Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep313: Episode 313: Unexplainable Horror Stories

Episode Date: February 3, 2026

We open this evening’s proceedings with ‘The Grand Mausoleum’, an original story by KeyDeeDee, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.. https://www.reddit.com/user/KeyDeeDee/ Our second scary story is ‘There’s Something Between the Gears’, an original work by Whitix; a story shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Whitix We continue with ‘The Treatment of Aaron Nelms’, an original work by Carlos Pandiella; Shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me read it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/Panda_Tech_Support/Today’s next offering is ‘Why Vera Doesn’t Jog at Night Anymore’, an original story by Scribaphobia, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/scribaphobia/ Tonight’s fifth story is ‘To the Future Buyer of This House, You Need to Know Why The Closet Door is Boarded Shut.’, an original story by J.P. Marley, again kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/jpmarley/ Today’s fantastic penultimate offering is ‘Killing My Childhood Monster Was Easier Than I Thought’, an original work by nerdxcorexneal, once morekindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/nerdxcorexneal/ Today’s final phenomenal story is ‘I Painted Something That Shouldn't Exist’, an original work by Amelie C. Langlois, again kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/AmelieCLanglois/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. Imagine, if you will, a world beyond our understanding, a realm where reality bends and twists, where the familiar become strange and the impossible seems real. Place where the lines between light and dark, good and evil, a blur beyond recognition. Come with me, dear friends, and journey into the unknown. Let us explore the depths of the human psyche and the mysteries of the universe. in these four strange and weird and wonderful tales.

Now, my dear friends, as ever, before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Now let's begin. Since its discovery by Ferdinand Magellan in 1521, the Philippines has seen its fair share of horrors and tragedies. From the oppressive 300-plus year rule of the Spaniards

to the brutal occupation of the Japanese during World War II, the soil of the some of 7,000 islands that dot the Philippine archipelago have been soaked in the blood and tears of countless Filipinos who wanted nothing more than to live peaceful lives. One of the darkest periods in the country's history occur from the early 1970s up to the late 1980s. You see, in 1972, then-President Ferdinand-Marco, formally placed the Philippines under martial law.

This period was what many considered to be the lowest point in the country's history. While some revisionists and pro-Marcos faction still contest such a claim to this day, consensus is that this martial law period saw various atrocities committed upon the Filipino people. What made it all worse, I think, is the fact that, unlike the Spanish and Japanese occupations, these atrocities were committed by Filipinos on Filipinos. The late strong man held an iron grip on the country. Free media was silenced. Propaganda reigned supreme,

billions were plundered from the National Treasury, and human rights became nothing but an afterthought. Records are, at best, difficult to come by, but some tallies point to over 3,000 extrajudicial killings, more than 35,000 documented cases of torture, inumerable enforced disappearances, and over 70,000 incarceration. Now, I'm not here to dwell on what the late dictator and his family did or did not do to this country,

but a lot of people forget that the politically motivated atrocities were not the only tragedies that befell the country during this time. You see, in 1981, First Lady Imelda Marcos, in a bit to show off the cultural heritage of the Philippines, pushed for the construction of the Manila Film Centre. The centre was meant to host the 1982 Manila International Film Film Festival. festival. The $25 million endeavour was supposed to not only showcase the cultural treasures of the country, but, if some are to be believed, also reinforced the classy, intellectual and sophisticated image that the First Lady wanted to project. Construction began in 1981, and with such a tight deadline work had to be done round the clock. Some 4,000 workers toil

for three shifts across 24 hours. Some records show that work intended to be done over the course of a couple of weeks were achieved in a matter of days. While I'll always commend the effort, competence and sheer willpower of the Filipino worker, disturbing evidence shows that the speed at which they were able to work on the structure could not be completely attributed to their skill and hard work. Many believe that in order to meet the deadline, and pocket some of the funding, the planners of the building use substandard materials and methods in the construction. worse it was alleged that in order to facilitate faster construction floors were built even though the underlying concrete had yet to fully dry and take hold all this culminated on november the 17th 1981 at around 3 a.m., the upper scaffolding collapsed and around 170 workers plummeted the floors below from here records are scarce given that the government at the time had a complete strangled hold over the media

As such, may well have been in their best interest not to divulge the true extent of the losses to life and property. Many have stated that the higher-ups sought to cover up the whole thing. In fact, rescuers, ambulances and media personnel were only allowed on site some nine hours after the incident, at which point many of the victims were already dead, having either been crushed by falling debris, killed by the impact of the fall, or as some witness account state, impaled on the steeped on the steeped, the old bars below. One of the more grisly yet enduring legends regarding the film centre revolve around what

was done to those workers who fell from the scaffolding. It's a widespread belief that, in an effort to meet the 1982 deadline, had to save faith with the people. The entire accident was covered up, quite literally. It is said that construction was made to continue on the building. When asked what should be done about the bodies, work. Workers were told to simply build over them. Many believe that the deceased, and even some survivors,

were buried alive in wet cement so that the construction could proceed as scheduled. Whether or not this is true is anyone's guess. Officials involved and maintained that the bodies of the deceased were recovered, given the proper rights, while eyewitnesses and workers insist that no such recoveries were made. Regardless, one thing is, is for certain. There are things still bound within the walls of the centre. Patrons, workers, urban explorers and ghost hunters all insist that they experience paranormal activities,

ranging from seeing shadowy figures to hearing unnatural sounds during their stay in the building. Even the grounds around the centre seem to possess such horror, since taxi drivers passing by have reportedly seen and at times picked up, passengers looking bloodied and, distressed, only to find the backseat of their cabs empty upon checking again. So, it's 2016, and I am a few months from finishing my first year in college. One particular class required us to group ourselves and make a documentary about anything in the city of Manila. We were a group of five, consisting of myself.

Rex, a high school friend of mine who also went to the same college. Tina, a rather shy girl. Modo, a loud upper-classman who was in the same course as Rex, and Cat, a similarly loud and brash girl who, I swear, cursed more than anyone I had ever met. After much deliberation, we decided on making a horror documentary, akin to shows like the most haunted places on earth, starring Linda Blair, given that our schools located near a number of historical sites, we decided to narrow down her choices to two. The chapel in our very own school where hundreds of priests were said to have been beheaded during the Japanese

occupation, and Fort Santiago, a nearby fort built by the Spaniards in the walled city of Intramuros. We eventually decided on the latter since we felt that we get bonus points for going out of our comfort zone, as well as the fact that Fort Santiago was a renowned historical site in the country. Now a little backstory might be in order. Fort Santiago was a garrison constructed by the Spaniards during their occupation of the Philippines. It served as a military installation and a prison. In fact, Fort Santiago once held Jose Rizal, the Philippines national hero,

before he was executed in the nearby Luneta Park. During World War II, it served the Japanese a similar function when hundreds of both Filipino and American citizens, combatants and otherwise, was said to have been imprisoned, tortured and killed within the walls of the fall. Seems perfect for a history-class documentary, no. Well, we thought so. That's why a week later, we all get into cabs

and made our way to the walled city of Intramuros to film what we thought would be an A-plus documentary. Intramuros itself is magnificent, to say the least. It's a city within the city. Touring walls of stone separate it from the rest of Manila. Stepping inside is like stepping into a time. machine. Cobblestone streets as far as the eye can see dance and weave across the city. Similarly made stone houses and buildings dot the sprawling grounds, many of which have been

beautifully preserved and now function as museums and tourist spots. Horsstrong carriage is called Calaisas can be seen everywhere. The hooves of the horses making a distinct sound as they strike the stone streets. Aside from a number of modern establishments, people wearing modern clothes and the occasional car, he wouldn't be blamed for thinking that you'd suddenly been thrust back into the 1800s. Unfortunately, the beauty of the place was only matched by our sheer stupidity. In our zeal to get this project over with, we forgot one very simple thing. Fort Santiago, much of the places in Intramuros, were now technically tourist attractions and, as such, were bound by certain rules, namely an opening and closing time.

The guard at the entrance told us we had arrived 15 minutes before closing time, obviously not enough to make a full-blown documentary. We begged with the guard to let us stay past closing, but he said his hands were tied. He directed us to the main office and told us that maybe we could strike a deal with the management officials. Sadly, nothing but a close sign greeted us as we arrived at the main office. Now, technically speaking, this wasn't supposed to be such a big deal. All we had to do was come back the following day.

However, we were college students. Lazy, work-laden, busy, and lazy college students. We'd already planned to finish our documentary tonight, and none of us wanted to have to make our way back here the following day, or any other day for that matter. We just wanted this over and done with. As our group sat by the sidewalk weighing our options, I couldn't help but admire the way the walled city looked.

Its cobblestone streets and towering stone buildings radiated a pale orange underneath the setting sun. Postcard worthy is what I thought as I looked out at the scene before me. My preoccupation with the sight is probably what made me forget all about Kat, who'd apparently separated herself from the group and had just made her way back. Guys, I think I have a plan B, she said, making us all look up. My dad is the, uh, well, he's kind of the caretaker of the caretaker of the. Manila Film Center. It's not as nice as Intram Morris, but I think it's an okay substitute.

He said we can film there. He'd even give us a tour of the place. We all looked at each other. Nobody's saying anything for a few moments. Suddenly Rex jumped up and clapped his hands. That's perfect. Think about it. Our project is a horror documentary.

People probably weren't executed there like they were here, but we all know how fucked up the film center was when it was. was getting built. Plus, it's an old abandoned building at night. It just screams horror documentary. We all realized just how perfect the situation had become. I wish you'd given us that option of the StarCat. We could already be halfway through our documentary by now if we'd gone with the film centre from the beginning. I chimed in. We all had a quick laugh and immediately hailed an incoming taxi. The film centre wasn't far from where we were, and we got there in about 20 minutes. The front of the centre is what you'd expect from any big theatre-oriented building.

The main entrance is located in the centre of a ramp. You can drive up either side to get to the main doors, or walk up a flight of stairs located in the centre of the ramp. The building itself is massive, a white concrete structure designed to resemble the Parthenop. I say white, because I guess that's what it was intended to be. Given the many years the building has left to rot and fester, You could clearly see dark green, almost black trails of mould and watermarks running every which way across the once pristine white walls.

When we got down, I realised that I could finally ask a question. It should bug me about the place for the longest time. Cat, what does Amazing Show me? Referring to the red and blue letters which spelled Amazing Show above the entrance. Cat laughed and gave what was probably one of the biggest surprises of the night. Some company, I don't know if it's Filipino or not, kind of rents this place. They use it for a show or some production. I don't really know what to call it.

Obviously it's called the amazing show and basically it's a huge theatrical drag show. She said with a laugh. We all looked at her as if she was crazy. She continued, I'm serious. is like a troop of transvestites who regularly hold shows here. You'd be surprised to know that there's actually an audience, mostly aging Asian men, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, who seem to get a kick out of it.

Also the occasional Filipino, so I'm sure are just dirty old men. She said again, laughing. None of us believed her at first, but after a quick Google search, everything she said was verified. The fact that a group of transvestites were routinely holding musical-level theater, theatrical shows for the benefit of dirty old men almost took the mystique out of the place, and we all spent a good five minutes outside just laughing at the absurdity of that image. He eventually made it inside, and I must say, I was pleasantly surprised.

Far from the decrepit interior I was expecting, the lobby was just what you'd expect from any theatre. The walls were made of wood and obviously meticulously detailed. A number of posters showing old-school films hung from the rafters. One or two ornate sculptures served as additional displays across the lobby. The floor was carpeted with a velvety red cloth. I was honestly impressed. At the end of the lobby were a couple of massive wooden doors. The actual stage and theatre must have been right behind them,

together with the transvestites. One thing really bothered me, though. actually it was completely unnerving. Well, the lobby itself was magnificent. The floor above was, I don't know how to describe it really. So the lobby was basically an atrium, which means that the floors above could see down toward it, and by extension you could more or less see the upper floors from the lobby.

And that was what put me off. The amount of effort put into making the lobby look as grand as it did was clearly not put into any other part of the building. From where we were standing, we could clearly see the point where the place transitioned from the grandiosity of the lobby to the complete and utter, well, all I could think of was decay. The upper floors looked completely run down.

The walls were a dirty white, either the paint that once covered them long since peeled or they were never painted to begin with. Even from our vantage point, we could see the filth that covered the floors. The ambient light from the lobby cast a weird pale glow on the upper floors, which made it possible to see all the floating dust that was in the air. And the darkness.

Clearly there were no functioning lights on those floors, but the darkness was just different. I'd never seen or felt anything like it. Looking into those dark floors and hallways from the safety of the well-lit lobby made a pitch form in my stomach. It almost looked solid. This wasn't like the darkness of the night.

It was an oppressive kind of darkness, like if you'd lock yourself in a box or a closet. There was absolutely no ambient light up there. Just looking at it made me feel like the darkness was swallowing me whole. My thoughts were interrupted by Cat,

who led us up the grand staircase that had on the other side of the lobby into the mezzanee. We were led down a surprisingly lit hallway and ushered into a big room. This room and the man inside will turn out to be the second biggest surprise of the night, following the whole transvestite musical thing. It was as if we'd entered a 1930s mob den. It was an ornately decorated room, wooden walls, carpeted floors,

and the wooden table located near the back center of the room. On the walls were various film industry memorabilia, placed in pristine glass cases. The man at the table stood up and walked towards us. He was dressed in an impeccable white suit and looked like one of those Italian gangster seriotypes. We all stood there, not knowing what to do, until Cat met him halfway and gave him a big hug. Par, these are my blockmates. That was Cat's dad. Well, when she said he was the caretaker, I assumed he was something along the lines of a security guard making sure that no trespass has made it inside, or that he made sure the place didn't completely fall apart.

I was not expecting what looked like a 1900's mob box. The rest of us threw each other confused looks until the man spoke. I won't bore you with what he said, although what he said wasn't boring at all. It's just that he spoke a bit too fast and had an accent that I can't play. place. He basically told us the history of the place, how he came to manage the property and a bit about himself. Apparently, he'd been a singer or something in the past, a producer maybe, something related to music, and that's how he'd found himself in the entertainment business. He pointed us to one of the many LCD screens on the walls and told us that the band

playing in the videos was his old band. In fact, we did recognize him. We're recognizing him. We're a nice cat as well. Apparently they'd sometimes record songs together. Halfway through his little speech, he offered us a drink, pointing to a mini-bar which was stocked with what was obviously top-shelf alcohol. Me being the heavy drinker that I am almost took him up on his offer, but Rex, who had known of my drinking habits since high school, gave me a stern look, which basically said, don't even try. After a bit more chit-chat, cat's father stood up, clapped his hands and said it was high time to start the tour. He mentioned that he wanted to get this over with quickly so he wouldn't miss the show.

He all gave him a confused look until he explained that he'd gotten us free entrance into the amazing show that was going on tonight. Our confusion, however, was quickly replaced by shock. Cat's father took out two silver pistols and tucked them each into the holsters he had under his coat. He probably recognized our surprise, but, With a wave of his hand, put it off like it was normal. We have to carry firearms whenever we do our rounds here. You see this building is pretty much abandoned. But it's still the government property and it's still being actively managed.

You've had problems with people breaking in and stealing shit here. Everything from leftover furniture, scrap metal, copper wires, the film and music props which were left behind, everything gets taken and sold for scraps. That's why we carry these, so that if we ever encounter trespasses. He gave a quick laugh which honestly freaked me out more than the gun. Another surprise came in the form of him handing Cat a pistol as well. Again he registered our shop and brushed it off.

Cat's been firing these since she was a kid. She even has a license. Don't worry, you're safe with her. He said with a laugh. Cat chuckled as well. with our minds thoroughly blown and our tour guide armed to the teeth we made our way out of the office to begin the tall we made our way out of the mezzanine floor and up the elevators i'd mentioned earlier when we got to the top we stopped at that mark the mark where the light gave way to absolute darkness i've never been one to cower at the mere lack of light but even in a group even with two armed individuals escorting us i was completely completely unnerved by that darkness. I was trying to manage the nod in my throat and a pit in my stomach when Cat's father turned on an abnormally powerful flashlight which cut a sway through the darkness.

How straight and defying the beam of light was against the darkness only reinforced how deep and how solid the latter actually was. At that point our camera started rolling and Rex, our designated host and narrator, began his introduction. Well, I won't bore you with the entire filming sequence since, admittedly, nothing much happened. Most of it was just clips of dark alleyways and filthy rooms, all the while Rex or Cat's father would narrate or talk about the building's history. Particular things did, however, stand out. I'll try to summarize the must. We were led into a cavernous room, mealless to say it was dark with only our lights cutting through the darkness. Cat's father led us to one corner of the room and said, Stay quiet for a bit.

See if you get anything. We did as we were told and stood in a half circle for a minute or so. Rex asked what this was all about, and Cat's father explained. This is a part of the original top floor which collapsed. They had it patched up so that the roof could be set in place. This very spot used to be one of the gaping holes where the workers plummeted to their deaths. A few floors below us is where a lot of their bodies ended up, many of which were never recovered since the construction crews were ordered to continue with the work.

They basically just poured the cement over the bodies, some of which people say were still twitching up to the point that they disappeared beneath the liquid concrete. Actually, that's the spot down there, facing the stage. The first few rows in the left hand most side. all gawked at him. Tina seemed to regain her composure first and asked what was probably on all of our minds. So, the actual theatre, where people actually sit for the shows? Kat's father cut her off with a chuckle. Yep. Actually, the ghost hunters who came here always say that the area is where most of the ghosts can be felt. Audience members even say they see moving

shadows in the corner while the shows are ongoing. Only a few feet of concrete actually separated the audience, members seated in that area from what we can assume to be tense, if not hundreds, of bodies sealed the way underneath. Rex found this bit of information perfect for our documentary. He had the video directed at the center of our half-surpant, started to narrate everything Kat's father had said. Well, I wasn't needed for this portion, so I made my way up to meet with our escort. Something about that room just seemed off. We were led into another room, this time much smaller than the others. It was basically the size of a small condo unit with no windows and what seemed like scorched walls.

For its size, the room itself was actually filled with a lot of garbage. Well, I say garbage because everything was just dusty and strewn about, but upon closer inspection, one might actually see why, people would be willing to break into this place to pill for stuff. All across the floor, leaning on the windows, in boxes by the corners, were film memorabilia. I counted no less than 17 old-school movie posters. These obviously weren't your usual high-resolution printed posters. These were made at a time when posters had to be done by hand. A lot of classic Filipino film posters were scattered all over the room. I even recognized some of the films they depicted as

being those my parents would often talk about. Aside from that, you had a number of costumes just lying around. There was also an old-school projector just sitting there on a table in the far end of the room, and still attached to it was a film reel, no doubt one of an old movie as well. It may have all seemed like garbage, but no doubt these items could fetch a decent price if sold to collectors. On the far corner also set a mattress, a decrepit one at that. was blackish brown and torn all over.

Someone, I don't remember who, jokingly asked if it was being used for naughtier purposes by the groundskeepers. Cat's father, however, explained the history behind the room. This is where the old janitor used to live. You see that mattress there? He died right on that mattress. Apparently he'd somehow broken his back while on that mattress, and seeing us how this was in the days before cellular phones,

he had no way of letting anyone know what had happened to him. When they found him, he was oray in a state of decay, and given how humid this country can get, you can bet that the guys who found him parted ways with their lunch soon thereafter. Actually, if you look closely, you can sort of see the outline his corpse were. He basically melted into the mattress after all. He said that last bit with a little laugh. We weren't sure if he was kidding or not, but nobody was going to stick their face right up to the mattress to find out.

Much of the tour involved pretty much what one could expect from a dilapidated building. Aside from those two key rooms, most of our footage just featured long, dark hallways with narrations being made either by Cat's father or Rex. Our tour soon ended and we made our way back to the lobby of the theatre. I'm pretty sure I was the only one to let out an audible number. sigh once we were back underneath the glow of the chandelier. But the look on everyone else's face, the armed escorts included, betrayed the relief that they also felt. After concluding the documentary,

Cat's father escorted us into the actual theatre where the amazing show was about to begin. Surprisingly, the theatre was pretty packed. Given the nature of the building and the type of show it was hosting, I honestly expected us to be the only people there. I was shot to see that more than half of the seats were filled, mostly by aging men who looked like the kind I'd be very wary of having my daughter around. The show itself was, forgive me for the wording, amazing. This wasn't some drag show you'd expect to see in some seedy dive bar.

I've seen actual plays on Broadway and the production value of this show could just as easily match any theatrical show I'd ever seen. The stage was decorated with massive props resembling the face of a Victoria. an ear of street. The performers were all decked out in ornate sequin costumes, and they all had magnificent singing voices. The choreography of their dances was top-notch as well. In fact, from the distance that we were sitting, one could even consider the performers beautiful, sexy. It was only when they actually made their way closer. Did you realize that, yep, these were guys, and of course there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, mind you. The performance ended, and we all made our way to the exit. We thanked Cat and her father profusely for hosting us and made our way to the

dark street below. Moldo, Tina, Rex and I were standing by the sidewalk waiting for a cab to pass, where Rex suggested that we go for a drink or two as a form of Pug-Pug. For those unfamiliar, Pag-Pug is a kind of traditional superstition wherein one who comes from a wake or funeral should first make a stop anywhere before going home. It could be at a bar, a restaurant, a convenience store, or even just a gas station. The idea behind it was that if you didn't make such a stop, the spirit of the deceased you visited would follow you back home. I'm not one to turn down a couple of drinks, but I was pretty exhausted from the day's events,

so I declined his offer. Modo tried scaring me by saying that if I didn't do the pug-pug, the ghosts of the film centre would follow me home being the aspiring lawyer that i was i immediately pointed out the floor in his reasoning pagpag's done when coming from a wake or funeral so that the ghost of the deceased doesn't follow you home we didn't come from a wake or funeral plus whoever died in the center did so decades ago i'm pretty sure pugpag no longer applies we all had a laugh and bid our goodbyes i let the three Three of them take the first cab we hailed, and after a few minutes I was in a cab of my own, making my way home.

I don't remember much of the ride home, or what I did when I got back for that matter. All I know is that, around 2.20 a.m., I was jolted from my dreamless sleep by an acrid stench. My first thought was, naturally, fire. My father's a bit of a nagger and would always nag me about making sure I don't burn down the house. It didn't matter if I was cooking on a stove, plugging in the microwave, even just lighting a cigarette. I'd always be met with a cascade of reminders about not burning the house down. Naturally, being the hard-headed sob that I am, I'd always play off these warnings, but lo and behold, when faced with the prospect of roasting in my own house,

those warnings came back to the forefront of my mind. I rushed to the kitchen to see if that's where the smell was coming from. To my surprise I was met with Nothing Aside from food that had probably been left out for me No, nothing was burning in the kitchen All the appliances were unplugged and the gas was off I immediately checked my smoking area

To see if I'd forgotten to stub out one of my cigarettes Again, nothing At this point I was starting to think that it was all in my head My imagination was running wild after having been woken from my slumber so suddenly. I decided to have a smoke to calm my nerves. The irony of smoking to calm my nerves after having said nerves sprayed on end

by the prospect of dying in a fire is not lost on me, but, hey, what are you going to do? I sat down and lit a marlborough red, hoping that the tough yet so familiar taste would bring me back to my senses. An overview of the room I was in should be in order. You see, the room itself was not entirely closed off, which is why it was perfect as a smoking area. It was a relatively big room, not a bedroom type, mind you, but large enough to have a table, two chairs, a rocking chair, a bunch of old antiques and its own restroom.

In fact, the restroom was what we'd normally allow guests to use. Both ends of the room were also relatively open. The front end was simply closed off from the garage by a gate. a mesh sliding door and curtains. Next to the bathroom was a small staircase, maybe four or five steps down, which led to the garden through this basement of the house. Now, I know cigarettes are bad for you.

Here in my country, all cigarette pads come with grotesque, oftentimes exaggerated photos of the effects of smoking, open-source, tumours, and various other reminders of what could before a smoker adorn each and every pack. That being said, I think every smoke Looker will agree with me that sometimes you just have to light one up. The calm that first hit brings you is something just so surreal.

Seven minutes or so each cigarette takes from your life, allegedly, is oftentimes a fair trade for the momentary peace one experiences while huffing and puffing on a cigarette. At the time it was no different for me. I sat there looking out into the empty nights, a cold wind gently blowing through the window. Embers dance around my fingers as halos of smoke slowly plumed upwards. I could have stayed in that moment forever, a point in space and time where I had nothing to worry about. No problems, no burdens, not even thoughts,

just me at peace in the dead of the night. My serendipity, however, was immediately shattered by a fleeting figure I caught in the corner of my eye, Whipping my head to the rear door, I saw someone or something. It was the dead of night and the lights outside the house were closed, but I could see a figure standing a foot or so away from the rear door. You might ask how I could see it in the dark, but you have to understand that... I don't know how to say this really, but not all darkness is the same.

I'm sure you know how it is walking into a dark room and still being able to see figures. there's always ambient light around that makes the darkness a little less dark. Here it was more or less the same. It was dark outside, but the moon was providing a bit of help in illuminating the garden outside. Plus this figure was dark, and I mean, dark. Even without the lights on, I could see the outline of the figure, and it was much darker than the night surrounding it. It was as if someone had embossed a man-shaped figure in a darker shade than the blackest.

around it. I sat there, transfixed. I don't know how long I held that thing's gaze, and yes, I do mean gaze because even from the inky darkness outside, I somehow knew it was looking at me. What jolted me from my hypnosis was the ash from my now-finished cigarette falling on my lap. I winced at the brief but searing pain in my leg and brushed the ash off. My gaze immediately went back to the outside gate, but it was gone. I rushed out of the room and flipped the switch for the outside lights. I was half expecting the man to still be there, a burglar or something, waiting to break into the house. But the garden was empty. It must have taken me no less than ten seconds to open the lights and get back to my spot, but the figure, or whatever it was, was no longer there.

There was no way anyone could have fled from sight in that short of time, given the overall layout of the house, but somehow whatever I'd seen had vanished. Now completely unnerved, I left that room, making sure to lock both the sliding and the mesh door leading to it, and made my way to my room. There I lay in bed, covered up to my nose in my thick, weighted blanket. I listened intently for any sound of movement outside. At the time I thought maybe it could have been someone trying to break in, but given my uncertainty about what I'd seen, and the certainty of safety given that each door and window in this house is heavily padlocked or deadbolted each night.

I refrain from waking up my parents. I thought that only when I was sure it was someone outside would I wake them up. At that point the problem would no longer be mine, but between whoever was outside and the business end of one of my father's many guns. One minute turned to five. Five turned to ten, ten turned to thirty, and I heard no movement outside, no indication that there was a soul up at this ungodly hour. At some point, I don't know when really,

why I started to get heavy. I'm sure you've all experienced slipping into the sweet embrace of sleep, that small gap between consciousness and unconsciousness when you know sleep is about to set in. that small transition from the reality of your room to whatever fantasy may lie behind the lids of your eyes in that moment you're not really thinking not really moving just waiting waiting for the slumber to take hold i found myself in that position that almost drunken hazy feeling of not really knowing what's going on around you and not really caring because any moment now you'd fall asleep i could feel it

a second or two more and I be asleep. The cool air blowing from the air conditioning unit and the snugness offered by my weighted blanket all conspired to bring me closer to sleep. But just as I was about to give in to such comforts, a familiar smell wafed up my nostrils, that horrid, acrid stench that had initially woken me up some hours ago.

I'd like to say I bolted from my bed, but I couldn't. I don't know if it was sleep paralysis or something, but I just couldn't move. The stench intensified, and I could actually feel some irritation in my nose, something like sand or dust. And then I saw it. Again out of the corner of my eye, I could see a figure. I couldn't move, but this wouldn't be a problem since the figure carefully, slowly, painfully, made it. way to the foot of my bed. When it was squarely at the foot of the bed, I could see it in all its

horrific glory. It was a man. I'd wager maybe 130 to 140 pounds, heavy, standing at maybe five foot seven tall. He was wearing faded jeans, a loose white shirt and a hard hat or helmet of some kind. His clothes were tattered. His entire body was cutters. His entire body was covered in some kind of dust or soot. His face was grotesque. His eyes were dead, cloudy and milky, but still showing the redness of being bloodshot. The left side of his face was caved in.

You can actually see the fragment of bone which lay sunken in the center of his cheek. His nose was, well, it was gone, but placed by a disgusting cavern in the center of his face. His lips were parted and was, feel black and yellow teeth. What caught my attention the most was his hat or what was

left of it. The left side of the hat was almost completely destroyed. Underneath I could see a massive gash in the man's head. It looked like he'd fallen right on his head and it split upon contact. Actually it looked more like someone had

taken a large blade, a machete maybe and brought it down hard on his head. The gaping wound who used a viscous black liquid. At first I thought it was blood But having been a martial artist For most of my life I knew what bloodied wounds looked like

And this couldn't have been that A lot of people don't realize How sharp and bright blood can be Once it first leaves a body So only when it has time to oxidise Does it take on the dark crimson The movies of all shown us This liquid was thick

Like honey but black As the night sky outside His chest seat the same dark liquid from a large hole carved out of the left side. The hole itself was jagged with skin, muscle and bone matter jutting outwards. Either someone had actively ripped out a chunk of this man's chest or he was impaled by something from behind. For an eternity, we held each other's gaze. What felt like hours passed before finally, the man started to move. He started to move towards me.

He climbed on top of the bed and slowly crawled over me. I wanted to move. I wanted to scream. I wanted to do something, anything to get this thing off me, but I couldn't. His stench was overwhelming at this point. I'm pretty sure if I could have moved I would have been throwing up. My eyes watered and my nose was on fire from the assault on my senses. Finally, I came face to face with the man.

He was lying right on top of me, his body being supported by his left arm while his right hand was on my shoulder. A heavy, cold, dead hand on my shoulder that felt like all the weight of the world would be burdened upon me. I didn't know if this was sleep paralysis, a nightmare or reality, but I was terrified. In my head I was crying, begging for this to end. My thoughts, however, were silence when the man started talking. I say talking because what came out of his horrendous mouth weren't words so much as garbled sounds. I strained to understand what he was saying.

What was happening? What all this was? When I suddenly felt something caught in my throat. Didn't know what it was at first. It felt like a slight itch. But then, ever so slowly, that itch turned into a searing, pain. It was almost as if I'd swallowed a handful of sand and the rough particles were tearing at my insides. The taste was bitter and chemical, but that was the least of my concerns. My throat was

burning and I was slowly finding it harder to breathe. I was gagging. I tried to scream, I tried to cough, help. I tried throwing up, but I couldn't move. The pain was becoming excruciating. A thick sludge of something was clogging up my throat and I was trying to gas for air but reprieve of a full breath escape me. I was slowly losing consciousness. The darkness around my field of vision slowly started to expand. And the last thing I remember seeing was the man's cold, dead. I woke up falling. I don't know where, when, why, what, My thoughts were a blur. All I know is I was falling. The night sky above me slowly being swallowed up by the edges of whatever hole I'd fallen into. Before I could get my bearings, something slammed

into the left side of my face. The pain was instant and excruciating. I could feel the shattered bones in my cheek move as I continued to fall. Finally, I slammed hard into the ground. I tried to move, but I couldn't. The fall had no doubt broken my back, but something else was keeping me in place. I looked down to see a large piece of rebar jutting out from my chest. Bits of my white shirts and what I could only assume

to be bits of me were dangling from the edge of that sinister piece of metal. I looked up to see a part of the night sky now, framed by the gaping hole caused by the claps of the top floor we were working on. I saw a bit of the scaffolding jutting, jutting out from one of the lower floors. No doubt the same scaffolding that I'd struck with my face on the way down.

All around me I could hear chaos. The sound of debris falling resonated throughout the chasm that had consumed me. I could hear people, voices, familiar voices, screaming, crying, cursing in agony. I tried to talk, but all I managed to release was a vile mixture of blood and whatever dust I'd swallowed from my tumble. I lay there. listening to the people around me none of whom I could actually see after a while a

noise started to die down at first the cacophony of sounds just seemed to get a bit softer over time however all the noise ceased all I could hear was the intermittent sound of rocks slowly crumbling around me hours must have passed until I heard more voices voices not around me but some distance away i couldn't understand what they were saying but i could make out some of the words no time still have a deadline survivors can't let the media what do we do now cover it up might still be alive pour it over continue They won't know. I was more past

before I finally felt something other than the pain radiating around my body. At first it just came in drops, then trickles. Now it was raining down all around me. A thick, clumpy liquid feel on my face. I knew from experience just what that was. Liquid cement. In a matter of minutes I was covered in it.

The cement was being poured from me. massive tubes lying in the top portion of the hole the claps had made. I tried to scream, tried to tell them that someone was alive down here, but my meek cries were drowned out by the sound of the cascading cement. I screamed and screamed but to no avail. Soon the cement was up to my face. The rest of my body lay submerged in the viscous substance. Already I could feel the weight of the liquid constricting my body. I tried, one last desperate scream but I just gave the liquid the opportunity to enter my mouth. I choked on a thick substance slowly, making its way down my throat, and the pain was

unbearable. My insides burned, and I could feel the particulate shredding my insides. Pretty soon, I too was almost completely submerged. The cold, viscous substance slowly hardening and welcoming finally into the sweet and welcome embrace of death. I woke up with such a jolt, and I managed to fling myself right out of bed. Beads of sweat ran down my face as I gasped for air. I whipped my head around to get a bearing of where I was. I was in my room. The AC was still blowing, and the TV turned on, but with the volume at zero.

My nightlight bars me in its yellow glow of security. I lay crumpled on the floor for a good five minutes before I gingerly made my way onto my feet. I looked around and saw no scaffolding, no pipes, no rebar, no gaping hole in the sky, and most importantly, no dead man. I listened outside, nothing but a couple of chirps from extra early birds, given how upon checking the time it was only 5am. How was it only 5am? Going through whatever I'd gone through had felt like an eternity. I sat at the foot of my bed, trying to rationalize my ordeal. Was it all a dream?

Foul importance of things to Cartmore. Did what I just go through actually happen? My mind was racing. A thousand thoughts per second only matched by what felt like the thousand beats per minute my heart was pumping. My head was throbbing and I made my way to the bathroom

to splash my face with cold water. When I looked up at the mirror, I was half expecting to see that dead man's milky eyes looking back at me but all I saw was my reflection my confused exasperated reflection I had no idea what had just happened and just like any smoker who finds himself in a bindle went out to light a cigarette to help clear my thoughts it was around a quarter past five and the sky was just starting to turn a deep bluish violet hue signaling the impending rise of the sun more birds were now chirping I could even hear some of

my neighbours start to move about their houses. I couldn't wait for the sun to finally rise and wash away the darkness around me and the horrors it had brought with it. I took out another Marlborough Red and put it in my mouth, savouring that very first hit just as I lit the end with a match. I was starting to calm down, basking in the light embers dancing between my fingers and all two familiar wisps of smoke that rose from the end of the stick. Most smokers have a particular sense of smell. You do this long enough and you know it's just become sensitive to particular kinds of smoke,

if that even makes sense. Basically, you know what cigarette smoke smells like compared to other types of smoke. You can even tell if someone who's just walked into a room has had a cigarette. Well, there I was enjoying the sweet, woody aroma of my cigarette. Mine's starting to clear up, heart starting to calm down. hands starting to steady. I leaned back into my chair to await the rising sun.

Somewhere upstairs I heard a door open, most likely my mother getting ready to start the day. I was no longer the only soul awake in the house, and I felt safe again, secure again, just as I was about to put out my cigarette, the faint hint of an all-too-familiar scent wafed up my nose.

that sick, acrid burning smell that not only assaulted my senses, but made my nose itch with whatever particulates it carried. I didn't have time to think, to move, to act or even to realize what was going on until I felt that familiar, cold, dead hand on my shoulder. Good day, prospective evolutionist. You're reading this because you believe the human species is on the decontal. You believe there's only one logical path forward. The human species must evolve. And you believe there's only one way to accomplish such a feat, through technology. The industrial evolutionists have heard your call and share your interest.

We've spent years researching this issue and believe we've found a solution, A, way forward. If you're interested in learning more, we urge you to follow the directions to this address. Lucas held the flyer between his fingers, skimming it over once again. It contained a bunch of preachy nonsense about the glory of the machines and whatnot. Parts of it didn't make much sense, and the flyer itself looked as if it had been made in Microsoft Word in five minutes. Fairly ironic, considering it went on and about using technology to its fullest and reaping the benefits of doing so. Well, to put it lightly, the indulge. Industrial Evolutionist movement was not what he was expecting when he was told he'd be investigating possible cultist activity.

He'd gone undercover before and dealt with over zealous religious people, but never a combination of the two. So it was with great uncertainty he agreed to investigate the industrial evolutionists. His boss hadn't told him much, or at least he couldn't remember much, his memory of the assignment's overview was a bit murky. but he was handed the flyer and told it would explain what he needed to know. The flyer had given an overview of the movement's ideals, the proper use of technology, humanity's dependence and continued dependence on machines and the proposed evolutionary path humanity should take,

but a little more. He still didn't quite know what he was investigating. He used to be on the lookout for possible cult activity, but nothing about the industrial evolutionist's screamed cultist. Sure, they seemed like a bunch of misguided optimists following an unrealistic idea, but the same could be said, whether true or not, about every religion. Still, the idea of posing as an initiative and infiltrating a cult was certainly intriguing. He looked out his car window at the evolutionist's so-called compound. In reality, the commune's place of

meeting equated to little more than a run-down warehouse, right smack in the middle of the cities industrial district. The place looked long abandoned. The windows were boarded up with rotting wood. There were cracks in the concrete running up the walls. Chips in dulled red paint and not a single mark identifying the building

as the Industrial Evolutionist's meeting area. Well, that raised a few questions right off the back. Will the followers here illegally? And if so, how long? Of course, it wasn't like he could ask the questions without arousing suspect. suspicion. Lucas gazed carefully at the types of people that casually strolled into the warehouse. Men, women, young, old, all shapes and sizes, ducked through the door and out of sight.

Most seemed to have, at best, cautious and at worst, paranoid look about them. They shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably and consistently glanced over their shoulders, checking to see if they were being watched, which, in all fairness they were. Lucas counted around 50 people before he stepped out of his car and into the cool night. The breeze nipped at the back of his neck as he checked the time. 11.50. Just about time for the meeting to begin. He pulled his coat up, his hat over his face,

and thrust his hands into his pockets as he began to cross the street. He didn't make it far, however, before he felt someone crash into him from behind. He whirled around instinctively and saw a young woman, her head mostly obscured by a gray hood, smiling up at him in embarrassment. Sorry, she exclaimed quickly. I wasn't paying attention and you just jumped out of your car and I totally didn't see you there. Lucas smiled back calmly, wanting to have a friendly demeanor towards these followers. It's all right, he said coolly.

Hey, I'm actually fairly new here. you part of the industrial evolution movement i could use some directions and guidance if you could he motioned to the warehouse letting his words trail off oh no i'm not well i am but i don't she hurriedly fished a crumpled flyer similar to the one lucas held out of her pocket and this is my first meeting too i mean i got this letter about a week ago and it seemed kind of interesting and i wanted to learn more so, well, I came here. This is the right place, right? I mean, I know you just said,

assuming the address on that paper is correct, then, yeah, this is the right place. Right, but I don't know, it just kind of seems gross. It's all broke up and ugly. I don't know. I just kind of expected more. Hey, if you don't mind me asking,

where did you get your letter? You do have one, right? fly like this she held up her paper i got one in the mail like you in all honesty lucas hadn't thought about it nor hadn't answered prepared her seemed to work well enough oh you did oh cool yeah weird her they just no to send you one lucas took note of her uneasiness around the subject oh um i'm I'm Alyssa, by the way. She stuck out her hand eagerly, changing the subject. Ian James, Lucas replied, shaking her hand graciously.

It's getting pretty chilly out here, Alyssa. We should head inside and hope someone else can tell us where to go from that. Smart. She agreed and followed beside him as he crossed the street. They walked in silence as Lucas thought to himself. She's a bit enthusiastic, but it seems harmless. This is the kind of company the industrial evolutionists are attracting them, and there shouldn't be any real issues. They approached the rusted and faded door to the warehouse.

Lucas held the door for Alyssa. She smiled and pretended to curtsy before heading inside. Lucas followed her in, instantly feeling a wave of warm air across his face. He stepped inside, gazing at the 60 or so people around him who chatted among themselves happily about a variety. of mundane topics. The room was well lit, attributed to a series of lights overhead, yet there was a hazy fog above the crowd, dimming the lights and insulating the heat. It smelled of coal, and smoke and another odour that Lucas couldn't quite place. Rows of folding chairs had been set up in front of a wooden platform that acted as a stage of sorts. On top of the platform

had a podium and a large rectangular object with a cloth draped over it. Lucas tried to make out any features of the object, but they were obscured by the clock. The object was around 30 feet long and 20 feet high. The fog around the room seemed to emanate from beneath the cloth. Ian, Lucas looked around the room and saw Alyssa sitting down, patting a seat next to her. She'd since removed her hood and let her long brown hair flow down her shoulders. Lucas made his way over to her and sat down, deciding at best to try and blend in instead of immediately asking questions

to the other followers in the room. A few of the other people had sat down as well, scattered amongst the room, but most stood around in groups. Lucas listened in to some of the nearby conversations. Who do you think it'll be tonight? I'm going to volunteer, but I doubt Father Mason will select me. I see there are some new people here.

It's good to see that the movement has expanded its appeal. God knows we all need to. them. Sacrifice. No, it's emerging of one being into another. Sacrifice is too broad a term. That last one made Lucas a bit wary. Most casual conversations didn't revolve around the term sacrifice. He wished he knew what led up to that line, but couldn't directly ask without raising suspicion. Something was wrong, but he didn't have any evidence or idea as to what was wrong. He didn't let this concern show on his face, however, instead staring straight ahead, emotionless.

After a good while, he turned to Alyssa, who'd been humming an uneven tune to herself amidst the commotion. So, he began, catching her attention. Do you know anything about the industrial evolution movement? She scratched the back of her neck and paused before answering. Not much, I mean, I read what the letter said. said and decided to do some further research over the internet but well that's about it i get the gist about what the movement's about but much more than that really what did you find online i didn't even think to look anything up truth really lucas had done extensive research over the internet but had been

unable to find any mention of the industrial evolutionists he was surprised and a bit suspicious that illicero dug anything up. Well, as you can probably guess by the name, it's an extension of the industrial revolution, or at least the basic idea of the revolution. Like, well, machinery revolutionized and continues to improve the human lifestyle, so... Wait, no, that's a bad way of putting it. Okay, so think of it like this. Machinery is a natural extension of humanity, and thus should be the focus for advancing the human species. It's the next step in evolution. Does that make sense? Sure. Good. Well, that's the core belief behind the movement. There are some... The tone grew uncomfortable. Other parts of the movement centering around

the worship of some grand machine entity, but I didn't think that was really... Now Lucas was interested. Hang on. What kind of worship? Tell me about this entity. Oh, well, a name kept popping up as I read through the articles. Soceities. I don't really know anything else. Who is this? Soceities. Some kind of God?

Demon, maybe. I don't really know. I think demon would be closer than God, but that's probably not the best term to use. Hell, so sautieity. the infernal machine. Lucas and Alyssa turned to the voice behind them and saw an older, grimy man coming towards him. His face was stretched wide in an eager grin

and stained with sickly grey patches blotted all over. He placed his hands on Elissa's and Lucas's chairs, and Lucas could see that they were covered in grey patches as well. Always good to see a few fresh faces. The man continued. I'm Father Mason, by the way. I lead the industrial evolutionists. I'm quite surprised in your knowledge of us, young lady.

Most come to these meetings without any advanced knowledge of the movement, but I can see that you've done your research. Alyssa smiled at him without saying a word. Oh, I'm Ian, by the way. Lucas said, breaking the silence. Father Mason smiled at him and nodded. Lucas continued. He and Jameson, this is Alyssa.

So, can you tell me more about Soseides? I wasn't aware of his part in this movement. Ah, I find your desire for knowledge quite refreshing, Mr. James. Just sit tight and listen in to the sermon, and all of your questions will be answered. Lucas smiled and nodded before holding out his hand. All right, well do. I look forward to learning more about this movement.

Father Mason shook Lucas's hand. As do I look forward to teaching it. It was nice meeting you two. I hope you stick around for the entire sermon. With that, he walked towards the platform, stopping every now and then to greet and chat with the other members of the crowd. Once he finally stepped onto the platform, a wave of urgency swept through the crowd,

silencing them as they hurried to find seats. There was very little chatter left by the time Father Mason began to speak. Lucas sat intently, listening with great interest. I could certainly see the cult roots beginning to take form. Good evening, everyone. Father Mason's voice bellowed throughout the warehouse. I'm so glad to see that so many of you are here tonight. There are a few new faces in the country.

ground as well that really warms my heart to see that our little commune is visibly growing well it gives an old man hope but you didn't come here tonight to listen to me ramble you came here because you're concerned for the future of the human species there were a few cheers from the crowd Lucas stayed silent and leaned back in his chair you're here because no one else is the courage to do what we do you're here because the governments of the world have turned a blind eye to our plight. Your cries for assistance, your pleas for attention, your worries and concerns have fallen on deaf ears. These other so-called religious movements have turned you away.

They've been corrupted by commercialism, idealistic principles and simple human neglect. We are the last hope for humanity. We do what we must because no one else is able. Cheers sounded throughout the warehouse once again, more enthusiastic than the last. Lucas joined in as well, grinning despite it all. These people were obviously crazy, taking them down would be no trouble at all. You're all here for a reason, Father Mason continued, pacing around the wooden platform. You have all been chosen by the great societies to lead humanity in the coming day.

None of your appearances here are accidental. Father Mason seemed to glaring on Lucas's direction upon uttering that line. Lucas smirks, finding the irony in that statement to musing. He glanced over at Alyssa, expecting to find her cheering and shouting. Instead, she sat quietly, fidgeting with her hands uneasily. Lucas leaned over and whispered in her ear. Are you feeling all right? You look a bit on air.

What? No, no, I'm just a bit anxious, this is all. This is all so much to take in at once. We have the tools to forge our destiny, but yet they go unused. They sit in the corner, collecting dust only used in the most trivial circumstances. I say no more. Not since the Industrial Revolution has technology changed the lives of so many. In these coming days, I intend to drag humanity to glory, whether they are willing or not. I refused to let our species suffer because some people were afraid of progress. Father Mason paused, letting the crowd cheer in agreement. Despite having no idea what he was talking about,

Lucas stood up and cheered Father Mason on. He enjoyed playing the part of an eager and empty-minded cultist. So say it is, has given us the instruments of our future, and the opportunity to put them to work. We simply provide the fuel to the fire, the manpower necessary to operate such machinery. In a way, we drive our own species forward every time we operate the infernal machine.

That is why we are here tonight. To advance the human species, we must run the machine. We must run the societist machine. That is our purpose. We must feel. the machine we must feed so sayities we must let him complete his tasks amongst the praise for so sayities father Mason removed the sheet from the object on stage revealing a large

mechanical contraption it was a large piece of industrial machinery a steel box full of numerous exposed turning gears and cogs dials and gauges line the side next to a series of pistons and pipes leaking steam. Sparks dance from loose wires and the fog that cover the room emanated from a smokestack near the top of the machine. There was a large turning crank on the side of the machine connected to a large sequence of gears and belts. There appeared to be an input shoot of sorts near one of the ends of the device, large enough for a person to squeeze the roof. The apparatus emitted a muffled humming sound amidst the clinking sounds of metal smacking upon metal.

Lucas sat back in his chair and examined the scene before him. The rest of the crowd was ecstatic, some leaping from their chairs and attempting to approach the machine, to which Father Mason shoot them away. The room filled with a thicker haze and the sounds of machinery appeared

to grow louder as the crowd's combined voices rose. Alyssa sat back, eyeing the machine on stage curiously. Lucas was a bit concerned about the machine's purpose, but tried his best to hide it. These people were harmless so far, but he worried that he knew the exact purpose of the machinery before him. Despite this, he resolved not to break his cover, no matter what happened next. If these people really were dangerous, and he'd need to play his cards right. Not what you were expecting her.

Lucas turned to see Alyssa grinning Riley at him. Ian, I like you. I know you're new to this, but I really think you should leave. Something's going to happen in the next few minutes that you want no part in. Lucas looked at her quizzically, afraid of what she was getting at. Nonetheless, he had to stay regardless. Are you kidding?

Just when it's getting interesting. No way I need to know. more. Alyssa hesitated and then shook her head. There are forces of play here beyond you or me. You want no part in their quarrel. Before Lucas could respond, Father Mason began his speech again. And here he is. So say it is the infernal machine. Who among you, my brothers, is worthy of joining him? Who among you wishes to feed the machine? To use your body as a driving force in humanity's evolution. Who among you wishes to throw your body upon his gears and into the pits of eternity?

Numerous figures in the crowd shot up, raising their hands and begging for the opportunity. Lucas sat still, breaking into a cold sweat as he dreaded what was going to happen. Father Mason gazed around the room, pointing at various followers and shaking his head. After about a minute of this, he held up a hand, urging silence, and continuing his sermon. I appreciate your eagerness, my brothers, but tonight is a special occasion. You see there is a special guest among us. So say it has sent us a bounty. There were hush murmurs among the crowd.

Lucas kept his head down and his eyes fixed on the machine, trying to avoid suspicion. He was confident that he hadn't been detected. It wasn't possible. There was no way they could have detected him, right? Father Mason paced around the platform before settling down behind the podium. He gazed directly at Lucas as he spoke. Yes, this person may believe they have infiltrated our inner sanctum, but they are only here because of Seatus wills it.

This person has been sent to us to serve not only as fuel to the machine, but as an example to show that we are not a force to be trifled with to show that so seys holds the power to show that we are the future of humanity lucas gulped and looked around quickly searching for the nearest exit there stood around 30 people between him and the door if he made a dash for it in the next few seconds he might have a chance he turned to stand up of a to see Alyssa had risen from her chair as well. She moved in his direction, brandishing a sizable pistol in her hand. Thinking quickly, Lucas leapt at her, reaching for the gun before she had a chance to train it on him.

She yelped in surprise, and the two fell to the ground, fighting for the weapon. Alyssa grabbed at the gun and tried to roll away, but Lucas managed to pin her arm and wrestle the gun away. What the fuck are you doing? Alyssa snarled. You're going to ruin everything. I'm not letting you crazy bastards anywhere near me. Lucas stood up, pointing the pistol at the nearby followers who had risen to investigate the commotion.

He slowly backed his way towards the door as the crowd moved to clear a path for him. Alyssa leapt up and started bolting towards the door. Lucas pointed the pistol in her direction, and she stopped, throwing her hands up instinctively. Oh, no, you don't, Lucas Sherrodd. All of you are just going to stay put while I... You idiot!

Alyssa shouted, moving towards him. I'm not with them. I'm... I see Mr. James has already apprehended the suspect. Father Mason's voice gleefully echoed across the walls. Bring her to me. Bring me the follower of love. Lucas lowered his gunning confusion and stepped away.

Alyssa darted towards him frantically. Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me, please, anything's better than... She shouted, but Lucas stepped further away, trying to make sense of the situation. The crowd converged on the two, shuffling past Lucas and towards Alyssa. She fought and kicked them away, but was soon overwhelmed by the sheer mess of people before her. She screamed and yelled obscenities at the men and women. around her as they dragged her towards father Mason meanwhile Lucas received praise and pets on the back as those around him thanked him for disarming the Luddite

fucking machinists Alyssa screeched you follow a false entity a box of moving parts may Lord curse all of you whores your machine is nothing more than that fucking machine you achieve nothing but pointless death you four followers carried Alyssa by her limbs to Father Mason through the crowd, while the others stood to observe the chaos. Once there they bound her arms and legs in rope and tied a piece of cloth around her mouth. She bit down and attempted to scream more curses of them, but Father Mason's voice overpowered hers. Ah, it is true. What we have before us is a follower of Ludd, a filthy Luddite, come to disrupt our actions and progress. This regressive serves as a reminder that Societist is not without his enemies, those that would impede his purpose.

Ludd! Brother of Societies and the lesser of the two. This demon, this creature, this negative force cannot be bothered to confront the infernal machine directly, so he sends his minions to do his work for him. But they meet the same fate as Lodwood. They throw their lives away in a senseless. attempt to turn off the machine. We will not let them. We will keep the gears turning. We will keep so say it satiated. The rest of the industrial evolutionists cheered and called for the machine to be

run. Alyssa struggled against her bonds as the followers on stage picked her up and carried her to the input shoot. Lucas stood frozen in shock, trying to comprehend what was happening. This was his fault wasn't it if he hadn't no there was nothing he could have done he then remembered the weapon he held in his hand and ran towards the stage he pointed the pistol at father mason and shouted for the followers to release elissa they paid him no heed and placed alissa in the input shoot as she tried to wriggle free she looked at lucas her eyes wide in fear and attempted to say something but was unable to Father Mason moved towards the crank, but Lucas kept the piss all trained on him. Father Mason stopped and grinned at Lucas.

Mr. James, excuse me, Lucas, please put that down. Wait, don't look so surprised. The machine tells me many things. I know who you are. I know what you're doing here, but more importantly, I know what you're going to do next. you have no part in this you care not about the war between sossetes and lard you care not about our group nor our rivals you see a group of cultists and i use that term loosely about to sacrifice and i use that term loosely as well a young woman to a demon machine of sorts you play the part of the third party the police the hero you wish to save her and put the rest of us behind bars. You're nothing, if not noble, Lucas. But what you don't know is how Sosaitis works. Take a look at these. He pointed to the grey patches covering his face.

These are signs of strain of wear and tear. They show that Sosatis uses my body as a vessel for his influence, signs of possession, if you will. Why are you telling me this? Just remove Alyssa from the machine and why? Why? Take a look at your hands, Mr. Lucas. I do find it quite beneficial that we shook hands earlier tonight. It's like the signing of a pet. Lucas kept the pistol trained on Father Mason as he poured one of his hands closer to his face. He could see the same diseased patches that covered Father Mason's face now covered his hand and arm as well. He lowered the gun and checked his other arm, finding it to be covered in patches as well. He looked at Father Mason helplessly.

You, I don't feel right. Indeed, Lucas had felt a nauseating presence to take root within his body. He stumbled and nearly fell before bracing himself against the machine. Alyssa screamed something at him, but it was lost amidst the sudden scraping of metal and turning of gears. Steam hissed and conveyors rattled inside his skull as Lucas tried to gain his bearings.

He reached out, trying to pull himself up and his hands found their way to the crank beside the machine. His vision blurred as smoke whether real or not, obscured his sight. Turn the crank, Lucas,

run the machine. Father Mason's voice was the only thing Lucas could hear. It was so commanding, so imperative, so crucial that Lucas turned the crank. He had to turn the crank. He had to run the machine. He had to feed Soseity. He had no choice.

Lucas began to turn the crank. The machine roared to life, its gears spinning and its cogs grinding against one another. Steam escaped into the open air. Pistons pushed themselves up. and downwards and conveyor belts began to roll. There was a muffled screaming coming from inside the machine somewhere, but Lucas ignored it. It was essential that he kept turning the crank. After a few moments, the machine began to produce a different noise.

Instead of metal pounding and scraping against metal, he could hear the metal striking a much softer surface and pressing it down with more ease. Something was caught between the cogs as they fought to keep turning. turning. Steam no longer hissed. A new liquid simply dripped from the pipes onto the equipment beneath. A much more revolting smell entered the warehouse. A mix of flesh, coal and whatever bodily fluids have been squeezed from Alyssa penetrated Lucas's nostrils. He fought off the urge to vomit and focused on turning the crank. The temperature in the entire building increased as the streams of The temperature in the entire building increased as the screams of agony slowly died off.

The crank became increasingly more difficult to turn, as if Lucas was actively fighting against something in the machine. He powered through, feeling blasts of hot air around him as the sweat fell down his face. Blades spun within the machine. Drills bore through flesh and bone, and Lucas hoped Alyssa had expired quickly. unless she feel the machine literally tear her apart. But he could not stop. He knew that no matter what, he had to finish turning the crank.

There was a ding and a whistle went off. The crank refused to budge and Lucas released it, crumpling to the floor and clasping his hand. Lucas could hear a distant cheering in the background but focused on the pain inside his head. Despite not turning the car, crank anymore. The sounds of machinery remained and grew louder within his mind. He could all but feel the steam flowing through his veins, the pulleys in his arms turning as he fumbled around on the

floor, and the teeth of the gears pushing on the inside of his skull. A fire roared in his chest as his body consumed cold and fuel. He wanted it to stop. Oh, he needed it to stop, but God, why wouldn't it stop. He wasn't a machine. He was a person, a person, a person, a person. Do you wish for it to stop, Lucas? Father Mason seemed to read his thoughts. He hadn't realized he'd said those things out loud. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like a vague, yes, but wasn't sure it would be heard over the sounds of the machinery. Step into the machine, Lucas. Father Mason guided him gently.

Yes, yes, that was where he needed to go. Into the bigger machine. He was a machine too, right? It made sense to give his parts to the larger machine. It needed to complete its purpose, after all. Fuel, fuel, fuel. It needed fuel. He was fuel, right?

He could already feel the machine inside him. The grey spots on his arms were markings, marking him as a machine. He was defective. He needed to upgrade. He didn't want to be obsolete. He stepped into the chute and waited. Nothing happened. He needed to turn the crank, but he couldn't.

A human needed to. And he was no longer human. easy Lucas you'll be with Societies soon enough that sounded perfect soceities would understand him which shelter him would cater to his needs after all he was a machine too and they were perfect for one another I'm impressed Lucas father Mason said as he took his place beside the crank most people go insane after possession, but not you, your very strong world, and you have a place with Societis. What you don't know, Lucas, is that this machine isn't Societis. This is the delivery shoot.

He's more glorious than you can imagine. Hail Societis, the infernal machine. His words were repeated by the other humans in the room, but not Lucas. Lucas braced for the embrace of Soceitius. As Father Mason turned the crank, Lucas slid down beneath the machine and caught a glimpse of the true entirety of Soceity. The Soceitius machine stretched on for miles beneath the earth, filled to the brim with moving parts and machinery.

Bits of flesh clung to it, and it almost seemed sentient. It breathed between the gears. He could see him between the gears. He talked to him between the gears. But Lucas knew better. It was nothing more than a machine. He couldn't have been alive.

Lucas knew he was important, that he would keep the machine running, ensuring that it fulfilled its purpose, whatever that may be. Before Lucas spent hours being processed through the entirety of the device, He agreed with Father Mason. It was more glorious than he could have imagined. My name is Marcus Taylor. I work, or rather I worked, as a research assistant to Dr. Elizabeth Ford here at the Colton Institute.

If you're listening to this, then you either work for the hospital as I do, or you came across this recording by some other means. Either by chance or on purpose, it doesn't really matter. At least I got it out. If you know Aaron Nelms or have heard of him, please let his family know what I am about to tell you. In fact, if you know any of the patients at the Colton Institute, please, please get them out. Talk to their families if they have any. They should know the danger that these people are in.

The danger that I am in. It's half-past nine and the rain outside is coming down hard tonight. I wanted to have more time to explain things properly or to really make you believe what I have to say yet with things as they are these scraps of notes are all I can offer the power will be going out again soon with this storm moving on

once that happens I can't really say if I'll be able to get more than this out so this message will have to do I've locked myself in one of the empty office rooms I push some of the furniture by the door as a makeshift barrier. If I'm wrong, then everything should be fine for me by morning. However, I can hear something down the hall that makes me think I'm far from wrong. I don't exactly know what it is in the hall right now. Could be just another person. Yet no one else is supposed to be in this area at night. It's true it could just be one of the doctors coming into the office late,

yet it's not likely in this weather. Not to mention, the sound of movement is off. It's like there's only one person out there, but it sounds like movement from far too many sets of legs, too many footfalls and much too quickly. All right, I think things are quiet now, for the most part. The rain's hitting pretty hard now. Some places get snow in January, but not here in Louisiana.

we get this cold torrent of rain instead. I never did get accustomed to this state's weather. I only moved here because I thought I could really make a change for the better with the work they were doing here at Colton. I thought I could change the world someday. I was wrong. I worked with a grad team on a project dealing with Alzheimer's prior to this. We thought we'd found promising results that would let us slow down the effects brought about

by the disease. Well, it wasn't a cure, but... something that could buy time for someone suffering from it. Here at the Colton Institute, I always advised they were working on something even more profoundly progressive, something even better than a cure to stop the process. There was talk of a method that was able to actually reverse the effects, even in people that were on the final spirals of the illness. Well, that sounded nearly impossible to me at first,

but I was definitely interested in the prospect of being involved with such possibly groundbreaking research. Thus I pushed and fought for the right contacts and security clearances to make myself available for a chance at the job. The Colton Institute is a privately run medical research facility that lived off government contract money. Well, eventually I greased the right wheels and showed enough talent to get a shot at the job, which I obviously got. God, what a mistake that was.

If I'd known then what I do now, I would approach. given up on life itself. I've worked here for the past two years and generally enjoyed that time in strides. I was able to learn more in that time than all of my previous academic or professional pursuits. It only in the past few months, however, that I became privy to the more drastic research being conducted under the building. If you don't know anything about Louisiana, then only half of that might seem odd. You see here on the outskirts of New Orleans, where the Colton Institute is located, there are no underground facilities, or rather they are very rare. The soil's too damp and the water table too high to actually make a basement, or anything like it, a feasible design.

Yet here at Colton, there's a fully operational research facility underneath the main building. It's not particularly large in reference to the main site, but it has enough. to get work done away from the light of prying eyes I made a good name for myself and was also known for keeping my nose clear of problems this bought me a golden ticket so to say with dr Ford who ran the lower facility I still remember being so proud of myself when she asked me to join her personal research staff I didn't know what they were working on at the time but a woman was a rock star in the building a spectacularly brilliant asset to her field.

I was overjoyed to have a chance to learn from her. I did find it a bit odd back then when she stated I had to come back in after hours to tour her lap. It was around seven at night when I came in. Just about everyone had gone home right at five, so it was pretty much empty. Dr. Ford let me in the main lobby and walked me to a room that seemed to be set aside

for spare parts and other maintenance needs. Near the back of the room stood a large walk-in storage container I had three locks on the front one of which was a fingerprint reader I watched as she provided all the needed security measures asked to clear the door I was rather impressed by the whole thing

to be honest I felt like it was more important simply by just being asked to walk through a door with such fancy mechanics I was a smiling idiot As I followed the doctor through the container door, I was at once surprised to see we were heading towards a stairwell and a deep one at length. Again, this is not a common option here in New Orleans at all, where even the dead are entombed above ground. We descended the stairs to her lap, and I was amazed by what she had down there.

On one side of the room was a set of three operating tables along with two very advanced micro-mrI machines. Various assortment of surgical tools dotted the area ready to be used. There was also a set of flat-screen monitors set up as a monitoring station as well. From here Dr. Fork could see the entire above-ground facility, as well as out into the parking lot. I never asked about it at the time, but I think there were even cameras set up at some residences as well. Now I'm under the impression they were set up without the knowledge of anyone living in those homes. almost like she was checking up on release projects. Good God, her projects.

I told you the Colton Institute was gearing up for advanced medical breakthroughs in Alzheimer's, but that was just the soft cover for everything else. The real work being done here is quite altogether apart from that. You see, the other side of her room downstairs held something else. There were five holding pensions, cages really. really. At the time there was nothing inside them. I asked right away, more with my eyes than my voice, really. Dr. Ford said they were just temporary arrangements until other more comfortable methods could be utilised. I wanted to ask more questions about what I was seeing. I spotted something

like dry blood in one of the cages. Right there, right then I could have spoken up or gone to someone, and yet instead I let it fall back into the naive ideals of dreams to come. In the weeks to come I was asked to work on various aspects of her research. The other members of her staff were welcoming and kind in all regards, and yet somehow they all seemed to be keeping their collective distance from me in some way. I couldn't pin it down at the time, but there was definitely something there under the surface of it all. Still, I kept on with my work as if nothing was wrong. Initially I was only going over progress reports of patients that were undergoing special treatment

from Dr. Ford's advanced therapy process. From what I was putting together, some of the patients were doing remarkably well. One, in particular, a woman named Kara Holmes, had even seemed to be a prominent case for possible full regression. I've never seen any work being done on these patients up to that point. point. Then, two weeks ago, we had some sort of accident. Matthew, one of the other members of Ford staff, was badly hurt. From what I was told, he was in a car wreck on the way to work and was injured quite badly. I'd never met him, but was advised he worked late shifts for Ford.

This unexpected accident left her short-handed. As such, Dr. Ford wanted to bring me closer to direct work with the procedure she was conducting that night. She said that this was earlier than she was expecting to bring me to this stage, and I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was more than a little excited to be closer to the action, as it were. As I went down the same set of stairs again, I could feel this rush of hot fetid air rolling over me. There was a loud set of clicking noises as they got to the bottom. When I walked into that research room, I nearly threw up right away. I was not ready for that sight on the floor.

Dr. Ford yelled at me to run over and help one of the other staff members. He was trying to get a harness of some sort clasped onto his man on the floor. The man, he was a mess. His arms and legs were bent backward into a mockery of the human form. His neck bulged at the base with the violent force. It looked like something was about to burst out of him. His face was a mass of reddish flesh with dark veins showing prominently. His open beard seemed singed and curled in some spots.

And the heat. Good Lord, the heat. The closer I got to the man, the more I could feel the air heat up. It was like every bit of the man was emanating a deep heat from within. The staff member with the restraints in hand, John looked at me to help. I did what I could, but Dan, if that whole scene didn't have me shaking. Eventually you got the heated, contorted man into one of the holding cages. John went to shut the door of the holding cage. As he did, one of the odd limbs of the patient shot out with terrible force and grabbed onto

his arm. The patient let out a gurgled slug of spig. and thick mucus all over John's uniform. He let out a scream as the patient seemingly crushed his wrist. He pushed with all his weight and slammed the door closed on the man's arm. I was too scared to do anything but watch. John slammed the door over and over on the ugly extremity latched onto him. Finally it let go and slung back into the confines of the cage, all the while spitting out

wet, stinking clots of vile fluid onto the floor. John locked the door with multiple mechanisms to ensure the patient would not get out. Even so, he backed away quickly as to not risk another attack. After seeing this event and how mangled John's arm was, I quickly began to doubt the nature of the car accident I was fed earlier. Somehow it seemed much more plausible that this patient was the cause of whatever damage befell Matthew. minutes later dr ford took me into her upstairs office to talk as john went to patch himself up she tried her best to calm me down with rational logical explanations for everything and to her credit it was working but only on the surface she explained to me that the man in confinement below was a special case and they were tasked with trying to help him out of his delusions brought about by various defects in his brain his odd appearance was due to the unfortunate at side effects of previous treatments at another facility.

At some level, past her calm, demeanour and educated poise, I could feel the insulting amount of crap she was shoveling at me. Yet, again, I just sat there and smiled as I ate it up. Everything about that room downstairs screamed at my conscience. She seemed happy with my perceived obedience and told me that we would do our best to help everyone here. All the while she was to do our best to help everyone here. talking all i could think about was that grotesque thing spilling onto the floor below us i drove home at night

trying to understand what i was supposed to do what did i actually see down there it was just a sick old man i told myself i tried to keep it together in my head i had after all seen deeply disturbed patients at other facilities before nothing like what i'd seen that night of course i went to bed that night staring at the television trying to tell myself that it was nothing it's just a sick old man nothing else i tried to keep that lie strong work for a few days but it wasn't meant to laugh dr ford had me working more and more in a lower lab after that every day i went down those stairs i felt horrible each step down closer and closer to that man in the cave He seemed to have become more and more docile each time, yet that made him even worse somehow.

The bulge in his neck had become more of a strange depression under his skin. It glows slightly with a dim yellow light. His arms and legs were still set in their ugly disjointed orientation. And it never got better to look at these faulted things. I'd help John take a blood test from the man at times and had others trying to get him to talk to us. He never did say anything aside from those nasty gurgles. And then, one day, he was just gone. John told me he'd been moved to somewhere more secure.

I didn't question it as I was relieved to be apart from that nightmare. John didn't seem to care one way or another. Oh, John, something about him didn't sit right with me either. He was a research assistant for Dr. Ford, like me, and yet he looked like he was built for war and ready for it at all times. I don't just mean he worked out a lot. It was something in his mannerism, the look in his eyes, or the way he moved. If I didn't know better, I'd say the man was hired more for muscle than science.

This is just speculation on my part that I'm confident that John is current or prior military of some sort. I guess speculation doesn't matter now, though. Not at this point. Two days ago I was asked to evaluate the status of a new patient who was being admitted. Dr. Ford said she wanted me to observe the man to see how severe his condition was. I'd be using a quiz to try and get analytical data to use for my research. Just a bit past noon on Tuesday this gentleman arrived into processing. He was restrained and confined to a room in the upper facility at once.

I asked about the restraints and was advised he was being very cooperative but it was a simple preventative measure seemingly the man in question had been experiencing hallucinations that caused him to have violent outbursts this man's name was aaron now this man is the reason i can no longer take part in the work being done here at the colton institute his treatment is medicine as the good doctor called it is what might be moving around in the halls tonight i went to see errand to interview him and gather notes for the trials to come. Dr. Ford had provided me with a set of questions you wanted me to go through with him. It was put off by the idea of talking to him on account of the possible outburst, but he was unable to move past his bed, not to mention

that his arms were strapped down. I walked into the room and took a seat at a table. I was only about five feet from the gentleman. He looked at me with tired eyes, and sighed as I sat down. He knew I was there to ask him questions that he must have already answered over and over with many other professionals. Introduced myself and made it clear I wasn't here to judge,

only to try and understand what he was going through. Took some time for him to start talking to me. It almost seemed like he was trying to verify if I was real before allowing himself to talk. Eventually he started to answer my questions with increasing confidence. comfort. The starting questions were all very basic. What was his name? Who were his parents? How old was he? I then started to probe deeper into his issues to see what the extent of his

hallucinations might be. Aaron looked at me with an almost fearful expression like the concept of talking about them would bring them upon us. And directly asked him what he would see when they came. He looked dead into my eyes and said that they don't come anymore. He said they'd stopped leaving, that they were always here now. This cryptic answer didn't tell me much, but it did piqued my interest as to what was triggering the violence noted in his fight. I wanted to go a bit off the notes and ask him more about his personal life, family, work, ambitions. I was looking for something that could tell me more as to what had caused the episodes in the first place. As I did, John came into the room.

He looked a bit rile. He asked me why I was asking so many personal questions with the subject. I spoke up saying that I was trying to get more information for the doctor, as well as advising John that the subject had a name. John's attitude was almost combative at my response. He told me that I needed to stick. the notes aloud, and doers command it. He used that term, command it.

I can't lie, John scared me a bit already, but something in his movements there made me feel like I was in real danger. I gave a sheepish apology and told him I try to keep it directly on the book from now on. He told me to take a break and head out for lunch. Well, I told him I could continue, but I wasn't even hungry. yet as he looked back at me I could tell it wasn't a suggestion gather my things and left the room as I did I was a sinking feeling in my gut that something foul was happening walking out of the building another thought hit me John's arm was bare and exposed in that room the same arm that the gnarled looking patient below had ripped at just a few nights ago it was clean no sign of damage at all how was that possible i thought i remember the blood and rent flesh i'd seen that

night that mess was clear now there was just no way he could have healed that fast there'd be scars from that i tried to make sense of it by telling myself that he must have used some kind of makeup to cover it but no that just didn't seem right either it was just another innocent series of doubts and lies that I was pushing down. Later that day I went to see Dr. Ford about the matter. I spoke up about how John seemed to be rather aggressive and forceful in his approach. She told me that I shouldn't worry about it. Instead, she suggested that I'd be appreciative of his strength,

as it comes in handy with some of the more unruly individuals that come here. She quickly moved the matter to another subject. Dr. Ford advised me that Aaron was scheduled for a screening, to be a new test subject for her therapy method. I was told that I needed to prep the lab below with John that night for the process. I wanted to ask more, but she'd already started to leave. She took a call and asked me to leave the office. As soon as I stepped out of her office, John was there waiting for me.

He told me to follow him, and he went down to the lab. Once there, you had me do some menial cleaning duties. I was wiping off what seemed like freshly dropped, fluid spells. I asked John what had happened, his reply was simply a series of mutterings. With that I understood that we wouldn't be talking much at all. I was a bit annoyed to be used as a janitorial service, considering my position, but considering the secrecy of the lab, I understood the why behind it. John didn't help much with the cleaning. He was working on adding a reinforced steel lining to one of the containment cells. I could see.

what looked like claw marks on parts that he was replacing. I shuddered to think of what else was held in these cells that I wasn't privy to. I was almost done with the final cleaning needs when I found it. I bent down to wipe out some hard-to-reach gunk from underneath the surgical table. The spot had an odd bend to it that made reaching the mess to chaw. I grabbed a screwdriver to help move a panel aside to make it easier. As I did, I did, I did. Something fell down onto the floor. At first I thought it was just another bit of gun like the rest. And yet this was a dried and brittle piece.

It must have been there for a while. When I went to collect with my gloved hands, it broke apart. I then found that the brittle outer layer was coating something underneath. It was a badge, an ID badge for use here at Colton. I inspected the badge and saw it belong to. one Matthew L. Anderberry. The ID picture was of a young man with a gleaming smile, maybe in his late twenties. He had reddish hair and a bushy, open beard within seconds of seeing the badge.

The realization of what I was looking at dawned on me. The contorted abomination of a man that I'd seen down in the same lab before. The thing that spat up this viscous fluid. the ugly image that carried the same, Auburn beard. That patient in the cage those few nights ago. It was Matthew, Dr. Ford's staff member who was hurt in the car accident.

I didn't even see John come up to me. He grabbed the badge out of my hand and stuffed it into his back pocket. He looked at me like he was considering if he should do something, say something. Instead, he just told me to go back upstairs and wave, for him by Aaron's room. I did as he asked, and nearly as soon as I'd made it outside of the security doors, I sank against a wall and fell apart for a moment.

I was nearly certain there was something wrong going on, something foul, and now I knew it. Matthew certainly looked like he might have been in a car wreck, but was that before or after they decided he needed to be part of Dr. Ford's treatment work? I gathered my mental faculties and made my way to the second floor, where Aaron's room was located. However, before I made it there, I stopped by the bathroom and isolated myself in a store. I opened my browser and did a search for Aaron Nelms. I don't know why I suddenly thought to do so, but something was tugging at my head for it. At first I didn't find anything useful or notable, but then I refined my search with added keywords like,

missing, admitted, or jailed, for example. Then I found an article that opened this atrocity up for me. The article spoke about a project in Africa where a group of research scientists have been working on a rare plant specimen. This plant seemed to contain properties that would help reverse blindness in humans, or so the local people said. I looked through the article and found one Dr. Nelms credited with establishing a working dialogue with the locals, allowing them to make headway as i dug deeper i finally came to a group image of the research scientist on location it was dated over six months ago in that image to the top right wearing a casual plaid shirt and jeans was the very same man i was to see on the second floor no doubt about it that was air and

known. I dug deeper and deeper and eventually came to a missing person's notice, posted on two social media sites. Both of them were seemingly posted by Aaron's wife. She stated that he'd been reported missing and that no leads were found. Posts were heartbreaking to read, and I knew I had to do something. Tell someone. I thought, was it possible that Dr. Ford didn't know the history of this man. Maybe I could just walk up to her and we could work it all out. I was optimistic and stupid. I made my way out of the bathroom and over to Aaron's room.

John wasn't there yet. I think he wanted to make me wait for him on purpose, just to assert dominance in some way. Maybe he was just being a jerk. I could never tell with that man. I went ahead and risked a walk in. to the room. Aaron was sitting on the bed just as before. He was looking at the wall with a scowl on his face. He didn't even seem to register my approach. I was about to say hello

when he started to speak. He wasn't talking to me, however. He was speaking to the wall. Aaron was telling something there that he can't help anymore. He said that no matter what, He can't let his family get touched by it. Well, I assume the man was having one of his hallucinations. I interjected his conversation by asking, Who are you talking to? He turned to face me, and I could see there were tears in his eyes. He said, it did not matter.

It wasn't a who, but a what, and that I surely did not want to know. I was bursting inside to ask him about what I'd found, to see if he was indeed the same reacher whose wife is lovingly searching for it. I went to open my mouth, but he put a finger up to silence me. It does not matter, he told me. He told me that I was there to get him ready for the poison. He told me that the thing on the walls already told him what was going to happen. I asked what the thing on the walls was.

He just shook his head saying that I wasn't there. yet. I wasn't built right to see it. I then asked him about the poison. What he meant by that? He replied that the treatment was more than I could see. He said that Dr. Ford was making sure it pulled all the good parts of her mind away from the bad. It was a caustic venom she was milking from the wall things. I had no idea what he was talking about, and quite honestly he was playing the part of a lunatic quite well. Aaron looked at me and smiled. He said that the thing she calls John is coming and I should get ready.

He told me that Dr. Ford hit it again and it's in a bad mood. Just then John came through the door and he did have an angry look about him. I pulled back to a corner of the room as he walked in. John simply told Aaron to stand up. Even as he said it, he pulled the man from the bed with one arm and man handled him. He was checking for something on his back. Seemingly finding whatever his target was, he took a syringe from his pocket and injected Aaron with him.

Aaron made no sign he was in pain, or that he was even totally there with us. John dropped the man and turned to leave. He threw the syringe on the ground and told me to clean it up. He had an ugly sneer as he did. Walking out the door, he told me to finish up my reports and be back by eight to start the process. I spent the rest of the day with mixed feelings of fear,

anger and confusion rolling around my head. As the time came, I made my way down to the underground lab for the last time. John was waiting for me at the entrance. He unlocked the door without saying a word, and we went down together. Making our way down the stairs, I could smell a faint stink in the air,

something i wasn't familiar with it had hints of feces or strong of bitterness to it whatever it was the scent was building by the moment dr ford was by some of the monitors below with her scrubs on i was already wearing a set in preparation as well john had a pair on too but he seemed bulky and heavy i was sure he was wearing something hard underneath Finally, down there on the surgical table was Aaron himself. He was awake but seemed quite apart from the situation going on around it. He was making small movements with his lips like he was whispering something. I followed his eyes and he was staring at a far right wall. As I did, just for the faintest of moments, I swore I could see something there. I blinked and looked again.

Nothing. I let that moment fall away. It's just me being tired, seeing things in the shadows. Looking back at Aaron, he was still looking at the wall, yet with his right eye still in places, left, rolled around and looked at me. I didn't know what the hell was going on. I asked Dr. Ford as to the man's ocular strangeness. She just laughed and said that I worried too much about the little things.

She said that tonight I would be part of the bigger picture. i think i understand what she meant now but i hope to god i am wrong i asked her just what we would be doing to or rather for erin she told me to stop using his name as it's not allowed down here she said to refer to him as c two one three i was taken aback by her nonchalant tone she told me to check the restraints and prepare to document the process i did so and felt horrible right away. These restraints she had on him, they were biting into the flesh of the man. They felt far too tight and when I voiced as much, John told me to shut up. Moments later, the process started. Dr. Ford used no less than 11 syringes filled with various concoctions to begin with. These were all injected into Aaron's neck. He again made no motion as she did so.

Dr. Ford started to speak, mostly for the record. She said the patient who suffered from multiple hallucinations and various mental issues would be receiving a level three application of the HG solution. She stated it was a modified formula that would help to further the separation of healthy brain segments from the failing ones. She added that the growth supplement would be tested in this trial, as well as to verify if the removed sections could be repaired by the body itself. for a moment i was brought back into the young happy researcher i wanted to be once again i thought to myself about all the good that we could do if she was right about her work yes for just a

moment i let the ideas of everything i'd known up to this point fall aside as my reason for coming surfaced again yet that was not to last for long as i looked at aaron on the table i I remember the ID card I'd found under the panel I removed. Matthew, he'd been on this table before at some point. He had been given something here. My mind reordered at the thought of what happened that night. What details had I been right to about? Dr. Ford went to apply some sort of cream to the injection site.

It wasn't something I was medically familiar with. Oh, Lord, did it stink. filled the room with the same smell from that night almost instantly i felt the air around me rise in temperature air imbuckled and strained against the restraints even so he made no facial suggestions that he was in any form of pain he for the most part looked like he checked out mentally from the whole situation dr ford looked towards me and assured me that we were fine this is how the solution starts. Once the treatment begins, the subject expels a massive wave of heat. She advised that it would pass not to worry. I nodded and maintained my documentation on the process while also keeping

an eye on the noted biore readings on the monitors. Aaron's heart rate was slow, not dangerously slow, but enough to make me wonder at the details going on inside his body. Dr. Ford spoke again, noting that the subject had not shown any signs of discomfort. John just kept walking around the table like a coil cobra, ready to strike into action should anything go off the rails, just as well, because soon it would. Dr Ford pulled over a set of surgeons' tools on a rolling table. She inspected them and selected one.

She bent over Aaron's left ear and was getting ready. to start. She proclaimed that she would now begin the process of the first incision to determine the status of dying portions. She sliced into the heated flesh and a rupture of smells came forth. I was extremely nauseated by this point. I don't have a particularly weak stomach, but this level of intensity was just overbearing. As she continued her cuts, I could see Aaron was saying something. Whispers again at first. but then quite clearly he said they want you too dr ford backed away her tool gleaming with blood under the lights what did you say she replied Aaron said it again this time with a stronger

tone in his delivery they want you too dr Ford made a motion to John to fetch another set of syringes from a nearby cabinet as he moved away Aaron tore his left arm free from the restraint a shower of gore blew out from the now shredded section where his hand and wrist were connected still no sign of pain came across his face he used the mangled appendage as a tendril of sorts and latched on to the doctor's throat and his eyes became rolling flashes of neon light With a sickening snap, he broke the restraint on his neck and pulled himself up face-level with Dr. Ford. John was already dashing back to the table, but something seemed to grab hold of him and pull him toward the far-right wall.

Whatever it was seemed to have a hold of his leg and was drawing him farther into the shadows of the wall. My attention came back to the table as Dr. Ford started to scream at me for help. Aaron opened his mouth, allowing thick ropes of blackened saliva to spill out. He told her that she had not delivered as they wanted, and now they wanted her. What that meant I could not even guess at, with a vile contortion of his body, Aaron threw the doctor across the lab. She landed close to where John was struggling with whatever had a hold on him. It was having a hard time focusing on anything.

as the light in the lab was dimming and becoming an almost thick layer of electric haze. I heard something akin to a plastic wrapper crinkling, but with an accompanied wetness that spoke of a scene I would rather not see. I let fear take over and dashed to the stairs. I struggled to get up each step. At one point I think I nearly slipped down. I dared one glance back when I was near the top. I saw him.

Aaron. He was sitting down calmly in one of the chairs below. Sounds of obscene violence still blowing out from near the surgery table. He looked at me with a serene smile and gave me a thumbs up. And then he said, Don't run far. Even over the mess of the moment, I could hear his words clearly. Somehow they terrified me more than anything else I'd seen down there.

I made my way up and ran into the nearest office I could find that was unlocked. I barricaded the door with anything I could find, and then I rested against the wall and waited for something to come. I waited so long, but nothing ever came, not even a noise. At some point I must have passed out. I remember waking up today. I had my clothes covered in a thick mucus. It must have been from the lab, but I didn't even notice it.

My neck had small wounds on it too, something like tiny paper cuts. I checked my pockets for my phone to call the police or anyone for help, and I must have dropped it on the run. I looked around and found a laptop in one of the desks that was in the office. By some grace, it was charged. I was able to log in and connect to the local intranet. Well, if the time's right, then, I'd slept until late the next day. Checking for active logins, no one seemed to be on but me.

The local network doesn't allow me to access outside sites or email anyone beyond the office. So, here I am. Alone in this damn nightmare place. Now, tonight I'm hearing noises out there. And I'm not sure if I'll get another night. I've saved this recording to as many places inside the internal network as possible. So please, if you get this message, do something, anything. As for air and nouns, if you see him, be careful.

I don't think the people he talks to in the walls are just in his head. Well, not anymore. Vera Cox grabbed her favorite blue water bottle and slid on her running shoes. She double-checked to see she had everything and stepped into the cool air. As she rifled through her key ring for the right one, cold gust sent a shiver through her. After locking up the house, she gave a deep breath and started jogging into the cold, dark night. It was only a few steps before she felt like something was missing and turned around to find her phone had slipped out. She grabbed it and continued her run, cursing herself for wearing the shorts with a hole in the pocket.

As Vera jogged down the dark, empty street, she looked up at the cloudless sky. Her headphones were broken, so she just listened to the sounds around her. Cicadas sang their otherworldly song above her head, and saw her in the distance the dog howled into the night. And then there were her footsteps. They echoed up into the sky as if they were in stereo. They reverberated all around her, making her head spin. But there was something off about them. Each step rang out twice in her ears.

Vera listened to it for a few moments and shivered. That wasn't right. She'd run this same path for months and had never heard an echo. She cocked her head and began listening harder. No. There was a second pair of footsteps behind her. Someone must have been out on that road with her. Their steps were so synced up she almost hadn't noticed.

But then again, what if that was exactly what they wanted? They had to belong to a man, judging by how heavy they sounded. Vera's heart began to beat a little faster in her chest. There was a man behind her, and he didn't want her to know he was there. Suddenly, she felt silly. She had a history of overreacting. She'd once called the cops on a stalker only for it to be a very persistent Jehovah's Witness.

A person behind her was probably just some runner who'd happened to be on the same path as her. Their footsteps lining up was just a coincidence. And then she had a stupid thought. Pretending not to notice the man behind her, she slowed down her pace to see what would happen. She knew the person wouldn't do anything. but she decided to try it anyway just to put her mind at ease without missing a beat the person

behind her slowed down too masking his footsteps with hers perfectly a cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck and she sped up to her horror the man behind her did too was he trying to sneak up on her Vera reached for her phone in her pocket but instead all she found was the hole She blink back tears in her eyes, realizing her only lifeline was probably lying on some sidewalk behind her. She cursed herself for not carrying a pocket life on her. If the man did try to grab her, what could she do to defend herself? Most of the houses in this part of town were abandoned, and even if she did find a house with people in it, would they open the door before she had a chance to get in?

Vera's eyes drifted down to a large rock sitting on the side of the road. She bent down and scooped it up mid-stride. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. For another moment she considered the possibility that this was all just her overreacting. There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. She threw a quick glance behind her to settle her nerves. The figure advancing on her was shrouded in darkness. There was no light on his head, making him seem almost faceless.

He did nothing to put her mind at ease, but still she saw nothing that screamed danger about him. She almost dropped the rock in her hands and forgot about him. She almost moved on to pretend like nothing had ever happened. Almost. In the dim light, Vera just barely made out the glint of a knife in his hand. Vera's heart skipped a beat and she struggled to control her breathing. Things like this only happened on the news or in bad dreams. To her horror, the echo was getting louder now.

Her pursuer was closing the distance between them quickly. She grasped the rock tighter, sweat trickling down her forehead. Her hunter was now just a few paces behind her. The man's footsteps got louder and louder until she heard them thundering right behind her. He was so close, she heard his ragged breathing just inches away. Took a deep breath and started counting down from three. However, she was interrupted by a hand, roughly grabbing her shoulder. She turned around to face the tall, dark figure, closing in on her and blindly swung the rock in front of her.

She missed, and the man went to grab her arm. She began attacking blindly with the rock, but he slipped past each one. She gave one last swing, and the rock finally connected with his jaw, splattering blood and teeth everywhere. Her pursuer released his grasp and clutched his broken jaw, now hanging loosely open. He took another step toward her, the knife glinting in his hand. She brought the rock down on his head, and he clasped on the ground in a heap. A knife still clenched in his fist. Vera stood over the man panting and gasping, the rock dripping in her hands.

A dark liquid dripped from his mouth and the wound on his head. In the darkness, she could barely see it, but She knew what it was. Legs shaking, she took a step forward into the darkness to get a better look at the man. He wore a tank top and jogging shorts. He weakly lifted his arm holding what she thought was a knife. In the moonlight, she realized it was a phone. Her phone.

He opened his mouth and weakly managed to say, You dropped it. Before collapsing on his back. Tears began clouding Vera's eyes as it dawned on her. Her face stretched into a mask of horror, and she knelt down at the man's side. She leaned in to give him mouth to mouth before realizing his head had been partially caved in. His broken jaw hung open loosely like a puppet, and teeth were scattered all around him. She pressed her fingers to his wrist, but found no pulse.

She looked around frantically for the phone, crawling over to his. it in the dirt. She snatched it up and tried to press the buttons for 911 with shaking fingers, but they were too slick with blood. As she fumbled with the controls, she noticed something strange. The blood covering her hands wasn't red. It was sticky like blood, but instead of red, it was jet black. Instead of the metallic smell of blood, it smelled like tar or motor oil.

And that's when she heard it. It was a single wet squish sound. She sat there listening for a moment before she heard another one. It was coming from the jogger behind her. She turned around to look at the man, lying on the road and bathed in shadow. Despite having no pulse a few moments ago, he'd sat up and was facing her, broken jaw hanging agape. Vera tried to study his face for a clue about what had happened,

but his face was obscure. in darkness. His shadowy hand picked something small up from his side and brought it to his mouth. Another sickening squelch rang out. He picked up another, and as she squinted at it in the darkness, she realized it was a tooth. Her stomach lurched. He was mashing the teeth back into his mouth one by one. She just watched him, unable to process what she was seeing. After he'd mashed the last tooth back in place, he stared at her. His broken jaw dripped more of that same black liquid from before. She watched on as the shadowy figure slowly lifted his hands to his mouth, and with a nauseating crack, snapped his jaw back in place. Vera wanted to run, but she felt rooted

in place, only able to watch on in horror. Then the figure leaned into the moonlight, illuminating his face for the first time. His mouth was stretched into a wide, crooked grin as if to show off his new teeth. That same black blood dripped from his mouth and down his chin. Vera yelped and began to crawl backward, eyes wide. Then, to her horror, it began pulling itself to its feet, bulging eyes fixed on her as it did. That broke the spell for Vera. She stumbled to her feet and ran back down the dark road, legs shaking.

Heavy footsteps thundered behind her, but she just looked straight ahead. She stumbled and staggered as she ran, not being able to see through the tears that were streaming down her face. The creature weaszed and sputtered as it ran, footsteps echoing behind her. As the houses and trees rushed by, she slowly began to realize that she was hopelessly lost. Her neighbourhood was suddenly unfamiliar to her, and she'd been turning corners at random, not caring where they led. She was pushing her legs to the breaking point, but every time she slowed for even a second, she was sure she felt the man's dirty fingers grabbing at her hair.

Just when she thought her legs were going to give out, she saw her house. Vera cried tears of relief and slammed into the door, pulling her keys from her pockets. She rifled through them to find the right one She chanced a glance behind her And as she did the man came flying around the corner on all thoughts Black blood dripping from its smiling face Her heart skipped a beat and she whipped around Searching through her key ring

She seized the right one with shaky fingers jammed it into the keyhole She heard gravel fly up as the creature reached her driveway She threw open the door flew inside and slammed the door shut. The door made a loud thud sound as the creature threw itself at it. She had a horrible thought and froze. Was it strong enough to break through the door? She sat there waiting for the next crash, but it never came.

Instead, she heard footsteps slowly shuffle away. Over time they faded away until there were nothing but a memory. Vera stood there for a long time, waiting. for it to come back. She looked out each window in the house, but she was only met with darkness. She gave a nervous laugh when she looked down at her hand. While running for her life down the road, she'd had her water bottle clenched in her hands the whole time.

Vera tossed it aside and collapsed onto her couch, still shaking with fear. She didn't sleep that night. Instead, paced her home, waiting for that thing to come back. Every time she'd consider sleeping, she'd spot a glimpse of a black eye peeking at her from the window or hear the thud of a footstep just beyond the door. However, the morning sun renewed her confidence. She began coming up with reasonable explanations. It took time, but eventually she was able to convince herself that the whole ordeal couldn't have happened. It was just an anxiety attack brought on by stress or a sleepwalking episode.

She didn't have so much as a scratch on her to prove. prove it had happened. She would have been able to move on with her life, believing it had never happened. But it was much harder lying to herself while looking at her favourite blue water bottle. Now stained, jet black with tar. Now, my dear friends, let's talk about sex for a minute. Specifically, a company we've discovered called explore roam.com. And there's a case that most of us want more. Better sex. So why is it so? so hard to talk about it when it's such a basic human need.

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Somehow, in a weird way, that would have been so much better than what it actually did. If that sounds confusing, you're not alone. The only reason we know it exists is because two months into moving into this house, we noticed a disturbing pattern play out. It always happened the same way. My wife and I would be woken up in the middle of the night by our two boys, Levi and Judah, screaming at the top of their lungs. Those were always the nights where we'd wake up covered in sweat.

Our throat so raw that it felt like we'd just swallowed glass and slightly nauseated. The first time, we thought it was just a stomach bug, but by the fifth or sixth time, we decided we should get professional help. We went to a mould guy, thinking there was mould in the house somewhere that we didn't know of, but we couldn't find a thing.

Then we went to a doctor to see if there was something physical. physically wrong, but the only thing they found was that our throats were the rawest they'd ever seen. They told us that the wear and tear on our throats were consistent with someone screaming for minutes on end. They were the ones who recommended we try a sleep therapist, since the symptoms seemed to be presenting themselves in our sleep. The sleep therapist, Dr. Hargrove, was very eager to take us on. She found our case fascinating and rare, because typically adults don't struggle with night terrors as frequently as we were experiencing, let alone at the same time. But in order to learn more, we needed to record our sleeping habits.

So she gave us a video record. We actually never ended up watching those videos, though, at least not the ones we recorded for her. We gave her the tapes after a week, and the day we were supposed to receive a call from her with what she'd found on the tapes. We got a call from the police instead. Apparently Dr Hargrove's secretary found her in her office, in her chair, slumped on her desk in front of a computer, she'd pulverized with a hammer before turning it on herself and bashing in her own skull. They told us that it seemed like she'd tried to bludgeon her eyes out, as most of the impact sites on her skull were focused around the eye sockets. They caught us because they were able to piece together enough of the CD within the computer to see our names written on it. I wanted to know if we knew anything.

We didn't, but we thought it was about time we did. So we got our own video recorder. The very next day, we saw it for the first time. At around 2.14 in the morning, the visitor strolled into our bedroom so casually, it was like it was walking into a conference call. Or a long, black robe with no sleeves, and a hood drawn up over a face so white,

it was practically shone in the darkness. There were pitch black rings surrounding its bloodshot eyes, and a grin poured across its face from ear to ear. But it didn't seem real, like it wasn't a real face, but a mask. The moment it entered our room, the video recording blipped and grew slightly staticy. Stopped at the foot of our bed, turned to face us, and stood still as a statue for ten whole minutes, unblinking, unbreathing. While that in and of itself is shocking, what truly appalled us was our reactions.

True to the doctor's words, we watched the screen as Dar and I shut upright in our bed the moment it turned to face us, and we just screamed. We screamed and screamed and screamed for the entire time it was there. We could see our bodies visibly trembling in horror, shaking like we were seizing, and our shoulders heaving as we took deep breaths.

We wouldn't look away from it. Even though we were obviously horrified of the figure at the foot of our bed, it was like we couldn't look away, like we weren't allowed to take our eyes off of it. For ten whole minutes, we screamed in terror. Then the visitor turned and waltzed back out of the bedroom into the hallway like it was late for work. The moment it left, Dara and I, collapsed in our bed, only to stir and wake up 30 seconds later at the sound of our kids screaming. I think we were confused at first because, out of all the possibilities that existed for what we were going through, the visitor was nowhere near being on the list. Confusion gave way to dread when we realised that this was our reality, yet we couldn't remember anything. This had been

plaguing us for months. We had absolutely zero memories of it. only what we saw on a video tape. It was like our brains were forcing us to repress the memories to protect us from the trauma of just seeing the thing. But while our minds may have been protected, our bodies certainly weren't. The more the visitor came to us, the more our health was deteriorating.

At this point, our hair was starting to go grey. Dread turned to panic when we had to deal with the notion on it might be visiting our kids in the night too. So we set up our video recorder outside their room and turned it to face down the hallway to our bedroom door. We left it there until we had an anomalous night, as Dr Hargrove called them, and then we watched him.

To our relief, we watched as it came up our stairs, walked into our room, left after ten minutes, and then walked out and went down the stairs again. leaving Levi and Duda's room alone. To our curiosity, though, I went up and down our staircase, which meant that it was coming from somewhere downstairs. We debated about whether or not it was a good idea for us to keep filming the visitor, but in the end, we figured we ought to.

It's not like stopping the filming was going to make us any healthier again, and plus I thought that the more we learned about it, the better chance we stood of getting rid of it gave a sense of peace. and a smidge of confidence that we had some kind of control. At the very least, it gave us a direction to go in, something to do that was better than sitting on our hands wondering what to do. That night, I set up the camera in the living room and pointed it down the hallway towards the front door,

as I assume that's where the visitor was coming from, even though the doors were always locked before bedtime. The position of the camera was dead on, as we did catch the visitor, but the location was all wrong. At around 3.23 a.m., the door to our coat closet underneath our staircase opened up, and the visitor strolled right out. Ten minutes later, it walked right back in. The door shut behind it, as if a gust of wind had slammed it shut.

That made no sense to us, but nothing really did. The coat closet was literally stupt. stuffed with coats, hats, gloves, shoes, shelves, a vacuum and snow gear. Our kids couldn't even enter it. How the hell was it possible that the visitor could? Where did it go when it went in there? We had, well, we have no answers. Only the reality.

The visitor came from our closet somehow. What commenced shortly thereafter was a series of trial and error tests. We tried locking the closet door Only to see the door burst open anyways We placed our couch at the foot of the staircase Hoping it would deter the visitor Only to see it scale the couch like it was stepping over the curb Without so much as breaking its cold stare

We tried to leave all the lights on, But when it walked through the house The lights would turn off wherever it happened to be We even tried to rig a home alone-style trap involving a bucket of nails hanging over our doorframe. They just bounced right off. And the ones that did manage to embed themselves in its body didn't even make it flinch.

We were running out of ideas. We even tried staying with friends for a couple of weeks just to get out of the house. They were going on vacation in Italy and were more than happy to lend us their home. For 13 days we got the best rest we'd gotten in a long time. But on our final night there The pattern played out

Kids screaming Throats roar Nauseated Exhausted another Anomalous night Hopeless doesn't really even begin To describe how we felt Knowing there was no way we could go to escape it

We were getting desperate Oh and just in case you're wondering Why we didn't think of boarding up the closet in the first place All I can say is that Pride is a funny thing. Even while this terrible ordeal was draining us of our spirit and life, we didn't want the burden of having to explain to family and friends why our closet was boarded shots.

We couldn't think of a story that made enough sense without making us sound crazy. So we tried to avoid anything that we deem to out there because we didn't want to be known as the couple who had 19 deadbolts on our bedroom door. In hindsight, though, I really wish we had, swallowed our ego. We stopped recording a couple of weeks after that. There was nothing new. We were learning, and I could tell that it was affecting Dahr more than it was affecting me. It was breaking our heart knowing that the boys were crying at night because they were forced to hear their parents screaming their brains out from just down the hallway. We got the

loudest white noise machines that we could afford to put in their rooms, and that helped that Dah was still suffering. We were no place financial. to sell the house and buy a new one. He felt stuck. The worst part was that I could see her wasting away. Dar was lively and bubbly before moving into the house. That's a big reason why I married her. She was so full of spirit.

But it was getting to the point where I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her smile. She was losing weight, losing sleep and losing her sanity. It was so bad that I began to wonder if something different was going on. on began to think back to dr hargrove how she'd bludgeoned herself to death when she saw the visitor on our video recording why hadn't either of us tried to kill ourselves why were our brains successful in repressing the memories but hers wasn't what was different in our case i had zero ideas that was a point i started getting angry you've ever seen the movie paranormal activity there's a scene near the end where the guy, Micah, gets super pissed because the demon has been tormenting his girlfriend,

Katie, relentlessly. Katie wants to reach out to a psychic, but Micah refuses and says something like, this is my house, you're my girlfriend, I'm gonna freaking solve the problem. That was the kind of rage I was feeling. It's a kind of rage borne out of a sense of helplessness, but I couldn't do anything to get rid of the visitor. I couldn't do anything to help my wife. wife. But I was angry and I vowed that somehow, in some way, I'd save my wife and get rid of the visitor

for good. I'd saved her. But if you've seen the movie, you know how it ends. Two months ago, Levi got up in the middle of the night and called out for me. I went to check on him and he asked me for some water. I went downstairs to get him his water bowl. As I was in the kitchen grabbing a cup, I heard the click of the closet door open. I froze where I was, unable to move, unable to breathe. I heard footsteps, trailed from the closet up the steps and into my room. That's when Dala started screaming. I wish I could tell you guys that I ran to her aid. I wish I could tell you that I sprinted up those stairs two at a time and drop kick the fucker. I wish I could tell you that all that anger and my chismo I'd built up manifested in a last stand, but it didn't.

I was so scared that I just sat down on the kitchen floor, cut my hands over my ears, close my eyes and just waited for it to be over. Tears streaked down my face as I pressed my hands as hard. I could into my ears, trying to drown her screaming out. After ten minutes, the screaming stopped. I heard the footsteps trail down the steps, and I waited for the click of the coat closet to shut. But it didn't come.

From where I was sitting, I knew I could look and see through the doorway to the bottom of the stairs. But I also knew that, apparently just looking at it, wouldn't snap my mind. But I swear, I felt it like it was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at me, waiting for me to look at it. I had to move my hands from over my ears to over my eyes to keep myself from looking. But when I did, I heard the strangest noise. It sounded like it was saying something, the same phrase over and over again.

really fast under its breath. I didn't dare look at it, and the way it spoke made my skin crawl. But as I cowered there on the kitchen floor, I felt like I was starting to understand what it was saying. But before I could piece it all together, I heard its footsteps lead away, and the closet door shut.

Immediately I sprinted up the staircase and into the bedroom, and I could see the vague outline of Dar laying in our bed. At that moment, the weight of what I'd just done really hit me. I couldn't believe that I was such a coward that I left her alone with the visitor. Even though I knew she wouldn't remember it, I resolved to confess to her when she woke up the next morning what had happened. My conscience wouldn't let me keep it to myself. So I slid into bed and snuggled up to her.

Reassured of my decision to tell her the following morning. But when I woke up in the morning, she wasn't in bed. I found her in the living room, slumped in front of the coat closet and the pool of blood. I can't really put into words what it was like finding her there. They really are not. I was afraid, shocked, ashamed, mortified, grieving all at the same time. The memories of what happened next were a blur. My neighbour came over to keep the boys upstairs while her body was removed

Breaking the news to Levi and Judah was the hardest thing I've ever had to do The following week we had a viewing The funeral the burial of it Her family and mine came down to help me with our kids They even stayed with me for a week During that whole time the visitor didn't come Of course it didn't come To be honest, I wondered if the visitor would stop.

I wondered if her death was what it wanted all along. After all, the entire week my family was here, it never came, and it always came at least twice a week. But that didn't make any sense. Nothing made any sense. I still have no clue what it wanted. It just stood at the foot of our freaking bed and drove us insane, breaking our brains so much that our minds forced us to visit.

again. It never attacked us. It never went after the kids. The only thing it ever did was stand there and take our will still it. But for the time being, I was relieved knowing that I was safe so long as my family was there. I was able to grieve well for a while. They were still tainted with the constant fear that the visitor may show up. And so I started recording again. Seven weeks ago, I woke up at around 3 in the morning and immediately vomited in the bed. I felt like my head had been bashed in with a brick, and my guts felt like they were boiling. It hurt to breathe. I went to the bathroom to hurl again in the toilet.

When I finished and looked in the mirror, I noticed hundreds of scratch marks around my eyes, all puffy and bright pink. My hair was noticeably greyer as well. I cleaned up the vomit on the bed and through the sheets, blankets and pillowcases in the washing machine then took the tape from the camera probably should have waited until the morning but it had never been this bad before

I had to see what had happened at around 2.45 in the morning on the video the visitor came into my bedroom just like it always did stopped at the foot of my bed and paused for a moment longer than usual and turned to face me. But rather than jolting upright and screaming, I slowly got up on one elbow,

pushed myself into a sitting position, looked at the visitor, and began to weep bitterly. I watched as I placed my face into my hands and my shoulders heaved as I began wailing into the night. After a few minutes, I started scratching at my eyes, trying anything I could to make sure I couldn't see it anymore.

It was difficult to make out why I had such a visceral reaction, but then the visitor did something I'd never seen it do before. It looked directly at the camera, and I saw it. It was wearing my wife's face. Not a literal face, mind you, but like a mask made to look like her face. It was slightly wrong in all the places where it mattered. Her smile was wider, her eyes didn't have the small, creases in the corners like she always did when she genuinely smiled but but rather were wide open and stiff her skin was a pale white and she had dark gaps between all her teeth it was like the visitor was

mocking her rubbing it in my face that it finally got one of us and now that it was looking at me through the camera i could tell that it was only a matter of time before it got me Then, in that moment, it suddenly clicked for me. I knew what the visitor was saying that night I cowered in the kitchen. She is my. And so I boarded up that fucking door with as many pieces of wood I could fit over it, and then prop the back of the couch up against things. Then, I asked my mother-in-law to watch Levi and Judah

so I could drive to the nearest university that boasted a professor of occult studies and had him give me all the symbols he knew of that were meant for protection or to keep something from entering this world or to keep something locked in a room of anything I could get my hands on. But I didn't leave without telling her not to open that door. I carved every symbol I could fit onto those planks of wood. It looks like at least one of them worked for now. It's been a month and I haven't been visited.

I know this because I'm not. I don't sleep anymore. But some nights between 2 and 4 a.m., I can hear movement in the closet, like the sound of someone wearing a large coat brushing his arm up and down the wood. Occasionally there's a loud thump, like it's thrown its shoulder against it, before that sliding sound resumes. I know it's in there. I don't know if it dematerializes when the light of day comes through our windows, or if there's some door to another dimension in my coat closet, or if it's just standing there inches from the door,

waiting for someone to open it and let it out. But I do know this. I will never move that couch. I will never take those planks off and I will never, ever open that door. I don't know why it got up. I don't know why the two of us lasted so long when Dr Hargrove couldn't last a single viewing of a tape. I have an idea that.

I wonder if it was because Dar and I were together. But somehow the trauma was lighter on us because we had someone to share it with. So when I left her alone with the visitor, alone to take all of it by herself, because I was too chicken shit to face it again, it was too much for her. But at the end of the day, I just don't know. What I do know is this. Do not buy this house. I don't know if the realtors have to share stories like this, so I'm sharing it with you now.

When I'm long gone and my boys have moved out and started lives of their own, like this house die with me. But if, for some reason, this story hasn't steered your way, if for some reason you must buy this house, then heed this warning and heed it good. Do not open that door. I never thought that I could do it, but there we were. I did it.

I thought it would be hard, but it was so, so easy. The idea of ending in man's life, with my own hands, no less, gave me a great sense of anxiety before. The act of it, however, was so much more satisfying than I'd ever thought possible. Don't get me wrong when I say that it was easy. It did not mean the literal action of taking his life. He put up quite a fight, as he was so much bigger than I was. He always was, after all, which made him so intimidating when I was a child.

For so long the pain he inflicted on me went unpunished, because I was scared. I was scared that if I told anyone, I wouldn't be relieved. I was scared that if I attempted to defend myself, he would hurt me so much worse. It's funny. when I was finished I looked over at him lying there weak helpless he was a monster

a cruel evil beast my only regret is that it took me so long to finally put him down it sickens me to think how any other children had to suffer because of my silence and inaction I hate that it took the idea of him touching my boy to finally do something

the first time my boy came to me and told me about it I knew who it was right away I'd always hope that my own child of trauma was all in my head that, well, I'd imagined it, but it'd always been a reality. When my boy told me about the tall man, the shutters. When he told me about his long, skinny arms reaching out to him, I cried.

When he told me about those cold, dead eyes staring at him as he choked him to the point of near death before releasing his grip, well, I was done. Tonight, as the boy slept, I hid in his room and I waited. I waited all night long. I almost believed that it was all in his head, as I had previously imagined it was in my head, until I saw it. So the doorknob turned, and I could feel my heart racing.

The door opened and the tall, skinny silhouette. It became bigger as he began to walk toward the boy's bed. I gripped my baseball bat and struck first. He turned around in surprise as I swung in with all my might. He dodged it at first and then grabbed me by the throats. He cursed as he screamed at me before I smashed his face with my forehead. I quickly grabbed the bat again and swung once more. The bat broke in half as it smashed over his head.

He screamed so loud and it was so disturbing that I almost threw up. But I kept my cool. He fell to the ground and I mounted him. Remembering my childhood, I began punching repeatedly. Thinking about how he hurt me, I kept on punching. Thinking about how he hurt my boy, I began punching harder. I kept on punching until there was nothing left to punch by the floor, stained with blood and fragments above. When I was finally finished, I took the time to calm down and think about the situation I was now in.

I looked over to the boy, a look of shock, fear and confusion on his face. It was then I remembered that he was not my son, but my patient. I remembered that it wasn't my monster that was hurting him, but his own. I remembered that my own monster is still out there, hurting God knows how many children. And until I find him, I'm going to settle for the monsters of other children who come to see me in my office. office. This was the first, and there are so many more to go. Lucky for me, my mask hides my identity, so the boy doesn't know who I am. All he knows right now is that he won't be hurt anymore. Before too long, the light in the hallway turned on, and I could hear his mother

call out to his father. I quickly escaped from the bedroom window that I'd snuck in, and could hear the scream of the mother, calling out the name of the father. I killed a monster tonight, though only the boy will ever know, unless he decides to tell the police about the abuse his own father had inflicted on him. I have so many patience, with their own monsters I need to deal with. Parents, teachers, and every other monster that has touched these children will be hunted and slaughtered. One day, I will track him down. I'll kill my own monster.

I felt it before I saw it. I'd study painting at the School of Arts in Ishtar. I was in my fourth year and trained beneath a well-known artist whose identity will remain concealed for their privacy. He thought I had some sort of talent, that I could depict things that were better left undepicted. Those parts of you that you don't talk about never will. His words, not mine.

I didn't believe him, but I appreciated the interest nonetheless, given the fact that to everyone else, I might as well have been invisible. I wasn't creative and couldn't come up with an original idea to save my life, but there was something wrong with my dreams. They were always nightmares, every single time. When I was a teenager, a therapist convinced me to start recording them, but I didn't like to write, so I painted them instead. And that's all I ever did.

Even after I told my instructor, his interest only grew. He always was a bit odd and seemed to think that I was in tune with something. Something else. Something beyond the sky, beyond the stars, beyond everything that we could physically touch. Before all of this started, he offered to guide me on a psychedelic journey, as he put it, to try and better understand my condition. The thought of taking anything always terrified me, even more than the nightmares. The thought of no longer being in control of my surroundings and the things that I saw,

but unlike in a dream, this world could harm me. This world could kill me. I didn't like to think that I was a coward, and so I agreed. And that was my first mistake. I don't actually remember that night. He only told me that beyond a certain point, I seemed to lose contact with the the world. I lay perfectly still on the ground, and I didn't say a word. I wouldn't respond to anything he asked or did. I just wasn't there. After the trip had ended, he told me that I left and I swore I was fine, though I didn't respond when he asked me what I'd seen. For me, all I remember

was waking up in my bed, back at home, feeling like I hadn't slept in a year. My skull pounded with the worst headache I'd ever experienced, like my brain was being squeezed in a vice, and when I got up and looked in the bathroom mirror, I could see tears of blood dry on my cheeks. I immediately thought that something was horribly wrong, and I started thinking about all the terrible diseases that it could have been, and yet, at the same time, I also knew that I was a hypochondriac. I almost went into debt from all the useless visit to emergency rooms that I'd had in the past, and it was never anything real. It was just my

brain playing tricks on me. And so I taught myself down, even though I had every right to be concerned, I brushed it aside and assumed that it was nothing. I came up with convoluted scenarios in my mind that could have somehow led to the symptoms that I felt.

I always tried to rationalize it. It wasn't sickness, it wasn't magic. It was psychology, and I would find a way through it, just like every other time. It seems so stupid when I look back on it now. The next morning I was taking the train to school, minding my business in the second-de-last car,

in one of those backward-facing seats, because I'd determine that to be the safest possible way of sitting on a train. If you sat in a regular seat, you'd be thrown forward if the train came to a sudden stop. And if you were in the very last car, you risk being rear-ended. Sorry if I fall off track. I'm not in the best state of mind right now.

Anyway, I was sitting in the back. Looking out the window as the world rushed away from me. Eyes on the glass skyscrapers that sliced up across the clear blue sky. There weren't many people around me, just students trying to get a half hour asleep before class, or cramming in some last-minute studying. I felt so tired from whatever had happened over the weekend. not a regular kind of fatigue but a dissociation

or I didn't feel like I was entirely situated within my own body then it stopped a cold sweat began to cling to my skin and a sensation of absolute dread intensified within me I felt like I was in danger I looked around me completely alert but nothing caught my attention my heartbeat hammering in my ears I glanced out the window, and that's when I saw it.

It was so odd that I didn't really know what I was seeing at first. There was a middle-aged man, black peacoat and blue jeans, standing on the roof of building below the tracks, the slanted shingles beneath his boots, staring directly at me as the train passed him by. There was no reason for him to be there. He wasn't dressed like a worker, of any sort. This wasn't a roof

that was meant to be accessed. It looked like anyone you'd see on the street, but for some reason he was there, and he was looking up at me, his face blank and expressionless. The train passed by him so quickly that I almost

thought I was hallucinating. I tried to look back, but the roof was out of sight. I glanced at the other passengers, but nobody else had seemed to notice. Even the few people that were staring out the window, and they should have, by right, seen him. Once again, I rationalised it.

I was an overly cautious person, prone to overthinking things, and I knew it, so I just brushed it off. I was sleep-deprived. I was unwell. I was recovering from a psychedelic experience that I didn't even remember, so I just saw something that wasn't there. Easy. Only there was still.

the feeling. It wasn't going away. I felt like I was flooded with adrenaline, like I was inherently unsafe, and I was sweating so much that my clothes were starting to stick to my skin. So I looked outside again, watching the city pass me by, and tried to find something, something that didn't belong, something out of place. Everything was normal, but it didn't feel normal. When I reached my stop, I stepped out into the hot daylight, along with everyone else, made my way to class. The feeling didn't let up even for a moment, and I found myself looking over my shoulder every chance I had. I made it to class, but I don't remember much. People were talking, and I was working, but I was just going through the motions.

My mind wasn't there. I was looking around at everyone, trying to find something that didn't fit, but everything was exactly the way I remembered it. Until I tried to look up, there was a sealed ventilation shaft on the ceiling, just an empty darkness behind the slats, but it caught my attention like a magnet. It didn't feel empty. I couldn't explain it, but it felt like something was in there, like something was watching me. It felt like I was in danger.

So I got up and excused myself. I left that class as quick as I could and stepped out into the daylight again. People were walking all around me down the open paths of the school, and I felt like every single one of them was staring at me. I could never actually catch them doing it, but I just got this sensation that at any moment somebody would come out of nowhere and stick a knife in my throat. But a gun to my head drag me off into the bushes.

It was the feeling of being watched. Not just by anyone, but by something that means you harm. Like you're a prey animal grazing in a field, and suddenly every primal switch in your body flips at once and tells you to run. I happened to look up at a tall administrative building. It was used to house the offices of all the professors. Through one of the windows, maybe on the 16th floor, I could see a woman standing perfectly still, staring down at me.

She was dressed like she belonged in an office, like she belonged in that setting, but she didn't. I waited for what felt like minutes and watched as people passed behind her, but they never acknowledged her existence. She just stood there and held my gaze for as long as I could bear it. I looked away. I needed to go home. I needed to get away from there.

I picked up the pace and walked back to the station, and all the way my eyes caught on anybody who lingered just a moment too long. They'd look back at me, confused, or turn away and do something else. They were never it, whatever it was. Whatever it was was watching me, stalking me. I got on the train, which was now packed full of people, though I managed to find a seat near a window. I wanted to be able to see it.

The train started moving, and I kept my eyes peeled on the horizon of endless skyscrapers as they rushed by me, looking down at any rooftops away. waited beneath the tracks. I could still feel it. I knew that it was watching me. And then I saw it. We passed near a bridge of glass and metal that joined two shopping centres,

and upon the swooping arches of steel that were fastened above it, an old man in rag stood in silence, his tattered fabrics hanging from his slender frame in defiance of the wind. He watched me, expressionless, his eyes shifting with the wind. the movement of the train. I noticed the lady who was sitting next to me and pointed at the man outside. Do you see a man right there? I asked, on the bridge, standing on top of it. She looked out of the window, and then back at me, her expression alarmed. She shook her head and then got up from her seat, moving to the back of the car. I looked again, searching the

landscape for the next appearance as the train began to slow for a stop at the next station. On a restaurant balcony, on the street below the tracks, a young tattooed woman sat at her table with two men, but they didn't acknowledge her presence. She was staring up at me, her mouth hanging slack as though caught in a depraved, hungering trance. I got the attention of a father entertaining his son and pointed out the window. Hey, do you see that lady down there? I asked. Right at the table with two guys, you put the tattoo. The man glanced out of the window, looking down at where I was pointing. I see the two guys, he said with a shrug, returning his attention to his kid. The woman slipped out of view as the train pulled into the next station.

God, was I losing my mind? Did something happen to me? My instructor wouldn't be on campus until the next day, but I had to speak with him. He had to know something. I did have his number, so I swore that I'd call him. as soon as I got home. Nobody could see this thing but me. That much was clear, but that didn't mean that it wasn't real.

The thought occurred to me that I could still be hallucinating from the effects of the silo cymbin, or that I could still be laying in my instructor's living room. Maybe I didn't remember the trip because this was it. Only this felt real. This felt concrete, like I could reach out and touch this thing. I eventually made my way home. keeping clear of any crowds, and training my eyes on every building I passed, though I never saw it. I knew that it was there, but there were so many possibilities that it was almost down to sheer luck whether I found it or not.

Walking out front, I had the sound of laughter and clinking dishes, and saw that the neighbours across the street were having a small party on the bottom floor of their building. Most of them were seated at a table, visible from their window. but my blood ran cold when I saw a young plain-looking woman staring directly at me she was seated closest to where I stood and nobody seemed to interact with her or acknowledge her existence in any way I assumed that her chair was real but to the rest was empty others were standing every other seat was occupied perhaps they avoided it but didn't quite know why it didn't occurred to them. Maybe this creature did exist and filled a physical space within the world, but for some reason could only be seen by the victim of its malevolence. The only thing that I truly realized in that moment was that every single time I saw it, it was getting closer. I quickly entered my building, made my way up to my apartment.

The feeling stalked me, even when I was in the halls, or the fire escape, with no possible way of being observed. If it had no line of sight within the world, it was almost like it watched me through the walls, like it crawled through all those cracks and spaces invisible to the naked eye,

peering up at me from the subtle gap in the baseboard or the darkness beneath the radiator. I'd arrived at my apartment, but I didn't feel safe. I felt exactly the same. I checked every room in every corner, every closet

that I barely opened and found nothing, but I had to be sure. Then I opened the blinds and peered out at the building across the street. I could still hear the party on the lower level, but my eyes weren't on them. They were on the man in the black suit who stared at me from the apartment opposite to my own. I shut my blinds, hyperventilating where I stood. I was too terrified to leave, so I didn't. I retreated to my bedroom, which was. was thankfully absent of any windows and shut the door behind me.

I made sure my closet was wide open and dismantled the frame of my bed so that nothing could fit underneath. I only needed a mattress anyway, assuming that I could even sleep. I called my instructor and tried to ask him what was happening, but he didn't know. He seemed to think that something was trying to contact me and that the apprehension I felt may have just been a primal fear of the unknown. but I don't believe him. I know fear, and this is unlike anything I'd ever felt before.

It's relentless. It's my mind telling me to stay away. I'd feel it washing me, even while I cried in the corner of my room, but I don't know how. There's nowhere. It could have been, but it felt like it was everywhere, like it occupied every fleeting shadow. I looked at a picture of my family. my nightstand and saw a person that I didn't recognize. I picked up the frame photograph and saw a bearded man standing behind my father,

staring back at me. I took a picture and sent it to my mother, asking who he was, but she said that she didn't see him. At some point I called her and tried explaining, but I was too scared and incoherent to get anything across. She thought I was having some kind of psychotic break from the drugs I'd taken. But I know that I'm not. This is real.

I know it is. She called the police, and I know she was just trying to do what she thought was right. But that wasn't what I wanted. If the police came, they'd take me outside, and outside is exactly where it was. Well, where I hoped that it was. I don't know how long I waited there.

Time isn't something that I have the greatest grasp on right now. It must have been night because underneath the door there was only darkness. Everything was quiet, so quiet that I could hear my own heartbeat. I remember wondering why the police hadn't come, but I was so tired and confused and scared that I didn't want to think about it. Slowly I crawled to my feet and made my way to the bathroom door. Every second felt like an eternity. My vision blurring the closer I drew, like the entire world was caught in slow. motion. I put my hand to the knob and felt the cold steel against my fingertips. Every hair

of my body standing on end as a horrible chill ran down my spine. My teeth began to chatter, and every muscle started to twitch with an ancient primordial fear that crept in from the back of my mind. Then I turned a knob and push the door open with a long, agonizing creak that cut through the silence like a knife. The darkness of the hall spanned before me, the air cold and still. At the end, a tall man stood in their shadows, his expression as empty as a mask. Wordlessly, he stared into my soul, but I could barely even process what I was looking at, or how much danger I was in.

I didn't have anywhere to run. There was nowhere to hide. I called to him, but he didn't respond. Slowly, I crept closer, my footsteps creaking upon the floorboards in the dead of night. It was like I was hypnotised, and yet at the same time, I had to know. I had to know if this was real. The closer I got, the taller he seemed to become. Every feature distending and looming while my heart hammered in my ears,

and tears of blood stained my cheeks. Every pore on my body dripped with an icy sweat And I could feel urine trickling down my leg as I stared into his dark, soulless eyes His face started to change Roiling and shifting like I was looking at a thousand people at once Transforming between male and female, young and old, human and animal To something altogether different And the closer I drew to that truth

the more its mouth seemed to stretch, splitting open into a yawning darkness of teeth and fear that I swore went on forever. And then I was gone. The next thing I saw was a light, gleaming overhead through the blur of my vision. My ears were ringing, but I could hear the murmur of people nearby. I was lying on my back on a hospital bed,

and my head was pounding with the worst headache I'd ever felt. They put me on something Some sort of sedative And it wasn't long before I fell back asleep Whether I wanted to or not All that I dreamt about was that man Cornering me until I wanted nothing more than to die Until his jaws unhinged into a shadow so deep

That even the memory of light disappeared forever I could feel the cold slickness of his throat The teeth as they cut into my mind And ground my soul into a tattered palm I could feel the horrible agony of every single moment until I finally realized what it wanted I woke up at some point but I don't recall much

I said whatever I had to say to get out of there anything to get back home again I remember taking the canvas out of storage and getting every paint that I had I remember mixing them churning them with my own blood and vomit and every bodily fluid that I could find until my palate contained the most vile shades that my mind could comprehend.

I remember my hands moving across the canvas. I didn't need a brush, only my flesh, smearing and writhing as though caught in some unearthly tracts. I remember opening my eyes for the first time in days and witnessing what I'd done. I had painted it. It wasn't in my head anymore. It's in front of me

I can feel it watching me I can feel it cutting through my thoughts It's eating me I can barely move Shouldn't have done this This shouldn't exist I just want to die 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 favour of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review

as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.