard my blood to ice water, my bowels to jelly. Good night, Andrew. Her rasping voice hissed from the darkness. The possession complex, a Jiradin hero. All right, Mike said as he finished his hash browns. We need to fight a Mishua Kana.

Oh, what? Trish asked. Mitchuokana, it's like, well, it's like a Mexican meat market. it. Why do we need to find that? I asked. Well, since you ask, Jacob, you noob, I need some cleaning supplies. That's how we prepared for our first cleansing as a team. Every time after that, Mike would take us through the same pregame, as he called it. We get the same breakfast slash lunch at an IHop or Waffle House, and then find a Micho O'Connor to get Mike supplies. Trish had a few friends in the demonology business.

One of them, who apparently preferred to work alone, pointed us towards Juniper. Juniper Park was located in Hoffman Estates, Illinois, about an hour outside of Chicago. According to him, there was a family living near the park that had been experiencing poltergeist activity. He was off somewhere else in the country working on another case, and unlike this one, needed immediate attention. All right, you guys, you know the drill. Mike said unlocking the doors on his black Chevy Cavalier. I'm on it. Trish pulled out her phone and started searching for the nearest Micho O'Connor. I just sat in the back by myself and tried to slip into a nap.

You know, Mike said as he backed out of the IHop parking lot. As a psychic, shouldn't you be able to just sense one of these places out? Well, as a dick, shouldn't you be unable to speak? Mike just laughed as we made our way to the place. A parent said when I was a baby They used to drive me around town To get me to sleep Said it was the only thing that worked

Even though Mike was the worst driver I knew I still managed to get rocked to sleep By all of the potholes we hit Lesson 1 Great, lesson 1 Mike told me as we sat outside The Bachman family house in 2008 The Clyde always pays up front

That's awfully shitty what if there's nothing there. Oh, Jacob. Mike shook his head. There's always something there. Spirits wander and linger all the time. Now, whether or not their militias is an entirely different thing. More often than not, when we investigate the spirits are benign.

But the simple fact is nobody wants Granny or Grand Pee, or ain't out there welcome. We help the spirits move on. It's not like we're going in there, waving incense, and lighting candles just for We're working, Jacob. Like I said, we get paid up front. Trish put a hand over her face and we got out of the car. The Bachman case was fairly simple. Mother had noticed her daughter talking to an imaginary friend she called Nicholas. Over time, as it often does, the imaginary fran thing started to lose its charm. A few plates have been known to fall off of counters on their own. The daughter then approached her mother one day and asked her about, Grandpa Cheryl. Why, you see, Mrs. Bachman had told us during the preliminary interview. My father was a drag queen during the 80s.

I see. Go on, Mike said, barely managing her grin. Well, my father came out pretty late into his life. My mother obviously wasn't happy. He moved to Vegas and joined a show there. He died at 68 of a heart attack just after a chorus line before. His stage name was Cheryl. Mrs. Bachman started sobbing. Clearly the subject of her father was a sore one.

And you think this spirit has something to do with his death. No, but I didn't want my daughter to know, at least not this young. Whatever this thing is, it's trying to get to me. Look, his broken plates, it's move things around the house. I just want it gone before it causes any more trouble. Mike assured her that we'd get it done and that night we started our investigation Before trying to make contact with the spirit

He lit a few virgin Mary candles From the Midshaw-O-Cana We each held one and Mike put one in each room at the house He soldered the windows and doors Except for the front door It's important He told me We'd drive it out of the front door

It's symbolic or something And the only way to kick it out permanently I think We walked around with their candles for most of the night. Frisch explained that spirits tended to shy away from a new presence. She started calling out for Nicholas. Nicholas, you're here? We're here on behalf of Cheryl and her daughter.

Hey, Nick, look over here. Mike grabbed my sleeve. Got some premium mad meat over here. Come get a piece. Mike, what the hell? Trish scowded him. Don't antagonize the spirits. Apparently it worked, though.

According to Trish, the only one of us able to see or speak with ghosts, Nick wasn't very happy with Mike. After a few minutes of calling Mike a homophobe, Trish was able to calm Nick down. The spirit was one Nicholas Merchant, a former lover of Grandpa Chero. According to the spirit, the two of them were supposed to meet in the afterlife. After wandering aimlessly, he ended up at Grandpa Cheryl's old home. The fact was that he was a benign spirit, and after talking the matter out with him, he moved on. The Backman family was forever grateful, and we left with a little bit of cash in her pockets. Lesson two.

These are some very old friends of mine, Trish said. Please don't embarrass me. I'm talking to you, Michael. What? You know Jacob's here, too. He wrapped an arm around my neck and pulled me close. He's a goddamn troublemaker. I can't trust the quiet ones, as they say.

Well, you could learn a thing or two from Jacob, she said as we got into the car. Now, they invited us to this because I told them we wanted to learn. There was a chance we could run into something like this, and it helps to be prepared. People need to take us seriously. Hey, that bug ghost was plenty, serious. Mike lit a cigarette and rolled down the window of his crappy cavalier.

But I don't think it's really appropriate to call him a bug ghost, Mike. I said, leaning in my head back, trying to get some rest. Quiet and politically correct. You some subgenre of hipster, Jacob. You some subgenre of jackass, Michael. Okay, you and Trish need to stop spending so much time together. I fell asleep on the long drive to Connecticut. The people we were going to see were first-class demonologists. They had degrees in theology and had all but memorized every holy book there was.

If I had to guess, I think Trish wanted us to be more like that. While I was all for learning, Mike was fairly stubborn about it. He liked to play the rebel, something idiotic like that. When we arrived, Trish woke me up with a light shake in my shoulder. Jacob, wake up, we're here. I wiped crusted drool off of my face. Bad dream? You were making a face while you slept.

It's nothing. It was... I dreamt a bug ghost was after me. Hey, Jacob, wipe that off your face and let's go. Mike called. Mike, please don't talk like that, not today. Ah, so you're Michael. The priest held out his hand to Mike.

and introduced himself as Father Davidson. Sorry, Father. Trish gave a Kirk bow. This here's Jacob. He's the newest addition to the crew. Ah, Jacob, he who wrestles with God. The father smiled and took my hand. It is a pleasure to meet you, my son.

I've heard good things about you. I trust you have all the... Brought all the talismans. reached beneath our shirts and poured out the rosaries. Ah, ha, ha. You're really not supposed to wear them, but it'll do. Of course, these will only protect you if you have faith in them. Turning to Mike, he said,

how do you have faith, my son? Of course I do. Might look sternly into the eyes of the priest. I subscribe to the faith that's all about money. He smiled and gave the father a light jab in the shoulder. Yeah, Catholic just like you. This is serious, Michael. I don't believe I can allow you in the room if this is how you're going to behave.

The devil will take your humor as a weakness and use it against you. He has many tricks and will manipulate you in every way. I ask you again, do you have faith? Father, I have faith. It may not be your faith, but I have my beliefs. Mike took the rosary off and held it. in his hand. He started saying the prayers, starting with the act of contrition. Ah, very good. Now, all of you have come. Please do not be taken aback by what you'll see.

I promise all of this is a necessity, and you'll find out why soon enough. With those words, we followed Father Davidson. Walking through the church, past all the empty pews was surreal. It hadn't been in a church for years. I imagined old women praying. taking to their knees out of desperation and devotion. That's the kind of woman my grandmother was. Well, we walked up to the altar. Following Father Davidson's lead, we each took a knee and did a quick sign of the cross out of respect.

Behind the altar was a hallway that led to the rectory and to rooms for the CCE classes. The rectory was essentially a small office lined with many books. It was dimly lit, and on one shelf there was a candle burning with an image of the Virgin Mary printed on the side. Mike nudged me. See? Told you they were legit.

There was a door in the rectory that led to a descending staircase. The light there was even worse. Only two bulbs lit the way, one at the top and one at the bottom. In between there was about ten feet of pure darkness, and at the bottom was a large metal door that almost looked older than the father. He turned to faces, and I noticed that the air was cold. Hold steady to your faith, and God will protect you. Do not engage it, do not listen.

These men are professionals, and they will handle this. Stay back and observe. As soon as the large door eased open, just an inch, we heard crying. At the center of the room, secured to the bed with a chain and metal collar, was a little girl. Two young men stood on either side of the bed, Bibles in hand praying quietly to themselves. Please, she cried out. Get me out.

They're going to touch me again. Please. Almost involuntarily, I rushed toward the bed. I pictured in my mind all of the things that they'd been doing to that poor girl. She was chained to a bed. This kind of filth could not go on. But one of the men hit me in the head with his Bible and I fell back. I shook off the shock and looked into the face of the man who'd struck me.

He simply nodded toward the girl and continued praying. I looked at her. Her face was angular, like the skin had been stretched tight over her bones. Her green eyes were dilated severely, almost looking black. Oh, got your nose. In her hand she held a human nose, blood and cartilage hanging from it. I put a hand to my face and my fingers slipped into my sinus cavity. and the inside of my skull felt like the uncooked ground beef.

The thing on the bed laughed as Trish and Mike stood me up. I kept shouting and slapping at my face, trying to find my nose in vain. Mike picked up the rosary I dropped and put it back in my hand. He then grabbed my nose hard between his fingers. You're fine. It's still here. You're fine. I calmed down and looked at the thing on the bed, smiling wide with a mouth. full of dirty yellow teeth, it began to purr like a large feline.

They, um, influence your mind. Father Davidson told us over coffee later that night. The demon was still screaming at the top of its lungs in the other room. Almost nothing you see or feel in their presence is real. Well, that bit with your nose, for example. Yeah, I said, feeling embarrassed. That must be with a phrase, throw the book at you came from. That's pretty clever, Jacob.

A, uh, why do you guys chain her up that way? Mike asked. That's the way we found her. When her father reached out to us, he was in a very fragile state. The demon had been tormenting him through his daughter for a week. But it finally attacked him, biting at his throat and injuring him severely. He was able to bandage himself and bound her with chains. He was unable to improvise the conventing. you saw, engraving crosses around it to keep the beast at bay.

Ah, the poor man was afraid. That name that it gave, Trish asked. What did that mean? Ah, it was a corruption of the name Hecet-Shin. That's one of the 72 names of God in Hebrew. Each one is like a different aspect of God's power. What power is Hecichichin? The removal of guilt.

Part 2. Juniper. Preliminaries. The house was quaint. Every time we pulled up to home, I compared it in my mind to the Amityville house. This one was much smaller. It had a second floor, but didn't seem to reach much higher than necessary. The paint needed some attention, as it had started to chip in places.

The maroon colour had also begun to fade. grass was starting to breach parts of the sidewalk and the overcast skies didn't help the aesthetic. Mrs. Landon met us at the door and led us to the living room. The smell was something like pinasole and popery. On a large brown sofa sat Mr. Landon. He was a typical man in his late 40s. His brown hair was combed back, barely hiding how it was thinning and the grays were growing here and there. His wife sat next to him, her brunette curled.

was bobbing lightly. They both had the same haggard looks. Their eyes were desperate for sleep. Whenever they'd blink, it would last just a little too long. Mr. and Mrs. Landon might begin. Please give us a history of the activity. We're like doctors that way. We need the symptoms to identify the problem.

The couple exchanged glances. Mr. Landon sighed and gave a small nod. It started almost a year ago, Mrs. Landon said. A whole year? I asked. Ah, you see, that's just it. Mr. Landon chimed in. We didn't notice it then. It could go back even further than that. Mrs. Landon took a breath, and the two told their story.

Last year, a daughter turned 13. She did puberty in everything. She started getting interested in boys. She finally had that age where kids are really embarrassed by their parents. So we got her to box up all the stuffed animals and things she'd been piling in her closet. My husband and I took the boxes to the basement. We knew one day when she was older she might want them, and even if not, they'd always been nostalgic for us. One thing she did hold on to was a stuffed rabbit.

The rabbit had a friend, a bear named Ruffles. The bear went down into the basement with the rest of the toys, and the rabbit said, stayed in its place on our daughter's dresser. They're best friends, she told us once, ruffles and pringles. Well, every so often our daughter, Sarah, would storm out of her room holding ruffles and screaming about how she wasn't a kid anymore. She'd throw us the bear, and we'd put it back in the basement. We talked about it, and neither one of us had moved the bear.

So we decided Sarah must have done it. She'd probably taken the bear back and then felt childish she'd. about it, hence the childlike temper tantrum. Well, eventually that stopped altogether, with ruffles staying put in Sarah's room. After a few months of nothing, the bears started to move again, showed up in our shower on our nightstand, in our laundry. The strangest part was that every time we'd return it to Sarah, she'd look at it vacantly and thank us in a monotone voice.

Lately the bear has been active again, only now it doesn't just move. move, it shows up where something happens. My husband's work has been very stressful lately, and we've gotten into more than a few arguments. Every time there's a quiet shuffling noise, and then the bear is there. He'll be sitting on a table, or our bed just watching us. Last week, a picture of the family here in the living room shattered while we were watching TV. It didn't fall. The glass just broke.

There was that damn bear, sitting on the floor under it. and lately we've been hearing things in the walls called an exterminator but he couldn't find anything what bothers me most is we haven't seen the bear in three days sarah hasn't seen it anywhere she doesn't seem to care much at this point i'd rather have it move in room to room than not knowing where it is all right mike finished taking notes and sat back we'll be more than happy to take your case and be best you'd be best you'd get your family out of the house while we investigate. Depending on the strength and intent of the entity, it could last anywhere from a day to a week. Find a hotel. We'll start tonight.

Thank you. Mrs. Landon teared up and Mr. Landon put an arm around her. We appreciate this. Mr. Landon said. This, I just want to protect my family. I feel like there's nothing I can do. You definitely made the right call. reaching out to us.

Now, Mike said, there is the matter of the money. Once the family was packed up and shipped off, we set up our equipment. We'd come a long way since the Bachman case. With a lot of the money we'd earned from our work, we were able to afford motion detectors, small cameras and EMF readers. Mike still lit his candles and placed one in each room there. We'd also develop the habit of each carrying a rosary when we worked. The first night was uneventful.

Using our phones as voice recorders, we tried asking questions in each room. Who are you? And why are you here? Nothing we tried got any sort of response. Mike tried antagonising the spirit, but nothing came of it. With nothing else to do, Trish walked around the house with her incense and spoke to the spirit, pleading it to move on. Mike wanted to tell the family the house was clean. I mean, if nothing happened, we can tell him he's gone, and if it does come back, we can get a second bite at the apple.

The possession complex. Mike, you're a terrible human being, Trish said. He smirked and headed for the bar to get another drink. How did you two meet anyway? I asked. Seems like you two don't particularly like each other. We've actually been friends for a long time. Trish smiled. She didn't smile often, which was sad given how cute she was. Trish was actually a few years older than me, but looked much younger.

Her hair was black like mine, but so much darker, and her eyes almost seemed to match her hair most of the time. They were brown, to be clear, but were just so dark. I'd seen them change on the job when she was in touch with the spirit. Those eyes could go from a chestnut with excitement to black with melancholy. and her skin was pale, but in a pleasant ivory sort of way. I told her as much once, when I was too drunk to know better. Trish told me that no matter how hard she tried to tan, she only ever burned. Mike and I were childhood friends, actually.

We had a thing, I guess you could say. He's a lucky guy. He was a lucky guy. Now, though, I always feel sorry for dragging him into all this. Around junior year of high school, my abilities intensified and started to interfere with my day to day. But Mike always hung around. Even after we broke up, he wouldn't leave. After graduation, he started learning everything he could about demonology.

As I'm sure you've guessed, Mike has a problem with rules. So he started to piece together his own way of doing things. Like the candles? Yeah, exactly. He used to do this thing when he was a kid. I think he considered it some sort of game. But he would drag me out into this field behind our neighborhood and we'd catch grasshoppers.

I hated bugs, so I guess you was either teasing me or trying to tougher me up. I could bring these film canisters from home to catch him with. We'd sneak up on him and then pounce like a cat. He'd always yell, I'm a ninja, whenever he caught one. Oh, I'm so using that against him someday. Feel free. She laughed.

You know, I think that catching grasshoppers might have actually made my fear of bugs worse. Every now and then I have nightmares about bugs swarming me, and every time it sounds like bugs beating on the inside of plastic. Trish shivered then. God, that sounds the worst thing ever. I'd have to disagree. The worst sound in the world is the sound of silverware on someone's teeth. Jacob, you know how we leave the front door of the door of the world?

for home unsolid. The real reason we do that is to give the spirit an out. If you back something into a corner and there's no way out, it'll do as damnedest to go through you. Remember that. Get a room, you two. Mike sat down, chugged a beer, and lit a cigarette in less than 30 seconds. We were actually talking about work, I said,

sipping at my vodka and cranberry. Well, in that case, Mike took a long drag of his cigarette. I was thinking about something. We all know how dangerous that can be. Trish rode our eyes. Listen, what if people that are possessed aren't really, you know, possessed? Did we not witness an exorcism?

We all know these things exist, so please tell me how it's not real. Trish, look, I'm serious. One of these people aren't really being controlled by a demon. I think I remember something about how the devil can only whisper in your ear, not work you like a puppet. So, what if that's all it is? Just some really convincing whisper. What if everything a possessed person does is just the manifestation of all their inner evil?

Like, what if the demon just says the word and these people reveal their true self? All it takes is a whisper. Well, I have to agree with Trish. That's just not possible. Right. Mike looked lost in thought for a minute, and then he laughed. I really should not have gotten high after we left that house. Trish gave him a light shove, and he went flailing off of the bench.

You're just too beautiful, I told her. Trish smiled and shot me a wink. Juniper. imploring and imperative formulae. The second night at the Landon home was more eventful. We did our usual routine, salting the windows and lighting candles. Almost finished with the prep, Trish cooled down to us from upstairs. Well, Mike and I ran up, and we got there.

Trish was at the window, salt in hand. Hey, look at this. She began pouring a line of salt, and a breeze seemed to blow it away before it could be completed. Yeah, get the door. Mike said as he hurried to light a candle. I soldered the door just fine and turned to find Mike struggling with his lighter. He asked for mine and I handed it to him. Try as he might, he couldn't get the lighter to catch.

I turned the light on in the room and heard shuffling behind us. All three of us spun around facing the door. On the other side of the salt line was a teddy bear. I can't get in, Mike said. I'd try to solve the window again. Trish was able to get the window sealed with no problems now. Jacob, keep your eyes on the bear. Don't let it out of your sight.

Trish, try talking to it. He got out his phone to record for possible EVPs. What's your name? Why are you here? I checked the EMF and the thermometer. The temperature had dropped 10 degrees in the eVPs. EMF peaked before plummeting again. God damn it. Mike bolted for the door.

He looked desperately around the hallway. I told you to keep your eyes on the bear. Mike ran for the stairs and Trish and I went after him. Mike, get back here, Trish called. Look, I just blinked and it was gone, she said. When we got downstairs, we found Mike checking the cupboards in the kitchen. Oh, that was awesome. he said, with a huge smile on his face.

Let's check the cameras. The footage showed the bear appearing at the door. The hallway was dark, and the only thing that was visible was the bear sidestepping into the doorway. And when it disappeared, it took a single, slow step, and was gone. This is the best piece of evidence we've gotten. We have to find that bear. Could be the next Robert or Annabel. Mike was too excited.

He went from room to room looking for the bear but came back with nothing. The only place that he hadn't checked was the basement. It was a group we decided to head down together. We grabbed some extra salt, candles, and put on our holy holsters. Mike liked the idea of having holy water on his hip like a spirit gun. To me it felt like I was wearing a fanny pack. At least the ridiculousness kept me from being afraid. Well, the basement was dark.

and the lights didn't do much to fix that. It smelled like a storage unit would, stale and humid. We found the boxes with Sarah's things easily. It was sitting in a corner near a paved wall. Well, the water heater was across the basement on its own, so at least there was no chance of a fire. There wasn't much else down there.

Mr. Landon had a spot with tools and a workbench. Other than that, Sarah's things, and a section of holiday decorations. The basement was sparse. We split up to cover every nook and cranny, but nothing turned up. Nothing left to do. We decided to head back up.

Well, our lock-in was almost up. Daylight would hit sometime soon. Mike led us up the stairs and stopped at the top. Guys, he whispered, look, sitting a few feet outside the doorway was the bear. Mike ran at it and Trish tried to grab him. The door slammed and Mike hit it face first. He fell backwards and I tried to catch him before he hit the bottom of the steps.

The two of us rolled down the steps together and Mike landed on top of me. But his head hit the cement floor with a loud, wet crack. After a good five minutes, Mike finally came too. He told us about having some sort of delusion while he was out. But the first thing he said when he came around was, Oh, fuck you, Ruffles. Basically, when I passed out, I had a really weird dream. Mike took a sip of coffee.

The first order of business after investigating was getting breakfast. Well, except it wasn't really a dream, you know. What was this memory for middle school? You know how kids get all lovey-dovey before they really know what it means? Well, it was a girl back then. You can't remember her name. We had a thing. What was going on about how we loved each other?

Well, it didn't last long, obviously. It was a summer thing, and when winter came, it all fell apart. I meant my dad being a real dick about it. I was all broken up, and he just kept calling me a pussy, telling me to man up. I don't remember much else. But in this, I don't know, delusion. I saw that girl clear as day standing in front of a big tree.

There was snow everywhere, and she was telling me about how she loved some douche named Tyler. Anyway, I was crying. She was crying. It was a whole thing. I hadn't remembered all of this in a long time. One thing I do know for a fact is she didn't say what she said in that delusion. She told me, you're going to die alone, sad, alone, and screaming. Well, that's pretty bleak. I said. Like you said, it was some sort of hallucination.

You did hit your head pretty hard. That means I'm not supposed to sleep for a while, right? Man, really some Red Bull. It's going to be a long one. We went back to the hotel and looked over the footage. The only thing there was the bare footage. Nothing else happened on camera. Watching it again, it was almost like it seemed that toy had been swore.

by the shadows of the hallway. Its legs barely moved at all. If one wasn't aware that the bear had been known to move, it probably would have just looked like it disappeared. We called the Landon family and told them what we'd found. After a while, we decided to rest up for the next investigation. Part three. We got to the house around eight that night.

We checked the salt seals around it. Everything was still set up, so we got the candles going and went dark. Mike grabbed the thermal imager And we started our first lap of the house Her eyes were peeled for the bear But aside from a few groans from the house Nothing eerie happened those first few hours We'd take breaks to check the cameras or snack

During the investigation I let my mind wander When I was a child my family lived in a ruddy apartment complex I love living there My first best friend there A girl named Christina We had a small community centre with a small children's library. I read all manner of books from there.

It's my favourite thing about that neighbourhood. One day I was outside reading on the stairs. A bunch of older boys came by and started picking on me about something. This teenage girl from upstairs, I talked with and played with a few times, happened to come out while this was happening. She told the boys to shut up. When kids are evil, and they kept on. So she leaned over to me,

kissed me on the lips. That's my first kiss, and it was from an extremely attractive older girl. Well, needless to say, that shut them up. I'd completely forgotten about that. Mike and Trish were looking at the cameras, running through some footage on a separate screen. I told them I was heading up to the bathroom, and I went. The bathroom had a nice homey feel to it.

The shower curtain was a light purple with lotus flowers. The soap dispenser was a matching glass collar. Clearly Mrs. Landon had decorated this one. I looked around while I took a piss and smiled at the comforting touches. At the back of my neck itched, so I scratched it. When I was done, I sighed with relief. It felt like I'd been holding it in him for a week. I sighed.

I spun the whisper in my ear. There was nothing but darkness in front of me. I remembered. It was late, and I'd been at work all day. More than likely my sister, Lindsay, was still out showing off baby Danielle to her grandparents. I flipped on the light in the living room and dropped my keys on the table. In the light, I realised my zipper was down. God, I'm stupid. I bet they saw this work and didn't tell me. I was assholes. I zipped it up and went for the stairs.

It was hot as hell in there. My sister was always getting cold and would flip the heater on. Even if the heater was on, she'd still turn the heat up. She really needs to get her own place. She'd been living with me for a long time. My sister and I were pretty much best friends, as sad as that sounds. Her and her boyfriend, soon to be fiancé, David, were looking for a place. But he had to travel all the time for work, so needless to say, it was taking a while for them to get out.

I loved my sister, and the baby was actually pretty well behaved. She didn't wake me up very often, though the same couldn't be said for Lynn. I set the thermostat by the stairs. Sure enough, it was set to 85. Jake, I heard Lindsay call while I changed the temperature. Are that you down there? Yeah. Well, I've been caught in the act.

Jesus, Lynn, I said walking to the stairs. you really have to quit it with the heater. She was at the landing on the stairs, but the light was off, so I flipped it on. There she was, holding baby Danielle. She smiled that same smile she always had. One time she stuffed her face with a bag of Cheetos puffs, and her face was painted orange while she grinned.

Her hair was wet like she'd just gotten out of the shower, and her arms were slid open, tripping into a pool at her bare feet. Oh, fuck. I ran to her and she drew a knife to her throat. Don't come any closer, Jacob. The eyes were so wide, she must have been on drugs. Look, just put the knife down, okay. Come down here and let me bandage you up.

I understand things are stressful right now, but... No, you don't get it, Jake. Look at her. She ran a hand along the baby's cheek, smearing crimson on her face. She's just too beautiful. She raised the knife over the child, and I charged at her. I grabbed at her wrist, trying not to harm the child in the clash. She bit at my neck and got me good, but I was able to wrestle the knife away from her.

And after that, she just collapsed. I got the baby before it could fall. Lindsay lay there, convulsing for a few seconds before falling still. I tried talking to her getting to wake up, but... She just stayed motionless. I called 911 and knelt by Lindsay's side until they came. I cried, holding the baby. As the sirens neared, Danielle started crying too.

Then I opened my tear-filled eyes, and I was in the Landon bathroom, cradling a teddy bear. Looking down into its black inanimate eyes, I immediately felt cold. Ruffles slowly writhed in my arms. involuntarily I dropped the damn thing and slid myself across the tile. Then I realized it might get away, and quickly I grabbed a bath towel and slammed it over the bed. At that, it started flailing around like a cat in a bag.

I wrapped it up like a bundle and held it at arm's length. With my hair clearing, I finally heard Trish screaming downstairs. I heard something in the walls, only it didn't sound like one or something. it sounded like thousands. When I got down there I found Mike trying to snap Trish out of her fit. He slapped her twice, but that didn't even face her. I don't know where the fuck were you? He yelled at me as he scrambled around in one of our backs.

I've been calling you for the past ten minutes. That must have been one hell of a piss. I'd never seen Mike angry. The happy-go-lucky guy I'd seen was gone now. Furiously, he tossed the bag aside. and started on another one. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out two thick books, one of them the Bible.

He draped his rosary around Trish's neck and hid her in the back of her head with the Bible. And she flew forward and lay still on the ground for a second. Was that really fucking necessary? Mike helped her to her feet and threw his arms around her. Yeah, yes, it was. You had me scared, damn it. He let her go and looked her over.

You okay? Aside from the pounding headache, yeah, I'm fine. What was it? Did you see? He trailed off and Trish nodded. Hey, see what? I asked. No offense, Jacob, but it's none of your business.

What's with the towel sack? I handed it to him and explained about the bear. Mike shouted in excitement and pulled a small log box from under our workstation. Going on and on about how this was going to change everything for us, he opened the box and dumped the bear inside. And then he stopped. He just stared into the box and didn't move. What?

Trish asked, looking just as wary as I felt. Mike caught us over when we looked down. The bear had landed on its face. His body was expanding and contracting. It was breathing. Every time it exhaled, vertebrae could be seen in its back, ribs in its sides. Mike slapped at it, trying to flip it over. Finally, it turned.

Its face was twitching. The spot where its mouth should have been started to open. It started to tear open, fluff popping out. An autopsy incision started to form in its front. The sound of tearing fabric finally stopped. And dirty fingers started to creep out of the bear. Fuck that. I yelled as Mike slammed the lid down and locked it.

That was intense. He looked up at us with his idiotic smile. Oh man, we are going to be so rich. What? We slowly turned around behind us. Sarah was standing in the living room rubbing her eyes. What are you guys talking about? She asked with a yawn,

"'Um, honey, what are you doing here?' Trish asked as calmly as possible. "'Oh, my dad dropped me off. "'Said you guys wouldn't be here till late. "'What time is it? "'It's almost midnight. "'I was supposed to call him to come get me. "'I must have fallen asleep. "'He's going to be so pissed.'

"'Trish went over with her phone so the girl could call her parents. What kind of parent would let their kid roam around in a haunted house all day? They must be really busy to not... Hmm. I just want to protect my family. Mr. Landon's frustrated voice echoed in my ear. Mike, Trish yelled. Sarah had her arm wrapped around Trish's throat.

Mike rushed toward them hand on his hip. Let her go, asshole. He slipped the holy water out of its holster and showed it to the girl. I will fry your ass. That's funny, it laughed. Have you ever been to hell? It dug its nails into Trish's throat. It gets pretty hot.

A small stream of smoke was rising from its arm. The rosary Trish was wearing was burning it. Trish threw her head back, trying for a headbutt. It didn't connect, but it gave her. a chance to get a hold of her holy water and spray the demon girl in the face. It screamed and let go. Trish ran over to us and asked Mike for the book. He handed her the one that wasn't the Bible.

I glimps the title. Rituali Romanum. Lord, have mercy. Trish started. Lord, have mercy. Mike repeated. Christ have mercy. Christ have mercy.

I chimed in. The thing just laughed. You're no priests. You have no faith. You're all broken. The wall shook and pictures fell. Mike was fed up and ran at the demon. All it did was spread its arms and growl.

Come to me, my child, it said. With an open palm to its face, Mike slammed the demon down to the ground, head first. He stood, unwrapp. the rosary from his hand. The girl was still and unconscious now. Get her down to the basement. Mike said out of breath, bring salt, holy water and candles. We did as he said. When we had everything down there, we found him blessing chains from Mr. Landon's workstation. He wrapped them around the girl, binding her in the center of the room. The chain sizzled against the girl's skin. Trish proceeded to draw a circle of salt around her at Mike's direction.

We then placed five candles around the circle for extra security. When Trish started to begin the reading again, Mike stopped her. No, we just tried that and it laughed at us. We're doing this my way. She tried to object, but he stopped her. I know how this works. There's a formula to this, and that's all that matters. Mike wrapped a rosary around each of his hands and stepped in front of the girl.

He sat an hour farther and tossed holy water at her, and that's when she woke up. It laughed. The voice coming from the girl was low, guttural. It sounded like old wood creaking from strain. What are you doing, Michael? God, Mike continued, and this time a desperation we call for your help. call all you want she can't hear you we call on you lord sorry god's not in right now can i take a message dear god in heaven we ask you to please save this girl no it yelled the voice reverberating through the room

no he's not saving anyone your god has abandoned you your god is dead and it giggled "'What am I saying? "'You have no God, do you, Michael?' "'It stared deeply at Mike. "'Mike,' it said in a little girl's voice, "'I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore.' "'Shut up!' "'Mike flicked Holy Water,

"'and the demon flinched. "'I'm so sorry, "'you're going to die alone, "'sad alone and screaming.' "'His voice returned. "'And you, Jacob?' It grinned at me. Well, she's just too beautiful.

I shook my head trying to stop seeing my sister covered in blood. Look at her. It nodded at Trish. Isn't she just gorgeous? Once again, its voice changed. This time it was a breathy male voice. Ah, those legs, those breasts, just so sweet. Trish stifled a cry.

Dark drool was flowing through the demon's teeth and down its jaw. Lord, have mercy, Mike yelled. He tossed holy water as he spoke. Christ, have mercy. We plead with you, save this girl. The demon flinched, being barraged with Mike's attack. After a few more minutes of this, Mike moved forward. What is your name?

He asked calmly. My name? Satan. Mike splashed more holy water. What is your name? My name is Jesus Christ. What is your name? Jesus of Nazareth.

What is your name? Yeah, Mahvet. Mike rushed over and put both hands on the demon's face. The rosaries on his hands made the demon yell. Mike whispered rapidly into the demon's face. Lord, give her of life and hope, I ask you to free this girl, cage this beast, and send him down to hell. Lord, God, take this girl's soul into your hands, breathe your light into this body. In your name we plead, Lord, Jesus, amen.

With that, the demon's head went limp. It stopped moving. Trish, Jacob, wrap your hands like mine and get over here. We did, as he said. we all lay hands on the girl and started to pray The three of us each said a different prayer And the demons started to convulse under our touch Oh it screamed and screamed

And finally went still once more Color of the girl's skin started to return Mike checked her eyes and her pupils Were starting to contract to normal The demon had left Trish I asked while we waited for the Landons to come get their daughter. Do you know what that name meant? She flipped open the rituali

Romanum to the back. Father Davidson had written the 72 names of God there. She thought it over. Hmm. Yamavet. Yudmachtet. It was really what, but the closest thing I can find to it is Samachudet. What does that mean? Miracle making. I've been. I've After that horrible experience, we needed to blow off some steam. We needed to take time off to get out of our heads. We didn't even bother to clean our stuff out of the house. As soon as the Landon's left with their daughter, we went to a bar. This was hands down our worst case. I didn't ask about Trish's delusion, and they didn't ask about mine, although Trish did make a slight reference to it. So, you have a crush on me, dear Jacob? And if I do, and she'll give you a handy under the table, Mike winked. Mike, you were a terrible human being, Trish said. He smirked and headed for the bar to get another drink.

The two of us talked about nothing for a while. It was nice enjoying someone's company like that. Trish had a nice soft side to her, just like I'd found out Mike had his other sides too. I wonder, could we have something here? Trish smiled while she talked. It's a shame she doesn't smile like that more often. It's really cute. Mike came back and immediately started talking like a nutcase.

What if people that are possessed aren't really, you know, possessed? I thought about my sister again. There was definitely no way in hell that Mike was right. Not to mention what we'd just done. But the whole time he talked, I couldn't stop thinking about my sister. It was the saddest moment of my life. I knew my sister, and that wasn't her. I wished I'd noticed in time.

There are always signs. But the fact was I hadn't noticed. I worked all the time. I was never home. I could wish I'd been there for the rest of my life, and it wouldn't change anything. That's why I started working with Mike and Trish. Why do you want to do this?

Trish had asked back then. I want to help people. living or dead, it doesn't matter. Ah, so you have a Superman complex. You know, you can't save them all kids. No, but I can't save some, though. Right. Might look lost in thought for a minute, and then he laughed.

Really should not have gotten high after we left that house. Trish gave him a light shove and he went flailing off of the bench. I looked her over. My eyes moved up and down her body. she really was attractive. The alcohol gave me some false confidence and something in me stirred. You're just too beautiful, I told her.

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

and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.