Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep310: Episode 310: Really Evil Horror Stories

Episode Date: January 23, 2026

First up we have ''Latrodectus'' by Sinister Silver, narrated here with express permission from the author under the conditions of the CC.BY-SA 2.0 license:  http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Latrodectus Special thanks to my wonderful collaborator, Penny Dreadful Moment: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCUSaJp8UPiWgTsqD2r58yhg  Next up we have ''The Last One of the Family'' by Boe Whiskey:   /r/DrCreepensVault/comments/7002zv/the_last_one_of_the_family  Our third tale of terror is ''Knock Knock'' by Bree NicGarran:   This story was sent to me via email.  We continue with ''Don’t Shut the window'' also by Boe Whiskey:   /r/DrCreepensVault/comments/74irs0/dont_shut_the_windowToday’s next phenomenal story is ‘Killer vs Killer’, an original story by Suraj Singh Sisodia; shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the author’s express permission: https://explorerstales.blogspot.com/2020/06/killer-vs-killer.html https://www.reddit.com/user/beastboysuraj/ Today’s penultimate terrifying tale of horror is ‘The Wasting Room’, a fabulous original work by Santiagodelmar, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/Santiagodelmar/ Our final tale is ‘The Forest Gate’, a truly fabulous original work by the one and only Boe Whiskey, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-r-ddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/boewhiskey/

Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Weird or unusual things can evoke fear because they challenge our expectations and understanding of the world. The unfamiliarity, the strange or bizarre, triggers a primal fear response rooted in the human instinct for self-preservation as our brains are wired to recognize potential threats. Additionally, the fear of the unknown can be linked to a lack of control or predictability, causing discomfort and anxiety in the face of things that defecalions.

our normal understanding or experiences, as we shall see in tonight's three tales of terrifying horror. Now, as ever before we begin, word of caution. Tonight's story may contain strong language or descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Chapter 1. My lovelies. The world doesn't understand me.

They think I'm a mon. and that my work is grotesque and horrific. What they fail to realise is that I preserve beauty. If I let my lovelies grow old, they will decay and become wrinkled abominations. What I do to them is often necessary due to their resistance. It is rather unfortunate how they struggle, scream and cry. They don't understand my work either.

If they did, they would embrace the process, however unpleasant it may be. It certainly is no easy task to preserve something as natural as warm human flesh, after the life has left it. But you can learn quite a lot from having a job at a morgue. I know what you may be thinking, but I have never taken a body from work. I may sneak a few embalming supplies, out from time to time, but I wouldn't lower myself to using one of the badly damaged or just generally hideous specimens that go through that place.

I usually find one of my darling lovelies over dating services on the internet. Many sad and lonely women out there have their beauty go unappreciated. I aim to change that with my work. Once I have them in my workshop, I put them on my table. After they've been properly strapped in, I use a variety of chemical products with long and boring clinical names to touch up any superficial cuts from the acquisition process and fix any blemishes on the skin.

Then it comes time to preserve their beauty with an injection of embalming fluid. This usually causes my lovelies to quickly lose their painful lives. What I have to give them is greater, though. How many women's grooming products are dedicated to the idea of eternal youth and beauty? I can give that to them. Isn't the end of this suffering existence in a world of constant turmoil, a small price to pay for every woman's dream? Anyway, there are a lot of uninteresting details about the process.

Fluid needs to be drained, a mechanical pump is used, and several more injections are necessary. When the process is complete and the injection sites are concealed, they always look so beautiful. With their appearance preserved so perfectly, I often can't help myself. I simply must take them for my own. It's so magical to bond with someone once their beauty has been made permanent. I would love nothing more than to keep them all. But my home workshop is not large enough to house my collection. So, regrettably, I must often let go of one of my lovelies and dispose of them in the only way I know how to keep my work intact.

I clean and dress them up to the best of my ability and lay them in a field or a garden. I have a few words with my lovelies and take a picture to remember them by before I reluctantly leave them. I often pray that animals and insects leave them be and do not disturb their preserved radiance. Recently, it seems my work has garnered the attention of the police and lo. local news. They're calling me the embalmer. What a crude name for a beauty preservation artist. Chapter 2. The Test. Men don't understand me. They see me as an object. A prize to be won in some misguided competition of masculinity. It's really rather pathetic. But I could at least ignore those Neanderthals and they usually go away. after a while. The real animals are the ones who seek out weaker prey and think they can do whatever they please and they'll get away with it. Those are the kind of men that inspired me to

start fighting back. Of course, in order to do that, I have to go where they hunt, make myself appear weak. Most of the local dive bars are host a whole myriad of unsavory characters, so I never have to go far. It helps my case if I can go in looking reluctant, like a lost college girl whose sorority dared her to buy them a beer. The most difficult part is finding a balance between timid and sexy and what I wear. My blonde hair, hair usually gets me noticed pretty quickly. So I try to mess it up a bit to go along with the ruse. I use very minimal makeup and a pair of thick eyeglasses that makes me look more like a bookworm. I always make sure to pick out an outfit and that shows off just a little bit of skin.

But then I accessorize it with a kind of cheap costume jewelry that a poor college. student could afford. It's a delicate process. And sometimes I have to adjust the minor details to make myself more or less appealing. After all, that's what the ladies' room is for. Not that any of the bars I frequent have particularly clean washrooms, but I don't go there for quality service. Some nights I hang out in the corner or by the end of the bar, waiting for one of them to spot me. Then there are nights when I know exactly which would-be predator has his eyes on me. Usually, I'll have a glass of not very fine wine, and a man will approach offering to buy me another. I may accept, but I always make sure to pace myself.

He'll usually be drinking a beer, though the older ones tend to go for whiskey or scotch. I'll pretend to let my guard down and start to casually flirt, giving me an opportunity to have my hands near his drink. Nowadays women tend to be more careful about letting their drinks out of their sight. Men, however, don't give even the first thought to the possibility of being drugged. Even if you warned them, they'd probably laugh and joke about how getting slipped to roofy probably means that they got laid as well. What they don't realize is that sometimes they will be drugged, and there are far worse things that can be done to them while they're unconscious. By now, I know exactly when I need to ask. Do you want to get out of here?

in order for him to pass out in the dimly lit parking lot. I quickly drag him to his car or truck and take out his wallet. I take whatever cash is in there, and I look at his driver's license to find an address. I drive him there and scope out the place. Usually the guy lives alone and there's no problem. If he doesn't, I just quietly drop him off and leave. if the coast is clear. I bring him inside.

Sometimes this is particularly difficult because men can be quite heavy compared to women. Once inside, I go to his bedroom and strip him naked. I do the same and lie next to him. After a few hours, I give him an injection, providing just enough time for him to wake up and play my little game. It usually happens that morning after sunrise. He'll be foggy and have memory loss. But it is this very moment that I test him.

I tell him that we had drunken sex the night before and that I was a virgin before that. I also bring up the lack of birth control and allude to the possibility of pregnancy. Very rarely do the targets I pick handle this news with respect and kindness. If they did, I would give them an injection from the other vial. Let them rest in bed and quietly leave. However, this is a test that most of these selfish, shallow man-children consistently fail. It can get rough, and sometimes his anger is a bit

physical, but it doesn't take long for all that activity to wear on him. Within a few moments, he begins to feel dizzy and light-headed. Not long after that, he falls to the floor and loses consciousness. In less than an hour, he'll die from a nearly untraceable poison. Once he's motionless, I tuck him back into bed and walk away as if not. nothing happened. Afterwards, I go back to the bar to retrieve my car. The public eyes noticed what I've been doing. In a way, there are reports of dead bodies turning up as the result of unknown causes, but most are written off as natural. While I prefer anonymity, part of me wishes I could tell the world how I fight for women. I rid the world of the world of

the lettuous, misogynistic mouth-breathers that would steal a young girl's innocence and refuse to take responsibility for the consequences. I am nothing if not fair, though. After all, I always give them a choice. Chapter 3. The meeting. It seems the conveniences of the modern world can be fragile. The search from my latest lovely was interrupted by a sudden and unexpected loss of internet connection. A loss made all the more devastating as my need and desire to add to my collection grew stronger. Tonight I will attempt to fulfil that need the old-fashioned way, as it were, by going to a local watering-hole. She first catches my eye as I walk into the bar, feigning confidence. It's been a while since I've interacted socially without the aid of a backspace key to filter out some of my less appealing thoughts.

But she doesn't strike me as superficial, at least not enough to turn away a suitor at a minor slip of the tongue. No, I feel very differently about her. Golden locks of hair shimmer from atop her head. Yet it appears she either has difficulty styling it, or perhaps it has been disheveled from some rigorous activity. As I gaze upon her, I notice a large pair of corrective eyewear and some less than fashionable jewelry. She looks young, far too young to be in a filthy place like this.

I decide I must approach her and ensure that none of these vermin get to her. I approach modestly, but not with trepidation. I tell her she's far too beautiful to be in a den of debauchery where such beauty will undoubtedly go unappreciated. I also warn her, though not with intent to frighten, that she should proceed cautiously with so many womanizing scoundrels around. She receives my words well, and introduces herself. Her name is Tanya. Her voice is incredible. timid yet stern.

Something about it seems out of place, as though beneath her reluctant exterior, there was inner strength. Her spirit or her soul, perhaps, but of course it can be difficult to say about someone you've just met. I feel something different about her, though, something special, I suppose you would call it.

We talk for what seems like ours, on various subjects, likes, dislikes, hobbies, etc. Yet somehow, I can't tear my eyes away from her magnificent beauty. If only she didn't hide it so. All she would need is a bit of hairspray, contact lenses, a nice dress, perhaps some better joy, and a very few minor touch-ups with a makeup brush. Of course, that sounds like a lot, but it would be a very simple makeover, and she would look ravishing. Then again, if that happened, these bar-room troglodytes would be all over her.

After conversing for a few more minutes, I cordially invite Tanya to stay the evening at my humble abode. She's had a few glasses of wine after all, and is in no state to drive. I treat her with respect every step of the way, as a good gentleman should. I hold the door for her and carefully guide her head into the car, so she doesn't bump it into the roof. We arrive at my place, and I show her to the guest room, warning her not to go into the basement because it has a rat problem and has recently been fumigated. though the truth is that my lovelies are down there. I don't expect her to understand what my collection is and why I keep it.

For now, it is better to lie to her about such things. I bring her some sweatpants and a shirt to sleep in, both of which are probably three sizes too big to fit her small frame. She asked me why I haven't tried to make a move on her. I tell her I admire her beauty far too much to take advantage of her drunken state. She laughs and confesses that she was merely pretending to be drunk, so that I take her home. She claims she can hold her liquor much better than that, and even offers to take a field sobriety test in the hallway.

She walks a straight line over to me, and we start. kissing. We go into my bedroom and fall onto the bed. She asks if we have protection, which I affirm and she says, good. While you take care of that, I'll slip into something more comfortable. She leaves the room for what seems like an eternity. I prepare the contraceptive and anxiously await her return. Finally, she comes back wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt I'd given her, and we both share a good laugh about it. Stripping them away, she reveals a very enticing set of lingerie. She climbed on top of me, and we are entwined at last. Her soft, warm flesh feels like pure bliss as I stare endlessly into her deep, enchanting eyes. It is all so perfect, until she pours my head next to her

hers and bites me on the neck. I push her away for a moment and see that the look of desire in her eyes has changed to one of hatred and anger. She lunges back at me, trying to scratch and claw with an insatiable blood lost. I grab her by the throat and begin squeezing until the light in her eyes is extinguished. I thought she was different from the others. It's a shame she'll just be another part of my collection tomorrow. Right now, I feel a bit weary. I'll just sleep beside her for tonight. Chapter 4. The Basement. It's been a slow night at the bar, and hardly anyone is making a move. I begin to wonder if I need to adjust my wardrobe when suddenly he walks in. Immediately, I know that this little grin is a facade and that he's hiding something. He sees me and already starts

making his way over. I can tell this one's going to be tricky. He can barely hide his eagerness to talk to me. I get the, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this, routine from him. Though he phrases it a touch more eloquently, he claims that I'm far too too. He claims that I'm far too beautiful to be surrounded by such a crass and ill-mannered bunch of ruffians. I admit, it has a tad classier than the usual array of terrible pickup lines may news on me, but it is a means to the same end. I smile and introduce myself. He says his name is Jacob. He seems charming enough. Had I not been so intent on finding his dark side, I'm I may have even been fooled into thinking he was a nice guy, but I can see it in his eyes,

and then he's hiding something, and I'm going to find out what it is. He bores me for what feels like in eternity with meaningless small talk, and I pretend to be interested. What's worse is how he keeps staring at me. I get the feeling that he's admiring me, but also judging my intentionally modest wardrobe choices. Then again, if I were wearing a sexy dress, this creep probably wouldn't have the balls to approach me. Unfortunately, the bastard invites me back to his place. Before I get a chance to drug his whiskey, I can't say no if I want to keep him on the hook long enough to find out

what he's hiding. So I'll just have to be extra careful and rely on the element of surprise. I pretend to be tipsy, so he walks me out to his car. He holds the door and touches my hair as I sat down in the passenger seat. I suppose he thinks he's being a gentleman. We arrive at his place, which I expect to be a filthy bachelor pad littered with porn. Instead, there's a well-capped house, with enough room for a small family. He warns me not to go into the basement, claiming it has a rat problem.

But I immediately know, I have to find a way to get down there. You see, it's always the one place they tell you not to go that will house their darkest secrets. He shows me to his guest room and quickly retrieves some sweatpants and a t-shirt for me to sleep in. I turn on the charm and ask, Why a guest room and pajamas instead of your bed and my underwear? He says, because I respect your beauty too much to take advantage of you in such a manner. I laugh and tell him I was only pretending to be drunk, so he'd take me home.

Jokingly, I offered to prove it by walking a straight line. I walk right up to him, and we start making out. We go to his bedroom and I ask him if he has protection. He says he does. So I tell him to put it on while I change. I know this is my chance to see the basement. While he anxiously awaits my return, in order to make my excuse valid,

I quickly change into the sweatpants and shirt before I go. I make my way down the dark steps, feeling around for a light switch or a flashlight. There's an awful stench coming from deep within the basement. Smells like chemicals and death. And for a moment, I consider that maybe Jacob was telling the truth. Then, a thin string brushes past my face, and I reach for it. It has a little plastic piece on the end.

And I realize it must be a pool string for a light bulb. I pull down on it, and the room is illuminated. The cold stone walls are lined with dead bodies of women. All of them are dressed in various outfits, most of which are sexualized. I can also see makeup and jewelry carefully placed on each one. It takes everything I have not to scream in horror at the sight of them. Jacob is worse than any of the pigs I've ever tested before. He doesn't just objectify women.

He kills them. I quietly turn out the light and make my way back up the stairs. I go back into his bedroom and joke about how I changed into the sweatpants because they were more comfortable. I take them off, get on top of him, and we start to have sex. God, even now, he can't stop staring at me. I can't stop thinking. about what he did to those women, how he killed them, dressed up their bodies and did, God knows what else to them. It's all so sick. I pull him close, pretend to bite him on the neck,

and inject him with the poison. The day of the funeral was one of the longest days of my life. I could hardly hear any of the words of the eulogy or anecdotes shared by family and friends. All I could do was stare at the photos that passed in steady rotation on the screen. Whenever someone approached the front for their turn to share something, the projector will be blocked momentarily, and I will be able to break my gaze and look at the floor. This never lasted though, and within a couple of minutes I'd be back to staring at the pictures, lost in thoughts of how I would never see my sister's beaming face again. I felt my eyes begin to well up with tears when an image of Leah, myself and our parents was displayed. It was from our trip to

the carnival. We were all smiling and happy. I could never have foreseen the tragedy that would follow only a few short weeks later. No one could. could have. It happened almost a year ago. Lear and I were at home when an officer came knocking on the door. Being the older one at age 17, Leah answered the door. I can recall hearing a thud and rushing over to find that she had fallen to her knees. Our parents had been in a horrible car accident. The officer a graying man that was probably in his mid to late 40s, crouched down in front of Leah, asking if she was okay.

She didn't respond. Once I was standing beside her, Leah grabbed my arm and pulled me down into a hug so tight I thought my rib cage was going to be crushed. At some point the officer asked if there was anyone he could call to come be with us. Shortly after, our aunt and uncle arrived. Leah was in shock

and didn't speak for hours. When she finally was able to mumble something, she ended up rushing to the bathroom and vomiting. She was hysterical for days after that. We moved in with our aunt and uncle in the days following the memorial for our parents. Life never actually normalized in the next year, despite trying to continue like the typical 17 and 14 year olds that we were.

We were met with hesitant smiles that oozed pity for months. Everyone felt sorry for us. I was relieved when people finally stopped looking at me like a lost puppy. But here I was again, the lost puppy. sitting amidst a bunch of people I didn't care about and waiting for my sister to be lowered into the ground next to our parents no one seemed to really know what to say around me anymore I don't blame them

what are you supposed to say when someone who within a year of losing both parents had then lost her sister the three people I grew up with were now gone even being worried about what words to use in my presence. I knew what most of them were thinking. Poor Amy losing her sister like that. How could Leah throw away her entire life? How could she leave her little sister?

They blamed Leah for taking her own life. But I didn't. I understood. Lear had never been the same after our parents. The funeral continued, and everyone moved to the cemetery for the burial, myself included. A few final words were shared. A poem was read, and the casket was lowered into the ground. My body felt numb as I watched.

Slowly, everyone began to leave until the only ones left were my aunt and uncle, myself and the burial custodian who was completing preparations to return the soil back to the hole my sister was now laid in Amy do you want to stay here for a bit longer my aunt asked me touching my shoulder lightly I nodded

okay we'll wait for you at the car take all the time you need my uncle chimed in I only nodded again in response. I listened to their soft grassy steps received and took a deep breath, the exhale ragged and broken. I didn't want to cry anymore, but it would seem I didn't have a choice. The tears that had been welling up off and on throughout the day finally made their way to the corners of my eyes and began slipping down my cheeks.

I knelt down and sat on my heels, facing the two headstones and open, occupied grave. Absent-mindedly, I plucked blades of grass from the ground and began dropping them into a pile. I'm not sure how long I sat there with my family. The attendant left at some point without me realizing it. I was alone now in every sense. I had my aunt and uncle, but they weren't my parents.

They weren't Leah. How was I supposed to return to school, where everyone would be walking on eggshells around me? How was I supposed to learn to drive? Who was I going to share my crushes with? When their silent tears stopped flowing, I stood and turned away. As I solemnly walked to the car, a single thought repeated in my mind.

How dare you, Leah? I didn't eat dinner. I didn't feel like I could stomach a single bite of anything. As soon as the sun started to fade, I shut myself in what was now only my room. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to escape everything. I just wanted to sleep.

The black dress, stockings and heels that I had so carefully picked out that morning, now lay in a heap on the floor where I had thrown them. They felt dirty, tainted somehow. I donned a brown tank top and shorts before climbing under my combs. Before lying down with my head on the pillow, I sat there, looking around my room. It was a mess of clothes, books, various lotions, knick-knacks, pictures and papers. Despite this, it still felt empty, without leer in the bed opposite mine. When I lay down, I couldn't help but feel a few salty drops sleep onto my pillow, as I stared.

at the empty bed. My eyes fluttered open and blink sluggishly as I looked to the alarm clock on top of my dresser. It read 2.47 a.m. Why had I woken up? Instead of facing Lear's bed, I was now facing the wall on my other side. I watched for a few minutes as shadows grew and shrank on it from cars passing by. I was ready to give up on it. trying to determine why I was awake. When I thought I heard a soft laugh from behind me. I flipped over and sat up quickly when I realized it couldn't be Leah giggling from something she read like she used to.

Leah was gone now. When I saw that the bed was empty, I sighed. She would never be sitting in bed reading comics ever again. I scanned the room and found it to be the same, devoid of any other life than my own. I eased myself back down to my pillow, concluding that I must be missing Leah more than I realized. I closed my eyes, not to sleep, but to remember. Why did you have to do it, Leah? I loved you, you were my sister.

so why did you have to do it? I thought back to our final conversation. It had been less of a conversation and more of a fight. She'd been going through a box of old notebooks and schoolwork, trying to find something when she discovered the old composition notebook I used to use as a journal. She skimmed through it to figure out what it was, and when she came across an entry I'd written,

shortly before our parents died, she confronted me. It quickly turned into yelling at one another. She demanded to know why I would write such things about our father. I tried to explain to her that it was all true. The nightly visits, the hidden bruises, the pain in specific areas, the loss of my virginity. When she refused to believe me, I screamed at her that she was just like our mother, who did nothing and ignored my pleas for help to make it stop.

Leah just couldn't and wouldn't believe that our loving parents, the ones who did everything they could to give us whatever we wanted, could be so crass and malicious. She threw the notebook at me and told me that I would, was full of shit, that I just wanted attention, and I'd do or say anything to get it, that I'd always lie to put the spotlight on myself. I cursed at her and stormed out of the bedroom, then through the front door, slamming it with a loud bang behind me. Once I knew my aunt and uncle would be home from work, I returned for a quiet dinner. Because it wasn't unusual for us to barely

speak. They didn't have any idea about the argument Lear and I had just had a few short hours ago. The following morning, I'd been jolted awake by a scream when my aunt discovered Lear in the backyard. It was ruled as suicide immediately and determined that the cause of death was strangulation. They speculated that she wanted to be absolutely sure she would die, as they found cuts on her arms and a large dose of hypnotic medication in her system. No one could say why she'd wanted to meet death so desperately. It was heartbreaking, but people weren't entirely surprised, given how melancholy and miserable she had seemed.

Now, as I lay there in the dark, eyes clenched tight. Remembering that final day with my sister, I felt guilty. The last things we spoke to each other were hurtful. I rolled onto my side and buried my face in the pillow. I sobbed until I couldn't breathe out of my nose anymore. Reluctantly, I pushed the blankets aside and shuffled into the bathroom to retrieve some toilet paper. I blew my nose and discarded the snotty tissue.

I tore off another piece and was wiping my nose when I turned, and saw the mirror. My blood ran cold. My heart stopped. My lungs captured a gasp and held it. I wanted to scream, but my vocal cords forgot how to function. Next to my own reflection was Leah.

Her skin looked pale. her brunette hair stringy and lackluster her eyes drab but angry she glared into my reflection i spun around more out of reflex than anything else i expected to see nothing but there she was standing just behind me her material countenance was more terrifying than her reflection her skin looked thinner than when she was alive. Purple and blue veins stood out against the pale, grey flesh that she now possessed. I saw the bruising around her neck from where the rope had tethered her to the tree.

She grinned with blue-grey lips, as she held her hands out, palms up to me to show me the cuts along her wrists. Darken blood dripped steadily from the wounds and onto the bathroom floor. I backed up to the counter and gripped the edge with both hands. Leah took a step forward, bloodied arms still reaching out to me. Her grin widening.

Aside from anger, I could see determination in her cold eyes. Leah was always the type to fiercely pursue what she wanted. She took another step forward. and I leaned back as far as I could, the edge of the countertop pressing hard against my body. Frigid hands cut my face as my dead sister leaned forward, staring directly into my eyes. Oh dear, Mom and Dad know what you did, cutting the brake lines on their car. They and I also know how you made sure I wouldn't tell anyone what I figured out. Tell me, did you really think you get away with this?

On the night of October 27th, 2004, several residents on E Road in B called the local police station to report a disturbance at the home of one of their neighbours. The reports indicated that a possible home invasion was in progress as a number of people in dark clothing had been seen moving furtively around the property acts later determined to be the residence of one Alice L, a single female in her mid-20s who lived alone. Some callers reported Ray's voices, which were taken to be indicative of a confrontation between the homeowner and a possible assailant. officers arrived on the scene at 23-23 hours approximately two minutes after a 911 call

indicated that a young woman was seen confronting one or more possible intruders at her front door however the caller could not give further information due to a sudden search in the local electrical grid which shut down the power for the entire neighbourhood when the responding officers searched the residence The front door was ajar and there was no sign of Alice L.

Investigators noted that there was no sign of forced entry or struggle inside the house. The subject's possessions were all intact including valuable electronic equipment and a set of car keys left in plain view. The vehicle they matched was still in the driveway. The only evidence at the scene was a partial set of footprints in the gravel walk

which led around to the rear of the house, and these were discarded on the grounds that they were too small to belong to an adult. It is believed that they were made by one or more of the neighbourhood children, although investigators have not been able to determine which child in particular, nor when the footprints were made. The following missive was found by police

during the subsequent investigation. The pages were scattered on the floor of the living room, It is believed that they were originally stacked on a table in the foyer and were blown off by a breeze from the front door, or disturbed by the entry of officers H and N. It is believed that the subject wrote an account of certain odd goings on in the days and possibly minutes leading up to her disappearance. Investigation into the matter is ongoing, though the case officially went cold in the spring of 2010, and no new leads have been generous. in quite some time. As of this writing, no trace of Alice L has ever been found. The written document found at the scene remains the best and only insight into the subject's life

immediately before she went missing. I'm not sure who is going to be reading this. I'm not even sure who would believe me if they did. But I have to get it down on paper. I have to. somehow is not quite real when I tried to put things together in my head. But with writing, it becomes clearer. In any case, by the time anyone reads this,

I doubt I'll be around to listen to their criticisms. I doubt I'd care even if I did hear it. Because there are lots of stories in this world, real and imagined. And this one, Well, this one is mine. I've never been a big fan of other people. Even when I was a child myself, I felt out of phase somehow. My classmates seemed to shun me, not out of any particular malice,

but simply in the way that a round hole shuns a square peg. Of course, the fact that my family moved just about every other year for most of my life and didn't help matters much. It started when I was in grade school, and there never seemed to be any reason for it. My folks didn't have military contracts or job transfers. I'd just come home and find another for-sale sign on the front lawn. I spent so much time feeling disconnected from the people around me,

but it started to feel normal by the time I was in my 20s. Living alone wasn't so much a choice as a necessity. I didn't have any close friends. I had no siblings, and since my teens, I'd been getting a strong impression that my parents really wanted me to leave. That impression waned somewhat, when they helped me lease a small house of my own for my 23rd birthday, but solidified again later. Overhearing a conversation expressing relief at your forthcoming absence will do that. Nothing like hearing your own parents say that they, can't wait until their own kid is out of their hair for good.

So, that's how I wound up in this two-bedroom rancher. I have a job with one of those big software companies. So the second bedroom is my office, and that's where I spend most of my time. A lot of the clients were overseas, so my hours are pretty scattered, and often extend into the small hours of the morning. doesn't leave much time for a social life. I don't mind it much, though. Computers are nice and predictable.

Very few problems that can't be solved with a new patch or a look at the instruction manual. People are complicated. They don't come with instructions. They lie. They laugh at you. They kick you when you're down. Yes, it's people you have to look out for.

It was on one of those late nights that all of this started. I'd just taken a break from a template redesign, I was walking out to the kitchen for a snack, when movement out of the front window caught my eye. I went over for a close of lock. There was a kid standing in my driveway. I couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl through the gloom, but it looked like they were wearing a hooded sweatshirt. I figured it was just one of the neighbour's kids, sneaking out.

I didn't know anyone on my street by name, so I couldn't have told you whose kid it might have been. In any case, it was none of my business, so I got my snack and went back to work. About ten minutes later, somebody knocked at my door. Now, sometimes I order a pizza or take away tie when I can't get away to cook something, but on this particular night, I hadn't.

Rumbling at the interruption, I went to answer. If it was that kid from earlier, I was going to be pissed. Sure enough, I could see the same kid through the window, standing on my front step. I went to open the door, ready to tell the kid to go the hell home. But then I stopped. Something felt wrong. My eyes were glued to the same. silhouette behind a frosted glass.

My hand frozen on the door handle. A strange, cold feeling crept into my stomach, like I'd swallowed a lump of ice. For one split second, my entire being was filled with an overwhelming certainty that if I opened that door, something awful was going to happen. The figure outside raised a hand and knocked again.

I nearly jumped out of my door. skin and then had to laugh at myself of being such a candy house. I'd handled living alone just fine, and I could damn sure handle one annoying little ding-dong ditcher, even if the kid was planning to try some stupid prank. Leaving the security chain latched, I opened the door just enough to peer out at my visitor. The porch light cast the kid's face in shadow, but I thought I saw short hair and boyish features underneath. I couldn't decipher an exact age. An educated guess might have been somewhere in that indeterminate period between 11 and 13. His jeans were dirty. Likewise, the battered sneakers on his feet. The red hoodie looked oddly damn. Had it been raining?

I couldn't recall hearing rain on the roof. More importantly, what was the kid doing walking around at this time of night. Hey, I said. Proud that my voice sounded firm and confidence. No trace of a wall. You need help, kid? Can I come in? The question sound rehearsed,

like the kid was reading from some hidden script. He made no move to raise his head, and I still couldn't get a good look at his face. Um, excuse me? Can I come in? Are you lost? Do you need me to call your parents or something? I need to call my parents.

Let me in. That chill rippled up my spine again. Something had sounded off that time. Not just like the lines were rehearsed. But as though the kid were using a stage voice. It had just slipped. Something was underneath that childish toe. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was nothing good.

The security chain suddenly looked a whole lot less secure. Listen, I said. If you want me to call somebody, I'll do that. Are you in trouble? Do you want me to call the cocks? Silence for a moment. Then the kid raised a fist and banged on the door again. The sound echoed like cannon fight.

The blow vibrated the whole frame, making the glass panes rattle. Hey, what the f-let! Let me in! There was no mistaking the menace now. There was such malice behind that voice, such anger, more snarl than speech, and a strange undertone like the screech of tearing metal. That was not a child's voice. There was just no way. another blow struck the door.

I rushed to close it. The kid was looking straight at me through the gap under the security chain. I could see his face now, and it made that sick, chilly feeling creep into my gut again. His skin was white, whiter than salt, whiter than cracked ice, whiter than snow. white like paste or paper with a too perfect finish like someone had sculpted it fired it and sanded it smooth

a facsimile of a child's face a life-sized doll but the eyes they are the worst pitch black pools of lifeless ink horrible in contrast to the horser's skin.

The porch light made stars of half-consumed light in their depths, but only just barely. The child thing smiled, and one thin hand reached toward the gap in the door, toward the increasingly flimsy-looking chain, the only thing between me and this thing from the pit. I threw myself against the door. The kid jumped back to avoid losing a finger as it slammed. shuns. I threw the dead bolt and leaned against it, waiting for another blow. It never came. After a few seconds, I heard footsteps on gravel and realized with a terrified jolt that the kid, the thing, was moving around the side of the house. I dashed for the back door and bolted that

too. Barely seconds later, the knob began to rattle. Unlike the front door, this one had no glass panes, only a peephole. For once I was grateful for that. The footsteps circled the house for the next several hours. I closed all the blinds so no one could see in, and huddled on the couch in that living room. Baseball bat in hand, staring at the front door. At any second, I expected to hear another knock, or the sound of breaking glass from one of the other rooms.

The thought of calling the cops, as I'd threatened to do earlier, did cross my mind. But what could I tell them? 9-1-1, what is your emergency? Um, yeah, I'm trapped in my house and there's a creepy-looking kid walking around outside. At best, they'd laugh at me. At worst, I could be fine for prank calling emergency services. Either way, they wouldn't send help. No, I was on my own.

Story of my life. Around 5 a.m., I realised that I hadn't heard the footsteps in a while. I risked a peek through the blinds in several rooms. It showed that kid thing had vanished. I hadn't heard it leave. It was just gone, as if some distant timer had dinged. and the lurker had vanished with the snap of its chalk white fingers. I went through the rest of the day in a bit of a daze,

trying to wrap my head around the night's events. Was it some sort of elaborate prank? Something involving sclera contacts and voice modulators. Had I had some bad takeaway and just dreamed the whole thing? Was I finally losing it after too many late nights been staring at a computer screen? Well, I tried to work, even though it was my day off. That was my usual go-to when I didn't know what else to do with myself.

Work and more work. It felt safer outdoors while the sun was up. But when the afternoon started to wane, I still made sure all the doors and windows were locked. I finished early, so I made myself some dinner and settled in to watch a movie. A little bit of paranoia kept me glancing at the front door, but all was still. By 1 a.m., I had almost managed to convince myself that I'd imagined the whole thing. There was no creepy kid that I should just pack it in and get some much-needed sleep.

And then, I didn't want to look, but somehow I had to. I crept at the front door, and sure enough, there was that kid. kid-sized silhouette behind the frosted glass. One arm raised. Let us in. That same inhuman tone. That same underlying snarl. It wasn't even bothering to pretend.

I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't dreaming and I wasn't crazy. This was happening. We know you're there. Let us in. Wait. Us? What did it mean? Us. A second set of knocks on the back door. My heart thumped so hard it almost choked me. There were two of them.

Go away! I yelled. Go the hell away and leave me alone. I'm calling the cops. Us in. Get lost. I grabbed my bat again glad I'd locked up well before dark I went to find myself up the hell with being laughed at and the hell with fines

I was calling the cocks one weird little kid playing a prank could be ignored but two of them working together two nights in a row no that couldn't be ignored I flicked over to the dial-pad and was about to tap in the emergency number when I heard it. Not on the door this time. God help me. It wasn't the

door. It was my bedroom window. Heart hammering against my ribs, I turned. And there, standing just outside the window, not even three feet away, was a little girl. I could only see her outstretched hand in the top of her head, but that was enough. Her nose was level with the sill, and a pair of dead black eyes were looking straight in at me. The tiny hand that reached up to wrap against the glass was corpse white. The tiny fingernails were an odd shade of bluish-gray, as if the blood that flowed beneath was something other than crimson. I heard her little voice through the window, tinny and nasal, overlaid with a rising yowl like an angry cat. Let us in! I yanked the blinds down and dashed across the hall into my office.

The window pane there was mercifully empty for the moment. I wasted no time in drawing the blinds there too. I pulled the tall bookcase in front of the window for good measure. The knocking, continued for hours, as did the footsteps circling around the house. A few times they knocked on the window on the other side of the bookcase, but I stayed quiet, crouched inside the closet, waiting for the sun to come up. The next night, they came back, and the next, and the next. With each visit their numbers grew, until it sounded. sounded like there was a small hand knocking on every square inch of the walls and windows.

A bevy of screeching whispers followed my every step and filled my dreams with a never-ending chorus of, Let's us in. I stopped sleeping. I barely made it through my workdays. I only ever left the house in the broadest daylight. I always searched each room thoroughly when I returned, half dreading that one of the little monsters would somehow get in and be crouched under my bed or behind a door,

waiting for me. What could I do? The house was all I had. My parents weren't going to take me in. I didn't have any friends to call, nor did I have the money for a hotel. Moving was out of the question, and anyway, it wouldn't happen fast enough to help me.

I was on my own. I covered my windows with newspaper to block out the sight of those small shapes darting by. I couldn't tell exactly where they were, but at least they couldn't see me either. The baseball back was never out of my reach, not for one second. I didn't know how much good it would do against these things, but if they were, determined to get to me, then I was just as determined to go down swinging. On the seventh night, as I huddled in my office closet with bat in hand, I heard the voice of the boy thing from the very first night, right outside the window.

Alice, I nearly had a heart attack. I know you can hear me, Alice. Let us in. Get Ben, you little creep, I muttered under my breath. We have so much to tell you, Alice. There is so much you need to know. Let us in, Alice. Adrenaline and anger flooded my veins, driving away the fear for a few blissful seconds. I thumped the bad heart against the wall,

as if it could magically pass through and smack the creeper in his pasty china dolphin. Go away! I screamed at the top of my lungs, not caring how hysterical it sounds. Get the hell off my property before I come out there and beat your rotten heads in. Oh, you won't do that, Alice. Crap, since when was calling my bluff part of the plan.

Oh, we know you, Alice. You're ours. You've always been ours, and we. know you so very, very well. Just let us in. That scared me more than anything. This wasn't random. These things hadn't just decided to torment someone. They'd happened to discover living alone on a dead-end street. No, they knew my name. They were looking for me, trying not to hyperventilate. I put my fingers in my ears, curled into a ball on my closet floor, and stared at the bookcase covering the window until the feeble light of dawn glimmered around the edges of the dark wood. That day, I blew off work in time and dove head first into the internet, looking for information.

A lot of wild theories circulated about weird creatures that look like black-eyed kids who'd knocked on me. people's doors. Some sites said they were demons. Others insisted they were aliens. Still others had wild theories about the spirits of murdered children. I was at a loss. There was too much speculation and not enough hard evidence for me to draw any sort of conclusion. The only thing the various sites agreed upon was that the only defense against these black-eyed kids was to lock your doors and windows and refused to let them in. Not one mentioned what to do if they came to your house more than two nights in a row. Three more nights passed. More knocking, more voices, more please for entry. I was in agony. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't even think. The whispers were echoing in my head

the daytime by that point. I tried to block the sounds out with noise-canceling headphones, but the voices seemed to be inside my thoughts as well as outside my home, like a thousand tiny fingers tapping on the windows of my mind. The bat had ceased to be a comfort. Nothing felt safe. When the sun went down tonight, I knew they would come, knew it long before the knocking began. before the voices leaked through the windows before the whisper swelled into a scream and my own ragged cries joined the cacophony Alice

Alice Let us in Let us in Sobbing I bolted from the closet and made for the front door I don't know what madness drove me I wasn't feeling brave or heroic or even angry anymore. I just wanted it to stop.

I ripped the newspaper of the window beside the door and flicked on the porch light. I froze. I felt my heart gave a terrified, irregular jerk against my ribs, as if it too wanted to escape the sight. There weren't just a few of them now. Not even a dozen. They had to be close to 50, maybe more. All in those damp red hoodies. All standing stock still were those soulless eyes fixed on the house.

Hell's own child choir. A congregation of black eyes and whispering mouths. Through whose pale lips I imagined a faintly glimpsed jagged, sore blade teeth. I could hear them through the door. We know you, Alice. You belong with us. Let us in. Let us in.

Shut up. I bang my fist against the glass. Shut up, you creepy little bastards. I'm not letting you in. Go away and leave me alone, damn it. The whispers stop. The silence that followed was almost louder than the voices had been. They seemed to withdraw from the front porch ever so slightly.

I didn't see them exactly move. They were just on the step one second, and then I blinked, and there were several feet further back on the walkway. Another blink, and that familiar face was inches away on the other side of the glass. He seemed to have gotten taller somehow since that first night. As if my fear was some sort of growth stimulant, our eyes were almost leveled with each other, and I stared into that pitiless darkness.

Terrified that, if I blinked again, I'd suddenly find him beside me inside the house. Deep in those hollow voids, I thought I saw faint sparks the colour of rotten limes. Alice. Up close, his mouth looked like the moor of some primordial beast, too large for his face and full of teeth that sprouted like shards of broken glass from pale greenish gungs. He smiled at me and the grin stretched halfway around his head. It's been a long time. A long time. What the hell did he? he mean by that? Was this all some sort of sick jokes of them? I haven't seen you since you were very small. You've grown, Alice, grown out of your pigtails and into your very own house. Our little girl lost, all grown up now. What the hell are you talking about?

You're ours, Alice. We lost you when you were very small. But now we've found you again. Lost me was falling into the bottomless pit behind those eyes. Something was nagging at the back of my mind, like pieces of a puzzle that don't quite fit, trying to put themselves together. Your parents asked for you, Alice, begged for you. They brought sweets to the toadstool ring and soft, dead things to the old oak.

They pleaded and cried, told us their child was dead, asked us to give them another. So we gave them you. The world seemed to fall away beneath my feet. This couldn't be real. My parents were my parents. My mother had carried me, given birth to me. How many times had they told me this story of how my father had nearly fainted in the delivery room.

They recounted it every year on my birthday, and they laughed. I had a birth certificate with their names of it. I was their child. Wasn't I? But our children are not like human children. The thing outside the door continued. They looked like human children. walk and talk and breathe and eat and cry the same,

but there is always something just a little off. The mortal ones, they can't explain it, can't even put words or reason to it. When they feel it, Alice, they feel the strange in you. Haven't you ever wondered why the world seemed to hold you at arm's length? Why no one wanted to get close to you, Why even your parents never seemed sure of you. I'd never even given it a second thought.

I'd always assume that other children just didn't like the new kid who just arrived at school. Or the weird kid playing at the edge of the playground. I'd always assumed that my parents hadn't wanted children. Or maybe that I wasn't the kind of kid that they'd wanted. But, looking back, everyone I'd ever met had gone. given me the same look, cautiously friendly at first, and then, inexplicably wary, uneasy, like I was some wild thing that might bite if provoked. Your parents did not honor the bargain, Alice. You were only meant to be theirs for a short while before you came home, as all our

children do. We tried to find you, Alice, for so very long. We tried. But you just kept moving, pop scotching from one sound to the next. Whenever we came calling, they'd pack up and run. And then you grew up and they sent you away. All those unexplained changes of address. The strain looks on my parents' faces when I'd asked why I had to change schools yet again.

The silence of clenched jaws on an early morning car ride I could own he just barely recall. Why had we moved so much? I felt a few more puzzle pieces slide into place. A picture was beginning to emerge. The grin was softening now. It looked almost friendly. But now we've found you, Alice. We've come to take you home, as we should have done all those years ago. Open the door. The thing raised one hand and stick thin fingers with tips the same shade as new moss. Tap gently against the glass. Let us in.

My throat was drier than a thousand deserts. It seemed to close on itself as I tried to summon the will to choke out the words. Who? What are you? The sea of smiles opened in my yard, cavernous eyes lit with spring-colored sparks. I almost heard the words before the whispers came. Family, family. Your family, Alice. We are your family.

The tall boy on my porch smiled, and there was something like affection in it. Alice, it's time to come home. I don't know quite how I ended up on the couch, but I know I've been sitting here for a long time, riding this all down. Like I said, it makes more sense that way, makes the pieces fit together in my head. I check the internet too, just once more.

And there's a word for this sort of thing. For stolen children, substituted children. You don't see it much outside of the old fairy tales, but it does exist. Changelink. Yeats even wrote a poem about it. Come away, O human child, to the waters and the wild, with a fairy hand in hand, for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. There are so many more like me. People they've lost as children for one reason or another, that they come to retrieve.

But if those people have spent too much time away, they don't recognize their family anymore. They just know there's something strange, something off about the kids knocking at their door. And fear makes them run, like I did. I don't know why my parents did what they did. Why they asked for me. Why they held on for years to a child that they couldn't bring themselves. to love. Why they didn't just give me back when it became apparent I was too strange, too other for their safe little world. Maybe they wanted to keep trying. Maybe they were desperate. I don't know. It doesn't really matter now. The kids in the red hoodies are still outside, but there's no more knocking, no more whispering. They're just standing there, like

they're waiting for me these fay inhuman things my family and I think I think I'm ready to go with them now in my bed I'm rubbed in my

cozy blankets all around me the usually night time set darkness surrounds me as I drift into sleep Not a single sound from the world, not even peep. A cold shiver crawls its way down my spine. My eyes widen, taking in every detail rough and fine.

I observe every shadow looking for a movement. Not a single moment wasted, everyone wisely spent. No sound emitted from the open window. and another shiver from a cold wind's blow. I contemplate over the shadows, some too dark from the rest, each moment threatening to break me, putting my fear to the test. A creek sounds from a corner, forming a new feeling of horror. I pulled the sheets far over my head, huddled my limbs into the center of the center.

of the bed. I waited and waited for a long time. I peaked and the clock said two on the dime. My eyes adjusted and I could see the silhouette of something. My heart was thumping. I reached for the lamp when the light was on. I saw nothing. Sit back and relax with your favorite drink, Dear, dear friends, because now it's time to listen. Night is a beautiful time when terrors come out to play, whether from your own mind or reality. Crime is more prevalent, ghosts are easier to see. Monsters lurk under beds.

But how can we know for sure what's real or not? What is actually more terrifying? The idea of someone sneaking into our homes and hiding in a corner. Or a monster made of shadow and glowing eyes and gleaming teeth waiting for us to drop a toe of the edge of the bed. I guess it really depends on who you might ask. To a child, a monster in the closet is easier to understand and be terrified of than a burglar who might stab you.

you when caught. These are just some of the thoughts that trickle through my mind as I lay there, desperately wanting to sleep. I couldn't deny that I felt uneasy, uncomfortable. As most people do, I had trouble falling asleep in an unfamiliar place. It didn't help that this small hotel was home to rumours of crime and ghosts alike. If only there had been another motel open. I would have switched to one that didn't have such a sordid reputation. I would consider myself average when it comes to fears and horror. Not all scary movies actually frighten me, but I wasn't immune to craving acute, childish comedy afterwards

in order to clean my palate before sleeping. I didn't believe everything I heard about superstitions or urban legends, but I maintained a curiosity for hearing stories while all so at times. attempting to avoid putting myself into any situation that could cause supernatural ideations. Sure, I believe ghosts could be real, but I didn't put much stock in every ghost story I heard. I suppose I could be considered a skeptical believer. I never doubted that things could happen to people, but at the same time, I never saw anything that made me think there was a heavy truth to the forces, not of this world.

I sure as hell wouldn't risk it. I won't walk those supposedly haunted woods at night. There's no way I'm going into that old creaky abandoned house. And Ouija boards? Not a chance. I did believe, though, that rumours of crime, and ordered currencies held weight and could mar an establishment's reputation. In such a small city as this, you wouldn't think there could be much of a bad part of town, as it was,

but there is, and that's where I found myself. In all reality, my worries were probably only caused by the chats with the locals I had just a few short hours before at the restaurant across town. The city I was spending the night in on my journey west had a population of around 23,000. It wasn't very large, but it was growing and appeared to be expanding rapidly. There are plenty of hotels and motels in the area, but being a popular tourist destination, and it being a big holiday weekend, the specific town I stopped in was mostly book-solid,

aside from a simple Motel 6 on the south edges of the 10. I decided to stop too late in the evening to convince myself to drive even one more mile to a nearby town for more availability options. When I walked into the front office of the motel, a bored older man sat behind the counter and I immediately recognized the air of third-rate employees and even worse patrons.

I would only be here a single night, though. So, I'd deal with it. I procured a room towards the back of the building. It was on the second floor, but I didn't have much for luggage that would need to be brought, so I didn't mind. After paying and thanking the man behind the counter, I drove around to the back and found

what would be my sleeping sanctuary for the night. The air inside the room was stale, and a little too warm to be. comfortable. I unlocked the window and shoved it to the side, begging a breeze to waff through the screen and eliminate the atmosphere of empty dreams and broken hearts. The sad and disgusting reality of what might happen on a regular basis in this motel room seeped into my paws and mingled with the two days on the road that made me feel grimy and unclean. I felt a little better after I took a shower and put on some fresh clothes, though.

It was late, almost ten, but I decided to see about finding something to eat. I hop back in my car and drove to the north side of the city, where I'd seen a plethora of shops and restaurants. I settled on a barbecue joint that seduced me by the delicious smell it exuded into the air around it. I took my place at the bar and ordered a drink while perusing the mouth. menu. Throughout my weight, throughout my weight

for my meal and the meal itself. I casually talked with a bartender and a few locals who perched themselves in my area. It was all light-hearted conversation until I was asked what hotel I was in. When I answered,

the bartender and the man to my left shared a look that prompted me to ask what was wrong with the motel. For the rest of the night, My temporary friends explained to me that the motel I would be staying in was known for its drug dealers and lax policies on calling the police. Rumors of prostitution rings would spark up every so often, and it was a known fact that a few people had died in various rooms from causes ranging from heart attacks, overdoses, drug deals gone wrong, and jealous spouses catching their cheating significant others. they added in some of the stories of the ghost that was said to hang around

and spook those who stayed including a kid who drowned in the pool a man who axed his wife when he found her with her lover before the lover got hold of the axe and killed the man himself and a young woman who was known to approach people offering her body only to disappear after being let into their room

the worst story of them all the one that really set me on edge was the one about the local man who escaped the nearby mental hospital after killing his two brothers, sister, father and almost finishing his mother off. Apparently,

he'd just snap one day while his parents were out of town. Having mental disabilities, he lived with his parents even at the age of 32. With them out of town, his siblings took turns stopping by and keeping an eye on him.

Somehow he managed to kill each of them before his parents returned home, at which time they came upon the bodies of their children in the large freezer that kept in the garage. Upon the discovery, the mother phoned the police and the mentally deranged man pounced on his dad, bludgeoning him to death with a sledgehammer. When the police arrived, they found the man, a crazed look in his eyes. slicing his father's body into sections to add to the freezer. His mother had been hit in the head and was severely bleeding, but the responders were able to get her to the hospital in time. She would recover slowly, but still make it. When the officers arrested the man,

it was reported he kept licking the blood off his fingers and muttering things over and over, depending on who you ask, what he muttered varies, but each account and tale agree that he was murmuring something about being told of the sweetest meat, being the helper of someone, that she would be happy with his sacrifice, and that only the best would be worthy of her. The man was being kept at a mental facility that really didn't have the means and proper security to contain someone such as him. He'd managed to escape in less than a week, leaving three people with chunks bitten out of their arms and legs. He was tracked down to where he was hiding out in a room of the very motel I would be sleeping in. The person occupying the room was found deceased in a horrifying manner,

and the man was shot in the chest when he lunged towards an officer. Ever since that event, it is said that. that the ghost of the man appears in the room he had hidden in. Room 103. Also, the ghost of the woman he brutally murdered there is said to roam the grounds, weeping and whispering. Of course, most local tales speak of only the deranged psychotic man's ghost. After people continually abandoned room 103, screaming, and rumors began flying, stating that people missed, mysteriously died in the room. The motel stopped renting it out. It has remained empty for almost ten years from what I was told. I turned over onto my side. The thin sheets rustling and

scratching against the bare skin of my arms. It's just a local legend, I assured myself, not able to keep the thoughts of the crazed killer and ghosts out of my head. You're more likely to get shanked by a dealer or meth-down junkie than you are to see the ghost of a crazy murderer. Besides, you're on the second floor in the back. His room is on the first floor in the front. You're nowhere near it. I sighed to myself. My thoughts trying to turn to the idea of a drug-addicted person breaking in to steal what they could. I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused on the journey for the next day. I couldn't escape a nagging chill that grasped my spine

and caused me to freeze and stop breathing at any little noise, though. A crisp breeze drifted through the window I'd left open, and I sat up in bed. It's just noises from outside, and the cold is probably not helping. Just get up, shut the window, and you'll be fine. I began pulling the blanket off of my body When I heard the faintest whisper

Float to my ears on the soft wind Don't shut the window My eyes darted to the window And there at the edge of the side Farthest from the door Was a sliver of shadow It looked like it belonged to the silhouette of a person I jumped out of the bed

As silently as I could and stared. The image moved very slowly in the direction of the door, crossing more into view. I could see it was the shape of a woman, small and thin.

I heard the whisper again. Don't shut the door. This time it sounded like it was accompanied by a forlorn sobbing. I took two steps towards the door, grabbing the first thing I could off of the table, so I some sort of weapon. I glanced down at what I'd grabbed. My keys were clutched tight in my fingers,

and I mentally thanked whatever force there was in the world that I hadn't grabbed my sunglasses. I flipped open the tiny keychain knife and held it, ready to jab at whoever was outside. I closed my eyes tight and took a deep breath, preparing myself for my next move. After a third repetition of the whisper, I opened my eyes, hastily flipped the lock and yanked the door open, taking a step outside, knife at the ready. I found no one. I looked up and down the outside corridor, and there was no sign of anyone. My car sat in the lot below, mostly alone except for another couple of vehicles at least five

rooms down. There was no door shutting, no footsteps to be heard, no more sobbing. The wind picked up in a short gust, the bitter cold forcing me to shiver involuntarily. I stepped back in, shaking my head at myself. Those stories are just getting to you. There was no whispering, you buffoon. It's just the wind. Just go the hell to sleep and you'll feel better in the the morning. I rolled my eyes at my paranoia and locked the door. I gripped the window and slid it to the side, locking it back in place as well, before setting my keys back on the table and returning to bed. I snuggled under the uncomfortable blanket and shut my eyes, letting out one last sigh. A moment later, my breath caught in my lungs as I heard a scuffling sound coming from

the direction of the bathroom. My eyes shot open and I listened intently as the soft scraping sound approached my bed. My back was to the direction of the sound and I was frozen

unable to turn over and look at what could be causing it. I quickly recognise the sounds as steps and something being dragged. I listened my heart pounding so loudly I almost couldn't hear the noises

over the blood rushing past my ears. Step, drag. Step, drag. A wet cough crossed with a chuckle, broke me from my immobile state, and I sat up, turning to look at the visage of a man approaching the bed. The light from outside glared through the window

and illuminated the figure. It was a man who appeared to be in his 40s, disheveled with dark murky splotches all over his clothes. He was missing his right arm, but his left hand held an axe that was being loosely lugged across the floor. Blood streamed constantly in a thin, rivulet between his eyes and down his face from a wound atop his skull. From where I was, I could see an indentation high on his head

and immediately knew it was a blow inflicted from his skull. the axe he tooted. When he saw me, he smiled menacingly and his hand gripped the weapon tighter. Thanks for shutting the window. It was too cold. Killer versus Killer. Chapter 1, The Chances. There was something eerie about that evening. The wind was witnessing the gloom that covered the city. Street lights were trying to light up every dark corner, as if they were afraid that, if they didn't, something sinister might develop. The stray dog was lurking in the street, looking for something to eat, and it stopped to smell a piece of garbage beside the pedestrian path.

It was just trying to decide if the piece was edible, when its eyes lit up, and its head jerked in response to the sudden development. I turned on the light of the living room and looked outside the window at the stray dog, who stared at me for a second and then went along to do whatever it was doing. I looked across the street and the hazy sky. It was so calm that one wouldn't suspect a thing before stepping out of his home. I looked around at all the other houses in the streets. Their blinds were closed as if they didn't want to witness such a gloomy night,

as if they wanted to skip this evening. I felt I should do so too, so I closed my blinds, but when I turned away from the window, I wondered if I could skip the evening. And, well, I realized I could, but the thing was, I didn't want to. How many times does one get a chance like this? I looked at the clock on the wall. It's just about to be eight o'clock.

Oh, they're not going to be back before eleven. I've got three hours to do anything I want. I said out loud, just out of the excitement that I had the house to myself for another three hours. I lunged at the couch, reached out to grab the remote and turned on the television. I could watch whatever I wanted. I was surfing through the channels, and my eyes caught the headline on a news channel. Serial killer at large. I stopped and started watching the news.

The reporter was speaking. The police cannot even confirm if the murder was committed by the same killer. So does that mean that there could be more than one killer operating in this city? Holy shit, I thought. Two serial killers loose around the city. I wondered what the chances were that they both end up at the same place. There is no need to panic right now. The officer who the reporter was interviewing spoke.

He didn't seem very confident about his words, though. We are not sure if this is the same killer, but we are investigating. Meanwhile, I suggest everyone stay calm and report anything suspicious around you. Oh boy. I realized I was hungry, so I turned the television off and went into the kitchen, right next to the living room. They opened the fridge but closed it again immediately. I'm going to cook myself, I thought. Half an hour later the kitchen was filled with the smell of heating oil, spices and freshly cut tomatoes and onions. And I turned the television back on just for a bit of background noise and honestly, because they could do it.

I sat back on the couch with my dinner. I went to enjoy it, watching a sitcom. I was searching for one, but again I stopped on the news channel. I don't know what. The reporter was extensively explaining the differences between the last two incidents. But the second one, which happened the night before, was all across the city. The victim was alone in the house. Her husband was away for work.

Then they cut to the interview of a neighbour. Her husband was out of town just for two days. It was unfortunate that the killer came across the neighborhood just when she was alone. They then cut to another one. Well, I felt like someone just walked across my window. I just didn't think it'd bother us because there were five of us in the house that night. After a few minutes, I looked through the window. Her house was in complete darkness.

Not one light was on. Well, I found it strange because they never have all their lights on. Even sleep with that night light on. There was no chance she would sleep in the complete dark when she was alone. It wasn't even her bedtime. He was speaking without stopping to breathe. I thought he wanted to finish this as quick as possible. I brought that to my wife's notice,

and we even considered calling her just to check out if we could do anything. We heard a scream. It was a horrible scream, and it stopped midway. That's... He stopped to breathe. That's when we call the cops. They cut back to the reporter. She now began to describe the crime scene.

Her body was found in the middle of the living room. There was no sign of struggle. It looked like she didn't notice the killer breaking in. She was stabbed with a knife in the back a few times. Oh my God. I couldn't help but to say out loud. That is so... And I couldn't finish because I suddenly found myself in the complete dark.

The power was out. I stood up and looked around to understand what was happening. When I felt someone move around outside the living, there was someone else in the house. Chapter 2. The smile. I couldn't think about anything for a second. Someone was in my house and, given the conditions,

I was like dead sure of who it was. It was so quiet and dark, but one would be scared to death right now. Oh man. I was just kidding about those chances. I don't want to do this right now. I sat under my breath. I started to think. He must have pulled the main switch right beside the exit,

which means he's going to enter from the door behind me. I crouched down and walked slowly on my toes in the opposite direction towards the kitchen. I stayed there trying to listen. Didn't hear a thing. It seemed like he was gliding above the ground. While I was planning my strategy to get out of this situation, I picture the whole layout of the house in my head again.

The front half of the house was relatively open except for the storeroom and the bathroom in the far end opposite to the living room. The rear bedroom had another door which opened in the corridor right in front of the kitchen, so count them in too. I could use that door to get into the rear bedroom and go to the front bedroom from the other door. From there I could use the other door which would get me into the corridor right in front of the main exit. That was it. I started walking towards the kitchen door. I still didn't hear anything. I was so quiet that I was sure I would at least hear him breathe. I stepped into the

corridor. The main exit was at the other end on my left. I could run but I didn't want to risk it because I'd have to cross the living room on my left. I slowly opened the door of the bedroom in front of me. Try not to make any noises, but still made a faint sound of clicking. I didn't shut it behind me. Instead, I quickly walked at the other door at the other end on the left wall. I grabbed the knob of the door to open it, but it was already open. Well, I didn't even have to process it.

If this door was open and the other one was closed, And that meant he was in this room. Right, now, I threw the door open and quickly dashed out. The door slammed on the wall behind me, and for the first time I heard his footsteps. I didn't think. I got into the front bedroom, the door was open. So instead of the living room on his right from the entrance, he turned left into this bedroom, left through the other door and hid in the rear bedroom.

Did he know I was going to go that way? How could he? I slowly walked into the corridor. Just a few steps away from the exit. I let the air out of my lungs, grabbed and turned the knob with the door except. Well, it didn't turn. The door was locked.

Damn it. Can these doors even be locked from the inside? God, he's good, I thought. I turned back and looked into the dark corridor. There was only one way I could go now, back into the living room on my ride. I slowly entered the living room and, what the hell? I thought.

Someone just bored the blinds open. The streetlight fell on the living room floor. There he was, standing right beside the window. He planned all of this. I looked at him and thought. He was standing so precisely that I could only see the upper half of his grubby sweat-soaked, dark green shirt, his flaring nostrils like he was taking the scent of the fear of his prey, and his dry, petulant and belligerent lips, which then stretched into a smile, an evil,

broad and obnoxious smile, a smile that made me freeze dead right in my spot. I looked at him smiling, and I just kept looking. I couldn't turn away, and for the first time in my life, I felt my heart. It was pounding in my chest. He must have heard it too. He knew that whatever he was doing, it was working. He was like Medusa who just turned me into stone with his smile instead of his gaze. I couldn't resist but thinking, wow, he's really good.

I wanted to say it to him, but I was impressed with his move. I mean, he killed people, but still, I was still. I was so impressed by his game, I almost said, I admire you, and your game. Yep, I want a blake. He didn't do anything like moving towards me, or raising his hand, holding a knife, or saying something like,

you are dead, or anything at all. He and I both knew that you didn't have to. We knew that he got me. One couldn't do anything in this situation, whether one runs away or towards him. He's got him. Whether one cries, screams, or stays quiet. He's got him.

It was his game and his rules. So I did the last thing you'd expect. Looked straight at him, and I smiled back. Chapter 3. Killer, versus Killer. Nothing happened for quite some time. It could have been after days, or it could have been the very next moment. His smile widens. He understood me just like I understood him.

At that moment, no two people knew each other better than we did. It was a silent agreement. We were impressed by each other. We admired each other. We communicated that with just a smile. We didn't say anything, but if we had, we probably would have said, It's going to be prodigious. He poured the blind shut again, and thus began our game.

I felt him moved, and I slowly, sneakily walked backwards into the bedroom and shut the door. I walked to the other door and shut that as well. Now if I knew him, he'd want to end this quickly, no matter how much he enjoys this, which meant that I had to be patient. I curled up in a corner from where I could see both the doors. If he entered from one, I could get out from the other. Time passed. The only thing I could hear was the ticking noise. It was the ticking noise from the clock on the wall,

like it was a referee for our game and was keeping track of the time. But isn't that true for all of us, I thought? The time is a referee for the stupid little game we call life. It keeps track of all our choices, good and bad. One bad decision, and the game's over. Well, one of us was going to make a bad choice tonight. Suddenly I heard the soft sound of the lock clicking open on my...

left. He must have taken the kitchen round. I slowly got up and was ready to walk out the other door, but he didn't enter the room. I had my hand on the knob of the door, and I was waiting, and I felt the knob turning in my hand. He was just outside the door. I quickly let go of the knob and got back into the corner. I heard the lock click open. I waited, but nothing happened. So, I was he was playing with me. He wasn't in a hurry at all. He was taking his time. So I didn't know him the way he knew me.

So to beat him in his game, I had to be not me. Just when I was thinking to be impulsive, the clock on the wall shined. And I knew that was my chance. I walked through the door to the other bedroom, but I didn't go in. I turned right and walked straight into the door. the kitchen. If I wanted to turn this game around, I needed a weapon. I couldn't do it my way. I was looking for something to work with, like a knife when I felt him in the kitchen. Before I could even think of anything, I heard a knife sliding out of the knife block.

He was thinking the same thing. I grabbed the first thing I could and ran out as fast as possible. I tucked it under my shirt and ran through the corridor The rear bedroom The front bedroom And I was back in the corridor Right next to the exit In front of me was the living room I looked into the darkness

And I thought popped in my mind He had me in the darkness But he can't hide in the light He can't play his game if I could see him I walked inside the living room Approached the window threw my hand to grab the lift cord and instead my hand grabbed something else something big sweaty and cold his hand that was the second time i felt my heart in my chest and perhaps he did too this was his final move

he got me the game was over i heard him swish his knife there was no kidding around here so i ran phone my life. I ran past the two bedrooms and the boundary that separated the open part of the house from the dead end in the far end opposite to the living room. I was standing at the end, staring at the wall. On my right was the bathroom, and on the left was the store room. He was probably inching his way towards me. Now there was nowhere left to go. I opened the bathroom door but didn't enter. I left the door open the door open. and got in the storeroom and shut the door. I was standing in complete darkness,

unable to see even my hands. When I heard him, more like felt him, seen like he was gliding towards me. Now he was standing just outside the door. I was thinking, if he goes in the bathroom first, he'd have his back towards me. That would be my only chance. But unfortunately, for him, I smiled.

He was thinking the same thing. Suddenly he threw the door open and grabbed my neck. I could hear him breathe. It was pitch black, but I knew he was smiling, and without saying anything, without any prompt, he plunged his knife into my stomach, except he didn't go in. He clinked on the pan under my shed.

He was taken aback by the sudden developments which he wasn't expecting. I didn't waste any time. Oh, I said to his face and grabbed the knife, turned it around and pushed it in. Oh, I wanted to see his face, but I couldn't. I could only hear him gasping for breath. I didn't want to take any chances, so I gave the knife a full twist. I felt it squishing his tissues. I heard the blood gushing out, which covered my hands.

He finally fell on the ground with a thud and stopped moving. Now the game was over. I was right. This is so... I finished what I was going to say just before he cut the power. Mercy. I couldn't even celebrate my victory, because then I heard a car pulling up in the driveway.

Oh shit, they're here. I won't even have time out. This bastard ruined my plan. I looked at the dead man. There was only one thing I could do now. I pulled the knife out of his chest, wiped it on his clothes and dashed at the door. I hid behind the door,

and I smiled because I knew that nobody would ruin my evening now. After all, there were only two serial killers in the city that night. And one was lying dead in the storeroom or the other was standing behind the door, holding a knife in his hand. smiling the wasting room there is an unspoken rule that dictates that all stories regardless of intent and genre must be satisfying so i'll start by telling you right now that my tale won't be abiding by that rule so i'll start by telling you that right now my tale won't abide by that rule my tale isn't some leisurely read not if i'm to be faithful to what occurred I'll have to tell my story as it happened.

A slow, drawn-out death. No lesson, no closure, no reason, nothing to justify what happened to my friends and me. If you're looking for answers, leave. Turn away, shut the door. You won't find them here. Nightmares, like all sickly malformed children, have a point of conception and birth. Mine was birthed in my elementary school, vile and costing. I like to think every school has them, little rumours and myths about the place.

Ours just happened to be the wasting-rope. In the centre of the east wing of the school was a brick building, about the size of a small garage. When I was in third grade, I walked past it and was immediately entranced by it. I went up to it and ran my fingers along the surface of the weathered brick, revelling in the amalgamation of strange textures, spongy patches of moss, brick and mortar rough as sandpaper, the deep crevices and cracks, all perfect contrast bound to a single surface. I circled the building, running my fingers alongside it until I stood in front of the door. Impulsively I reached for the doorknob and rested my hand on the cold, rusted brass door handle.

Energy seat from it to me, the transferring of an idea and instinct. Calling to me, I now know that's what it was doing. my hand tightened around the handle and it was starting to twist open when the harsh reprimands of a woman's voice froze me in place Christopher what are you doing? asked my teacher Mrs. Liorre

She gave me a mild scolding before telling me that that room was off limits and to run along and get to glass. Later that day at recess I asked my friends, Danny and Leah, about the mysterious red brick building. That's the wasting room. My older brother says that's where they take the back.

Answered Danny. I heard a witch lives there, Leah added. Well, I pondered it for a moment, and just like most kids my age, accepted both answers is true. I learned more about that forsaken room. The rumor goes that back when teachers were allowed to hit students, they'd do it in that brick room. One day an exceptionally cruel principal took a third grader named Lily,

into the brick room and beat her so savagely he thought he killed her in his panic he sealed the room and forbade anyone from entering unfortunately lily hadn't died that would have been a mercy she was just knocked unconscious when she finally woke up and saw that she was trapped inside the brick room she tried everything she could to break out but being so young her meek voice was never heard Instead she slowly rotted away for a few weeks, wasting away from the inside out. When they finally found her years later, her remains were mummified. Her face contorted in eternal anguish, her little fingers whittled away to the bone, fragments of her nails embedded into the brick walls, dried blood stained the floor and walls.

Ever since then the room has been permanently locked. A gruesome tale told to children living in a gruesome world. Of course, as all kids do with myths and urban legends, we embellished them. Danny would tell us that Lily was still alive, that she'd survived off of rats and a leaky water pipe. Leah thought that the teachers still use the room to punish the worst students. I made up a story of how I once saw Mrs. Liori open the door, and I was able to see the dusty skeleton of Lily's still inside. Danny and Leah didn't believe me, of course, but the mystery surrounding the room still intrigued

us. My favourite rumour was that the ghost of Little Lily wandered the haws of the East Wing, and on lonely, dreary days or dark starless nights, she would drag anyone caught alone into the wasting room to suffer the same fate that she did. It wasn't until the beginning of the sixth grade when we invested in getting inside the room and seeing if any of the rumors were true. I was the one that pushed our trio towards that insidious red brick building.

It was our final year before we'd be ushered into the ever awkward and painful stage known as adolescence. Danny was an early bloomer and as the first wave of hormonal changes hit, he changed drastically. He was no longer interested in running around with Lear and me

as we chased small animals and hit trees with sticks. That was kid stuff, and if his son's grown, growth-spurt was any indicator, Danny wasn't a kid like us, not anymore. The night I decided we needed to make one last chance at recapturing that childhood sense of adventure was the night Danny pulled out a crinkled magazine from under his bed and flash me the cover. It was a playboy, a busty scantily glad model on its cover. When he opened the magazine and tried to show me, I turned away as if it was a photo of a crime scene. I didn't want to see it. I knew if I had to be a did, that would be the death of the child that still existed within me. I didn't want to leave that stage of my life behind. Not yet. Danny briefly berated me, asking me if I was gay, saying that that was the only reason someone would be scared of boobs. I ignored him and asked my mum to pick me up early. I knew then that the only way to reel Danny back in would be with

something that could still spark childish fear and wonder. The room. I knew even back to then that after the summer our trio's dynamic would never be the same. It was Leah. Danny and I had been subtly vying for her attention. We both looked at her through different lenses and I guess I just wanted to have one last adventure before our biology tore us apart. I was initially met with hesitation when I brought up the room, but after a bit of badgering, they were on board. How are you going to do it? The teachers keep the doors locked, you know, Leah said. That pre-busyed. That proves that they're hiding something, doesn't it? Danny added. Maybe we can steal a key from one of the teachers, I said. Leah scrunched her face at the suggestion. She warned us about how that would only cause

more trouble. Danny interrupted to inform us of a secret entrance to the room his brother told him about. Leo and I were both skeptical at that claim, but Danny was insistent that there was a secret underground entrance. My brother says that he found it one time. "' Says there's a basement in the back of the school,' Dan insisted. "'Well, then he's just going to have to show it to us, then,' Lear replied. "'But we'd settled on trying to convince Danny's brother to guide us to this so-called secret entrance. "'We still made an effort to locate it on our own. "'Lia got picked up as soon as school was out,

"'but Danny and I had about thirty minutes before his dad picked both of us up. "'We snuck to the field in the back of the school "'and poked around for a few minutes, "'but found nothing but rocks and dirt. We gave up after a while and headed back towards the front of the school to wait for Mr. Powell to pick us up. I hadn't thought about the plausibility of the school having multiple sealed exits and entrances. Up until the mid-60s, my school was a hospital.

It was too small and outdated, having first been built in the 30s to be of much use to a rapidly changing area. It was abandoned in the early 70s when it was renovated and repurposed into a school. course as naive kids we never connected the dots this place had seen much more death and suffering within its walls and anyone was willing to acknowledge i spent that night at danny's house annoying his older brother david asking him to show us the location of the hidden passage it took only a few minutes to get him talking about his time spent at that school it's sealed up you know they buried it and it's not a basement it's a cellar i found it one day with jimmy while we were

goofing off. He had a rusty lock, of course, but I just broke it with a rock. We never actually made it to the wasting room. I don't even know if the cellar leads to it. That's just something Jimmy says, his teacher told him. Inside that cellar was a tunnel that ran under the school. Old rusty pipes ran along the walls and ceiling, twisting like intestines. Yeah, that's what it was. We were like inside some metal giant's guts. David then jumped up, trying to scale. errors. Well, the only reaction he got from us was a unified, gross. David's face scrunched up into an annoyed half-frown before he continued. Anyways, there was something wrong with this place. Not only was it ancient, rusty and dark, but something felt off like something was in there

with us, or like the tunnel itself was alive. Oh, I swear I thought I saw the pipes twitch sometimes, and the whole shaft was subtly shifting like it was breathing. I don't know, but it was weird, man. We walked a few feet further into this tunnel, and we had a clang, and we just froze. I tried to act tough, so I caught out like an idiot. I heard it before I saw it. This figure just darted out of the darkness. It was small, but it was on all force, and it was fast.

That's when Jimmy and I started running, screaming our heads off. When we reached the cellar door, we just scrambled up, and I turned around long and enough to see this decayed little girl just on all fours, glaring back up at us, absolute rage in her eyes. I don't think I've ever slammed a door that hard since then. What happened after that? I asked. Well, we ran screaming and crying to the principal's office and told him all about what had happened. Of course, they didn't believe us, but they were upset we'd found the cellar entrance. So the next day they shuffled dirt over it and told us not to go near it ever again.

You know, sometimes I still get nightmares about that little girl. Her pale skin covered in rotten, of her hateful eyes. Maybe it's that little girl they talk about, I don't know. So, um, you'll show us where it is, Danny asked in an excited voice.

Hell no, if you kids know what's good for you, you'll stay away from the door and from the wasting room. Nothing good will come of it. David replied. I'm disappointed, but not disheartened. We went back to Danny's room to play video games. David didn't know it at the time, but his warning might have saved us from what was about to come. If only, we'd listened.

We told Learer all about David experienced the following Monday. Oh, that's scary. I don't think we should go out looking for that door. What if Lily really is down there? And we let her out, she asked. Don't be dumb, later. my brother was just trying to scare us besides i've got a plan on how to find it oh yeah hell i asked next time you spend the night we'll sneak out and hide my dad's shovel in the trees in the field and after school we can go digging around and see if we find it danny said with a grim what about me you know my mom picks me up as soon as school's out i'll just ask her if you can hang out with us for a little bit he responded

Leah just sighed and said she'd try. Danny's plan, like most of the plans children make, never came to fruition. Sneaking out at night and carrying a shovel wasn't going to happen. So Danny modified his plan and instead snuck three garden troughs in his backpack to school, every day until Lear was able to convince her mum to let her stay after school. It took three weeks of Lea's whining, but she finally caved in, after Danny's father gave her a verbal confirmation that he'd drop Lear off at her house. It was a warm summer day when we made the trek to the back of the school to search for the cellar door.

Sixth grade graduation was near, and I knew that these halcyon days were nearing their end. This would be our last great childhood adventure, and I wanted to make this one that want to remember for the rest of my life. The greatest knife twist of irony, that wish came true. We spent only a few minutes stabbing the ground nearest at the school building before Leah hit something with her trowl. She shouted for us to check it out. She was always eager when it came to being the first at things. Daly and I studied digging and, sure enough, we heard and felt our trowel scrape against metal buried only three to four inches deep.

The three of us ran over and started scraping away until a rusty metal cellar door lay before us. Dan let out an excited yell and did a little half-dance. Well, I hadn't seen him act so goofy in months. I was starting to reach for the handle of the door to throw it open while I felt a firm, icy grip on my wrist, freeze me in place. I jerked around in a panic to try and get a glimpse of the figure towering over me. What are you children doing? asked Mrs. Leori in a calm but cold toe. Nothing. We were just playing around, digging for rocks and stuff. Danny answered. Oh, explain why you're in a strictly off-limid area, eh?

Mrs. Liori pointed an accusatory finger at Leah. Lear looked down at her feet for a moment and let a few tears fall. The poor girl was always frightened by authority figures. We were looking for a way to get into the wasting room, Leah said, tears slowly falling from her face. "'Oh, that persistent rumor. "'I can show it to you if you want,' "'Mrs. Leary said with a slight laugh. "'Wait, really?' Danny asked.

"'Yes, if he'll put these silly rumors to rest. "'Come, follow me,' Mrs. Leire said. "'The walk to the eastern wing was punctuated "'by an anxious undercurrent. "'The various rumors surrounding that room "'its nefarious purpose and origins cycle through my mind. My anxiety peaked as we stood in front of that red brick building. Mrs. Liori took out a lanyard with a single base key,

gave us one final look, and inserted the key into the rusted, aging lock. The sound of the lock turning sent a jolt of paralytic fear through my body. Something about the faint grin Mrs. Liori gave us seemed sinister. As she creaked the door open, I started urging myself to take hold of my friends, hands and just run. But every command I internally screamed at my body was ignored. Mrs. Liori straightened her back and flung the door open, the screeching of its ancient hinges cut through the silence

and echoed off of concrete and linoleum. Danny jumped back, Leah gasped, and I broke out of my stunned silence to make a diminutive sound at the sight of what lay behind the door. Nothing. No, skeletons, no bodies, no little girl withered and broken seeking revenge on the world that condemned her to a fate worse than death. Just dust, some shelves, and old furniture. Want to know why it was called the wasting room? This little room was once used as a pantry back when this school was still a hospital. When the teachers first opened it up after its conversion, they found it full of spoiled food. Guess the name got out to the students and they ran with it, made up all sorts of ridiculous things.

We only use it for storage these days. Nothing to fear. But what about Lily? I blurted out. Lily Teresa Esther, that was her name. The police determined that she was abducted by her estranged father and was never seen again. The last time she was seen was at this campus.

But she didn't die here. The investigation was thorough, and nothing was ever found. We stood dumbfounded by these sudden revelations. Good enough for you, kids, she asked. Yeah, I guess, Leah answered. Good, I've got things to attend to, she said, blocking the room and stuffing the lanyard into her back pocket. As she was getting ready to leave, Danny ran up and hugged her, thanking her for solving the mystery for us.

She let out an exaggerated sigh, and let him know that it was no big deal and turned. to leave. As soon as she was out of airshot, Danny spoke up. Hey, did you see it? See what? Leah and I asked in unison. You didn't see it? Well, I guess I'll have to show you. Danny said as he dangled the land yard in front of us. Danny, we're going to be in so much trouble. You need to give that back. Lear said. Yeah, Danny. Look, your dad's going to be here any minute, I said. "'Ah, just enough time to take a quick peek,' he replied.

Danny took a quick look to make sure no one else was around, and quickly unlocked the door and opened it wide. He walked in a motion for us to do the same. "'Ah, don't be babies. Don't you guys want to see it?' I took a nervous step inside the room. Leah close behind me. Danny walked towards an old, filthy dresser.

Hey, help me move this thing. All three of us worked to push the thing a few feet and revealed that, directly underneath it, was a rusty cellar door. See, I told you guys, Danny said. I don't think this is a good idea, Danny. We don't know what's down there. Your dad's probably waiting for us, I said. Yeah, and we already saw that the wasting room is nothing to be scared of. Danny tugged on the cellar door's handle, and slowly raised it until it stood.

opened. Did you guys ever think that maybe this isn't the wasting room? Danny asked. What do you mean? I asked. David said that he saw Lily in some tunnel in a cellar. We should check it out at least. I peered down the cellar and saw a ladder leading to a smaller chamber inside. There was a corridor attached to it, and at the edge of it I saw several pipes. Danny was onto something. With my curiosity peaked, I agreed that it would be worth taking a look. What about your dad? My mom will kill me if we're late. Leah whined.

I'll only be a second, just to see if the wasting room is down there, Danny said. I gave Leah's hand a quick squeeze and a reassuring look before she nodded slightly. Reluctantly, she joined us as we climbed down into the summer. The chamber was surprisingly well lit. light bulbs lined the ceiling or they were far enough apart that pockets of darkness existed in between each one

but the most substantial oddity in the room was a profound lack of dust on anything sure rust lined the pipes but the dust was nowhere to be seen although I should have seen this as a warning sign a tell that the place had been inhabited for years

Leah pressed closer to me as Danny led Atrio towards the pipeline corridor. The moment we crossed the threshold into it, we had a loud slam that caused the lights to flicker. In the brief moment of darkness, I swore I could see movement. We screamed, loud and piercing, our collective shriek reached a siren-lau crescendo,

but quieted as the lights returned to their usual, stable illumination. Riu was gripping my hand so tightly it hurt, and she was openly sobbing. I want to go home, she said in between sobs. Yeah, Danny agreed. We turned to run back towards the ladder and saw that the cellar door had been what had slammed shut. I scrambled up the ladder and tried to throw the doors open,

but no matter how hard and pushed and hit it, it made no signs of budging. I started screaming for help, hoping someone would hear and let us out. Shit, Danny cursed. "'What are we going to do?' I yelled. Leah was now hysterical, pleading for us to get out of there. Danny stared at both of us, face paler than I'd ever seen it. This tunnel has to lead somewhere.

I bet that it'll be the cellar on the other side of the school. We should—' No, we have to wait here. Wait here for help, Leah yelled. Leah's right. If we stay here, someone's bound to find us, I said. Well, Danny nodded and joined us in calling out for help and occasionally pounding at the cellar door. Hours seemed to pass by, and when we'd screamed our voices hoarse and worked our hands roar,

we knew that no one was coming. We have to look for a way out, Danny said in a dry whisper. I nodded meekly and tried to help a near-cutonic Leah stand to her feet. She was responsive, despite her silence. Walk into the edge of the room and peering down that ancient corridor, I saw that it stretched on as far as the eye could see, the light bulbs illuminating as much as they possibly could before blinking out of existence. I took a precarious step into the tunnel, expecting something to happen, but when nothing did,

I took another. Danny walked ahead in feigned bravado, and Leah followed close behind me. We walked until we hit the first light. bulb above our heads. Like a spotlight it shone in disorienting brilliance, giving us a clear view of the rusted and flake metal pipes running alongside us. Some had built up condensation and drip cold droplets. Others leaked a dubious black fluid, and some occasionally shot a jet of steam through cracks and holes. I had the slightest inclination to reach out and touch them, but I caught myself halfway through the thought. I looked ahead and saw the murky darkness we had to cross

before reaching the next light bulb lit beacon. Grab my hand and run, I said. Lear took my right hand and Danny my left and we sprinted as a linked unit into the next spotlight. We repeated this five or six more times before I noticed a change in scenery. The number of pipes running alongside a quadrupled, crowding the walls and ceiling and leaving no space at all. The size and variations of the pipes had also increased. Some so rusted that they seemed on the verge of bursting, while others seemed almost new, until closer inspection revealed the layers of grime that coated their surfaces. Some pipes were as wide as my head, while others were as thin as wires. I was also beginning to see that some of them were very subtly vibrating.

I tried to pick up the pace, but after passing eight more light bulbs, my foot caught on something, and I fell hard. I was plunged into darkness, unable to see what had tripped me. The floor no longer felt like concrete. It was lumpy and harsh, covered in strange groves and valleys. Dread formed in my stomach, as I tried to imagine what it could be. Get up, Danny shouted. He hoisted me up. and we ran into the safety of the light.

It was there when I finally got a good look at the floor. Pipes. The floor was made up of pipes. They lined every inch of space. I wondered if they rested on any concrete or if we were walking in a hallway of suspended pipes. An unusually large pipe above our heads might be showered us in a clear liquid I hoped was water.

Leia looked at me with fear, her eyes. Danny saw it too. He turned away and stared at what lay ahead. The pipes beneath were now noticeably undulating, not constantly, but a wave of motion came and went in 40-second intervals. No one spoke up about the phenomena. Instead, we rested for a bit before we continued our trek down the pipe-filled tunnel, silent and no longer holding each other's hands. I lost track of how many light bulbs we'd passed and how long we'd been down here. We collapsed in exhaustion under the glow of a light bulb. The pipes were now undeniably in constant shifting motion, an industrial, intestinal tract. The hallway itself, pushing us forward ever so slightly. The pipes now had multiple

facets, spigots and knobs, some leaking foul, inky liquids, while some spewed a steady steam of vetted water. An amalgamation of fungus grew from most pipes. Psychedelic, multi-colored, multi-textured molds, oddly shaped luminescent mushrooms and pulsating slimes. The putrid scent of decay, spores, rust, metal, and death filled my lungs with every heaving breath. I stood up and prop myself against a pipe, wincing at the gelatinous sensation of the fungal organisms living on it. How much longer could I bear this? The sound of clanking and twisting pipes caught my attention. I looked up to see what was making the sound.

It was a pale, withered hand, poking out from the tangle of pipes directly above us. I stood frozen in place, unable to shout, as a second hand slipped through and pushed the metal pipes apart as easily as if they were rubber. The sound the pipes made as they were forced apart caught the attention of both Leah and Danny, and they looked up directly above their heads. As the hands pushed the pipes further apart, we all saw what it was, and we let out a collective shriek. The weathered visage of Lily peered back at us, hateful and coiled with malevolent intent, Where her eyes had once been now grew pale, table-capped mushrooms.

The inside of her mouth was stained black, and its putrid stench overpowered that of the pipe corridor. From her long mummified skin, within the rips and tears, some fungus grew and dangled down, or stood erect, vile, defiling fallacies taking root in her child-long dead. I saw the mycelium through her chest. translucent papery skin. It throbbed, ached, and the morbid thought that the fungus was puppeteering, poor old Lily Teresa Esther briefly materialized in my mind. It was dispelled, though, by the shuddering sound she made, something between a wheeze and a scream. She lunged wildly as soon as it escaped from the rotting pit of her mouth. "'What is that?' Leah screamed. "'Just run.

Lily was on all fours then, facing us. A swollen purple tongue fell out of that black pit, and she flicked it suggestively at us. I saw little white postules lining the sides of her tongue and recognized with horror what they were, tiny mushroom cacks. We ran faster than we had ever run in our lives. Lily let out another wheezing shriek and was at our heels. my chest burned with every breath, nearing exhaustion, I dared to look behind me. Lily was now on the ceiling, clinging on the pipes, like some hellish gecko, and she was

closing the gap between us. In moments she would be directly over our heads. There, it's right there, Leah shouted. She was pointing at an object just a few lightbulbs away. I stood up to take a closer look and was shocked to see that it was a door, a rusted, door. With newfound determination I picked up speed and ran with all my might towards the promise of safety. I outpaced both Leah and Danny and threw myself at the door, and with a single push I forced it wide open. Danny drove in, but Leah was a second too late. Lally dropped down from the ceiling and pounced. She succeeded in grabbing hold of one Leah's ankles and grabbed the girl to the floor. Leah let out a scream and took hold of my hand

With a free leg she kicked at Lily and landed a direct hit I heard the sickening crunch of ancient bones and frail skin shattering And Lily's head lolled back Danny took hold of Leah's other hand and we pulled her out of Lily's grass As we pulled her inside the room Lily's head snapped forward And we saw the kick had unhinged her jaw It was now dangling from thin strips of skin.

The fat purple slug of a tongue hung out thick, inky fluid pouring from its length. As soon as the liquid made contact with the pipes, thin white cap sprouted and grew. I slammed the door before she could make another move, stealing myself. I then turned around to see just where, in God's name, we'd ended up.

The inside of the room was huge, far too big, its dimensions were a spatial impossibility. The expanse of the room was physically impossible to house just beneath the school. The ceiling was at least three stories tall, and its sheer size dwarfed the school several times over. There was no visible end. It was just a jumbled mess of pipes, ladders, drains, vents, grates, elevated metal walkways. It was a maddening, industrial hellscape. On some fixtures, the fungus was fused so seamlessly, it was as if the pipes and all its attachments were made of fungal chitin and mycelium, grown together in a blasphemous fusion of rust, metal and fungus, testaments to the gods of rot and decay.

Where are we? Danny said unsteadily. No one answered because no one knew. Somehow we had just crossed some unspoken boundary that divided our mundane little world, and this was. world ruled by atrophy. It came to me then, the answer to Danny's questions, and thus I spoke. The wasting room, a brief silence fell upon us. From the pipeline walls, something emerged, an enormous mass was birthed. It dwarfed us in all its unholy glory. It was somewhat humanoid and comprised entirely of the same metal fixtures and fungus that made up everything else. Long rusty pipes and vents ran along its entire body, steam and fluid leaking from them.

I could see multiple giant gears embedded in its chest, turning constantly with no signs of slowing. Holly poor mushrooms, over a dozen feet in length, made up the organic majority of its mass. They grew along with its limbs and chest, a dozen other varieties made up the rest of its weight. they were the medium for which the biological and industrial conjoined and merged. Bioluminescent blue camps, bright red spotted Amanitas, wrinkled morales, gelatinous wood ears, basket stinkles and bleeding devil's tooth, all there thriving and festering. The being's head was one giant flat fungal shield front. It had many points ending in a pipe vents, multiple colours.

had smog spewing from them. It was like some grotesque lion's mane. In the centre of its face sat two dark beady eyes. They seemed out of place, far too human. I knew at a glance what this being was. It could be nothing else but some long-forgotten lord of decay. The god of rot. It didn't need to speak to convey the hatred and pain it felt. It was all in its eyes, but regardless it did speak. You ask yourselves onto me and my domain, and he shall be gifted the fruit of immortality, for death is merely the beginning.

Be immortalized in the mycelium and rust, that which with countless eons will always fester. As soon as the words were spoken, they rose, an army of humanoid pipe fungus amalgamations, taking form before our very eyes. They took slow, strained steps towards us, meddle and steam screeched with every movement they made, and we ran.

There has to be an exit, Leah yelled. How do you know? Danny asked. Because if this place has an entrance, it means that there must be some other way to enter and leave. I don't know if this place follows the rules of the outside world, Leah, I said. It follows some of them, She said unsteadily. We scrambled up a flight of stairs into an elevated walkway.

It was one thing that caught my attention. Following Leah's reasoning, I noticed that this place was illuminated by rays of light peeking in from overhead windows. If we could just reach them, then maybe we could escape. There, I shouted. I pointed at a ladder leading up towards the ceiling. Danny was the first one to start ascending it.

I helped Lear up before I took my place and climbed for my life. Looking down I could see the army of bio-industrial humans convening at the base of the ladder. Danny, Lea, hurry! I shouted. Danny struggled to pick up the pace and make his way towards the now visible door at the end of the ladder. I felt the weight of the first creature start its climb. I felt the vibrations of every step it climbed. It informed me that it was fast, way too quick for us to outpace it for long.

Almost there, Danny shouted. He was about a foot or two from the door when his hand launched out to push it open. I saw the glare of a bright summer sun just beyond the door. Danny hoisted himself up and had his upper torso through the door when the sound of a wheezing scream cut through, instilling that familiar paralytic fear. The dangling pipe directly behind Danny burst open. Vile black fluid spilled out in a torrential flood, drenching Danny. The reanimated corpse of Lily leaped out from the shattering pipe and clung on to Danny's lower half.

And they both came tumbling down. There was no time to scream or even react as they were both in free fall. Lily took most of the impact. The tiny, frail, rotting body bursting as soon as it made contact with the country. cold, hard floor, long rotted organs and violet fluid splattering across the room. Danny's head still smacked the ground hard enough to knock him unconscious, though. The creatures on the ladder jumped down onto the floor. They quickly gathered around Danny.

We have to help him, I screamed. Lear, poor, shy, meek Lear, with eyes full of grief, made the final steps and climbed out into the world outside. I stood in shock, taking a glance back down at Danny, and back again at Lee. I realized I had a choice to me. I could leave the Lear right now, or I could stay down here with the rowdy boy I'd known since the first grade, dark-eyed and all too excitable, slowly maturing into a young man at the peak of his youth. Well, how much longer would our friendship last?

Danny who once chased wild animals and built the box falls Danny who played pranks on girls to scare them away and taught loud on purpose to annoy adults Danny who rarely played with us and said our

adventures were childish Danny who had now preferred to look at magazines full of women splayed out naked instead of reading the latest Spider-Man comics with me Danny had made his choice and Lear had made herds. I reached out to her and she took hold of my hands. Wait, please, Danny shouted,

now conscious. I turned to look one final time. Danny was being carried away by the creatures. The black liquid that stained him had begun sprouting little mushroom caps. I'm sure if he was closer, I would have seen the thin mycelium growing into his skin. I watched as they carried Danny to a nearby pipe jutting from the wall. It ended in an open spell, and a familiar black liquid dripped from it. Oh, please, help me! His final cry for help was cut off by the creatures

ramming and impaling him into the pipe. Danny went limp and let himself clap. His body twitched once, as I heard the pipe groan and creep. I saw his eyes and mouth start leaking the black fluid, as the inky tears ran streaks down his cheeks. Little mushroom caps began sprouting from them. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. They cut a path through my dirt-stained face and fell onto the floor.

I'd made my choice. I led out a heaving sob as I turned and stepped out into our world. A janitor found us at the back of the school, next to the cellar door where Mrs. Leori had scolded us. The police were called, as we'd been missing for three days at that point. We pointed meekly at the now-closed door. The questions of what had happened, where we were and Danny, were asked non-stop for the first week.

And we could only point them towards the cellar in the brick room. We told them of the wasting room and the hallway of pipes. They said it was trauma, and we'd created false memories to help us cope. They never found anything in the brick room. in the cellar doors, and Danny was assumed dead by the end of the summer. Danny's parents didn't invite me to the funeral. I saw in their eyes that they blame me. With no one else to blame, they turned their ire towards me.

Maybe they could see the guilt in my eyes. Maybe they knew that, on some level, I had abandoned their son. They weren't wrong. David, Danny's older brother, killed himself in the following weeks, as if the power family hadn't lost enough. My parents blamed me too. I never said it, but it always treated me differently, as if I was some wild animal that could snap at any moment.

Leah and I drifted apart. The last time I heard from her was in freshman year of high school. I found a note slipped in my locker. It wasn't signed, but I recognised her immaculate tiny script. All it said was that she was going back for Danny. that the door of the wasting room will be open for her. Leah went missing that day, and I never saw her again.

It's been six years since I first stepped foot in the wasting room. I tried to do some digging, but what I found doesn't solve all or answer anything. I know that when the school was still a hospital, the terminal patients were assigned that cold brick room, left there to waste away slowly. And that's how it got its morbid moniker. my small unassuming school was a place for the sick to come and spend their final days in cold

mildewy hospital rooms maybe just maybe a place can only experience so much death so much suffering and grief before some outside forces start to take notice or maybe those who slowly rotted away called out to some higher power maybe after so much tragedy a physical location can become linked to some outer realm ruled by that tragedy, by that decay. Maybe Mrs. Leory and the other teachers knew of the horrible domain beneath their very feet, and they played along with its whims and demands. Like I said at the beginning, I don't know. There is no answer, no clean, tightly wrapped ribbon that holds it all together.

All I know is that I can't go on like this. Danny and Leah consume my every waking thought God I miss them The god of rot promised me immortality once I'm sure if I go back to that place Back to that red-bricked abyss The wasting room would still be there Waiting for me

The Forest Gate Wilson Rawls wrote It's strange indeed how memories can lie dormant In a man's mind for so many years yet those memories can be awakened and brought forth fresh and new, just by something you've seen or something you've heard, or the sight of a familiar face. Those words seem to ring true in my mind lately.

How many things do you have in your daily life that you don't notice because it's become background noise? It just blends into the scenery, and you know it's there, but you don't spend any time thinking of it. And then it's as if, given so much time being ignored, the memory needs to call out to you and remind you of its existence, and the item becomes clearer than it was, whether you want to remember or not. Such a thing happened to me recently with a frame photo that caught my eye from its place on my desk, and I now feel compelled to get this

memory out in hopes it will alleviate the harsh pain I've held on to for so long. I don't know if it'll work that way, but I have to try something to get rid of this, to get it out of my head, at least a piece of it go. I need relief. I'm not going to pretend that I have plenty of memories that include my older brother and sister smiling or happy. I simply can't. I've seen photos, sure, but I was young when they went away and I don't have any strong memories, save one, which is still only a snapshot of time and a bit shaky. That single memory is one I've done my best to hold on tight to, and I keep a picture from that day to remind me. The photo is a simple one of a set of 14-year-old twins holding up their little sister on their shoulders,

which we pressed together to cradle the seven-year-old version of myself. We were all soaked after having a water fight with some of the neighbourhood kids. I can't remember who all played, or how a winner was determined. And looking back now, I don't think there was one, but back then, Rebecca and Travis lifted me up and declared that I won the whole battle for us, while my mother snapped the picture. That day was only weeks before our family would be altered and scarred forever. Twenty-two years later, and I still keep that photo in a frame on my desk. It's behind some others because it's difficult for me to look at,

but I can't also bring myself to tuck it away in some box in a closet, not to be included in my life. So, to address the basics, my sister spent over a decade in a mental institution after, as my parents always put it, a traumatic and horrific event that broke her mind and spirit and took our traverse away from us. I wouldn't understand much of what was happening back then until I was older. In a nutshell, my brother, sister and two best friends went exploring in a forest while on a trip.

Becca was the only one who survived what ever happened to them. Years later, as a curious teenager, I looked for any information I could find publicly, but was met with a big, fat, nothing. This only served to piss me off and demand answers from my parents. They refused, only saying that forests are dangerous places. They wouldn't even tell me where this particular forest was. After any persistent inquiry I made to them, my mother would sequester herself in her bedroom for days.

I could hear her bouts of sobbing sometimes and her whispering to herself. I never could tell what she was saying, though. My father would be the opposite. you would put on an attitude that was so chipper it was obviously fake, an offer to take me shopping or do some sort of activity that focused on me. To this day I still think of him doing this whenever I hear the phrase, fake it till you make it. They were good parents, though, despite all of this.

I didn't know at the time, I was too young to understand it, but they held themselves together as best they could while trying to keep the three of us a family. I also didn't know until I was older that they visited my sister often. and once she was allowed to see people. She was the reason we moved to another state. I knew that from day one, as they would openly tell me that they wanted to get her the best help possible and still be close to her.

Once I turned 17, they let me join them on visits, but I only went once. When I turned 18, they told me that I could visit her on my own, but I never could bring myself to do so. It was difficult seeing her there and trying to think of things to talk about This person that I knew was my sister, but felt like a stranger.

I'd spent more than half of my life at that point as an only child. My siblings were ghosts, and I'd learned to accept that. But physically I was the only one around. This made it hard to make any connection with her. Well, I wish I'd try. A few months before I turned 19, Becca was released into the care of my parents. she'd spent 12 years there I was at college by then

but talked to her on the phone a couple of times and planned to spend most of my summer there as you can imagine it didn't go was planned two months after going home Becca left in the middle of the night and showed up at my door around seven in the morning I vaguely recognised the person standing there when I opened the door groggy and still half asleep

and from my drowsy perspective She looked like a lost young woman, tired and a bit disheveled, as if she was running from something or someone. Abby, she asked. Her voice seemed to sit on the edge of tears. Yes, I said. Her response came as a sigh of relief, an arms thrown around my neck in a tight hug. Oh, I managed to choke out. She pulled back and held me at arm's length, her hands gripping my shoulders as she looked me up and down. I missed out on you growing up, she said. I stared at her for a second as recognition sparked in my mind, and I asked, Rebecca?

She nodded briefly and smiled. I motion for her to come inside and asked if she wanted any coffee. I could go over all the small specifics of morning coffee and asking why she was there. If our parents knew where she was, they didn't, but she had left a note. Our agreement for her to hang out while I attended. did two finals that day, all the plans for us to order a pizza and talk that night. I could go into detail of how she seemed haunted or like she wanted to say something but was holding back. I could explain all those tiny moments, but honestly, those aren't that important. That evening,

that evening after we scarfed down a large pepperoni pizza, asked her again why she'd come, not buying her excuse from earlier that she needed some air. She was quiet for a moment and looked her hands in her lap. I have to go, she said in a small voice. Go, it's late. You can stay here, even hang out for a few days, and then ride back with me to moms and dads. I said,

no, she said. She looked up at me and shook her head softly. I have to go back there. Back where? I asked. To the forest, she said. Her eyes pleaded for me to unlawed. understand or at least accept what she was saying. You mean that place where everything happened? Why? I asked, becoming concerned. My mind started swimming with thoughts and memories. I still had no

idea what had actually happened, and as much as I wanted to sate my curiosity, I wasn't about to ask my sister, the one who had been so broken after the event that she was shut away for my entire life. I didn't think she'd want to talk about it, or even if she did, I didn't think she really could without some sort of setback. I don't know how to explain it. I can't voice it, but I want you to read something after I leave tomorrow, she said. When will you be back? I asked. I don't know, she replied. I tried to get her to explain further, but once I realized she wouldn't, or possibly couldn't,

I suggested that she spent another couple of days with me to enjoy the time we had together by watching a movie. Both of us participated in willfully pretending there wasn't anything hanging over our heads as we spent the rest of the evening hanging out. We spent some more time talking after the movies and before bed. Well, I did most of the talking. Becca wanted to know everything about my life

and I tried to tell her as much as I could think of. It was a strange longing I felt then and still feel sometimes. Missing a sister I'd never had and wanting her to know everything and be a part of my life as if she'd been there all along. The next morning I found an empty couch, a folded blankets, a pillow and a notebook. But no, Rebecca. There was no tearful goodbye, no long hug, no promise to stay in touch. Becker had left before I'd woken up. Initially I thought she hadn't left a note, but once I read through the little book she left,

I found one scrawled in there, addressed to me. There wasn't much in the notebook, and it looked like a continuation from another book, almost the ending of her story. It shed some light on what had happened twelve years before, but at the time I thought it was more of an indication of her broken mind while she was in the mental hospital. Well, later, my mind would change. There was no date on the entry, but it read, a son. There it was.

Finally, I'd made it. I found the gate. I could leave for fun. forest. I pushed my body up, dried leaves and twigs crunching and poking into the palms of my aching hands. I couldn't give in to the pain of my body, though. I had to get up. I reached for the lowest branch of a nearby tree and grab for it. My hand met something slick, and my grasp didn't take, making me lose balance. I glided with the ground once more. The side of my face that met with the earth instantly felt as if it was on fire. I gave it no more. I gave it no more. I was a

more than two seconds before I took as deep a breath as I could and pushed myself up again. I couldn't put much weight on my injured knee, so I did my best to balance on the other one. Once on my hands and one good knee, I began to pant, struggling to breathe. Just get up, damning. You will never be forgiven. That broken multitude of voices from the trees echoed around me. I don't care, I yell back. I just want to live. I was greeted with silence. The only sound coming from my leg, breathing.

Get. I bit my lip and shifted my weight, preparing to move from my knee to my foot. It would have been so much easier if I had two working legs, but the simple fact was I didn't. I couldn't let that stop me, though. The gate was right there, a mere 20 or so feet away. I could walk that easily. I had to.

I gave one more shove against the ground, and stifled a cry as I felt something poke into the heel of my hand. I managed to get to my feet and turn my hand over to look at it, see if anything was sticking out. There was a thick thorn, and I quickly yanked out of my flesh and dropped to the ground. Not letting myself think about it too much. The rest of my hand was covered in dirt and bits of dead leaves and a dark liquid that I think was my blood,

or maybe whatever had been on the branch I tried to grab. I wiped on my jeans and clenched my teeth. I couldn't worry about it yet. I took one limping step. Come back! I heard Angie's voice call out from behind me. She sounded like she was crying. My eyes shut tight and I fought the urge to turn around.

No, I whispered to the air. Becca, don't leave me, Angie pleaded. Don't turn around. It's not her. Keep moving forward. You're almost there. My knee tried to buckles I took a second step. My arms shot out to the sides for balance, the bloodied hands slamming into the trunk of a tree.

I winced, but took a third step, and then a fourth and a fifth. Instead of looking over my shoulder, I chewed on my lip and hummed a melody to myself, one that I've forgotten the name of. It was slow, steady, and broken, coming from my throat. But it helped. It gave me something to focus on other than my best. friends calls to me. After what felt like the longest few moments of my life, I arrived at the gate and fell to my knees before it. The jarring pain to my injured knee bested only by my relief.

I reached out with both of my hands and felt the cool meddle against my hot, sweaty and dirty palms. You made it. The air already felt a little easier on my lungs and I smiled, no longer humming. and she still yelled for me she still cried begged and pleaded but it wasn't her and i couldn't go back i couldn't stay like she wanted me to like it wanted me i'm sorry i said through tears as i lean my head against the bars of the gate i'm so sorry there was a scream that broke through the trees and hurt my head i groaned and grabbed my ears trying to to muffle the sound. It only lasted a few seconds, but echoed in my mind. When I let go of my head, I wasn't sure if I was imagining the warm feeling dripping out of my left ear, or if my eardrum had erupted. It didn't matter right now. I still had to get through the gate. I used my remaining strength to stand up and lift the latch that held it shut. The metal creaked, swung open,

away from me, with a gentle push, coming to a stop and it's a pile of leaves and soil. I stumbled through the opening and took a deep breath of air that didn't feel heavy or difficult. Once more I clasped to the ground, this time more careful not to fall with any weight onto the bad knee. I rolled over and sat down, and laid on my back and closed my eyes, savoring the clean air filling my lungs. I had made it. I was out. I could finally breathe. I'm not sure how long that lasted.

but I felt safer now that I was on the other side of the gate. I was safe. Hey, silly, what are you doing on the ground? Did you fall again? I heard Angie say from above me. My heart stopped. No. I opened my eyes.

There she was, unharmed, alive, standing above me with that damn, mischievous smile. Come on, we aren't even that far from the gate. The guys are waiting for us, but they aren't going to wait long, and we have to find something to prove we went deeper than anyone else, she said, and gently kicked my foot. What? I heard myself say. It isn't enough just to go through. I thought you were the tougher twin, Angie said,

repeating the exact word she'd spoken before. I felt like I was experiencing deja vu. I pushed myself up onto my elbows and looked at her. Angie? I asked. "'Yeah, Bex,' she said with an inquisitive smile. I stared at her in disbelief and glanced past her to see Travis and John inspecting some of the lower branches of a tree.

Secondless ticked by but felt like minutes. I finally broke the gaze and looked at her outstretched hand, slowly placing mine in it. As I stood I paid attention to my leg. My jeans were torn and dirty, and when I tried to bend my knee or put weight on it as I stood, I was met with sharp pain. I didn't understand.

I looked back at Angie and saw her face grow dark. Her smile twisted into something sinister. The air pressed down onto me again and my heart pounded against my ribcage. I shook my head and then looked around frantically. My eyes found the gate again. There it was, a mere twenty or so feet away. I could walk that easily. It was opened outward, stopped against a pile of leaves and soil.

The metal creak but moved smoothly. The resounding clang, the gate swung shut. After that, there was a single entry after a blank page that reads, They're still there. I'm still there. I never left. I'm still in the forest. I have to go back. I have to find them. Oh, God, I'm still there. Two more blank pages separated this from the note that she left me.

The note addressed to me read as such. Abby, there are things in this world that are not spoken of or understood. I hope you can try to at least understand why I have to go back. I lost our brother that day, along with Angie and John. Their bodies were never found, and I dream of Travis every night. I have to know why. I have to find him. I have to bring him home.

Or I have to die trying. Please forgive me And please help mom and dad move on If I see you again I hope things will be better Well I don't expect that whatever is out there Will let me leave a second time Please understand why I have to do this

And why I'm so very sorry And will be for the rest of my days No matter how few they might be I especially want to apologize That I had to take your car I don't have enough money to find a bus that far and I'm begging you not to hate me for it. I'll leave directions to where you can find it.

Keys inside. Your sister always. Becca, well, I didn't know what to think or how to feel when I read the short notes. I wasn't even initially pissed that she'd taken my car. I felt a sadness permeated deep in my heart at the thought of what my sister could be feeling, but even more than that, I felt shocked and oddly unnerved. I told myself over and over and over. that she'd been through something horrific and it had broken her mind but what she'd described

couldn't be real. I told myself it was just the way her brain was trying to cope with what had actually happened. I couldn't shake the feeling though that there was something more. It made me wish I had more details about what had happened and could talk to her more. Aside from her decision to go back to that forest in my car, she'd seem pretty normal while she was here. Could they have possibly let her out when she wasn't ready. Could all that time in the institution would have been enough for her to be back in the real world? Well, I

purposefully left out the direction she gave so. No one else will go searching for the area. Without giving too much away, I will say that it was more than one stayed over and Beckett indicated that it would be left at a specific motel. How close this was to her final destination, I wasn't sure.

But I knew it would have to be close enough for her to manage on foot. I made arrangements with a friend of mine, Ben, to catch a ride on his way home for the summer, which was thankfully in that same general direction. He seemed excited about the prospect of a road trip. I'll spare you the details of planning, including our friend Vanessa. If not for the circumstances surrounding the journey, I would have been more excited. As it was, I just hoped that my car would be there in one piece, even after almost a week

of been left at the motel. Oh, um, your sister's crazy? Ben asked if the last bits of the city began to fade around us into the background days later. Benjamin, Vanessa chided and slapped his shoulder from her spot in the back seats. What? he said, glancing back at her. I sighed and turned my head to look at him.

She was in a mental institution. Yes, I said. For what? Ben asked. Ben, Vanessa repeated. It's okay, Ness. I figured this will come up, and it's not like it's really difficult for me to talk about. I just usually don't because it's an awkward subject, and people react weird, I said to her, glancing over my shoulder.

He still doesn't need to be so rude about it, she said. She plop back in her seat and briefly scounded him. Sorry, Ness, Ben said, a sheepish smile on his face. So, um, you want to know the sordid history of my... family, I asked. Sure, if you want, he said. This time I looked directly at Vanessa for her answer. She shrugged and gave me a sympathetic look. The most anyone knew about my past, excluding my family members, was that there was something that kept me from talking about my history and family much at all. It wasn't that I was specifically keeping a secret or anything.

I just hated the pity I was met with when I explained, even just what I knew. The few times I'd told anyone while growing up, it was as if all of a sudden eggshells appeared around me that everyone felt the need to be careful around. They stopped treating me the same and it was frustrating and made me feel lonely. Well, I had an older brother and sister. They were twins and seven years older than me. When they were 14 and I was seven, they weren't on a trip with their two best friends and one of their families. I think it was Angie's family. Travis and Becker, my brother and sister, and these two friends, Angie and John, went into some forest. All I know about what happened is that my sister was the only one who was found. The other three were never found but presumed

dead. I never got any details other than what my sister wrote in this journal thing before she left the other day, but that's only a little bit of it and had to be from her imagination. After it all happened, my sister was institutionalized and we moved. I pretty much grew up and only did. I pretty much grew up an only child after that. Becca was just released a couple of months ago, I explained. Wait, she was in there since she was 14. How long was that? Ben asked. Twelve years.

It was pretty traumatic for her, and from bits and pieces of conversation I heard from my parents, whenever she seemed to be getting better, she'd have another breakdown. That was, of course, until she was finally let out, I said. That's horrible, Vanessa said. I felt her hand reach out and squeezed my arm gently. I shrugged. I was young enough that it honestly didn't affect me too much. I mean, it was weird, of course.

And I had to go to therapy for a while, but kids can bounce back easier than adults. Oh, shit, dude. And as soon as she got out, she stole your car? Ben asked. Well, I couldn't help but let out a brief and awkward chuckle. She was with our parents for two months, but then she showed up at my door randomly, unexpected.

she was gone the next morning with my car, and just this notebook that had almost nothing in it except a small piece of the puzzle from her messed up mind, and a note as to where I could find the car. Did she say where she was trying to go? Vanessa asked. Kind of. She said she had to go back from the journal entry before the notes. I'm pretty sure she's talking about the forest where everything happened, I said.

Why the hell would she go back there? Ben asked. I don't know From what she wrote She seems I searched my mind for the best word to describe it Haunted I guess Did she write about the forest itself or anything

Vanessa asked Oh she wrote about a gate in the forest And it seems like they'd heard about it before Here let me just read it to you I said I pulled the journal from my backpack That I'd stored in the floorboard of the car next to my feet

I opened it and proceeded to read the entry to them. They both sat in silence for a moment, after I concluded reciting what my sister had written. Do you think she could have been telling the truth? Ben finally asked. Huh? I responded. I mean, like, there's tons out there we don't know about,

you know, mysteries and whatnot. Do you think what she wrote could have been real? He asked. I think... I trailed off. I hadn't fully let myself confess. consider that as an option. I could have been called a skeptic beforehand, but for some reason having that question posed to me from an outside source made me seriously consider the existence

of something sinister or supernatural in the world, something I'd never taken the time to truly think about. Do you really think something like that's possible? Venster asked from the back seat once I didn't answer. Ben shruged. Maybe, I mean, I hate to get all heavy and shit. How many things have you seen or heard about that just can't be explained logically. I haven't seen any ghosts or anything like that, but I guess I've always wondered if there could be out there. A few haunted spots in my hometown, but I never had any solid proof that they had ghosts. Well, I never had any that weren't ghosts, either. So, opinions still open, isn't it? Think of all the stories and myths, and we were told since the beginning of time. What if some things are

explainable and some things simply aren't, at least not as we know it? You're a nerd. You're a nerd. showing through. Nessa said. Look, where are not go so real? There's a killer forest out there. Something fucked up and creepy happened out there. That's as much as I can say I believe right now. I don't know what happened, but three out of four people died or disappeared. Maybe it was a bear or a warp or something.

Who knows? But something broke Becker's mind, I said. Should we, um... Should we check it out while we're there? Ben asked apprehensively. Are you out of your damn mind? Vanessa squealed. What? I mean, if her sister is in some woods,

wouldn't it be the right thing to try and find her and bring her home and get her help? And if we happen to see something spooky, then we'll have a story to tell, right? He said. There is potentially something that killed children in that forest. You want to go looking for it? Vanessa said. People looking for Becca.

Not the killer beast or one. whatever, Ben replied. I felt him glance over at me. That'd probably be a job for someone like the police or search and rescue, not three college kids who don't know the first thing about the wilderness, she said. Hey, I was a Boy Scout for a couple of years. Do you even know how to start a fire Boy Scout? She shot back. Ben didn't answer and after a few seconds of no response. Vanessa made her noise, as if making sure he knew her her point was made. We drove along in silence for about ten minutes. I stared out of the passenger window, a jumble of thoughts and questions running through my mind. Finally, I broke the silence.

Let's do it, I said. Do what? Vanessa asked. Let's see if we can find this forest and gait or whatever. Let's try to find Becca, I said. Ben smiled wide, excited at the prospect of a spooky adventure, probably at the idea of him being some sort of a hero. Really? Vanessa asked. Yeah, really, I said in response, and I heard her sigh deeply. Okay, but if I die, I'm haunting both of you, she said. Operation Rescue Becker is a goal, Ben said, thrusting a fist in the air.

I rolled my eyes and let out a soft laugh. If I was going to explore any creepy, deepy woods in search of my sister, I couldn't think of anyone who would entertain me as much to go with, that was for sure. The rest of the journey there was uneventful and not worth noting. We followed the information that Becker had left, plus directions Ben had looked up online, and we were led to a motel about ten miles outside of a small town. It's hard to believe that this motel was still in business.

It wasn't that it looked particularly run down or anything. It's just that it was in such an odd and empty life. location. The only people who would likely stop and stay there were those on a long trip and found themselves in need of somewhere to catch him sleep late at night before hitting the road again. The elderly man greeted us warmly, and I asked him about getting a couple of rooms till night. As he began to pull the keys from hooked behind the counter, I then proceeded to ask him about Becker and my car, as we hadn't seen it when we pulled into the logs. Oh, you're the sister, he said with an odd. That sweet girl asked if I'd look after you

car until you got here. I told her it was no problem. I had a pocket in the back so it was safe. I have the keys right here too. Can you believe she was going to leave him in an unlocked car? Hey, uh, he's a little of theft or something around here. Ben chimed in. Oh, no, no, but you can never be entirely short. I made it this far in life being cautious. The man smiled and handed me the car keys and keys to both of the rooms. He looked us over, thoughtfully for a few seconds, and then at it. You'll be staying long. Will you be staying long?

Will you be she returning here to meet you? I shook my head. We should only be here a couple of nights, and no, she doesn't know we're going to be staying here for a bit. No bother. A surprise for her then. His demeanor and tone were nothing short of welcoming

and friendly and even grandfatherly, but I still felt like we shouldn't give too much away. So when Ben opened his mouth to respond. I grabbed in just below his elbow and cut him off. Exactly, I answered with a beaming smile, hoping he couldn't see just how fake it was. Ah, how sweet. Well, enjoy your stay, and if you need anything at all, just let Mr. Wickers no, he said, pointing a thumb to himself, jovially. He found our rooms about halfway down the length of the building and took some of our necessities inside. As Vanessa and I was setting down our

bags, Ben walked over from his room with two full bags of snacks he'd picked up on the road. Vanessa was starving and started digging in immediately, but I wanted to check out my car before eating. So while Nessa picked through the plethora of junk foods, Ben and I walked around the building and found my car. I unlocked it and opened the driver's door. Ben walked around doing a cursory inspection of the vehicle. While sitting in the seat, the door still open, looking for any clues about anything out of place inside when he opened the passenger side and got in. That doesn't look like anything's wrong. All your tires are still here, so I guess that's a good sign, he said.

I shot him a sarcastic smirk and moved my hand to slide the key into the ignition. As I turned the key to start the engine, my knuckles brushed against something. I looked down and found a small folded piece of paper tucked in the seam of the dashboard. I carefully pulled it out and set it on my lap. opting to move the car to the front of the building before looking at it. Ben and I shared a look of curiosity, and I shrug before shifting the car into reverse and driving it to where our rooms were.

When we entered the room, we found that Vanessa had changed from rifling through the bags to having the contents dumped out on the bed all around her. Suddenly hungry, I tucked the piece of paper in my pocket as we joined her, and I focused on pigging out for the moment. Hey, what was on that paper? Ben asked once we'd satisfied ourselves. I leaned back and slip my fingers in my pocket to pull out the folded slip.

It was folded over twice, and when I unfolded it, I immediately saw that it had a header with the name of the motel we were at. Well, it's from here. She must have ridden it when she dropped off the car, I said. Ben propped himself on his elbows and gave me his full attention. I scanned the page with my eyes, not sure of what I was reading. And, Ben prompted. Oh, sorry, it just says the forest gate awaits you.

Find it if you dare. The forest gate is where you'll find them, if you can. I read it aloud. There was also one final sentence included at the very bottom of the page, which I paused at and then read. Almost 15 miles, there's a broken tree. The hell, Ben asked. "'Yeah, that's not the weirdest part.

"'This isn't her handwriting,' I said, leaning forward to hand him the note. "'Are you sure?' he asked, taking it. "'I shrugged. Oh, the little rhyme isn't at least. "'Doesn't look anything like the writing in the notebook. "'It looks kind of childish. "'He studied the paper, his brow was furrowed, "'for a couple of minutes before looking back up at me "'with a confused look on his face.

"'Binetta leaned over and looked at it over his shoulder. "'Isn't this Forest Gate thing what she talked about in her journal?' Vanessa asked. I nodded without saying a word. "'Creepy. Where did it come from?' she inquired. "'It was left in my car, tucked into the dashboard,' I said. She visibly shuddered, and I looked at Ben, who'd been oddly quiet. He shrugged.

"'It's weird, definitely, but it gives us a sort of starting point, I guess. well it's late though I'm gonna go crash now that sounds like a brilliant idea Vanessa agreed but just don't wait me up too early when you can't sleep and are itching to go find some scary treats I said to Ben he gave me a wink as he stood up he bid us good night and went to his room Vanessa and I chatted a little while we got ready for bed but I was only half into it as my mind swarmed with what was on that odd little notes. I know usually in these situations, I should say something about that night being full of

fitful and restless sleep with weird dreams or nightmares and worry. Well, I simply can't, though. I was tired after the trip and fell asleep quickly. I had one strange dream that left me feeling like something was off, but I forgot what was in the dream as soon as I woke up from it. Afterward, I rolled over, and went right back to sleep. The next morning we realized we had to figure out just where this forest was supposed to be. As I took a shower and Ben got his car ready, Vanessa went to the front desk to see if she could find any information to help our quest. When she came back, she reported to us that there were three forests in the general area that Mr. Wickers told her about. Two of them could be found by first travelling north and then

choosing the correct road. The third was to the west of us. We're going to go to one of the northern ones. When we have to choose the road, we're going right. and head in northeast, she announced. He knew the forest you were talking about, I asked. Oh, no, she shook her head. But he mentioned how the one to the west is more commonly traveled by tourists, so that doesn't seem likely. And he kept talking about how the other one to the north was beautiful and a great spot to visit.

When he asked him about the one to the northeast, he tried not to talk about it. That makes me think it's the one we want. Right, let's do this then, Ben said. He piled into his car and down the road we went, heading north. The further we travelled, the more nervous I felt myself getting. Ben and Vanessa chatted off and on about who knows what. I couldn't bring myself to completely pay attention to what they were saying. Before I knew it, Ben was slowing the car down,

and I came back to my senses after zoning out through the window for almost the entire way. I started looking round, curious as to why he'd chosen this specific road to turn onto. Is that it? he asked, pointing to something off to the side of the road to the left. Vanessa leaned forward, bracing herself against both the front seats and peering around Ben to see where he was pointing. I looked as well, and sure enough, it was what could be best described as a broken tree. He looked almost like two different trees in one. It was old, with gnarles and knots in the wood, and could have been struck by lightning at some point. That was a theory I had in my mind as to why the tree was split down the middle.

Half of it looked dead, or almost dead, covered in dark, peeling bark, with bare limbs that sagged and roots that jutted out of the ground. It looked like it was bending down and raising to curl in on itself, away from the healthy half. The living side still flourished with bright green leaves and lighter, stronger bark. The tree itself sat alone next to the entrance to a side road, but in the distance behind it,

the trees became dense. Well, it's definitely a broken tree, Nessa said. I shrugged without a word. Ben turned on to the road and we found ourselves coming down a slight hill, revealing the forest even more and a small sign that labeled the forest and indicated a nearby campground. The sign looked old, and I had the thought that no one, aside from Rebecca, had laid eyes on that sign in who knows how long.

Despite the bright sun that day, the further into the trees, it appeared the light diminished quite a bit. It was ominous and only added to my buzzing nerves. Ben drove the car as far into the trees as it would go, stopping at a small clearing that dead-ended with the forest. After he shut off the engine, he looked at me. So, what now? he asked me. Why are you asking me? I responded. Well, Operation Rescue. you beck is all about your sister, so you're in charge, he said.

That means I'm supposed to know what to do, I asked. He shrugged. It looks like there's a path over there, Vanessa said, pointing to a thin spot in the trees. We got out of the car and began down the path. It was well-tread and led us to another clearing. There was a wooden table, the tight with benches attached on each side. It was clearly old, and I wondered how long it might have been there. I walked to it and looked at the markings carved into the top of it. There were crude words, initials, and a single word of don't in large letters. Vanessa joined me in looking at the table for a while.

Hey guys, I think it's this way. Ben's voice cut into my thoughts. He was standing at the edge of the clearing opposite the table. Vanessa and I walked over to where he stood and looked into the trees. How do you know? Vanessa asked. Well, it's not a trail specifically, but it looks dead, Ben said. We looked at the ground and saw a thin path of dirt and brown grass.

We all shared a look, and I realized that they might also share some of my fear and concern. It was different when we'd decided while we were on the road, but now, being here amongst the trees that acclaimed the life of my brother, the sanity of my sister, and two of their friends, it felt suddenly and painfully real. Even more than that, it felt dangerous. No matter what had happened those years ago, whether supernatural or not, there was something in these unknown woods and we weren't prepared. It took less time than expected for us to follow the path than come to a gate,

the infamous forest gate. It wasn't anything spectacular to look at, but gave off an undone. nerveing vibe. It was a simple thing, made of plain metal, stretching across the makeshift path in a section that widened a little. It looked as if the gate itself had been made to fit the space between the trees. We approached the metal anomaly, and as I studied it, I thought that there was a bar on the inside of it, as if to keep things or people like us from going through. Not much good that ado, Ben said, wiggling his fingers in the space between the two bars, showing that a hand can do.

easily fit through to unlatch the bar. I looked at him for a split second, and furrowed my brow, looking back at the gate. Uh, guys, Vanessa said. Unlike Ben and I, she was looking at the tree to the left of the gate. I pivoted and took a step closer to get a better look at what she pointed at. She was indicating the spot where the supporting bit of iron fencing met the tree. There was no gap between metal and wood. The simple metal bars were coming directly from the tree.

The top of the fencing poked through the trunk at about eye-level to me and continued its arch, breaking only where the gate section was to allow it to swing open. I followed it with my eyes and saw that it was the same on the other side. Somehow it was part of the trees, jutting out of them as if it were something natural. Nessa touched the area around the puncture gently and pulled her hand back, showing us her fingertips which were covered in a shiny, deep, red, sticky substance. She looked between the two of us with a confused and slightly alarmed expression. I couldn't shake the feeling that the tree was sort of bleeding where the metal came out of it.

What the hell was this? The sudden screeching tore my attention away from the gate and made the three of us look around, searching for the source. It was a cacophony of bird. like cores, croaks and whistles. There was no harmony to it, just a blast of birds calling out at once, the din a mash of different tones. I couldn't see anything making the noises, but I was sure they were coming from in front of us, beyond the gate. I started to open my mouth to ask the others if they'd seen anything when a new sound froze the blood in my veins. Mixed in with

the discordance of the roaring multitude. There was a human scream. I distinctly heard a woman's voice shriek the name Travis and then devolve into a howl of pain. Part two. Abbey! Ben yelled after me. I didn't think I couldn't. All I could do was react.

I shoved my hand between the bars of the gate and pushed the bar up, unlatching it, before I swung the heavy iron toward me. It scraped against the ground, which slowed it down a bit, but it still came open without much. struggle. Before I could begin to think if I was doing the right or smart thing, which I wasn't, I threw myself through the gate and began running down the path. I'd never been so reckless in my life, and even today I can't explain what it was that it vote such a response. I'd love to say it was some sort of familial bond or duty, but I can't say that for so. All I knew at that moment

was my brother's name of being called out, and I needed to find out who had screamed it. hoping it was Rebecca. I had no idea where I was going, and it took me a moment for that realization to come to mind. I stopped, only a few yards past the gate, and turned around to see my friends apprehensively stepping through. As they silently joined me, both shaking their heads at my impulsive behaviour,

I took a moment to look at my surroundings. It was much of the same as from the other side of the gate. The most notable difference so far was that the path of dead grass that had widened for the gate, itself, stayed just as wide. Okay, one, are you fucking insane? And two, that was really weird, Nessa said as they closed the gap with a few final steps. Someone's yelling my brother's name.

I think it was a little more than weird, I said. I meant the birds, she said, pointing to the leaves all above our heads. Yeah, they were pretty loud. Did you hear it, though? Did you hear Travis' name? I answered. Well, I meant how they suddenly stopped when he went through the gate. Yeah, we both heard someone shout something, she said. Her eyes narrowed at me, and I could tell she was trying not to be too upset with my recklessness. I paused and looked up. I still couldn't see any of the birds or hear any flutter of wings,

but the silence hit me. I was a little confused as to how I had missed the change from blaring noise to complete silence. The only sound left was the rustling of leaves from the slight breeze. What in the hell were you thinking? Ben chided. I had no response for him other than a simple shrunk. He glared at me disapprovingly. Are you scared then? Vanessa asked. He rolled his eyes at her.

No, but he was still stupid. She could have tripped and fallen or something, he said. Vanessa looked at me with an expression that said, told you so, silently referring to a conversation we'd had the previous night regarding my habit of getting distracted by things and becoming a bit clumsy.

Well, I didn't, I said defiantly. I knew it sounded a bit childish when I said it, but I wasn't about to let them be right. I half expected to turn on my heel and fall flat on my face just for their point to be proven, but thankfully that didn't happen. I whipped back around and added, but the voice

Abby you can't just go charging off because you hear something that might have been a human voice Vanessa said I couldn't believe her uncaring attitude about this but when I looked in her eyes I saw panic couldn't help but be annoyed at her even after I had the thought that she was trying to explain it away more for herself than for me I spun back around after rolling my eyes I began walking with determination deeper into the tree

I heard them both sighed, but they began following me as I walked down the path, farther into the forest. I tried to say alert to any sounds or signs or anything that my sister had been here, but a thought invaded my mind. Rureka had been out here for almost a week now. Why did we think she'd still be in the forest or, in the worst case, even still alive? After half an hour or so of walking without a word, I really did we think she'd still be in the forest or in the worst. I realized I was hearing something. I stopped and looked around. Do you hear that, too? Vanessa asked. Yeah, what is it? I replied. It kind of sounds like dripping, Ben said, his tone unsure of that guess.

As we began trying to pinpoint the location of the sound, it became clear that it wasn't coming from any single direction but all around us. By how soft the splashes were, it had to nearby. We finally agreed to investigate to our left, and almost as soon as we stepped off the path, a bird in a nearby tree let out a horse, laughing sound. Is the wildlife seriously mocking us? Vanessa said. Oh, maybe it knows something we don't, Ben suggested. That left me with a chilled feeling down my spine. There was no maybe about it. Any creature that lived here was in on the secret, a secret that we hadn't the slightest clue about. We traced the sound to a tree only a few steps off of the path.

His limbs were covered in a heavy black liquid that was slowly pooling on the ground as it dripped off of the end of the branches. Ben approached it and bent down to look at the puddle. He picked up a nearby twig and stuck the end in the liquid, then pulled it out, angling himself so we could see. The strange fluid stretched like watered down the lake. glasses, but the color was flat with no shine to it. What do you think this is?

He asked us. I shrugged and Vanessa crouched down to get a better look. It's kind of weird. Well, that's what it is and it kind of smells like... She paused, searching her mind. Rod a milk or something. If it smells gross, we should leave it alone, I said. Ben nodded and they both stood up.

I turned to head back to the path. Ben let out a pain and cry, and I went round to see what had happened. The first thing I saw was his face contorted in a look of confusion, panic and discomfort. He held out his hand in front of him, palm up, examining it. Vanessa grabbed his wrist and looked at his palm. When I stepped back toward them, I saw what had happened. The twigie had been holding somehow lodged itself in his hand. A trickle of blood seeped from around it, while the end of the stick pierced the flesh under his thumb.

How the hell did you do this? Vanessa asked, moving his hand around to try and get a good look at the injury. I didn't, he said. His alarm was growing and turning into frustration. Well, what did you do then? she asked. I just stood up, and when I went to drop it on the ground, it stabbed me, Ben said. Vanessa touched the entry wound and asked about the pain in various spots. He shook his head every time, indicating it wasn't painful. She gripped it, being careful not to touch the liquid still on the end of the stick, and tried to pull it out.

He screamed and cursed. I placed a hand on his back to comfort him. "'It feels like you're pulling on my bone,' he said through gritted teeth. "'Well, do you just want me to leave it in there?' Vanessa shot back. He shook his head and she readjusted her stance. She gave a stronger tug on the twig and Ben howled in pain, instinctively putting a hand out to stop her from continuum.

She lost her balance, not expecting him to reach out and stumble backward. It was her turn to curse and look at her own hand. "'Well, that little piece of shit cut me,' she said, showing us her hand. across the centre of her palm was a shallow cut with blood beading to the surface there was also some of the black liquid around the wound

she carefully wiped her hand on her pants to rid herself of the strange substance and when she held her palm out again for inspection it didn't show much difference whatever the puddle was made from it wasn't going to come off easily she scrunched up her nose and made a disgusted

face of this so what are we going to do about the stick? I asked, gesturing to Ben's hand. Leave it, he said quickly. I gave him an inquisitive look and his face hardened. He didn't say another word, but began trudging to the path and then continuing on. I took a deep inhale and looked at Nessa with exasperation. She shook her head and I could tell she was worried about him, but also didn't want to put up with him getting upset.

Wasn't that Ben was an angry person, but we'd both been around him long enough to know that when he got angry or frustrated, he became cold and rude, and nothing anyone could say would calm him down. He just needed to get over it on his own, usually. Vanessa and I let Ben lead for a while, not wanted to do anything to upset him and have his anger pointed at one of us. He was the one who'd driven, after all. He spent most of the time looking at the way in front of him or looking at his hand. After a while, Vanessa spoke up and asked if any of us thought to bring any water, she was getting thirsty. Oh shit, Ben said, stopping and turning to face us.

We caught up with him and stood there for a moment, feeling horribly foolish for not thinking anything through. Maybe there's a stream or something we can find, I said. We agreed to continue for a little bit before turning around. As if the forest was trying to answer us, we began hearing sounds of water. We broke off from the path once more, and began tricking toward the sores.

I felt uneasy for the few minutes it took us to come upon a small creep. It was shallow, only maybe a couple of inches deep with a rocky bottom and only a few inches across. Vanessa had been the first to rush over to it, dropping her uninjured hand in to try and catch some of the water. She grunted in frustration when this proved to be a difficult task due to the small size, but her head perked up suddenly. She was looking upstream when Ben and I came to stand next to her, and we followed her gaze.

There, in a span of fewer than a hundred yards, was a small pool with a waterfall flowing into it. You've got to be kidding me, I said. Let's go, Vanessa replied. Nessa, wait, this is just too weird. You say you're thirsty, and suddenly we find water. It seems too convenient, I said, grabbing her arm. "'A happy coincidence,' she said, and brush me off. She trudged in the direction of the pool while Ben and I shared a look.

I could tell he was skeptical as well, and it was nice to know I wasn't the only one feeling like this was all too odd and a bit sinister. As we followed her slowly to the water, a chance to ask him how he was feeling. "'It doesn't hurt,' he said, holding his hand up to his face. He looked at the stick jutting out of his skin with a puzzled expression. It only seems to be painful when it's pulled on, almost like it's a part of me. I caught my head to the side.

Can I see it? He shrugged and held his hand out for me to inspect. We kept walking and I looked at the wound closely. The trickle of blood had dried by then, but also formed a ring around where the stick had entered his hand, making it difficult to get a good look at. I held his wrist with one hand and carefully touched the stick near the end opposite his skin. Can you feel that? I asked. He shook his head and I gripped it between my fingers tighter.

What about that? I can't feel the stick at all. It's strange. It doesn't feel like part of me on the outside but the piece inside of me does, he said. I don't like this black gunk so close to an open wound. Can I try something and you have to have to promise not to kill me if it doesn't work. I paused my walking and he did the same, turning to face me. Sure, he said, a bit apprehensively. I gripped the stick about halfway down with both hands. Being careful not to jost it and mostly holding it secure with my left hand, I braced my right thumb under it and attempted to snap the twig in tube. I expected him to scream or the twig to resist, but it broke easily. tossed the dirtied end away from us and looked at him for any sign of discomfort or pain.

He seemed physically unfazed by my action, which I was glad for. Guys, you've got to come taste this water. Vanessa's voice came from the edge of the pool. We turned our attention to her and the water and approached. I still felt uneasy about the entire situation and the coincidental good fortune. Vanessa was crouched down, cupping the water in her hands, and then, gulping it as quickly as she could. I bent down beside her, and Ben did the same on her opposite side. He put his good hand in the liquid and cut a bit of it, bringing it as close to

his face as he was able to before it all drained out. He shrugged and said to me over Ness's head, "'It looks okay.' Just as I was about to cut my own hands in the pool to satisfy my first, we all heard a woman yell. "'Don't!' froze and looked around, searching for the person. I was almost certain the voice had belonged to my sister. "'Who's there?' Ben shouted. "'Don't drink the water,' the voice yelled back. It sounded like it was bouncing off from different points, making it impossible to tell just where it was coming from. One word came from my right, another from the waterfall almost directly in front of us, the third from behind us, and the last one from the pool.

itself. Alarmed I stood up and began scanning our entire surroundings. Instead of finding my sister, though, I saw a small hand gripping the rocky outcropping that the waterfall flowed from. Hey, I yelled to whoever was there. Childlike giggling came in response. But this Vanessa froze mid-sip and Ben joined me in standing. All of our eyes were fixed on the hand. You should drink the water. It's delicious and you're so thirsty, a kid's voice said. It was calm and sweet, sounding innocent and genuine. Who are you? I asked loudly. Who are you? It asked back. The hand moved down the rocks and the face peaked out from the side. It felt like my blood stopped in my veins. Travis? I asked. There was no way it could be my brother,

but looked just like I remembered. He looks identical to the boy in my photo. Travis? The boy mimicked me once more, stepping further around. I could now see his entire body, his entire child-sized body. It was as if he hadn't aged a single day.

We locked eyes and felt my own begin to well up with tears. I felt Ben and Vanessa looking at me, but I couldn't tear my sight away from my big brother who stood as he had been all those years ago across the pool from us. How? I stammered. Drink the water, he said with a wide smile. His feet shuffled and moved him to the edge of the pool.

I noticed then that he was barefoot. I'm not sure why that detail stuck with me at that moment, but it felt odd that he would be barefoot in the forest. His eyes shifted from mine to Vanessa's. I glanced down at her and saw her head turn to face him. He repeated himself. Drink the water. She nodded slowly and reached down to get herself another handful of it.

Bells and whistles and sirens were going off in my mind, but I couldn't quite figure out why. This just felt off. It felt wrong. Something wasn't right. I looked back at Travis and saw, saw him slipping into the pool. He didn't remove any of his clothes and didn't blink as his eyes fixed on Vanessa.

Everything seemed to happen simultaneously in slow motion and too quickly. He was in the water completely before he entirely comprehended what he was doing. Vanessa kept retrieving the water and feeding it to herself as his head disappeared under the surface with barely a ripple. Fed up with her slow progress, Vanessa. laid on her stomach and stuck her face into the pool, taking large gulps like a fish. Nessa, Ben said in a low voice. She didn't respond, only continuing to down the water as quickly as she could. He repeated her name with more force and bent down to touch her shoulder. Nessa. She shrugged the shoulder he touched, to shake him off. Instead of giving up, he gripped her

shoulder and attempted to pull her away from the water her body was tugged slightly but didn't move from where she laid on the ground i looked at her confused at her sudden strain she had one hand digging into the soft dirt at the edge of the water and another outstretched before her submerged from the elbow down i positioned myself to help and gave ben a nod we both grabbed her ben under her armpits while i held onto her waist and pulled back as hard as we could. Her body dislodged from her place on the ground and she shrieked. Her body jolted and twisted as she fought against us, trying to get back to the water. I struggled to hold on to her, despite her efforts to make me lose my grip. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of something black and did a double take. The section of her arm that had been in the

pool was black now, covered with that sticky slime that had been dripping off of the tree. It had a firm grip on her, and unlike before, it was thicker and held itself together, stretching but not breaking. That's when I lost my hold of her and dropped her waist. This offset Ben, and he stumbled, dropping her to the ground in a seated position. She crawled forward, back to the pond. What the hell, Abby? Ben. exclaimed. I pointed at her arm. Look. We both stepped forward and watched as a thin black liquid seeped up her arm to her shoulder slowly, becoming thicker as it stayed in the air for a few seconds.

Go on then. Drink the water, the little boy's voice said. I jumped, having been distracted enough by what was happening with Vanessa to have momentarily forgotten my brother had gotten into the water. I looked up from my friend to see the child's head. peeking out of the water, his bottom lip barely touching the surface as he spoke. My eyes widened as I took in his new visage. He still had my brother's face, but the skin was discovered, taking on a pale blue tint. His hair had somehow grown longer and was shaggy, falling around his face in wet, greasy-looking clumps. His eyes had lost all colour and distinction of humanity, becoming orbs of white, streaked with pale green veins in the corners.

Ben, I said. Hearing my own voice felt alien to me right then. It was full of fear. Don't drink the water. The female voice from before came once again. Vanessa continued to go up it down while Ben and I took hesitant steps back. The little boy glided toward Vanessa as if he didn't have to paddle or kick in order to move through the water. Barely a ripple was made as he closed in on her.

I watched as he lifted an arm above the pool. It was covered in dark green sludge, and I saw where it engulfed his wrist, then stretched out to connect with the black that now covered all of Vanessa's arm and was making its way down her torso and around her neck. He disappeared under the water once more. Vanessa, Ben yelled for her. What? she demanded.

breaking from her incessant drinking to snap her head around and look at us. Ben pointed at her arm, and she seemed to break out of whatever days she'd been in. Her face changed into one of sheer terror. Help me, she said in a soft, wavering voice. I darted forward, grabbing her feet as Ben grabbed her waist this time. She struggled against whatever it was that was keeping her prostrate on the watery bank, reaching her free hand back and trying to pull against the force. With barely a sound, the boy rose in front of her,

his grin slowly getting wider to show rotten and crooked teeth. In a split second, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her under with unusual strength for a child. They both vanished below the surface in an instant. Not expecting it, Ben and I were both thrown off kilter, and Vanessa slid into the water. I tried to rush to the edge of the water, but Ben grabbed me and held me back while that damn voice sounded once again.

Stay away from the water, she said over and over. It became a dead-tone drone, bouncing off of every surface near us. I was pulled back even as I flailed and called for Vanessa. Once we were in the trees far enough for Ben to feel comfortable, but close enough that we could just barely make out the waterfall and pool. He let me go and I fell to my knees, panting and crying. We have to get out of here, Ben said after a few moments. I'd calm down a little, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. I nodded. Screw this forest. Screw my crazy sister who'd led me here. Screw whatever the hell that kid pretended to me my brother was. Screw that pond.

all of it. We began walking through the trees back to the path as we remembered it. It took a few minutes to find, but once we did, we headed in the opposite direction that we'd been travelling before. We didn't speak for a long time, not until we saw the gate ahead of us. What authorities do we call? I asked him. I looked up at his face as we walked. There was something there I hadn't seen before. Some sort of haunted and crushed expression. I don't even know. You can figure that out when we get to the hotel. I'm sure Mr. Wickers will have some sort of idea, he said. His voice was quieter than normal. When we reached the gates, Ben unlatched it and pushed it open with one hand, gesturing for me to walk through before him with his other. What happened next

is something I will never be able to explain. I can't say it was my fault, although there wasn't some external force that caused it. To this day I wish I knew exactly what happened and what made me trip, whether myself or an errant tree root or whatever. As I stepped through the metal barrier, my feet betrayed me and I lost my balance,

landing hard on the ground before me. Ben prop the gate with his foot and leaned down to give me hand up. I took it and stood, brushing myself off. Of course you would fall down now, Ben said. I couldn't help but let out a chuckle, and he did the same. After something traumatic or after a period of sadness, depression, anger, anxiety, or anything negative, I think the body needs to laugh or try to find humor in something from anything to alleviate the weight it's been feeling. Laughter relaxes and calms the body, so it's no wonder that after being tensed up, the smallest thing can make you smile. Your mind has to be in a prime state

for this, though, I found. Usually you have to be ready to let go of the pain, or you have to be exhausted enough that your mind isn't functioning the same as it has been. By then I'm certain both my mind and bends have become weary and strange. Our chuckles became full-blown laughter. Before long, though, I began to cry as I laughed. The guilt rushed over me. and I felt utterly helpless and responsible. Ben pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly. I needed it, and I think he did too. I held him back and we stood there, holding each other for a moment or two before.

I took a deep breath and detached. Guys, you've got to taste this water. Vanessa's voice came from the distance. I shook my head and we both turned to see her crowd. next to the pond no I said Ben's hands gripped my shoulders tighter than he meant to but he continued staring at Vanessa don't drink the water the mysterious voice that sounded like Rebecca said from nowhere and everywhere no no no no I repeated as Ben turned his head to look at me his eyes met mine and mirrored the

terror I felt He dropped his hands from my shoulders and we immediately bolted for our friends. Vanessa, you both screamed at her. What? What's with you guys? she asked, looking up at us from her squatting position. In the pool, just past her, ripples formed beneath the surface. A shaggy head began to emerge from the water. Vanessa heard it and turned her head to look. Drink the water. You're so thirsty.

he said as his face came full into view. Vanessa nodded wordlessly and lay down on her stomach, facing the water, gulping it down like a fish. Part three. When I read my sister's writing in that notebook describing having made it to the gate and then finding out she was right back where she started, I thought it was all in her head. That just wasn't something that happened.

Our logical world doesn't work that way. I was sure it had to have all been in her mind. She was broken by what she'd experienced, not to mention she'd been a child. Trauma can do wild and strange things to anyone's psyche, especially a kid. She was 14 and had lost her best friends and her twin brother. What mind wouldn't be a shattered mess after something like that. Once I experienced it for myself, though, I knew that she hadn't been imagining things. The time jump was real.

Only it didn't play out exactly as it had before. It was quicker the second time. Before we could even reach Vanessa, the boy in the water grabbed her and yanked her in more violently than before. His head didn't disappear immediately like the first time either. He lingered there, his six smiles showing just above the water for at least ten seconds before he sank down and was gone from sight.

Yate, now, then said without hesitation. We took off, following our men, memories from just a short time ago. We ran until my legs began to ache and the air burned in my chest. Wait, I said, slowing down and coming to a stop. I doubled over and tried to catch my breath. We have to get out of here, Ben said. His tone was flustered and I knew he was trying to rush us, but his words came between panting, indicating he needed to take a moment as well. It was then that I noticed how much darker our surroundings were getting. I looked at the sky and searched for the sun.

It's hard to find, but I finally spotted it through the dense canopy, sinking lower into the sky. Is the sun setting? I asked. Ben looked where my eyes were trained. It—I think it might be, he said. How the hell is that possible? We've only been here for a couple of hours, tops, I said. How is any of this fucking possible? He shot back. When I looked at him and he met my eyes, his face turned from angry to sheepish, and I assumed

he hadn't meant to say it so harshly. Let's walk, at least, I said. We can recoup while still moving. He nodded solemnly, and we began walking the path once again. I hoped it would be for the final time. I wanted to be rid of this place. Then my mind had been awash with thoughts and questions on our way into the forest. This time I felt numb and had only one thought.

thought, get to the gate. Even if I'd tried to think of anything else, I simply couldn't. My brain had shut down and become focused on a single thing, survival. In this case, surviving meant that we had to get to that damn gate and make sure we left the forest this time. Well, this time the journey to the gate felt like it was taking longer than before, despite our running the first stretch of it. As we moved along, I regretted not having any way to tell time other than the sun,

and we seemed to stop moving now. I had no idea how long we were walking, but my legs ached worse than they ever had, and I felt my body becoming more and more exhausted with each step. I began to doubt my ability to even get to the entrance. I was thirsty, hungry, and ready to scream when Ben stopped suddenly and faced me. He held a finger up, keeping me quiet, and then pointed to his ear.

"'What now?' I whispered. Again, the forest deemed my inquiry needed a rapid response. If I had been in the mood to think of anything other than our predicament, I might have made a joke at some point, asking for a pile of money or something along those lines. The sounds of wings flapping began to encircle us above our heads. Before, when we'd heard the birds, we'd failed to see any. This time they were perfectly clear. Dozens, if not more, giant black birds were perching

themselves on branches around us. Even after landing, they continued to batter the air with their wings in our direction. I gave Ben a confused look before, turning my attention back to the flying creatures. A combined amount of them, all with their unyielding wings, made the air air around us grow darker. I watched as they lifted their heads to face the tops of the trees, and began to call out to something unseen. then in a flash they started diving down one by one at first and by twos increasing their assault as the seconds ticked by i covered my head with my hands but the skin on my arms was open to their sharp beaks i dropped to the ground and tried to get a look at ben who did the same i couldn't get a good look at him while trying to protect as much of myself as i could but i did glimpse blood running down his arms i wasn't in that position for very long before I felt Ben reach out and grab one of my wrists. I hollered in pain

but allowed him to yank me up and along the path. The roaring and downward swoops from the flock didn't let up for several minutes. I couldn't cover my face very well as we ran, blood and tears stung my eyes as I incurred stinging pecks. He ran for several minutes before the bird stopped their barrage. He slowed to a jog and then to a walk. Once we were We were sure we couldn't hear any bird calls or wings flapping. We stopped to catch our breath and rest. Ben looked at me and I saw that his face and arms were a bloody mess. It was impossible to tell where exactly the skin had been punctured. You look horrible, I said. I was concerned and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, becoming

frightened. And you looked like a ray of goddamn sunshine, he retorted. I looked down at my arms, and sighed. Too worn out and emotionally weary to laugh, even though part of me wanted to. If we ever get out of here, I'm never stepping foot in a forest again, I said, leaning against a tree for support. When leaning didn't serve to help my throbbing legs, I sat down with my back against the tree. When, Ben said, when, get it, I'm not dying in these fucking trees. He sat next to me and took my hand in his, His touch pained my injured body, and I could tell from his wincing that it pained him as well. I wiped the blood, sweat and tears away from my eyes with my other hand, and lean my head on his shoulder. Promise me something, he said.

What? I asked. That one day you'll forgive me, he said. This made me lift my head and look him in the eye. I searched his face, confused by what he meant. Forgive you for what? I asked. He looked at me with an expression that was equal part stern and downtrodden as he spoke. For us coming out here. No, I shook my head gently. It's my sister, and it was my decision, remember?

He turned his head away from me as he let himself drift through his mind. I led my head back on his shoulder with another sigh, gently placing my free hand over the one he had entwined with my other. everything leading up to this point began to replay in my head and I tried to figure out which point we could have turned back and been fine which point would have meant Vanessa was still alive I felt myself begin to cry again even though I fought against it as hard as I could my head was aching and my chest felt tight

Ben stood up and carefully prompted me to do the same my hand still in his I followed his lead and we walked silently. I hadn't realized before that somehow we'd managed to stay on the path as we fled the sinister winged legion. I wasn't sure if we were going in the right direction, though. Are we going the right way? I asked.

My voice sounded smaller than I intended. Ben slowed for just a second as he glanced at me. I really don't know, but it seems like it's best just to keep moving. I nodded and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I felt like I was numb and in a haze. I even began wondering if we're still alive or if this was some sort of afterlife torment

and we died in a car crash or something before we even reached the motel. I couldn't keep any thoughts in order and my mind kept jumping and grabbing at bits and pieces of the entire trip. Aside from watching my own feet move along, I barely noticed anything around me until the sound of rushing water started to infiltrate the silence. It took me a few moments to understand what I was hearing in my current state,

but once I did, I stopped. Ben, still holding my hand, was forced to stop too, and turned to look back at me. Can you hear that? I asked him, my eyes searching the trees to our right for the sound. Is that water? It was obviously he hadn't noticed it until I pointed it out. I think it's coming from over there, I said and pointed.

Ben let go of my hand and began walking through the trees. I followed, not knowing what else to do. Contact with the branches and leaves stung my hands and arms as I pushed through the dense foliage. The increase in sound indicated that we were getting closer to whatever water source was nearby. And the closer we were getting, the more I noticed trees with that black liquid on their limbs. I did my best to avoid them and not touch, but it was difficult to keep myself free of the substance as I hurried after Ben, who seemed oddly determined to find where the water was. By the time we reached the fast-moving stream, I had black streaks on my arms and the back of my hands. My shoes were also sporting a few spots, especially around the soles, where I had stepped in small puddles of the fill.

I saw my friend stop ahead of me. When I caught up with him He was standing on the edge of a small river Looking down into it I joined him and looked into the water Confused by what I was seeing The water itself was clear And we could easily pick out the jagged rocks

Along the bed But something was floating on top Passing us by I knelt down and carefully reached out To catch a photograph As it was being swept before us with the current I looked at it closely and felt my heart drop before I held it up and gave it to bed. In the photograph was Vanessa. She was smiling

and holding a large watermelon in her arms. I recognized the picture as one I take in the previous summer. What the hell? I heard Ben whisper under his breath. I didn't respond to him, but stretched my hand back into the water to grab another. My fingers dipped below the surface and the icy liquid sent needles through my entire hand as I plucked the foot. photo from it. This one was a picture I knew all too well, the same one that I have framed on my desk to this day. I wasn't sure why, but my heart began to pound. Who's that? Ben asked me. It's Becker and Travis, I said, and then pointed at the little girl, and that's me when I was seven. How are these here? he asked, not expecting an answer,

as he crouched down and began examining the pictures that continued to float by. We watched for a few minutes as images we knew, and some we didn't, from both our lives and Vanessa's passed us by. My panic grew when the photographs began to take a darker turn. They began showing images of Vanessa in the forest. Sometimes there was a part of one of us, but the main focus was always her, and always at that twisted pool where we'd lost her.

They show both versions, the original sequence and the second chain of events in painful, crisp detail. And then there were photos of her under the water. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth looked to be contorted in a screen. Bubbles floated around her as she reached up for the surface of the water with one hand. Her other arm, the one that had been captured by the boy, was still covered in that thick blackness, seeming to pull her down into the depths.

As the images progressed, her eyes began to match the boys, turning entirely white, losing the dark brown iris and pupil. Vine-like veins sprouted from the corners of her eyes and reached inward toward each other. Her skin began to change as well, seeming to slough off in chunks and strips, showing the muscle and tissue below. It didn't look like there was any blood, as there should have been. Her jaw went slack, still open but a gap in a more relaxed. a more dead way. The picture showed her eyes closing, jumping a few frames at a time as if taken in rapid succession.

I was dry heaving inches above the river without realizing until I felt Ben's arms around my shoulders, pulling me back. The last few photos I saw were all the same. Vanessa's white eyes snapped open, and something looking similar to the boy from the pool with his arms wrapped around her shoulders tight, his face next to her. His mouth was the only thing that changed between the images, appearing as if he'd been speaking.

Drink the water, I heard his voice whisper. I screamed and flailed out of Ben's arms, backing away from the edge of the stream as quickly as my body would carry me in an almost crab-like walking position. He isn't here. A young voice came from behind me. I froze and slowly turned my head to face the speaker. there was a young girl standing there I didn't recognize her but the simple fact that there was another

random child in the forest made me instantly afraid I stared at her silently unsure of whether or not to respond or run as fast as my exhausted limbs would take me in the end neither option one and I remain frozen where I was looking up at the child she looked to be somewhere around 13 or 14

Her clothes were nondescript and dirty like she'd been playing in the forest, but they weren't unkempt or torn. I jumped slightly when I felt a hand touched my shoulder. When I looked up, I saw it was only Ben. He offered a hand to me and I took it, using his steadiness to hoist myself off the ground. We stood there side by side, looking at the child in front of us. She regarded us with a calm expression and no words.

are you? I asked her. She didn't respond. Only stared at us blankly. I tried it again. What's your name? Still nothing. Are you hurt? I asked a third question. After a moment of no response, Ben asked. Do you know how to get out of here? At this she tilted her head to the side and looked squarely at Ben. A few seconds passed and then she slowly nodded twice and straightened her neck once more. Can you show us? he asked. I was wary of trusting a random child in this forest, but so far she hadn't done anything to make us worry or believe she would kill us or anything.

Still, it was unsettling how she refused to speak. I'd heard what I thought was her voice before, but I hadn't seen her, so now I was beginning to wonder if the voice had come from someone or somewhere else. I scanned the trees as Ben gently tugged on. my upper arm, leading me through them. I looked back to see that the girl had turned around and began to walk, presumably in the direction of the exit. We reached the path in a few minutes, and the girl stopped in the centre of it. She turned around to face us and pointed to her left. Is that where we should go? Ben asked as we closed the gap between us and the child.

She nodded once with the same slow speed as before. Ben and I both looked at the path in the direction. she was indicating. That will lead us soon. I began to ask as I turned my head back to look at her. I stopped suddenly in her absence. What the hell? Ben stepped away from me and looked around the area she'd been standing. He walked over to the trees on one side and then the other.

When he walked back to me, he shrugged. She had just vanished. So, do we trust her? I asked tentatively. I looked again to where the young girl had pointed. Well, she got us to the path. What choice do we really have? Ben said.

We stood there for a moment. I'm sure he was doing the same as I was, internally debating or listening to her or going in the opposite direction. What if it's a trap? I mused aloud. I wasn't really looking for an answer and didn't realize I'd spoken until Ben responded.

Could be. He said. There was a rustling from behind us. Our heads whipped around to look. I saw nothing but strained my ears to listen closely. After trying to make out if it was just the wind or something else for ten or so seconds, I began to clearly hear footsteps. Alarmed, I looked up at Ben. He nodded to me. Either way, it's time to go. He started walking the way she'd pointed us. Our progress wasn't quick by any means As our bodies were more than just exhausted at that point We picked up the pace a little when the footsteps grew a little louder

I kept looking over my shoulder but never caught even a glimpse of what was following us Whatever or whoever it was kept pace with us but didn't sound as if they were trying to catch up Only follow In a strange way this in know of me even more than something attacking At least when we were dealing with the baneful birds or the creepy child we knew what we were up against. Being followed by a patient pursuer, however, was downright maddening and anxiety-inducing.

In the end, we discovered that the little girl had been helpful. We saw the top of the gate begin to loom over the horizon of the path. The second it came into view, the footsteps behind us sped up and darted around us. I looked to where they came from, but couldn't see any person or creature, only rustling leaves and branches that bounced. in the air, displaced by the movement past them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ben look at me and almost stop, but my resolve was steeled, and I stared straight ahead. Whatever was going to try and stop us this time, bring it on. I was fed up with this forest and let anger surge through me. I thought of Vanessa, of my sister, of my brother had their friends. I thought of the countless souls and families this place had lightly ruined. I thought of a twisted creature in the pond that appeared as my brother, but wasn't. I thought of the solemn-looking little girl who'd pointed the way for us.

I thought of the birds and of Ben and his injuries. I thought of my own bloodied face and arms and sorrow. And I was pissed. My feet picked up speed with my determined mindset and I marched ahead, Ben trailing behind me. I didn't stop until I was a few feet away from the gate and what? or, I should say who, stood before it. I wasn't surprised to find the form of my sister there, leaning against the barns.

She was the same age as I was, when I'd last seen her, but her clothes were dirty and torn in places. She looked exhausted and beaten. Purple and blue bruises peaked out from under swollen and blood-encrusted gashes. Wait! she called out, hoarsely. Her voice cracked from strain and dryness. She held out her hand before her, gesturing for us to not come any closer. She panted as if she was out of energy.

I'm not going to be fooled by this. We're going to leave, I said. I planted my feet firmly where I stood and held my head high. Yes, yes, but you can't let them out, Rebecca said. Her hand dropped to her side and she slumped down, back against the gate. Who? Ben asked her. I only glanced at him for a split second and saw him looking all around us. I didn't want to let my eyes leave Becca for any longer look.

Them, she said, her hand lifted barely off the ground to point behind us. I heard Ben turn and gasp. When I didn't follow suit, his hand found my arm. Abbey, he said. His voice was low and tremor. I turned to look and saw. four children standing there. I recognised most of them.

There was my brother and sister, both mirror images of their 14-year-old selves, and then the girl who showed us the way. The fourth was a boy I vaguely recognized, given the context. He was the other friend who disappeared, John. They all still across the path, shoulder to shoulder. Ben took a couple of steps back, while I looked between the child version of Becca

and the adult version at the gate. Abby? The younger Rebecca said, stepping forward. The other three stayed back and exchanged looks between them. She smiled and gestured behind her. I found them, Abby. Don't, the adult Becca said from behind me. I turn my head to look at her.

Her head was leaned back with her eyes closed. Okay, I don't know exactly what's going on here, but Ben and I are leaving. So if any of you want to get on with the attacking, can we do it already? I said to all of them. The kids looked at each other and shrugged. And then Travis spoke up.

We don't want to attack anyone. We just want to go home. You can't trust them, adult Becker said. I watched anger flash across the faces of the children. Okay, we're going now, Ben said to me, grabbing my arm. Wait, little Becker said. Please, Abby, please take us.

I found them, see? I found all of them. We can be a family again. I felt a pang of guilt for the thoughts I was having. My mind considered leaving the children and grabbing the injured Rebecca and balking it through the gate. How was I supposed to believe

that the kids were real and not some trick again? How am I supposed to choose? I asked aloud in a quiet voice to no one in particular. What if we take all of them with us? Ben asked. He stood next to me, speaking quietly near my ear. I turned my head a bit to respond.

They can't all be good, though, right? And how would the kids still be here after all these years? Time doesn't seem to work the same here, he shruged. You won't be able to leave until you decide, the young Angie said. I looked at Travis and remembered. Vanessa. Anger rose up in me again and I turned on my heel. When I was in front of her, I reached a hand out to the adult Rebecca. She looked up at me and took my hand. She struggled to her feet and gave me a small smile. Ben joined us and lifted the latch for the gate.

It opened with a creek when we began to walk through. Ben and I on either side of Becca, helping her walk. Her legs seemed shake. and hard for her to stand on or walk with. So we walked very slowly, over the threshold. But before we could make it all the way through, Becca was yanked backward out of our grass. Becca! I yelled as I spun around and saw three of the children holding her. The fourth, the younger Rebecca, stood a few feet away,

arms crossed over her chest and an angry expression. There was something deep and dark there. Ben and I lunged forward. I grabbed Rebecca, and Ben kicked and pried the kid's hands away from her. They turned their focus to him and began swarming him, now with the help of the fourth child. All four of them poured him to the ground and tried to drag him back into the trees. I turned from Rebecca to look, and she tugged me toward the gate. We have to get out, she said to me as she hobbled as quickly as she could.

I'm going to get you out. and I have to get Ben, I said. He made it to the open gate and I helped her through. I pointed to a tree without a word and she nodded, understanding. She made her way on her own to the tree while I went back for my friend. Ben was doing his best to fight off of the young teens and crawl away from them. The second I reached him, I shoved Angie and kicked Travis, who had a hold of his shoulders. He kicked his leg which John had a hold of, and I...

And I grabbed Rebecca and yanks her away from his other leg. She fell to the ground with a look of surprise. She seemed taken aback by my action against her. Abby, she murmured. I took the few seconds we had to get between the kids and Ben. He got to his feet and grabbed my hand. Before they could make a move, we turned around and booked it as quickly as we could to the gate. Once through, Ben held it tight and pulled it shut with a loud clang.

The bar fell into place a split second before the children were on it. I saw small hands grab at it, but the latch wouldn't budge. They grunted and cursed in frustration. All except Rebecca. She stood there, face pressed against the bars. The world seemed to melt away around us as I looked at my 14-year-old sister. Sounds became muffled in my ears, and we locked eyes. Her hands gripped the bars on either side of her, and tears welled up in her eyes.

She released one hand and reached through the metal. She reached out for me. Abby, she said. Her voice was small and full of sorrow. I felt Ben's hand on my shoulder, and the world rushed back to me. I looked up at him, and he gently squeezed my shoulder. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes before turning my bow. back to the gate. Their voices became a muddle mess of unintelligible syllables and cries.

Instead of letting my heart break at the desperation I heard behind me, I helped the adult Rebecca to her feet. The three of us walked away from the gate. I didn't look back even once. That was 11 years ago. After we got back to the car, we found the nearest hospital and were patched up. We were asked what had happened, but none of us. gave anyone the real story. It was assumed by the bits and pieces of information, coupled without injuries, that we'd come across some vicious animal or pack of animals in some woods. A funeral was held for Vanessa. It was the last time I saw Ben. Rebecca was committed again to the hospital, but was released in less than a year. She stayed living with our parents

until they both died in a car accident. After that, she stayed in the home and still there. We get together sometimes, but we were never able to create a deep bond. I couldn't get past the strange feeling I had whenever I saw her. She reminded me of those children trying to free themselves at the gate, and the young Rebecca with tears in her eyes. Well, lately I have been having a harder time fighting off their memories, or drowning them in alcohol, which usually helps. That frame photo is constantly calling out to me and drawing my eyes in.

It's the same with the dreams where I've ever known. Vanessa haunts me. They started immediately after the forest, but puzzled out for a while, becoming only something rare, been played by the nightmares of her more and more recently, and I'm not sure why. Unlike before, the ones that feature her now feel more like a warning, and I wake up panicking. Sure I can see her ghastly form dissolving into the air at the end of my bed. In a voice that sounds like she has water gurgling in her throat, Vanessa, says she's not human she's the wrong one 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 Same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.