Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep322: Episode 322: Bizarre Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 11, 2026

Tonight’s first epic story is ‘I Created a Homunculus’ a four-part tale presented here in one video, by Getyaisha, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/getyaisha/ Today’s second phenomenal tale of terror is ‘The Dumpster’, an original story Chris Koleszar, kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/ChrisKoleszar/

The Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist, which detects an accident the moment it happens, and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on, keeping on. Bell Air Direct, insurance, simplified. Conditions apply. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. The word bizarre describes something as strange, unusual, or outlandish in a way that it's striking, unexpected, or perplexing.

It refers to things that deviate from the ordinary, the conventional or expected norms, often in a striking or unsettling manner. bizarre things can be characterized by their oddity, peculiarity or eccentricity. The term is used to convey a sense of astonishment, curiosity or disbelief with something that is markedly unusual or unconventional. Such as the things we will see in tonight's two amazing tales. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. The nice stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence or horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, and let's begin. My name is Joshua Allen, and I've made a horrible mistake.

For years, I had a secret obsession that I heard from pretty much everyone. I know this is going to sound insane, but I was completely mystified by the idea of creating a homunculus. I know a lot of you have probably seen the YouTube videos of some loser using a chicken egg, but those are all fake. There was this one Russian guy who may or may not have done it right, but he ended up dead, so who knows? Anyway, I started doing some research, and I came up with the Book of the Crow.

The actual text is an undated word. work written by Plato. There's no way I could get my hands on the original, but I was able to locate a first edition, handwritten, translated in Greek. It took months to find a legitimate seller on the dark web. Well, before I go any further, I just want to say the deep web isn't as bad as some people may get out to be. It's just like anything else in life. If you go looking for horrible shit, well, you find horrible shit. Now, I say this, because in order to get most of the materials I needed, I had to spend a lot of time there. For the most part, I never saw anything I didn't want to see.

Don't get me wrong, there are some really dark places to be found, but for the most part it's just an open market. It's up to you where you shop. Once I had the book, it took about a week or two to have it translated. What I ended up with was a list of items, ingredients, and very specific instructions on how to complete the task. I'm about to share with you of all of the actual items I used. Now I did have to go to some really dark places and meet with some truly sketchy individuals to get this stuff.

But here it is. The magicians, my seaman. The sunstone elixir, human or animal blood, one and a half gallons. A cow or a yew of breeding age. Sulfur, a large magnet, green tuita, a sulphate of iron, a large glass of a lead containment space. Well, I went with the glass because that's way too expensive. Now, in this little segment I'm going to leave out some very important details because one of these things is enough to be too many. Next, you'll need the proper amount of sunstone elixir to be mixed with the seamen, being sure to keep it a precise

temperature until thoroughly combined. Since that's complete, inseminate the host. In this case, a cow, don't ask. Lastly, you seal the womb using a paste made from the elixir, blood, sulphur and green to eater. All that's left now is the incubation period. Once this period is over, and the humunculus is born, after a while it forms its skin. From the second its skin is complete, the creature will be ravenous. The flesh of the host body will feed it for the first seven days. After that, it must be contained. At this point, the creature is nothing but a fleshy blob of muscle covered with dark veins stretching over its entire body. Its skin secretes an oily substance that reeks of extremely strong urine with a heavy coppery tinge to it.

The smell is so strong that it burns your eyes and stains your skin. In the beginning, the homunculus will attempt to take on the form of its food, simply because that's the only thing it's had physical contact with. Keep this in mind during feedings. Avoid letting it touch your skin until you're sure you want to continue. Now, the size of the humonculus directly relates to the size of the host. Now, homonculus literally means a little human. Most people misunderstand this statement and believe humonculus.

be small creatures, while this couldn't be further from the truth. The statement actually refers to the fact that the creature has a little human DNA, therefore making it a little human. The first time I fed it was intense. I didn't really know what to expect. This first meal was a raccoon that I'd caught using some traps I'd put out by the trash cans. The second I dropped the raccoon into the containment space, it went on the attack. It arched its back and hissed before lashing out at the homunculus, striking it, then jumping back and preparing for another attack. And then something happened. The raccoon froze as if somewhere pressed the pause button, stuck in mid-hiss. Drul started pouring out of its mouth and its body began to twitch rapidly before it fell over

on its side, stiff as a ball. That's when I saw it move for the first time. It oozed slowly towards the raccoon. I honestly thought it was dead until the homunculus made contact. The raccoon screamed and went into convulsions as the creature slowly covered it. That horrible odor intensified. It was overpowering. My eyes burned and my tongue went numb.

The bile rushed up the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow hard to keep myself from vomiting. A wet, crunching sound sent chills through my body, and my legs started to cramp up. I turned to walk out of the room and collapsed. My vision got blurry, took everything in me to crawl for the door, and once I made it out into the hallway, I slammed the door shut and pute my guts out before everything went black. I didn't go back into the room for two weeks. In the back of my mind, I hoped the damn thing was dead. and when I opened the door

for a second I thought it was the air was thick of the smell of rotted flesh mixed with that horrid coppery stench the creature was shrivelled and grey I almost smiled at the idea of that thing being dead

and then I stepped into the room the second the door shut behind me the homunculus slammed against the glass and released a mist into the air my body instantly seized and I vomited as I dropped to the floor. The pain was unbelievable.

My head was spinning in my vision when it was blurry. I could hear the creature slamming against the glass as I passed out. Not sure how long I was unconscious, but when I came to the homonculus was close to shattering the glass. I tried to crawl, but every movement was a struggle, and dragging through a pool of my own pew didn't make it any better. I dragged myself across the floor, as I made it to the door, I heard the glass shatter, followed by the meaty thud of the creature landing

on the ground. I didn't look back. I crawled into the hallway and slammed the door just as the homunculus slammed into it. I sat there for a few seconds trying to compose myself when I heard a low hissing sound coming from inside the room. The hallway slowly started filling with that putrid, coppery stench, I didn't know what to do. The book didn't say anything about situations like this. I did the only thing I could. I ran. I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the front door, grabbing my car keys on the way. The cool night air rushed into my lungs the second I was out of the house. Still feeling light-headed, I sprinted with the car and got in as fast as I could. But that gas must have been stronger than I'd realized, because the next thing I know, it's morning.

I'm still in my driveway, slumped over the steering wheel. The idea of going back in my house horrified me. I'm not working up the nerve to go back inside, but when I finally did, the homunculus was gone. That evening, the Stuarts, ten-year-old daughter, Eliza, went missing. The Stuarts live on my street, three houses down from me. Eliza was out walking the dog along the bayou that runs behind the neighbour, when she vanished. The police recovered her torn bloody clothes a few miles downstream,

but her body was never found. Two days later, the Taylor family went missing. Ed and Irene Taylor, along with their newborn twins, had vanished from their home on a Tuesday evening. According to police report, some form of toxic gas was used during the alleged kidnapping. There was blood and signs of a struggle, but once again no bodies were found at this. scene. According to the news, several officers were rushed to the hospital. After entering the home, offices were taken ill and began to vomit before passing out. Five days had passed, and the town was now buzzing. You have to understand, Idelberg is a small town. There's maybe 2,000 people living here, and nothing like this had ever happened before. People were starting to get really

nervous. The idea of some freak running around town, gassing folks in their homes, had ever everyone on edge. Then Officer Raymond and Harris went missing. His bloody uniform and patrol car were found at a rest stop, just off Highway 16. The news hit town like a bomb. There were town hall meetings and neighbourhood watch parties. If people weren't freaking out before, they were unhinged now. The tension in town was palatable. People didn't stop their lives, but you could tell things were different now everyone was scared after seven days of endless conversations about the murders and annoying citizen patrols two more people went missing not just any people though janice and frank stewart eliza's parents the homunculus had double back and this could mean only one thing it was hunting

the creature has a pattern it doesn't just kill it erases bloodlines once it finds food it likes it will hunt that line until it's all gone at this stage it will have chosen a suitable host form this also meant that I knew where it would be going next

it took the whole tailor family at once so there's no reason to go back there so it was going after the Harris family next Now, before I go any further, I need you to understand I'm not chasing this thing to save the day and be the hero. Hell no. I need to get within eyesight of the thing in order to initiate the blood bond. Because the creature comes from my DNA, that means we're bonded for life. This bond allows me to give the homunculus direction if it works.

Finding the Harris house really wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I lived on the north side of town in an upscale subdivision. I actually just googled their address and I was there in 30 minutes. I got there close to midnight. The streets were quiet and empty. I sat there for two hours, halfway hoping nothing would happen. But then it did. I just stepped out to take a piss and while I was standing there a cool breeze drifted through the trees,

bringing with it an all too familiar odour that instantly made me wretch. My heart jumped up into my throat. Screams cut through the silence and gunfight erupted from somewhere inside the Harris House. They zipped up, now at the avoiding disaster, and then ran for the house. More screams and more gunshots echoed through the night as I closed the distance. It felt surreal. I was so close. The second I stepped on the front porch, my lungs were assaulted. My legs instantly buckled. and I dropped to my knees. My eyes rolled back and my tongue went numb just before I puked and fell over on my side.

As my vision slowly faded to black, I could hear only two sounds. The wet cracking of bones breaking through flesh and police sirens somewhere off in the distance. I woke up in handcuffs being checked out by paramedics. The minute they said I was okay, I was arrested. Now, obviously I didn't tell them. them the real reason I was there. I told them my girlfriend had just broken up with me and I was out

for a drive to clear my head. I'd stopped to take a piss and that's when I heard the gunshots. I ran over to see if anyone was hurt and that's when I got sick and passed out. It took a while but finally they believed me and eventually release me. I found out later the entire Harris family had gone missing. Both grandparents, the son, the brother-in-law and the widow all missing. believe dead. The body count was now 13 and the police had nothing. The whole town was going apeshit. People didn't feel safe in their own homes so they started doing lock-ins. Now for those of you who aren't familiar with lock-ins, it's basically just a giant sleepover and everyone's invited. It's a horrible idea if you ask me, but community unity seems to make people feel better,

so more power to them, but I won't be there. With the streets being empty most nights, it was easy for me to drive around looking for anywhere the creature might be held up, but I wasn't finding anything. I was just about to wrap it up for the night, decided to grab a cold six-pack and a fresh box of smokes.

I was walking back to my car when somebody blindsided me. We both slammed into the side of my car and then crashed to the ground. What the fuck is wrong with... I stopped. It was Alice. and my ex-girlfriend. Her clothes were torn and covered in blood.

She was crying and frantically looking around. Oh my God. Joss, you have to help me. There's something chasing me. Please, you have to get me out of here. She was stumbling through her words. Seeing her so horrified almost made me smile a little, but I fought the urge and got up off the ground,

helping her up as I got to my feet. What's going on, Allie? who's chasing you? She didn't really give me an answer until we were driving away. Thomas and I were going to the lock-in when we caught a flat. We were on the side of the road when Thomas was changing the tire when it happened. First there was this smell that made me sick. When I went to check on him, he was passed out.

Next thing I know, something rushed us and grabbed him. She paused as the tears started rolling down her face. I tried to grab his arm. I tried to save him. Allison broke down. She couldn't even finish her sentence. Deep inside, I was grinning ear to ear. Thomas was my former best friend,

and the reason Allison had left me, well, hearing he was dead, warmed my heart. By the time we made it to my house, Ali was a blubbering mess. I got her inside and called the police. Once the cops arrived and took her, Allison's statement, things took a term for the worse. One of the officers recognized me from the Harris incident and pulled me aside. His demeanor changed from concerned to angry, almost instantly.

Why are you involved in another one of these crime scenes, Mr. Allen? I screwed up and said the first thing that popped into my head. I'm not. I was minding my own business on my way home when I ran into Allison. She asked me for help and here we are. It has nothing to do with me. I guess the officer didn't like my response because he got angry. Listen, this is serious. Faulting people are missing and you seem to keep showing up. If I find out you're the one behind all this, I'm personally going to put you away. Well, I instantly responded. In hindsight, I probably should have kept my mouth shut. What's your problem? I was just trying to help and Now you're accusing me of what?

Murder. What suck? And the fucker throat punched me and dropped me to the ground before I could finish talking. The officer glared down at me and grumbled. See you soon, Mr. Allen. And then kicked me before walking away. Once I got myself together and went inside,

I found Allison sitting at my kitchen table, nursing a cup of Johnny Walker Blue and taking nervous drags off one of my cigarettes. I paused in disbelief, and I was a little pissed that she'd open my bottle, but given the circumstances, I gave her a pass and joined her for a drink. I poured a nice cup before taking a long sip, draining the glass about halfway, and then took a seat. Alison, I need you to tell me what you saw out there. Anything you can remember might help. Ali took another long drag off her cigarettes and looked at me with tears streaming down her face. I'm not crazy, Judge.

I know what I saw. That thing was horrible. It looked like a bear with no hair. Only it was way too big, and that smell. Oh, good God, that smell. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up. We sat there talking for a while, before I got her a blanket and a pillow and let her crash on my couch.

I stumbled off the bed, buzzing and still a little angry about the throat punch, but I was out cold in no time. I woke up a few hours later to the table. the sound of glass breaking. Half asleep, I stumbled out into the living room to see my back door was wide open, and Allison was gone. I called her name out, but there was no response.

There was broken glass on the kitchen floor and the faint lingering odor of copper and urine. I rushed over to the back door and spotted her standing in the corner of my yard, facing the tree line, talking to herself. Allison, what are you doing? I think you should come back inside. Allison slowly turned to face me, half lying and crying at the same time. It's him. It's Thomas. He's alive. I can't believe it. He's alive.

I glanced over a shoulder, but I didn't see anyone. Allison, I think you should come back inside. I stepped out into the yard and slowly approached her, reaching out to grab her hand, but she stepped back and started laughing. Don't you understand? He's alive. Thomas is alive. I took one step closer before she turned and bolted off into the woods, laughing. I chased her, struggling to keep sight of her in the dense woods, and she eventually lost me. I ran for a while longer before I was blindsided and sent flying through the air,

slamming into a tree before crashing to the ground. A low growl, rumble through the darkness around me. I could hear something moving, stalking me from the shadows as I rolled over. and sat up. A low hissing sound made me wince as that coppery stench filled my lungs and my body seized up. I vomited in my lap as Allison stepped out of the shadows. Her skin was slick with sweat and an inhumanly wide smile was stretched across her face. She walked over to me and knelt down running her fingers through my head. I'm saving you for last. Her voice became distorted as she spoke to me. The body began to spasm uncontrollably. She stood and stepped back. I sat there frozen,

watching in horror, as she, or should I say it, reached up and tore off her lower jaw, leaving a gaping hole. His tongue flopped around wildly, spattering blood as it slapped against her chest. Clouds of mist wafted into the air from the creature's body as it roared. Allison dropped her hands and knees as her bone started snapping, shifting beneath her skin, huge clumps of flesh began to sloth off, splattering on the ground as what remained of her skull

expanded and split, revealing jagged, sharp teeth. Its face now resembled a venous flytrap made of flesh and bone. The creature slurped up the slurry of melted flesh and hair before turning its attention to me for just a second before it ran off into the darkness

laughing. I laid there for hours until the gas wore off. By then the sun was peeping through the trees, warming my face as the cool morning air slowly cleared the fog from my brain. When I was finally able to stand and walk home, I staggered out of the woods to find my house overrun by police officers. I was arrested and probably would have been charged for murder if it wasn't for my neighbour Mr. Murphy, telling the cops he saw Thomas Gentry trashing my house before stealing my car. even though I wasn't charged with anything I was held at the police station for the next two weeks

on unrelated warrants and eventually released I'm saving you for last I woke up screaming it's been two months since the homunculus escaped 27 people are missing I've tried my best to get help but that's kind of hard to do without incriminating myself everyday life has become a paranoid scramble

for safety. Up until now, I've avoided getting swept up in the insanity. Then I got invited to a lock-in. On any other day, I would have declined, but the woman who invited me was incredibly hot. How could I say no? Now I know there's other things I should be doing, but you've got to cut me some slack here. It's been a while. In any case, she ditched me 30 minutes after I got there, and I spent the rest of the night camped out on top of the bleachers.

It was around two in the morning and I was watching a movie on my laptop. Everyone in the room was pretty much asleep. We were all camped out in the gym of the local high school. If we were always sitting, I could see the whole room. A young girl was running through the room weaving between the cots of sleeping people that lie in the floor. She didn't seem to be bothering anyone, but it was kind of odd that someone her age wasn't being looked after. I watched her playing for a few seconds when she suddenly stopped and slowly turned to face. face me. The second I saw her face, I recognized her. It was Eliza Stewart. My blood ran cold.

I watched as she raised a finger to her lips and shushed me. The hideous, toothy smile stretched across her face. Her shoulders slumped forward and her body started to tremble, but she never took her eyes off me. And that's when the smell hit me and I realized what I'd been doing. The humonchalus had just gasped the entire room Now it was feeding time My body seized Forcing me to watch as a chorus of screams erupted from the crowd Followed by the sound of everyone puking their gut sounds

Eliza or should I say the thing pretending to be her Was tearing out handfuls of his hair Leaving bald bloody patches of exposed flesh His clothes began to shred a as its body expanded. There was a loud wet pop as the skin ripped and the bone splintered before it exploded. A foul red mist saturated everyone laying around her and started smoking as soon as it wet their skin.

Tears ran down my face as I watched a room full of men, women and children die. Their bodies melting into a slurry of blood, bones and vomit, coating the gymnasium floor. as horrible as it was i realized i'd just witnessed replication well the homunculus doesn't reproduce it can't instead it replicates once the creature reaches a certain size it splits creating multiple bodies that function on one mind it'll continue to do this as long as it has a food source before i could fully process what i'd just seen something big slammed into the double doors that led into the gym The doors held up to the first hit, but the second one did the trip. The dogs came off the hinges, slamming to the floor as the homonculus came rushing in.

It had doubled in sight since I last saw it. It instantly scooped up a mouth over the putrid sludge that was coating the floor, bones and all, and then began chewing. It turned its attention to me with chunks of flesh and sheets of skin dropping from its teeth. I swear it smiled at me before, tearing off its own arm and tossing it up into the bleachers a few feet from where I was sitting. I watched horrified and amazed as the dismembered arm lost its shape, reverting to its original blob state before starting to violently spasm and release another cloud of that rancid-smelling gas.

It twitched and contorted rapidly, taking a human form right in front of me. Within minutes, Ali's naked form sat up and smiled at me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to be anywhere but there, but I was paralysed. Ali tilted her head back and screamed before rushing up to me, stopping just inches away from my face. We were eye to eye now.

It would have been amazing if it weren't so utterly terrified. It was heard down to the tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose, an exact replica. In the background, the sound of that thing, crunching and slurping its meal off the jewell, gymnasium floor filled the air. It was all I could hear, but she was all I could see. She leaning close and whispered to me, it's not your turn. And everything went black. I woke up in the woods behind my house just before dawn, the sound of police sirens echoing

through the trees, bringing me back to reality. I laid there, staring up at the sky. My clothes wet and heavy with blood. The horrible stink of that thing in the air and all, What I could do was smile. I got up off the ground and walked back to my home. By the time I got there and cleaned myself up, the streets were alive with police and emergency vehicles. I put on a pot of coffee and stepped out onto the front porch. After what I'd just seen, there was no way I was staying put. I went back inside, poured a cup of coffee, then started packing a couple of bags.

I got online and rented a car, then called a cab to get me to the Avis on the other side of town. It was still early when I got there, so it wasn't open. There was a 24-hour diner across the street. I stopped there and grabbed a bite to eat, bacon, eggs and toast with a double stack of pancakes and another cup of coffee. It was halfway through my breakfast when I heard some tapping on the window behind me. Turned around to see an old man I didn't recognize staring at me. Strange green on his faces, his tapping turned to banging his fist against the glass and screaming, saving you for last, over and over getting louder each time. The waitress caught out to the cook.

Dale, one of those homeless guys is here banging on the glass. A short older guy came charging out of the kitchen, clutching an aluminum bat and cursing as he made his way towards the front door. Just as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, the old man stopped banging on the glass and ran away, laughing. Dale stepped back inside with a proud smile and out. sorry about that folks enjoy the rest of your breakfast oh coffee's on me then swaggered his way back to the kitchen as if giving away three cups of wateredown coffee made him the man on the other hand i felt sick to my stomach the homunculus knew i was here that meant it had been watching well i lost my appetite with that thought dropped ten bucks on the table and walked out without finishing my food walked across the street to the rental office The second I stepped inside, I knew I was in trouble.

That odour washed over me, making me nauseous and flooding my brain with images from the school. I had a gurgled plea for help coming from somewhere in the building. Help me! Someone please help me! A man's voice called out in pain. I slowly made my way towards the voice. The closer I got, I started hearing a wet, crunching sound. As I made my way down the hall, I noticed blood, smithms. meared on the walls.

The cries for help turned to gurgling gas for air as I opened the door to see nothing. The room was empty. I stood there for a few seconds trying to figure out what the hell was going on when the chimes from the front door jingled. I turned around to see the hallway clean. The blood was gone and the air was fresh. Took a deep breath, put my head down and started rubbing my eyes. The service agent clicked on the hallway light.

and we started to see me standing there, but it all worked out. Long story short, I picked up my rental car and hit the road. I was about 40 or 50 miles outside the city limits, when the pain hit me like a bolt of lightning to the brain, and it didn't stop until I pulled off the road. Each time I tried to drive, the pain would come back ten times worse. After three or four tries, I couldn't take the pen anymore. The homunculus and I are.

bound and, well, I can't leave it and it can't leave me. So I sat on the side of that highway for a long time before I turned the car around and drove back into town. I drove around for a while until I came to the high school. The place was crawling with media and police. I wanted to stay as far off from that scene as possible, so I kept driving. When I pulled up at my house, my next-door neighbor, Mr. Murphy, was in front of his lawn, raking leaves. As soon as I stayed. As soon as I stepped out of the car, he waved hello and walked over. "'You heard what happened at the school?' He sounded almost happy about it.

"'It's horrible, just horrible. All those poor people gone and nobody saw a thing.' I shook my head and laughed a little. "'Well, Mr. Murphy, at least we are still here, right?' I turned and walked towards the house. As I look closer to my door, I heard Mr. Murphy say, "'Have a nice evening.' I swear for a second it sounded like his voice,

distorted, but when I turned to look at him, he was gone. There was no one around. I stepped back away from my door and into the yard to see if maybe he'd walked off, but it was as if he was never there. Leaves still lit at the yard, rustling in the breeze. I rubbed my eyes and then quickly went inside. As soon as I dropped my bags and went to the kitchen, my phone rang. I didn't answer it. Instead, I grabbed a beer out of the fridge, turned on the television and sat on the couch, watching the news till I dozed off. It was the first real sleep I had had in months, and it felt great, right up until someone started banging at my front door.

Oh, who is it? I shouted, and I was still half asleep. There was no response. Getting up off the couch, I made my way to the door, and, as I did, the knocking stop. I asked again, and still no response. Pausing for a second I had to laugh. You've got to be kidding. you're going to have to do better. There was a pause, then another knock, and I heard a familiar voice.

What? Hey, open the door. It's Adam. I'm here looking for Thomas. Adam is Thomas' younger brother. Decent guy, I guess, and I've never had a problem with him. I opened up to see him looking over his shoulder and acting kind of jumpy. What's up, Josh? I know you guys aren't exactly tired right now, but have you heard from T.J. lately? Shaking my head, I invited him in.

No, I haven't heard from him, but I did run into Allie and he wasn't with her, so maybe you should check his place. We talked for a while longer, and then he eventually hit the road. The second my front door slammed shut, I turned and saw a shadowy figure rush through my living room. When I reached from my pocket to grab the car keys, I realized the keys were on the kitchen table. Oh, shit. Taking a deep breath, I headed that way. I was going to grab the keys and get the hell out of there, but, well, it didn't work out that way.

The second I stepped in the kitchen, that low hissing sound filled the air. Grabbing the keys and turning to leave, something grabbed me and threw me across the room. Slammed into the wall and landed on the floor, gasping for air. That smell of copper and urine. making me wretch. My tongue went numb and my eyes burned as a low, rumbling growl took over the room.

I fought the urge to vomit and tried with all my might to get up, but my body wouldn't budge. The growl slowly became laughter, as a familiar frame came into view, and as soon as I saw it, I knew who it was. Thomas fucking gentry, of all the people to imitate the homunculus had chosen him. stood there looking down at me for a few seconds, then tilted its head back and sniffed the air before finally speaking. You can't run from me, Josh. He knelt down, getting closer to me. Leaning in close, it licked the side of my face, and its saliva burned my skin. His eyes rolled back in its head and drool, poured from its mouth as his body began to shake uncontrollably.

From Onclus backed away from me, clawing at its own face, ripping it. out fistfuls of flesh, screaming as it bolted away, crashing through my back door and running off into the woods. Once the gas had worn off, I grabbed my gun and followed the creature's tracks into the woods. After an hour, the trail went cold, and the sun had sent. The woods were dark and silent. I've lived here my entire life and been in these woods a million times, and the woods are never silent. Something was wrong. I stood. there for a few seconds, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness and trying to figure out which direction the homoncle was taken off in when the sound of a baby crying broke through the silence.

There was no way I was falling for that one, so I tried to ignore it and started walking. But the further I went, the more the sound seemed to multiply. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The sound of something small, skittering through the leaves caught my attention. I looked around trying to spot whatever it was, and then I saw it. A baby's face peeping around a tree looking at me. It opened its mouth and let out a cry, that same one I'd heard before. Backed away slowly as it leaped from behind the tree,

but it walked on all force. Its hideous, deformed body was covered in what looked like quills. It screamed again, its body quivered and its skin split, revealing that fly-trap-like skull underneath. I shut the damn thing and it exploded, sending quills flying in every direction. The quills ripped through my clothes and punched my flesh,

sending a burning sensation through my body instantly. I ripped out a handful of them and screamed. Fuck! As I did, dozens of eyes lit the darkness around me. I fired a few more shots and then ran. My legs were going numb, It was getting hard to breathe. I could hear them chasing me, crying out in the dark.

I stumbled and fell as they closed in on me. I rolled over and shot two more of them, just like before they exploded, launching more quills, tearing into my flesh. I gasped for air, and my vision went blurry, and then everything stopped. A low, heavy growl filled the air. That horrible stench wafted in on the breeze as it got closer. My hands were trembling and my vision was blurred.

I'd have to let it get close before I could take a shot, one that I didn't want to miss. As the homunculus came into view, those horrible little things climbed onto its back, dissolving into it with a gut churning squelching sound. The homunculus led out a roar that shook the ground beneath me, and then spoke. Set me free.

It was standing directly over me, rearing back and preparing to take its first bite. Oh, it took everything in me to raise the gun and fire. Its head snapped back and it slumped down on top of me, reverting to its blob state, pinning me to the ground, smothering me. Oh, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. My vision faded to black, then silence. Clear.

Electricity surged through my body. My eyes shot open, and I took in all the air, lungs could handle. My body was broken and bloody, but I was alive. Paramedics and police were everywhere. Apparently someone saw me run into the woods carrying a gun and caught the police. Where is it? Where is it? I asked frantically as they loaded me onto a stretcher and carried me out to the woods. They thought I'd been mauled by either a bear or a mountain lion, but I'd been found alone. I was in the hospital for two days before I got my first visitor. A tall bald guy with a scar that ran down the side of his face, from his forehead to his chin.

He walked in and stood next to my bed for a second, before he spoke to me in a distorted, familiar tongue. Saving you for last. He smiled a wicked smile, then turned and walked out of the room, laughing. The Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist, which detects an accident the moment it happens, and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on keeping on. Bell Air Direct. Insurance, simplified.

Conditions apply. Hey, Ontario. Come on down to BedMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right Fortune Pick is only available at BetMGM Casino.

BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BenMGGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. This is Case Monroe reporting for Channel 3 news. We're here live at Harold Wilson High School,

the scene of what's being called one of the most horrific crimes in recent history. 43 people were murdered in the building behind me, and according to police, this could be connected to a string of disappearances in the area. We'll keep you informed as the information comes in. How hearts go out to the good people of Idelberg. Back to Utah. I've been in the hospital for two weeks, and the homonculus hadn't come back.

The whole town was going crazy after what had happened at the school. The state police had been called in, along with every news station for miles. The town was flooded with people from all over. In a bizarre sort of way, this was probably the best thing to ever happen to this shitty little town. All this death brought new life to idleburn. Every business in town was turning a profit,

literally bathing in the blood of its fallen brothers and sisters. He had another reason to hate this town and everyone in it. My head had been killing me for the last two days, and I didn't make the connection till I realized no one else had gone missing since the high school. The homunculus was moving away from town. But that didn't make sense. The creature wouldn't leave an active food source

unless it was compelled to. Something was drawing the homunculus out. I snuck out of the hospital that night and walked home. When I got there, I loaded up the rental car and started driving until my head stopped hurting. The first place I came to was a truck stop about 60 miles outside of town. The place was busy, so I doubted the creature would be there, but my head wasn't hurting. It had to be close by. I pulled up, parked the car and went inside.

I ordered a burger and fries with the Coke to go, then went out to the food. then went outside for a smoke. Stood there for a while, watching the traffic roll by. Took a long drag off my cigarettes, thumped it out, and then turned to go back inside. Everything changed the second I step through that door. The air was stale and the room was covered in dust. The lights flickered.

It looked like no one had been in there for years, but this place was packed. Shaking my head, I backed out slowly, once I was back outside the building, shaking my head, I backed out slowly. Once I was back outside the building, it changed to a dilapidated shell. The neon signs now sun bleached, broken and scattered around the empty parking lots. I rushed to my car. I was almost at the door when the sound of wet feet slapping the concrete behind me made me turn around.

No one was there. I backed up until I bumped into the car. popping the lock I hopped in and peeled out of that lot as fast as humanly possible I drove a few miles up the highway till I found a fleaback motel and got a room for the night it took forever to fall asleep but when I did it didn't last long a loud boom shook the room and startled me out of my sleep I sat straight up in the bed looking around for a few seconds until I heard someone running followed by another boom as whoever it was slammed into the door of my room again.

I grabbed my gun and rushed to get a look. I made it to the window just in time to see a bloody, skinless man-thing slam into my door and explode, sending a wave of blood splattering across the window. They kept coming one at a time, until the door finally gave way and they came spilling in. I fired off a full clip. Every time I shot one of those things, they exploded, splain the room with a black one of that viscous liquid that reeked of rotting flesh. And when my gun went empty,

I used it to clob the shit out of a few of them before they overran me. I struggled. I fought until I couldn't fight anymore. But there was nothing I could do. They pinned me to the ground and started to regurgitate a flesh-colored fluid all onto me. When they were done, they led out a simultaneous roar,

and then fell over dead. I say dead because the second they hit the floor, They started dissolving into a shit-coloured nightmare. So yeah, I'd say they were dead. But while all this was going on, the puk that had me pinned to the floor was getting heavier and starting to move. The instant it oozed off me, I sat up gasping for air, and the second I did that fucking thing led off a cloud of gas

that I took deep into my lungs. I backed up, gagging, still gasping for air. Every muscle in my body burned, then lost. I was forced to watch the homuncleous, cannibalize its replicas, and take form. But it wasn't complete. It had no hair. Its skin was thin and pale. It was literally weeping that oily secretion to the point it looked wet.

I had no facial features, just eyes in the mouth. Started laughing as its skin turned grey and began to shrivel away. The pain shot through my brain as that thing dried up and went silent. All of these replicas were weak. They had to combine just to convey a single thought that meant the source body was getting further away, and this was a distraction. The homunculus needed me to stay put while it made its escape.

I tracked that thing for two weeks straight after that. I ended up in Missouri in a little town called Holt Summit. Got into town late one night. I was exhausted, so I pulled off the road into a U-Haul lot on Summit Drive. try to get some rest. It's having the best dream ever only to have it disturbed by the unmistakable sound of a police flashlight tapping against my window. Is everything okay there, sir? The officer asked while shining his light around in the car.

Wiping the sleep from my eyes and taking a deep breath, I responded. Yeah, everything's okay, officer. I'm just tired after being on the road a while. He looked around the car for a few seconds and asked for my license. and went back to his cruiser. After a few minutes he came back and handed me my license. Okay, sir, there are a few hotels on 54. He said, pointing back over his shoulder.

I suggest you find one of them and get off my streets. He then handed me my license and walked away. To be honest, I was avoiding hotels after what had happened last time, but hot shower, soft bed, well, didn't sound half bad. Nothing happened that night, to be honest. Nothing happened for the next couple of days, but that gave me time to reach out to some of the contacts I'd made, gathering supplies off the dark web.

The contact of the guy who'd saw me in the stone sun, Alexa. Now, I'm not going to lie, this guy creeps me out. He's not an overly imposing figure. He's actually a short middle-aged guy with a shaved head, but there's something about him that makes your skin crawl when you talk to him. The only real strange thing about him is that he insists on being called Hermes. long story short hermys agreed to meet me at lake mikey the next day when i pulled up he was already there a strange thing was there were no other cars in the lot i didn't recall passing any cars on the way in

apart the car and got out the entire time hermys keeping his back to me as he looked out over the lake he didn't react to me being there until i got a few feet away from him and even then he didn't turn around he just spoke hello mr allen "'Nice meeting you again.' He hissed, still not turning to face me. "'Yeah, whatever. "'Can we get this over with? "'I have a bitch of a headache, and I just want to get back to my room.'

"'He chuckled and finally turned to look at me. "'That blood bond is a raw deal, isn't it?' "'He chuckled again, and I played dumb. "'I don't know what you're talking about. "'Can I please get what I came for?' "'He paused and looked to me and handed me a word. one-liter flask filled with sun-stone elixir. A happy hunting, Mr. Allen.

I handed him the money and walked away. He stood there watching me the whole way to the car with that strange little smirk stretched across his face. I swear I could still see him watching me through the rear view as I drove away. I needed a plan. I knew from the beginning a gun couldn't kill the homunculus, but I needed to know if I could hurt it.

And I did. it. When I chased it into the woods, my plan was to get it back under control. But I wasn't prepared for the replicas. In the end, I had to shoot it to save my own life. Still, it taught me something. In the book of the crow, it said leg could be used to stop or capture it, but it didn't give the specifics of how. Just a reference to another book. Tabula Smalagdina, the emerald tablet. But I, well, didn't have time. I needed to see it. solution. I drove around town, brainstorming for a while, until I got hungry and pulled into the

first place I saw. There's a little cafe called Cameron's, seemed good enough for me. I went in, got a table, and ordered chicken-fried steak. Finished my meal, paid the bell, then went outside to get in my car. When I got there, there's some greasy-ass got got chicks sitting on the hood, lighting up a blunt. "'Hey, what fuck are you doing? Get off my car.' She looked to me, hit the blunt, and stay put. "'It's not really your car, no is it, Josh?' She let her cloud of smoke and hop down. I stepped back and looked around.

She chuckled and shook her head. "'See you round, Mr. Allen.' Then she hit the blunt again and walked past me. Something about her tone and a voice pissed me off. not to mention that she knew my name. I turned around in time to see the greasy little skank walk into an alley next to the cafe. When after her, she couldn't have been more than a few steps ahead of me, but I swear when I got to the alley, she was already at the other end of it, facing me.

Now I may not be the fastest person in the world, but there's no way in how she could have got that far that fast. She stood there just long enough for me to see her, then she walked away. I thought about chasing her. I really did. For a whole five seconds, I thought about it. And I went to my car and drove back to the motel. When I got back to my room, I made a few phone calls,

then practiced drawing transmutation circles for a while. Four hours and fifty sheets of paper later, I gave up, then downed a fifth of scotch and went to sleep. When I woke up, the sun had gone down. I got up and went outside for some fresh air. The second I stepped out the door, the faint aroma of urine and copper, floated in on the breeze. I stood there scanning the area, trying to pinpoint where it could be coming from,

but there was no one around. The breeze came in from my left, so I went back in my room, grabbed the sunstone elixir, and my gun, and headed out. I walked around for a while, not really sure where I was going or who I was looking for until I came to a gas station. I think the place was called quick, Rand, but I'm not sure. In any case, it isn't important. He stopped there to grab some smokes in a bottle of water.

When I got inside, the guy at the register pretty much ignored me till I got to the counter. And he put his phone down and looked at me like I just ruined his night. Then asked, well there be anything else. I looked at his name tag. Chuck. I took everything in me not to reach out and grab him by the hair and bounce his skull off the countertop a few times.

but instead I took a deep breath and chuckled to myself give me a pack of marlborough black one hundreders chuck he shot me a hateful look then turned to get my smokes as he did the lights went out and something slammed into the window on the other side of the store making a wet screeching sound as it was dragged across the glass and chuck nearly jumped out of his skin what the fuck another boom echoed through the store

something hit the glass closer to the register There at the window was an old woman. She was covered in dirt and grime. Her hair was a greasy, grey tangle of, God knows what. She was banging on the window with both hands, smearing what looked like shit on the glass the whole while, staring at us and smiling. She laid out of scream and started to beat her head against the glass.

Lock the door! Lock the door! Chuck yelled out. I rushed to the door and clicked the locks just as the old woman got there. We were face to face. The only thing between us was a shatter-proof glass. She pounded on it frantically screaming for a few seconds before she started slamming her head against it again. This time she kept it up until the skin on her face split and she started bleeding.

Holy shit, this bitch is crazy. Chuck grabbed his phone and started frantically calling the police. The old lady stopped, streams of blood now pouring from the gash in her forehead and that horrible smile was somehow growing wider. the corners of her mouth now splitting, peeling away, revealing more teeth, loud, wet pops that could be heard as her jaws unhinged and her mouth opened unnaturally wide. She bore up her filth-covered arm, then reached into her own mouth.

Her body convulsed, gagging on her arm, she poured out a fleshy balloon about the size of a football and raised it over her head. She let out a scream, then squeezed it until it potted, releasing a wave of bow. black fluid that instantly began melting her skin away. Huge clumps of melting fresh began splattering at her feet as she dissolved into a pool that was starting to move. It oozed through the cracks of the door, bringing with that all too familiar stench of copper and eury. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and ran for the back of the store. Chuck was standing there, petrified, body trembling, tears running down his face. I yelled to him, but it was too late. The gap.

and hit him. He screamed as every muscle in his body seized and vomited before crumbling to the floor, twitching. An almost insane sounding laughed have bounced off the walls as the homonculus led off wave after wave of that rancid gas. The next sound I heard was Chuck screaming as the hideous blob began feasting on his flesh. Within seconds the screaming had stopped. A blood-covered hand grabbed the counter, pulling his body up into view. Its lifeless eyes peaked over the edge of the counter at me. There was something different about the creature now.

It seemed almost rabid in its movements. It was spasmodic and twitchy. It led out a wall rattling roar as it leaped onto the counter and rushed towards me. I pulled my gun and fired two shots into the thing, but it wasn't phased. It kept coming. I reached for the flask of elixir, but it was too late. The homunculus grabbed me, slamming me, slamming me into the wall. forcing me to drop it.

Its grip tightened around my neck as it lifted me off the ground, growling. Its face shifted and contorted as it took the appearance of Thomas. It chuckled and released another cloud of gas. I gagged as bile rushed up my throat, partially from the gas but mostly from seeing that asshole's face again. Silly little thing, why are you here? It released me, sending my body crashing to the, floor. On the second I hit the ground, I gasped for air and instantly regretted it. My body cramped up

and I puked all over the floor. The homunculus reached down and swirled a finger around in the warm pool of vomit and then tasted it. Did you really think you could control me, meat thing? Somehow I managed to get my body to move. Reaching out and grabbing the flask, I popped the top off with my thumb. The instant the flask opened, the homunculus reacted by letting out a sound that nearly shattered my eardrums. I cringed, trying to cover my ears as the creature ran and slammed into the glass until it shattered, allowing it to escape into the darkness of the night. I could hear sirens in the distance. The cops would be here soon. Forced myself up off the floor and stumbled away from the gas station. The entire way back to the motel, I could hear.

that cicada-like sound echoing through the darkness. Something had changed. The homunculus was on its own path, and I needed to know why. When I got back to the motel, I started researching anything that could force the homonculus to ignore the blood bond. I read for hours, and on the last page of the book of the Crow, there was a small passage that read, Beware the chimeras perfume. There was no way around it.

I needed to get my hands on the Emerald tablet. I called everyone I could think of, except one, Hermit's, and they were all dead ends. I made that call. The phone rang for a while, and I honestly hoped he wouldn't answer. But he did. Mr. Allen, I've been expecting your call. How may I assist you this evening? His voice was like sandpaper on my brain.

I just wanted to get the conversation over. I'm looking for the Emerald Tablet. Do you know where I can get it? He stayed silent for a moment and then. What? Yes, I do, but you're going to have to come to meet to get it. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance to the first few drops of rain started to fall.

Josh stood outside his car at Pedersfield Community Park, wondering how long this was going to take. A statuesque redhead jogged by, stopping in at a bench to tie her shoe. For a brief second he could have sworn it was Alley. He put the thought out of his mind as he watched her jog away, disappearing into the park. Great ass on that one, a man's voice chuckled from behind him.

Josh turned around to see a short, heavyset man with thinning grey hair. I didn't mean to stall of you, he said, coughing into his hand before wiping it on his shirt and reaching out to shape. Josh stood there looking at him for a second before, he finally withdrew his hands. Oh, you must be Josh. Hermes told me you'd be here. I believe I have something you need.

Josh looked over the... Oh, come on. Josh looked the guy over before finally saying anything. So, you're the nameless one. Seriously, what's all that about? The old man chuckled and shook his head. The man's... Come on!

Oh, the name's Tim. I call myself that when I deal with Hermes because the guy's a bit of a creep, and I prefer he doesn't know my real name. Josh shook his head slightly, laughing to himself, wishing he'd done the same. Anyway, Tim, can we get on with it? How much for the book? Tim smiled and nodded. Straight to the point, I like that.

It's already been taken care of, pal. I'll meet me at eight. I'll be at Murphy's Bar in town. You self a favour, though, stay away from Hermes, dude's real bad news. With that, the old man turned and walked away, whistling some strange little tune. There wasn't much in Pedersville, so finding the bar was pretty easy. Just got there a little early, ordered a drink, and took a seat in a corner booth facing the door. About halfway through his beer, Tim plopped down in the seat across from him, placing the book on the table.

Here you go, pal. Hope it does you some good. God knows it didn't do shit for me. Tim laughed, and ordered a couple of shots from the bar. If you don't mind me asking, why do you need this thing for? Josh finished off his beer, then took one of the shots and downed it before getting up from the table. None of your fucking business. Now, have a nice night. He took the book and headed for the door, dropping a 20 on the bar as he walked out.

He hadn't been paying much attention, but when a horribly familiar step, wrench wafed in on the breeze, he realised his head hadn't hurt since getting into town. The homunculus was here. Josh popped the lock and tossed the book on the front seat, looking around the empty street. Oh shit, he muttered to himself, sliding into the driver's seat. Where the hell are you? He drove around town, hoping to spot any signs of the creature. If it was there, it had to be feeding, so all he had to do was figure out who is, who is.

the homunculus was pretending to be. He pulled off the road and took the flask of sunstone elixir from the glove box, then checked the pistol he kept under the seats. Before he could get back on the road, red and blue lights lit up the interior of his car as a patrol car pulled up behind him. Oh, great, he muttered to himself slowly, placing both hands on the steering wheel. Turn the car off and put your hands out the window, the officer ordered. Now open the table.

door and step out facing away from me. Put your hands up and walk backwards towards the sound of my voice and get down on your knees. Once Josh was cuffed up and placed in the police car, the officer began conducting a search of the car. It wasn't long before he found the flask and the gun. The officer came back and placed both items on the hood of the car and got on the radio, but before he could finish the call, something came rushing out of the bushes and slammed into him. The impact wrought the car and sent both a pistol and the flask tumbling to the ground. The struggle only lasted a few seconds, and the gut-churning sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones cut through the silence.

Josh panicked. He lay back on the seat and tried kicking out the windows. With each thud of his feet against the glass, he could feel his body starting to cramp up, and that putrid smell was seeping through the vents, filling the car. Somewhere in the chaos There was a moment where everything went still Taking a deep breath Josh

Mustered what little strength he had left And kicked the window one last time Instead of shattering It came off track and slid halfway down Struggling for a few seconds He managed to slide the cuffs underneath his legs And bring his hands up in front of him The instant he sat up

The door was violently torn off And he was yanked out of the car The homunculus wasn't pretending to be human, instead its body was an amalgamation of deformities. Its skin was pale, nearly translucent, roadmapsed with thick dark veins. It was almost spider-like. It walked on four oversized arms, using its hands for feet. It didn't have what you'd recognize as a face, instead its bulbous, misshapen body was covered with eyes and large dagger-like teeth hung from its undercarriage. Well, this was insanity.

The source had begun creating its own version of life. There was no getting it under control now. Josh scanned the area, hoping to lay eyes on the flask, but there wasn't enough time. He had to run. Getting to his feet, he sprinted toward the only light he could see. There was no way he could outrun that thing. It was on him almost instantly. With one swipe, it knocked him off his feet, and sent him tumbling into the open field next to the road.

Josh gasped for air and desperately tried to get back to his feet, but another bone rattling blow sent him back to the ground. A low hissing sound filling the air, as that all-too-familiar coppery funk made his tongue go numb and his eyes roll back into his skull. Sirens in the distance almost put a smile in his face just before his body convulsed and everything went to black. Josh woke up a few hours later in the county jail.

He was charged for the stolen rental car. The rental service reported it stolen when it wasn't returned on time. Possession of a firearm, and last but not least, the murder of Officer Clark Landry. Needless to say, he spent the next several hours, having the shit beat out of him by several highly motivated, very pissed off police officers. And when they couldn't get a confession out of him,

they left him in a battered heap on the floor of his sand. The next morning he was awakened by, a voice he had hoped to never hear again. Hello, Mr. Allen, Hermes. Josh sat up and spat out a gob of his own blood on the floor. What are you doing here, Hermie? The creepy little man looked round Josh's cell, then narrowed his eyes and frowned.

It's Hermes, Mr. Allen, and I'm here to make you an offer. I'll get you out of this little predicament of yours, and in return you'll give control of the... one coolest to me. Josh chuckled to himself. I can't give you something I don't have. Besides, I'm in here from murder. You can't get me out of this one, Doc.

Hermes checked his watch and smirms. You have a deal or not, Mr. Allen. I don't have time to argue the details. Well, it was a no-brainer. Sit in jail for murder or pretend to give this freak what he wanted and walk away a free man. Josh agreed. fine if you can get me out of this you can have the down thing i just hope you know what you're

getting yourself into a smirk crept across hermes's face glad to see you're a matter of reason mr allen now let's get you out of here he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small piece of folded tan paper then slid it into josh's cell and fold the parchment and place it on the back of your right hand the unsettling little smirk on his face sent chills through Josh's body, but if it meant freedom, why not? The instant the parchment hit his skin, it dissolved into his flesh. A searing pain rushed up his arm as a glowing blue transmutation circle scorched itself into his skin. Hermes smiled and held up his right hand, revealing the exact same symbol on his palm.

You are now bonded to me. This barn cannot be broken. If you run, you die. It was to the hallway and there was a loud clang because the cell door unlocked. There was no paperwork, no conversations. They simply walked out of the jail and got into a car that was waiting out front. Not a single office is so much as looked in their direction. Josh was blown away at just how simple it was, and the second the car door slammed, he just had to know. What the fuck's going on here?

How did you pull that off? Hermie shook his head. As you'd say, Miss Alan, none of your fucking business. He motioned to the driver. Take us home, please, Lucy. Josh glanced over at the driver and recognized her instantly.

The goth girl. It hid him like a ton of bricks. They'd been watching this whole time. He scratched his chin, taking a deep breath and turning to look out of the window. So, what's the play here? here, Hermie. Who are you people? Some kind of fucked up cult? A bunch of rich people with a death fetish. Why do you want this thing so bad? Hermes cleared his throat and scowl. It's Hermes,

Mr. Allen. Since you're in such a talkative move, let me ask you a question. Why didn't you get rid of the creature after he killed Eliza Stewart? Josh froze. How did he know that? Um, I don't know. He's stumbled through his words. Shit got crazy. I wasn't able to control it. When it finished what I directed it to do, try to kill me. Hermes laughed. You still don't get it.

The homunculus can't kill you. You're its only linked to this world. But that won't stop it from hurting you or driving you crazy enough to kill yourself. Josh stayed quiet for the rest of the trip. After an hour or so, they arrived at a large house on the edge of town and exited the vehicle.

Once inside, Josh was given fresh clothes and a hot meal. After that, he spent the next few hours wandering around the house. It was filled with strange paintings and large display cases that looked like something out of a museum. He stopped in front of a large display that only had one thing in it, a glass cylinder. Inside of the cylinder was something Josh knew all too well. It was a homunculus in its blob state. It was clearly dead, undiv developed and misshapen, a failed attempt. Hermes' voice started him from behind.

You know what really bothers me? A novice like yourself was able to accomplish what so many skilled practitioners could not. It's infuriating. I spent years attempting this and failed countless times. Yet here you are. Nobody with the key to our future. The turn of his voice made Josh chuckle. Well, Hermie, I don't know what to tell you.

Maybe I'm better than you. Maybe you just suck. Hermes frowned and let out a grunt as he turned to walk away. Come with me, Mr. Allen. It's time we get started. Over the next few days, Josh, along with Hermes, Lucy and Tim, searched Pettysville for any signs of the homonculus, and came up empty and took it up empty,

until they reached a neighbourhood development project run by a man named Pierce. According to him, several members of his crew were gone missing. There had been quite a few unexplained deaths since they began construction. But when he mentioned being contacted by Thomas Gentry,

Josh knew they were in the right place. The second they were back in the car, Josh let the others know, but Hermes didn't seem all that surprised. According to him, they'd been watching Pierce for a while on a different issue, but it made complete sense the creature would be drawn there.

Josh didn't bother asking for details. He didn't care. As long as this was about to be over, he was content. They made their plans and agreed to return that night to finish the job. The plan was simple. Hermes would take some of Josh's blood and mix it with the sunsone elixir, and then inject himself. Once that was done, a single syringe will be filled with a combined blood

and injected into the homonker. since the creature couldn't kill him he'd have to be the one to do the injection and the others Tim and Lucy would be well armed and act as bait once the creature was injected Hermes would break their bond and Josh would be free to go the rest of the day flew by

and when the sun dropped the hunt was on Josh didn't like the idea of getting that close to the creature and the fact that Hermes had never successfully birthed homunculus was giving him serious doubts about the plan. Hey, Hermie, what makes you think this all work? I mean, your track record makes me feel like this is going to get us all killed. What makes you so sure? Hermes' paws clearly agitated and took a deep breath.

I'm afraid the details might be a bit too much for you, Mr. Allen. Just know my technique is second to none. Josh nodded his head, looking over at Tim and Lucy, who was strapping on riot gear and loading assault rifles. Just so we're clear, Hermie. No matter what happens, once I've done my part, I am out. Hermes smiled to himself. Believe me, Mr. Allen, I'm counting the minutes.

They arrived at the construction site a few hours after Sunday. The overpowering stench of urine and copper again made it obvious the creature was there. But where? There were a lot of houses to check. Most were still under construction, but there were at least one or two homes on each street that were possibly occupied. They'd have to check them all. They strapped on their respirators and headed for the first house. The second they stepped into the front yard, things went wrong.

There was a woman sitting on a porch swing, humming a little tune as she gently swayed back and fall. The instant she locked eyes on Josh, she jolted to her feet and let out a scream before charge. off the porch. Tim was in front and led off a quick burst from his AR-15, dropping her, but not stopping her. The second she hit the ground, her body convulsed as her bones exploded beneath her skin, tearing through flesh that was peeling away in bloody layers as screams became roars. Lucy rushed over and pumped a few more rounds into her, but it was too late. The alarm had been given. More were on the way. He's walked over and knelt down to inspect the replica.

Absolutely amazing. You must share your secret with me, Mr. Allen. What you've done here is godlike. You, sir, have a true gift. Even through the mask he sounded impressed. Tim and Lucy, on the other hand, weren't so enthusiastic about the situation. We need to get out of the open.

Tim Bart, as more figures approach from the far end of the street. Skinless, humanoid things. emerged from the darkness, screaming as they ran full speed towards the group. What the fuck are those? Lucy yelled out as she opened fire on the incoming wave of replicas. Meanwhile, Hermes calmly strolled across the front lawn and vanished into the house. Josh slowly backed away, with Tim and Lucy distracted and Hermes undoubtedly hiding somewhere in that house. This was the perfect time to get out of there. He turned and bolted for the car. Between the bursts of gunfire he heard Lucy yelling,

"'Shit, he's running. "'Get back here, you asshole!' Ignoring the thought of getting shot in the back, Josh picked up his pace and sprinted towards the road they'd come in from. For a second he really thought it would work, until a searing pain surged up his right arm, and every muscle in his body contracted, and he face-planted into the concrete.

Josh grunted through clenched teeth and tried to move, but he couldn't. What he could do was lay there, listening to the sound of Lucy and Tim catching up to him. You owe me twenty bucks, sucker. I told you he'd run. Lucy jogged over to Josh and looked down at him. You really are a fucking scumbag, aren't you?

She dug in his pocket, put out a twenty and handed it to Tim. Now help me get him to his feet so we can get back to Hermes. Once they were inside the house, Josh's body returned to normal. Tim and Lucy had to be. taken up positions, one watching the street and the other watching the back of the house. Hermes was pacing the floor excitedly.

This is incredible. Fully functioning replicants. The source buddy must be magnificent. You must tell me, Mr. Allen, how are you able to accomplish this? Josh closed his eyes, rubbed his face and chuckled to himself. I followed the instructions. It's that simple, Hermie, no secret. I did exactly what I was told to, step for step, and it worked.

The end, I don't know what you're waiting to hear. That look of excitement was replaced by anger. Hermes stopped pacing and held up his right hand, making a fist. Pain surged through Josh's body as a wicked smirk formed on Hermes' face. You will tell me what I want to know. Or you'll die in this place, Mr. Allen. Now, tell me. or he was nearly

firming at the mouth Hermes then released his grip and stepped back as Josh collapsed to the floor sooner or later the humunculus will run out of clones and the saucebody will come for you when it does I'll be waiting well Josh laughed through the pain

bullets only work for replicants dumb ass what do you think's going to happen when it gets here Hermes smirked and turned on his heels or that, Mr. Allen, is my little secret. Tim interrupted from the window. Does anyone else hear that? The room went silent for a few seconds, and somewhere in the distance they all heard it.

A baby crying. Shit, Josh muttered as he scrambled up from the floor. Get away from the windows, he shouted just before Lucy chimed in from her post near the kitchen. I got movement over here. Multiple targets moving fast. "'Holly shit, are those babies?' "'Lucy was cut short by hundreds of black barbed quills

"'teering through the house. "'While she screamed in agony as the quill shredded her body armour "'and lodged in her flesh. "'The tip of each quill was leaking a thick, acidid liquid "'that was now being pumped into her by the dozen or so spikes "'that were sticking out of her body. "'Lucy gurgled and stumbled into the main room with everyone else. "'Her skin was turning purple as massive blue.

list is rapidly erupted all over her body spewing blood and pus. She gasped for air one, last time before dropping to her knees and going silent. Distorted childlike cries reverberated through the house as dozens of scouts poured in through the shattered windows. The scouts were about the size of a full-grown German shepherd with the head of a human infant and the body carved in two-foot-long barbed quills. They walked on all fours, but had well defied. arms and legs. A childlike face peeped around the doorframe, led out a screech as more of them rushed into the room

and piled onto Lucy's body. Tim opened fire, and their reaction was instant. In the blink of an eye, dozens of poisonous squirrels ripped through the room when the scouts exploded. Josh dove for cover behind a couch, but Hermes and Tim were standing in the center of the room. They both crumbled to the floor, screaming.

Josh himself had been struck by two quills. One was sticking out just below his right hip and the other had torn into his left calf. Fuck, he yelled, ripping out the first quill from his upper leg, tearing out a nice chunk of flesh in the process. The wound pulsed and throbbed as a warm sensation roll through his body and the pain faded. The childlike squeals and wet cracking of bone drifted into the background. The sound of Tim Gird, and gasping for air, and Hermes laughing hysterically echoed through the room. He sat up and almost effortlessly removed the second quill. Then using the back of the couch, Josh pulled himself onto his feet. The scouts were gone.

There was a trail of blood leading out the back door. Tim was covered in weeping blisters. A large section of his face had melted away, and there were seven or eight quills sticking out of his body, but somehow he was still breathing. Heimmy stopped laughing the second he saw Josh standing. There were quills dug into his flesh and yet he seemed almost calm as that strange little smirk crept back to his face. Josh glanced down in time to see the muzzle flash from a pistol gripped in Hermes's hat.

His head snapped back as bits of his brain and skull splattered across the wall. Hermes dropped the pistol in his lap and laughed as Josh's lifeless body, crashed to the floor. Hermes tilted his head back and chuckled to himself as a low hissing sound filled the room. He jolted upright, wincing in pain. The overpowering stench of copper and urine filled his lungs. He coughed and gagged, retching from the bile rushing up the back of his throat. His body seized so violently he bit through his own tongue and soiled himself before grinding his teeth until they shattered. Festering blisters rolled across his skin like ripples through water. Hermes screamed, praying the world would go black, but it didn't. From somewhere behind him

a dog creaked open, and a naked woman walked into the house. She had long red hair and pale, slick skin. She crossed the room silently and stopped, standing over Josh's body for a second before, turning to Hermes. She slowly walked over to Hermes, knelting close and whispered in Twizzier. Her voice a low, guttural ground. I'm so hungry. The Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist,

which detects an accident the moment it happens, and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on, keeping on. Bell Air Direct, insurance, simplified. Conditions apply. The dumpster. Rain fell on the ruse of the just and the unjust, the saints and the sinners, those who knew peace and those in torment.

And tomorrow began at a dark hour. Robert R. McCallon. August 6th, 1982 was a day in Duxbury that no one liked to talk about. No one was still around who remembers it anyway. It had been a hot one, hot, humid, and most of all wet. It had been that way all summer. Unnatural, the old-timers were wont to say. By midsummer rainfall all along the East Coast had hit records not seen since the twenties.

The nearby swamps and rivers had deepened, dark, murky water encroaching onto lands normally dry. The Duxbury bogs and the North Hill Marsh Sanctuary in particular have been caused for concern. By mid-July, courtesy of the mountains, bogs, pilgrims highway had been flooded over, blocking Mayflower Street all the way down past East Street. Island Creek Pond and the North Hill Sanctuary joined forces, turning the lands that divided them into one giant wilderness of muck and water. By the end of July it looked like Cranberry bog and Pine Lake were on the verge of rising up high enough to join the other two and submerged the whole damn area. It had been an ugly business already.

Holmes in and around Pettybush Lane, Maple Pond Lane and Evergreen Street had already been lost to flooding. And they had even been taught last weekend during the Duxbury Town Hall Council meeting of a possible necessary evacuation of Tinker's Ledge Road if the rains kept up. Now that had got people bugging. Marcus McDuff had leapt up and shouted with the vigor of a man half his age, declaring that, they'll have to drag his dead body off his apple farm if they'd came to evacuate him.

There had been a grasshopper boom as well. Everyone said it was because of all the rain. The population thickened as one got further from the busier streets. Certain sections of white and woods were so thick with the little green insects that it was hard to describe in words. One had to see it to believe it.

Some of the trails every step one took would literally be accompanied by a multitude of tiny springy sounds. as the brainless bugs leapt away from whatever giant passed them by. Well, they hadn't been the only insects to flourish in the unusually wet weather. The cicadas had come out in force for the season as well, and they sang their summer songs with an unprecedented fervor. Every evening around dusk, they delight in the branches of the trees

and chirp up at the brilliant shifting purple and orange canvas in the sky. In the trees all along Island Creek, the insects seemed to be especially prevalent. There were certain sections of the creek where one would have to practically shout to be heard over the buzzing cacophony. It was, needless to say, not a good season for insectophobes. Despite all the climate issues, the tourist season, as small as it was, didn't seem to really suffer, which had been quite a relief to the local business owners. Ever since August started, it hadn't rained. As a result, the general mood around town was brighter than usual.

But on this early afternoon, one resident's mood was especially chipper. Deputy Robert Maxwell was walking down Harrison Street with a particular pep in his step. That was because he'd just scored a dino date with the town Betty, a bodacious babe by the name of Mary Barbadino. She'd been the morning waitress at Alice's restaurant for going on three years now. Bob had grown up in Duxbury and had always liked Alice's, but it had become his pre-shift. breakfast spot pretty much every day since he'd first laid eyes on Mary in that type

fitting waitress uniform even on his days off he still couldn't believe his luck bob at the ripe old age of 37 was not exactly known for being a ladies man it wasn't some hoser or anything but he was no primo stud either and she'd approached him now he'd known that mary had broken up with her boyfriend Marcus Green four months prior but he'd never had the cahones to do anything about it. Now, the situation between Mary and Marcus was like a badly written movie. Marcus and his posse were the local tough guys. He and his crew always seemed to be getting into trouble, be it a fight at the local bar or a domestic dispute at one of their biker parties. If it was true that in life everyone had a role to play, then it was Marcus's destiny to be an

asshole. That's not what had stopped him making a move on Mary, however. Bob was a roller after all. He'd just been too chicken. So, this morning when Mary had come over with a cup of coffee in hand and slid into the empty seat across the table phone, he'd been struck speechless for a few seconds. The conversation had been quick and direct, Mary talking, and Bob mostly nodding, and trying to keep his mouth from hanging open. She'd wanted to know if he was interested in catching a movie after her ship. Bob would have watched the bunkest movie in the world with Mary. He quickly agreed, and the two had made plans to meet when she got off at fine.

The deputy made it to the corner, and took a right onto Washington Street. He was headed to Barry's Meets, the local butcher shop. Barry was legendary in the region for his keel-buster, and tonight, after whatever movie they ended up seeing, he was going to surprise Mary with a better meal than Alice's had ever put on a plate. He walked briskly, passing Beaver Brook Lane and making a mental note to stop at snug Harbour Wight on his way back home. It was nearly 12.30, which gave him approximately four and a half hours to get dinner made, get dressed, and be back at Alice's. Well, he'd originally been scheduled to be on duty until six, and agreed to meet Mary without giving it a second thought,

but after realizing his error, he'd been worried that the boss man wouldn't be accommodating to his sudden plans. But after he'd made it back to the station, Sheriff Copper had been all too happy to give him the night off. In truth, copper at first had been as incredulous as Bob had initially been, but the sheriff was a good, if not gruff, man, with a hearty laugh had granted his request, giving him a hard pat on the back, leaving him with these wise words. Happy hunting son, as he'd walked out through the station doors. He swiftly passed by a group of children playing in Washington Park. Off in the distance, a baseball game was going on.

He vaguely remembered seeing a flyer early in the week, stating that the Duxbury Dragons would be playing their first game of the season today. Across the street loomed the St. John's Evangelist Church. The ancient stone structure cast a long shadow across the street. Bob only gave it a cursory glance as he passed it by. He was not a religious man. though his mother regularly attended. In truth, the place had always kind of creeped him out.

He looked around. He didn't see the local pastor, Father John, anywhere, which he ironically thanked God for. The short fat man was always lurking about somewhere in town, always looking to add to the flock, as he put it. Lurking, no, that wasn't the right word for it. For all their brief encounters, and by all accounts Father John was a...

pleasant man, known for his charity work and volunteering at the local soup kitchen, in fact. He felt like a dick for having the thought in the first place and quickly pushed it out of his mind. By the time he'd crossed Freeman Place and was walking alongside the monolithic structure of the Hudson Bank, his thoughts had once again returned to Mary, and what exactly he'd done to make this morning so different than all the other countless encounters. He glanced to the left, looking at his wavy reflection as he passed. by the floor to ceiling windows of the massive building. Well, he had started working out.

In fact, in the last two months he'd lost almost 20 pounds. A big part of what was the change up in... A big part of that was the change up in his diet. Egg whites and coffee for breakfast instead of pancakes. Salad for lunch instead of a burger. Come to think of it, hadn't Mary been the one to first suggest his change up in breakfast? Or maybe it was his fresh new... stash. At first he'd been hesitant to try and grow one. Styled facial hair had never been his

thing, but he quickly realized that it was totally choice. His mom said he looked like Tom Selling. Bob was enrapped in these thoughts as he reached the corner. He wasn't looking in any particular direction, and only half heard the quick panic steps, just before someone came sprinting around the other side of the building and collided straight into him. The deputy was knocked off his feet, landing hard on his back. He managed to keep his head from bouncing off the pavement, but for a few seconds he saw stars anyway. Bab!

He recognised Boston George's voice. He sat up and attempted to bring the man into focus. Oh, Barry, thank God it's you. Bob began to slowly climb to his feet, but the skinny 40-something man was faster. He practically leapt up, and dashed over to the deputy, offering him a hand and helping him to stand up.

We've got a real situation here, Bobby, the man was saying, his eyes darting around frantically. In that moment he looked like a rabbit that had just escaped a wolf. Georgie McCabe, or Boston George, as he was known by the locals, had gotten his name because of his heavy accents, and because, well, he was from Boston, which could be quite a big deal in some circles within, such a small town. He was a born and bred Irishman at the big city on a hill, as he was,

want to say. Bob had never been, but he imagined that Georgie was a pretty accurate representation of the average Bostonian. Boston George had moved to Duxbury from Beantown three years prior. He seemed to have a lot of money, though. No one knew exactly what it was that he did. He drove a candy, apple-red BMWM-1, almost always with the top-down. even in winter. Anywhere he went, he drove it like a man on his way to save the world. Georgie had accumulated quite an impressive pile of tickets and citations since coming to Duxbury, but he always had the money to pay off his fines and so had remained on the road.

For now, Sheriff Copper had said to Bob one night at the station. Copper didn't like Boston George, though Georgie seemed oblivious to the fact. he kept speeding and the Darksbury Police Department kept profiting off his stuntman antics Bob had never ticketed Georgie personally however he and the Irishman had become

sometime poker buddy shortly after his arrival the deputy liked to gamble once in a while Georgie loved it and the man had one hell of a poker face over the last two years he'd taken far more of Bob's money than Bob had his and that was for sure

and I also liked sometimes to go out day drinking, as he put it. As he took in George's disheveled appearance, he began to suspect that that was exactly what the man's afternoon activities had consisted of thus far. The thinning hair on his head stuck out in tufts, pointing in all directions. His alohas shirt was only half tucked into his shorts. Bob realized that the man was also missing one of his flip-flops. But there was a distinct panic.

in George's eyes, a sort of wild terror that gave him pause. The man was talking, he realized. Thickly accented words flowing out of his mouth a mile a minute, though he had no idea what he'd been saying. Take a red, Georgie, Bob shouted, raising his hand in a silencing gesture as he did. George fell quiet. For a few seconds, all that could be heard was the chirping birds and George's ragged breathing. What is the problem? He didn't have time for this. There's...

George gulped in a huge, lung full of air, trying to steady his voice. There's some kind of monster and the damster behind Barnes Market. And I think it got old man peeped. What? Bob asked. Truly at a loss.

Well, for God's sake, Bob. I'm telling you that there's something the damn damster behind Barnes Market. and I think it got Pete. The man was quickly becoming hysterical. Okay, okay, Bob said, raising his hand once again in a placating gesture. So, tell me what happened.

I was sitting outside Lux Cafe. I had one of the chairs on the patio, just having a drink, you know. This Bob quirked an eyebrow. Georgie didn't seem to notice. Anyway, so I'm sitting there out on the patio when I see old man Pete come out of his seat. come out of his store, got around to the back alley with a bag full of trash. Peter Barnes was the

elderly owner of Barnes Market, the local grocery co-op. Pete was in his 70s, but had moved like a man half his age, up until his wife Edna had passed last winter. Since then Peter developed a noticeable stoop in his stance. Now he walked with slow, pained movements. These days he seemed to look at the ground more than anything else. In truth, it's a little. pained the deputy to see the old man slowly fall apart. Bob had known Pete since he'd been just a boy. He'd been known as old man Pete even back then, but in those days he'd spotted a full head of grey hair.

So, like, after five minutes go by, Boston George would say, I noticed that Petey hasn't come back out from the alleyway yet, so I start worrying about poor old buggers hurt himself or something, you know. So I get up, go across the street to check on it. Bob knew the area George was referring to well It was called East Cove Plaza And was consequently the only spot on surplus road That had any business on it

Thought to be exact All located around one square block Barnes Market And the Red Herring Diner on one side of the street East Space Salon and Lux Lounge on the other Well up until a year and a half ago It had only been three businesses but Lux had opened up next to East Bay.

It was this new age, hippie cafe bar, and it was owned by this unbelievably sexy red-headed fox named Greta Thompson. She'd moved to Duxbury about two years ago, and after about six months it had opened up shop. That was all he really knew about her. He'd never been in the bar, though it had simultaneously become a hit with the younger locals and an endless source of gossip for the elders.

"'So, what did you find when he went to go check on him?' Bob asked, feeling a faint sense of apprehension as he did so. "'That's the thing, Bob,' George said in a hush tone. "'I wasn't no one back there when I got up there, just an empty alleyway with that damster in the back. But, oh, this real weird feeling that old man Pete was in that dumpster, Georgie continued. Bob already did not like where this was headed,

though admittedly he had absolutely no freaking idea where this was headed. So I get to like about ten feet away from the dumpster, and something's telling me. Something's telling me not to get any closer. So I call out Pete's name, feeling a bit silly as I do, mind you. Bob smirked despite himself. Silly was one word for him. And just as I say his name, there comes a sound of trash slamming around, and I mean a loud sound, and the dumpster...

George trailed off as he gave a shutter. The dumpster pot. It jerked towards me. Bob raised an eyebrow. The dumpster jerked towards you. Those words just didn't sound right. Yeah, Bob, I mean like three freaking feet. "'So, what did you do?'

"'Now this, George looked incredulous. "'What did I do? "'Fucking ran for my damn life. "'That's what I did, Bob.' "'Okay, okay,' Bob said, raising his hands once again. "'Let's go.' "'No way?' "'Back to Barnes Market.'

"'Back?' "'Yep,' he said, pinching his nose. "'Back to the market. "'But—' "'Come on, George. Bob cut him off and started walking. Five minutes later they were moving down surplus roads, almost halfway to their destination.

Up ahead loomed the wooden bridge that went over Bluefish River. The raging waters echoing off the surrounding trees that bordered the street on both sides. Bob had kept up a brisk pace, partly because he was worried for old man Pete and partly because of his rapidly shrinking timetable. George, to his credit, had kept up. Are you sure you don't want to call for back up, Bobby?

He half shouted over the thundering river, just as their feet met weather-worn wood. Bob glanced down at the rushing waters of the bluefish as they clunked along. The river was normally more than a dozen feet below the bridge. On this day, however, it was half that. If he got any higher, the city would have to close off this bridge. Not quite, George, he shouted back. I think I'd like to check things out for myself before I go and do that.

After another moment they were across the river and back on asphalt. With each step, the thundering of the bluefish faded. Bob looked up at the looming trees on either side of them. The white pines had grown more full and lush than ever before. Bob gazed off into the shadows of the surrounding forest. It's pretty much nothing for about the next quarter mile, nothing but trees and encroaching swamp water that is. Pretty much everything west of Tremont Street was already flooded.

But thankfully, the four businesses that made up East Cove Plaza had thus far been spared from the weather, being located about half a mile east of Tremont on the corner where Reynolds Way crossed surplus. As they walked, what reflected on the dumpster in question? It was a 15-yarder, if he recalled correctly. situated between barns market and the red herring for the convenience of both businesses with all the flooding it really wouldn't be too outlandish if a bear or some other critter had made its way down and jumped in looking for food they came to a flooded part in the road just as they hit the intersection of south station street the water stretching all the way to the woods on both the right and left they wordlessly walked to the right entering the edge of the woods they used the rocks and roots to keep the their feet dry, as dry as possible, as they made their way. The water stretched on down the street

for a good twenty feet before relinquishing its hold on the road. Soon the surrounding forest gave way once again to a suburban sprawl. Up ahead in the distance stood East Cove Plaza. He felt an inexplicable twinge of apprehension at the site of the buildings, and for about a second he really did want to call for backup. But what would he tell dispatch? Oh, Boston George thinks there's a monster in the dumpster behind Barnes Market. Yeah, that would go over well. After another moment of walking, they'd reach the front entrance of Barnes'ids. The now open sign still hung in the window.

Well, opened the door and stepped inside. They were greeted by the refreshing coolness of the air-conditioned store. Mr. Barnes? Well, caught out. No answer. save for the soft hum of the air conditioning unit. Bob walked deeper into the store, swiveling his head this way and that,

as he continued moving down one of the eyes. Beat, again, no answer. This wasn't good. Something was up. I'm telling you, he's not in here, Bobby, Austin George said in a hush tone from behind. Officer Maxwell, came a voice from the back of the store. Both men turned to see Pete's nephew Doug Jenkins emerge from the back storage room.

Doug was in his forties. He seemed to possess an endless supply of plaid shirts and blue jeans that he wore no matter how high the temperature was. A nice guy. I'm a bit slow. Hey, Doug, Bob said with a wave. I was just looking for Pete. You seen him?

But this, Doug shook his head. I was supposed to meet him here. We're going to go down to dinner. at St. John's tonight, but can't find him, Bob. That last part carried with it a tone of worry. Oh, don't worry, Dougie. Bob managed to smile. We'll find him.

We'll take a look around outside. Why don't you stay here in case he shows back up? Dougie nodded. Okay, he said. Cool beings. All right, me and Georgia here are going to take a look around back. We'll meet you back here in ten minutes if we don't find him. And with that, George and Bob turned and walked back out.

The sticky summer heat practically slammed into them as they stepped through the doorway. Together, they walked in silence to the entrance of the alleyway. The Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist, which detects an accident the moment it happens, and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on, keeping on. Bel Air Direct, Insurance, Simplified, conditions apply. They're round of the corner, and just stood there for a moment.

The area was empty, save for the hulking form of the dumpster that stood in the back. It was a big, ugly thing, standing about six feet high, and yet it was a 15-yarder. There's no way Pete fell in there. Bob thought to himself, as he scrutinized the hunk of metal. There was something off about it, though. but he couldn't quite put his finger on wots. At first glance it appeared the same as it always had. It was just as rusty and weather-worn as ever.

Still the same dirty green colour with the words Patterson waste disposal written in big white letters on its beat-up exterior. He was pretty sure that Boston George was right, though. The dumpster did seem like it was farther from the wall than normal. Maybe George had been partially cracked. perhaps some bear or something had wandered down and climbed in looking for food again considering the flooding it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility after all the wildlife was known to wander into town from time to time bob moved cautiously forward and stopped when he was about fifteen feet away some vague primal instinct warning him not to get any closer he stood in silence for a moment

listening for any sign of movement from within the rusty metal structure. Nothing. Not a sound. He straightened and let out a sigh. Jesus, he was being ridiculous. Boston George was just bust. Pete Barnes had just gone out of some sudden errand and forgotten to lock up. Yeah, that was it.

He started to turn back to George when he noticed the shoe. It was just lying there about three feet in front of the dumpster. It was black, and that was about all he could tell from this distance. But he knew. He just knew that it was a black penny loafer. There was only one guy around here who sported those kind of kicks. Mr. Barnes, Bob called out for the dumpster, knowing full well how ridiculous he'd looked to his peers in that moment.

He received no reply. He took a few more cautious steps forward, calling out again, once again being answered with silence. God, what if he had fallen in? As impossible as it seemed, what if Barnes had fallen in and was lying broken and bleeding right now as he stood there like an idiot? What's going on, fellas? A voice suddenly asked from behind, causing both men to jump. Bob turned around only to see Christy Villarmoran's pug-like face. Christy was the owner of East Bay Salon. What that really meant was that her husband,

District Circuit Court Judge Troy Villarmin, had bought his incredibly unpleasant wife a business, so as to keep her out of his hair, and quite literally in someone else's. "'Everything all right, Officer Maxwell?' She asked innocently. "'Bob didn't really dislike people as a rule of thumb. It was not in his nature.

But God damn if Christy just didn't naturally piss him off. She was one of the town gossips ringleaders, as his mother always put it. Christy had an affinity for other people's business. Her salon only amplified her powers. Bob noticed a few of Christie's customers, cronies, gathered on the sidewalk in front of the salon and were watching their conversation with rapt attention. God damn it if he didn't have to be.

have time for this. It was going on one fifteen and he hadn't even made it to Barry's yet. Christy was a shark circling a piece of meat on a hook, but he wasn't going to give her one bite. Yes, ma'am, Bob said, beaming. We're just looking for old Muck, well, Mr. Barnes. I think he may have stepped out and forgotten to lock up. Oh, was all Christy said, mirroring the deputy's smile right back at him. For a moment the two just stood there, beaming their smiles at one another. Boston George looked back and forth between the two of them,

lifting an eyebrow in confusion at their smile jewel. Why, good afternoon, everyone. The three turned to see Father John, standing with Sheriff Coppher and Deputy David Quimby. The priest was dressed in his usual black underwap. He was carrying a cake with pink frosting in a big Tupperware. The short, balding, round man wore his usual warm, toothy grin. Bobby, the sheriff said in greeting, and began walking up.

Great, Bob thought. Copper nodded at Christy. Ma'am. Sheriff? Christy smiled. This time the expression was genuine, though. Copper reached Bob and gave him a clap on the bat. Don't tell me you got stood up, he said, letting out a great bellowing laugh as he did.

No, Sheriff. I'm just teasing you, Bobby. Copper cut him off. Old Dougie told me about Mr. Barnes. Bob noticed Doug poking his head around the corner. I told the Sheriff you was looking for beat. He said, thanks, Doug. Bob replied.

me and the boys here just on our way to get ready for the church cookout tonight copper said with a grin he turned to face the others this right here is a shining example of an outstanding officer of the law even off duty right before a big date no less we find bobby here still ensuring the safety of our citizens he laughed once again his big belly bouncing up and down The date? Christy quirked an eyebrow of this. Oh, shit, Bob thought. Yes, Deputy Maxwell. Father John cut in.

Smiling up at Bob, who stood a full head taller than the man. You truly are a good man, aren't you? You know, you're always welcome in God's house, my son. Perhaps tonight you and your lady friend might stop by and partake in the festivities. Oh, uh, thank you. father. Yeah, we might just do that. Bob lied. Tell you what, Bobby, copper said. Why don't you go run along and let me handle finding Mr. Barnes. Bob let out a sigh of relief. Thanks, Sheriff. I owe you want. The Sheriff waved this off

with a grin. I don't mention it, Bobby. Oh, but before you go, do you have any leads? Leeds? Bob asked, not understanding. Copper laughed. Yeah, you know, like any idea where Binds might have got off to. Just then there came a brief, faint echo of shifting trash from within the big green dumpster behind them. Everybody turned. I don't know, but I noticed a shoe that looks like one of his beside the dumpster. Hmm, so, did you take a look?

Quimby asked. Deputy David Quimby could have passed for Larry Warcox's twin. He acted like it too, the All-American High School Football Hero turned cop. Every day on the job, you'd think that Quimby was acting out on episodes of chips for Tron. The man was wearing his pump-action Mossburg 590 strapped to his back, though of course he didn't need it. The deputy almost always had the weapon on him. He thought it made him look tough, and in truth it really did help him get laid.

I actually just got here a minute before you did, he answered. I was about to look, but George said he thought there was some kind of animal in the dumpster, so I was, um, assessing the situation before approaching. Huh, Quimbley exclaimed in a clearly fake laugh, slapping a hand across one knee. Y'all are scared of a raccoon in a dumpster. It ain't no raccoon, Officer Quimbley. Boston George replied in a foreboding time.

home. Christy Ackerman huffed. Bob just ground his teeth, partly because he couldn't think of an adequate retort, but mostly because the answer might very well be yes. That's when Bob realized how quiet it had gotten. The near constant chirping of cicadas was suddenly absent. He tried to remember if he'd heard any birds when he'd gotten to the neighbourhood. Don't none of you all worry your pretty little heads off, Sheriff Koffer said as he did. He did. began walking down the alleyways. The sheriff saw the job. Oh, what in the hell. The sheriff looked over the other's shoulders. Bob turned. The small group of onlookers from the salon have been joined by a few curious younger folks from the cafe. They were now gathered in the

middle of the road watching them. All right, the sheriff shouted toward the street. There ain't nothing to see here, people. We're just having a conversation. and y'all are wasting your time if you're hoping for some action. Oh, and since you all are grown-ups, I don't think I have to lecture you on how danger it is to be standing in the middle of the road. Now, I suggest you all get. A couple of people shuffled their feet, but no one really moved. The sheriff huffed and turned back around to face the dumpster. Oh, fine, he said, and began walking.

Sheriff, Father John said, and copper paused. "'I'd be careful. The woods and swamps are not far away. There's no telling what may have crawled out on the bogs this time of year.' The sheriff smiled. "'Oh, father, your concern for my well-being is truly touching. I'm a big strong man. I think I can handle some little woodland critter.' He winked and continued moving forward. A couple walked up to the dumpster while the others watched with trepidation.

everyone except Quimby that is he was standing there with his hands on his hips smiling ear to ear no doubt thinking about how he was going to tell everyone at the station about Bob's newfound dumpsterphobia the sheriff made it within a foot of the dumpster and looked in nothing happened

he turned around to face the others a big shit eating better than you grin plastered on his face "'See fellas?' he said. "'There ain't nothing to be afraid on.' "'Are you sure, Sheriff?' Boston George asked hesitantly. Copper shrugged and turned back around.

Stepping up to the lip of the dumpster, he stood on his tiptoes to get a better look. "'Ah, whatever animal it was prop!' The Sheriff's words caught in his throat, and his body froze up like a deer in headlight. Jesus, Mary and Joel. Copper's words were cut short as the 230-pound man was violently ripped off his feet. Simultaneously, there came a small explosion of trash. Garbage whizzed by and copper's uniform billowed as if caught in a strong gust of wind. The big man went up and over the edge, disappearing in a blur. He didn't even have time to scream. Everyone instinctively backpedaled.

The group of onlookers that gathered in the street quickly herded themselves back across to the sidewalk on the other side of the road. The smaller group that had been near the dumpster practically leapt backward to the lip of the alleyway. Deputy Quimby shouted in surprise. Christie screamed and Bob joined her. To the passerby it might have sounded like the two

were having a damsel in distress, screaming contest. And if they had been, Deputy Maxwell, to his credit, would have won. Oh my God! Oh my God! Boston George was shrieking over and over as he backpedaled into the street. His hysterics were abruptly cut short as he was suddenly struck by Henry McDuff's truck. Marcus' son hadn't even noticed Boston George until the man was rolling up onto his hood. The farmer panicked as a little. George smashed into his windshield, simultaneously jerking the wheel hard to the left

while slamming on the brakes. A split second later the rusty red pick-up smashed into a car parked in front of East Bay Sound. George went rolling off and over the hood of the other vehicle, falling over the other side and disappearing from McDuff's view almost as quickly as he'd appeared. The open bed of the truck had been literally

overflowing with freshly harvested apples, Upon impact, the fruit erupted out of the bed like a volcano, creating a small apple tsunami that rolled across the street. The screeching of Tyre's force Bob's horrified gaze from the spot where Sheriff Copper had recently occupied to the street behind him, but only for a moment. Once he realized it was just a car accident, he quickly snapped his gaze back down the alleyway,

pulling out his service revolver as he did so. Well, carnivorous dumpsters take precedence over car accidents. For a moment everyone just stood there in silence. Then there came a great rumble from within the dumpster that Bob sounded like a giant burping. At the same time, several pieces of trash shot up high into the air. The crowd took another collective step backward as the assorted debris came raining down, clattering and clanking to the ground between themselves and the alleyway. Glass shattered, empty metal canes went bouncing across the pavement.

The smaller group at the edge of the alley raised their hands over their heads protectively as garbage came falling to the ground all around them. A big aluminum can bounced off Bob's shoulder. It didn't really hurt, but he did make him jump. The last thing to land was the sheriff's hat. The brim had a jagged tear that looked like a shark had taken a bite out of it. The side of the hat was, apparently, Quimpy's breaking point. For a second later, the man led out a howl that was one part terror and one part war cry.

He raised the pump action, which Bob only now realized the deputy had unslung from his back, and the weapon boomed deafeningly. It happened so fast that Bob hadn't even had time to shout it. him to stop or he could have hit the sheriff. The buckshot struck the side of the dumpster, sending out a shower of sparks. As far as Bob could tell, it failed to penetrate the thick metal. Quimby continued moving forward, pumping his shotgun and firing over and over, howling like a madman all the while.

Boom, boom, boom. Each shot that hit the rusty metal caused another shower of sparks. Every round ricocheted off. Bob saw a chunk of the red brick wall of Barnes Market disintegrate beneath the weight of buckshot. Everyone but Quimby seemed to be aware of the danger, the crowd collectively panicking as the deputy continued to unload the contents of his weapon. Boom! Just then one of Quimby's shots finally managed to penetrate the damaged man.

and that's when the proverbial shit truly hit the fan the dumpster suddenly exploded into motion it came rocketing forward in a blur his wheels screamed maddeningly as the rusted hunk of metal attained a speed it had never been meant quimby who'd only been about ten feet in front of the nightmarish thing had no hope of getting out of its way it it smashed into him with bone-crushing force. And Bob was sure that, had it not been for the screeching tires and the shrieking people, he would surely have heard Quimby's bone shattering. Several things happened in the next three seconds.

The unfortunate deputy Quimby was violently dragged beneath the rusty beamer. Except no part of him really fit between the five or six inches of space between the bottom of the dumpster and the pavement. What quickly followed reminded him. Bob of what he compulsively did every morning with his toothpaste at home. Everything inside the deputy's body was forced forward, rocketing up under his skin until the bottom of the dumpster met with Quimby's head. Then there came aloud,

thwop, sounded a lot like the noise of balloon makes when one jumps up and lands down on it with both feet. And in some grotesque feat of physics, most of what had made Quimby tick exploded. out of the top of his skull, like it was being shot out of a cannon. Bone, entrails and other, less identifiable things quite literally erupted out into the street. Blood and bone, mixing with the apples and broken glass. That was all in the first second. Bob and Father John were the next people standing in the monstrous things path. There was no time for words. The deputy prepared to leap for his

life, but everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. The rusty behemoth was already practically on top of them. That's when Bob felt Father John shove him with a strength that seemed impossible for a man so small. It felt like Conan the barbarian had steamrolled into him with all his fictional might. Bob went flying off his feet, hitting the ground and tumbling out of the way just in time. For one split second, just before he was. his mad rolling forced his eyes away from the speeding nightmare, Bob thought he caught sight of Father John standing calmly on the other side, and, as insane as it seemed, he could have sworn that the man wore a look of mild amusement. Bob felt the wind of the massive thing on his face as it passed.

He caught scent of the trash and blood and something else, some ungodly stench that made his eyes water and his stomach lurch. Then the dumpster was rocketing across the streets. It kept going on its straight path. People shrieked as they tried to get out of the corroded behemoth's way. There came a near-deafing d'oe of metal hitting concrete as the dumpster went up and over the curb. The thing, to the great misfortune of those still in its path, barely slowed as its nightmarish momentum, took it onto the sidewalk.

There was a fire hydrant in its way, but it offered little resistance. The hydrant was ripped from its base. Water instantly began to geese her up into the air from where it had been. The domster paid it no mind as it continued on its deadly path. Several people who had failed to get out of its way were struck and carried along with it. slammed into the front of the East Bay Salon with a deafening, boom, that was followed by a chorus of shattering glass. The rusty behemoth bounced off the brick building,

then slowly rolled backward and back off the sidewalk, before coming to a stop. Bob dazedly climbed to his feet. The front of the salon was painted red. He didn't have to see the other side of the dumpster to know that it was covered in something akin to what you'd see on a conveyor belt in a meat-packing plant. Well, most of the crowd had finally decided to take the late sheriff's advice and get. People were shrieking and running down the street in both

directions. Bob, for his part, just stood there in shock. The icy water from the broken hydrant was rapidly flooding the street. The water reached where he was standing, and soon his socks were soaked. But he paid it no mind as his gaze roamed slowly around the scene. There were still about half a dozen or so people stumbling about in a shell-shock days that mirrored his own. Christ, Bob, you're okay, son? Henry McDuff's panic-etched voice brought the deputy out of his stupor. Bob turned to face the farmer. The grizzled 40-something man was holding a double-barrel Remington in hands that worked shaking quite as badly as his own. He managed to nod. Bobby, boss. Bobby. Boss.

and George came running up, huffing and puffing all the while. Oh, Bob, that guard are okay. The deputy turned and met the man's concerned eyes, thinking in that moment that George was a lot nicer of a guy than he'd ever given him credit for. We've got to get out of here, Bob. The deputy nodded, and just as he did, the dumpster turned. Not at blinding speed, but not slowly either. Weal's squealing shrill. into the air. As ridiculous as the thought was, Bob thought that the rusty, blood-stained hunk of metal had turned to look at them. Oh, shit, McDuff said, under his breath. Without another word, the trio took off toward the row of cars part in front of Lux. They all sensed what was

coming next. Then, like a dog giving chase to a rabbit, the unholy thing came for them. everyone who'd been wandering around after the initial impact had been brought out of their stupor when the dumpster had once again begun moving but at that moment christie villarmin was awful close to the thing she shrieked and began running her massive blubbery form bobbing up and down so violently that for one insane second bob half expected her to start bouncing away she did bounce once though just before the speeding nightmare struck her she gave one last panic leap into the air well the woman attained an astonishing altitude as impossible as it seemed her tennis shoes had to be at least three feet off the ground when the dumpster struck her she bounced off the frame and even higher into the air cartwheeling round and round before falling directly into the open moor of the dumpster. She made a sort of gurgling shriek as she fell away from sight. A split second later,

Bob, George, and McDuff were busy trying to scramble over the hood of a big grey Buick sentry in front of them. The cars lining the sidewalk, having been parked nearly bumper to bumper, seemed to offer up as good a defence as anything else. Mcduff was the first to make it over, the farmer being surprisingly quick on his feet. He told him. He took a little bit of a little bit of a to help Bob, who was right on his heels. Bob made it to the other side and turned, just as Macduff was once again saying, Oh, shh.

Bob whipped around. Boston George was about halfway across the hood. The unathletic man doing his best to move quickly. But the dumpster was a second away from plowing into the car. Bob and Macduff instinctively stumbled backward. The dumpster blasted into the beach. Buick. The side of the car crumpled like an accordion as the vehicle was forced up onto and over the curb. All the windows exploded at once. The sheer force of the impact was so powerful

that it shattered the floor to ceiling windows in front of Lux and not both men on their asses. And for the second time that day, Boston George was sent hurling off the top of a vehicle. He landed on Bob and McDuff, who were blindly scrambled. and failing to get out of the sliding vehicle's way. Miraculously, the Buick slid to a stop mere inches from the free men. They only had a second's reprieve, though, for as the men began climbing to their feet, a massive tentacle came shooting through the broken passenger-side window. The thing was terrible to behold, rippling with corded muscle.

At its thickest, it was the circumference of a... hubcap. The flesh that covered it was the color of bile and the smell. Oh, God, the smell. It thrashed around madly over their heads, the entire frame of the Buick jolting back and forth with the thing's movements. Bob reached for his gun. It wasn't in his holster. Where the hell was his gun? And that's when he remembered that he'd taken it out before the monstrosities in initial charge. Boom! Look, Duff's Remington, went off

deafeningly over his head as the weapon unloaded both rounds into the thing. The nightmarish appendage jerk violently as both shots found their mark. The flesh, about four feet down from the tip, exploded like a watermelon, and a sizzling, purplish fluid came

spraying out of it like it was a high-pressure hose. The top part of the tentacle struck. the ground with a heavy thud, and the severed appendage began thrashing about violently. There came a hellish shriek that shook the very air around them, and the mangled tentacle violently snapped back through the ruined car as the dumpster quite literally jerked backward. The metal behemoth rocketed back across the street, attaining a speed that defied reason. It grated deafeningly along the sides of several parked cars in front of east,

Bay before abruptly changing direction. It flew across the street, slamming into a sedan part in front of the red herring. The frame of the vehicle folded inward. Metal shrieked deafeningly. Bob quickly leapt to his feet, stumbling to avoid the thrashing tentacle. He looked down. The sizzling purplish blood, if it could be called that, was burning holes into the concrete, making a patch of the sidework looked like some smouldering Swiss cheese. He turned to help McDuffa, realizing at the same time that it wasn't the farmer who'd fired the weapon. In front of the entrance of Lux stood there, saviour. It took Bob a moment to recognize the woman. It was Greta Thompson. She was standing there in a blue and white dress, holding the smoking Remington, her face a mixture of rage and terror.

"'Ah, my fucking windows!' she screeched at the dumpster, as it rocketed back across surplus and smashed into a Volkswagen van with a giant peace sign painted in bright yellow on the sliding door. The three men stood and looked at her with dumbfounded expressions. Greta fixed her green eyes and MacDuff. "'You have any more bullets for this thing?' "'Yeah, in the back of the truck.' "'Well, that's just—'

The breath suddenly caught in her throat. Her gaze shifted over their shoulders and her body stiffened. Come on, she shouted, and darted back through the doors of her cafe. There came another deafening roar from behind. The three instinctively began sprinting for the door. Bob was the last one in, and just as he entered he turned to see the dumpster once again rocketing toward them. This time though It had clearly given itself room for a

Running start It ploughed once again into the accordion Buick with a deafening The car was lifted up from the ground And sent tumbling into the front entrance of Lux It smashed through the little iron gate That bordered the patio Bob saw the

No alcohol past this point sign Blast off the gate And come rocketing toward the cafe The second later both the rolling vehicle and the mangle gate was slamming into the main entrance. The frame of the building shook with the impact. The double doors were blasted off the hinges and sank clattering to the floor.

More glass shattered somewhere in the background. The Buick, which had rolled and slammed into the cafe while on its side, wobble back and forth for a moment before finally tipping backward and hitting the pavement with a boom that shook, the ground. The roof collided with the pavement and instantly flattened. The mangle metal fencing clanged into the ground a few seconds later. Gretta gave a primal shriek from behind Bob. My goddamn windows. The dumpster began to slowly roll backwards, lazily turning round and round as it did

so. In the distance could be heard the faint but distinct sound of approaching sirens. All right, you goddamn trash monster, Boston George cried out to Bob's right. The deputy turned and watched in disbelief as George pulled out an entire bottle of moonshine from his trousers,

as if he were a magician and this really was just some elaborate performance. Then to Bob's further disbelief, he watched as George unscrew the cap and began stuffing a handkerchief into the open top. George, what are you?

The deputy's words were cut short as his attention was drawn to another deafening crash. The dumpster slammed into another car in front of East Bay Salon. Ah, let me show you a city folk trick, you unholy bastard. Bob turned once again to look at George, just as the man was stepping back out onto the patio. To his disbelief, he saw that he'd ignited the handkerchief and was drawing his arm back. Oh, Christ! He heard Macduff say. George,

What are you? The deputy asked the half-repeated question once again. But his words were cut short as Boston George hurled the flaming bottle in the direction of the dumpster. Well, whether it was blind luck or that he'd been an accomplished picture at some point in his youth back in Boston, Bob didn't know. But the makeshift Molotov cocktail flew nearly seven yards and hit the erratically moving target. get right on the mark. Yeah, Greta cried her approval. That was totally flange, Bobby.

Georgie blushed, despite himself. Bob gave a cursory thought to poor Christy Villarman, just as the flaming bottle of Ludd-stained walls. He assumed that she had to already be dead, at least he hoped she was, because a second later became the shattering of glass, followed by a small explosion of flames. It was as if every piece of garbage inside had been bone dry.

Within seconds the interior of the dumpster became a raging inferno, at least the top layer of trash had. God only knew what occupied the depths of the behemone. Flame shot out in a pyre, adding to the nightmarish quality of the thing. An unholy how that all who were present would remember for the rest of their days erupted from the bowels of the dumpster. Then the thing took off once again, this time rocketing straight down the street, moving east.

Oh God, Bob thought. It's headed into town. The Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist, which detects an accident the moment it happens, and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on, keeping on. Ballair Direct, insurance, simplified, conditions apply.

Just then the deputy caught a glimpse of how the thing propelled itself. Judding out from the bottom of the dumpster were at least a dozen of the sickly yellow tentacles, each of them thicker and more muscular than the first one he'd seen. The tentacles were moving in a blurred frenzy, all of them swiping at the ground and tearing up small chunks of asphalt as they propelled the monstrosity down the road at unbelievable. speed. The way they moved somehow reminded him of the frantic spasmodic way as centip his legs moved if the insect is suddenly flipped onto its back. The thing continued to roar as it

rocketed down the road. It's unearthly howl echoing off the sides of the buildings. The sheer volume of the sound vibrating the windows of the glass that still remained intact. For a moment the four companions just stood there in the shattered remnants of Lux's entryway. watching the rapidly shrinking form of the dumpster as it continued to accelerate. Whatever passed for the thing's adrenaline had clearly kicked in. The sounds of approaching sirens were growing louder. Much to Bob's dismay, they were coming from somewhere from the east. The crunching of a pair of shoes or broken glass drew everyone's attention to the door.

It was Father John. He rounded the overturned Buick and greeted them with a smile. Bob looked at the priest incredulously. For all the horror that had so recently transpired, the man looked no worse for where. He realized that he was still holding the cake in one hand, the bright pink frosting appearing to be completely unharmed. My children, he began. It's truly the Lord's will that has put us all here today, and I think that he would want us

to see this adventure through. MacDarff grunted in agreement. I'm all for that, Greta exclaimed. Let's kill the shit out of that thing. Father John cleared his throat at this, and Greta looked over at him, pushing a lock of curly red hair out of her eyes as she did so. You know, I'd say I'm sorry, father, but I'm not.

That fucking monster messed up my favourite bar, Boston George added, his voice carrying with it a tone of wrath. let's finish that fucker. Bob looked incredulously at the others, especially at Boston George. Till about four minutes ago, the man had been practically pissing himself, and now everyone was juiced all of a sudden.

Bob looked around of the suddenly determined faces with confusion. Then his eyes were drawn to the cake in Father John's hand, the bright pink frosting shunning clearly through the container, practically glowing. This was insane. Go chasing after a two-toned carnivorous dumpster that could move upwards of 50 miles an hour.

Are you all out of your... He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realising his position, realizing that this was his town, and that there was a living nightmare headed straight into the heart of it. Bob nodded in affirmation. Judging from the sound of the sirens, I'd say someone's always...

already called in the cavalry. God help me if I ever walk around off duty without my radio again. Mduff, go get your ammo out of the truck. If you can still get into it, that is. He added. Miss Thompson? Greta, she added flatly. Greta, then.

Miss Greta, I like where George is headed with this Molotov cocktail idea. Would you mind if we... On it. Greta cut him off, but she turned and raced to walk. her bar. Boston George suddenly let out a whew. All right, let's do this, he exclaimed,

and took off running out across the decimated patio. Oh, get old lassie, he shouted. Get what? Bob asked, staring after the man in confusion. Georgie paused and looked back at him with an incredulous look on his face. My car, Bab. My car, it's parked right around the corner.

"'You call your car lassie?' he asked, despite the fact that time was of the essence. "'Yes, Bob, lassie's my baby. "'Jesus, God, do you even know me?' And then he took off running. With everyone in motion, Bob turned his thoughts to the fact that he didn't have a weapon. He patted himself down frantically. The sound of clinking and clanking echo throughout the bar as Greta presumably pulled down her higher-proof booze.

"'Shit! All he had was his baton and mace. He slapped an open palm to his head. Then came the sound of lassie roaring to life somewhere down the street, followed by the screeching of tires. He'd forgotten his spare sidearm at home. It was a Beretta M9 that his mother had uncharacteristically gotten him as a gift for Christmas last year. He almost always carried it on him. Not that nine-millimeter rounds were going to be much use against a two-ton dumpster from hell. Could you, perhaps, put this to good use, my son? Father John asked. Bob turned and gave a start. In one hand, the short, bald man still held the pink cake. In the other, he held Quimby's blood-spattered Mossburg 590. Bob stared at the little chubby man in disbelieve. The priest beamed. I figured out

he might come in handy, and that, well, the unfortunate recently departed. Deputy Quimby would have no objections to it being used as a tool to avenge his death. Father, I, oh, I took the liberty of reloading the weapon for your Officer Maxwell. Father John smiled. Also, it appears that the late Deputy Quimby had been carrying a copious amount of ammunition on him. Father John held out the pump action. The sunlight reflecting off of it seemed to cast a faint golden aura. Bob hesitantly, we... didn't quite know why, took the weapon. The second his fingers touched it, he felt a small, jolled static electricity.

Then the priest reached into his garments and produced a box of shotgun shells. At this, the deputy's incredulity increased twofold. For in Father John's hand was an open box of Brennick of shotgun slugs. Brennick were top of the line. The closest thing to armor piercers that you could get for a shotgun in this day and age. They were damned expensive, too. What further perplexed the deputy was that he was almost 100% positive that the late David Quimby kept his weapon loaded with the cheaper standard double-o-buck shot.

And to have been carrying a box of 25 slugs, why in God's name would Quimby have all that ammo on him? With these questions still echoing through his mind, he accepted the bright orange box, Father John's smiling up at him as he did so. Um, thank you, father. The sound of screeching ties echoed in through the shattered windows, just as Greta was running the corner of the bar with a literal armload of bottles. Let's go, Bob shouted, and everyone started for the door.

Thirty seconds later, they were practically flying down Surplus Street in the Candyapple Red BMW. The top was down, and they had to squintoshwinter, against the blowing wind as they sped along. Boston George at the wheel. The trees whizz by in a blur. Bob was in the front, while Greta, Macduff and Father John were in the back. They passed Christmas treeway so fast

he couldn't even make out the sign. George took the bend in the road ahead at a death defying 65. Bob realized that he was unconsciously stomping on the floor as if he were going to magically find a brake pedal there. For the first minute, all they did was follow the trail of black smoke the flaming nightmare had left in its wake. Lassie took another turn with the speed and precision that would make Steve McQueen jealous. George really does know what he's doing, the deputy realized.

Just as the racing vehicle passed South Station streets, they hit the flooded section. Georgie remembered the water hazard only a second before they hit it. The BMW instantly began hydro-planning dangerously. George, much to Bob's relief, slowed down a fraction. The patch of water must have given the dumps to some trouble too, because just as they cleared the mini-pond and hit asphalt again, the flaming beermoth came into view. It was racing over the wooden bridge of the bluefin.

For a second, Bob was sure that the bridge would collapse beneath the weight of the thing, and had it lingered longer upon the aging wooden planks, it just may have. As it was, the thing was moving so fast that the bridge remained upright. A split second later, Lassie was crossing the bluefish and gaining on the speeding nightmare now that they were on a straightway of sorts, Bob was sure they'd be able to catch up to the thing,

but the billowing plume of smoke became blinding as they closed in. The wind from the dumpster's momentum only added to the strength. of the fire. The flames leapt up high and bent backward against the wind. And as they got closer, Bob could literally feel the heat rolling off the speeding nightmare caressing his face. Within the flames could be seen sickly yellow tentacles thrashing about madly, flinging pieces of trash high up into the air. Bob silently thanked God for how wet everything was as he watched some large, unidentified piece of flaming debris disappear into the shadows of the nearby forest. And that wasn't the only obstacle.

The thick tentacles jutting out of the bottom of the dumpster were literally tearing up the concrete as they propelled the thing forward. The car swerved this way and that, bouncing and bumping along the ruined asphalt. Holy Moses, Macduff cried out from the backseat. Maybe we should just let it burn itself out. But this, Bob shook his head. Who knows if the fire will be enough to kill it? He asked. Then he turned to George.

Georgie, he shouted over the wind. Try and get up alongside the thing. Me and Henry will try and shoot out the wheels. Then for Bob, Boston George shouted back, took the BMW into the left lane. Fortunately, there was no oncoming traffic. Boston George put the pedal to the metal and Lassie's engine roared mightily.

The vehicle began to rapidly close the distance now that they were out of the plume and away from the ruined asphalt. When they were about 18 feet away, McDuff's Remington suddenly boomed definitely over Bob's head. The buckshot struck the lower right side of the speeding dumpster. They came a brief shower of sparks about eight inches above the wheel, close but no cigar. Bob turned to find the farmer had climbed to his feet,

balancing precariously as he aimed with his weapons. he fired again boom another shower of sparks if the monstrosity knew it was being attacked it gave no sign that it cared hold up henry bob shouted over his shoulder

let's get a little closer first all right henry shouted back as he bent to the task of reloading here use these bob said passing the open box of breaneke to the back seat they've got a way better chance chance of doing some damage. Oh, McDuff's eyes widened.

He gingerly took a handful of slugs, placing them in one of the pockets of his blue jeans. Ooh, and how they do? Mcduff exclaimed. Where'd you get these? Bob nodded to Father John, just as Mcduff finished reloading. He snapped the Remington back into place,

and the father looked down at the smiling priest, in disbelief. The next few seconds saw Lassie and her, stuntman driver managing to nearly pull up alongside the dumpster. The thing was no more than about a dozen feet ahead. At this distance Bob had a chance to get a good look at the flaming monstrosity, and for a few seconds that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, he stared at it in all its rusty, blood-stained glory.

The flailing bile-coloured tentacles, thick with corded muscle that looked like they could crush the life out of a buffalo. He saw one of the tentacles below the frame of the dumps to smack the ground. As it pushed off the street, adding to the momentum of the thing, he saw a few sizable chunks of asphalt get torn off and up into the air. There were rows of bone, cartilich, and couldn't even begin to guess at what they were made of. At any rate, there were these rows of triangular-shaped objects that lined the bottom of the tentacles, and they looked terribly sharp. and were clearly incredibly strong,

considering what they were doing to surplus streets. Bob shuddered at the thought of what it must feel like to be dragged deep down into the stinking, darkness of the trash by those things. Suddenly, a flaming bottle of liquor went flying over his head, snapping him out of his trance. Greta, having stood up in the back seat, hurled the mullet of cocktail at the corroded beasts.

How she'd managed to get the thing lit amidst the howling wind, he had no idea. The bottle burst just on the lip of the bloody frame, exploding on impact and adding to the inferno. Ye, motherfucker! she exclaimed, apparently pleased with the damage she'd done.

The action had startled George as well. He reflexively jerked the wheel to the left. The car sworef back and forth perilously for a few seconds. Finally, with the M.W. straightened back out as George regained control of the vehicle. Jesus, woman, Bob said breathlessly, turning back to look at Greta. In that moment she looked like something out of a comic book.

Her blue and white dress billowing madly in the wind, her curly red hair flying all around her face. What? She answered back in a perturbed voice. In those green eyes, Bob saw a madness that made him turn back around in his seat. he instead busied himself with preparing his own attack on the metal monstrosity. The deputy propped himself up on one knee as best he could, leaning into the seat for balance. All right, Henry, he shouted.

Let's do this. Henry then said something he couldn't quite make out. Georgie took Lassie as close to the dumpster as he dared. Both men took aim, and that was about as far as they got. For a second later, the flashing lights of an ambulance turning off Washington Street suddenly appeared up ahead. The ambulance was followed by two police cruisers, and Georgie hit the brakes. The wheels of the BMW locked up, and Bob flew forward, smashing the side of his face on the windshield, as Lassie's tires cried out in protest.

The three oncoming vehicles swerved erratically to avoid the flaming Bermil. One of the cruisers went off the side of the road, and the dumpster whizzed by the other two, missing the ambulance by mere inches. Then the worst happened. A half second before the dumpster crossed Washington Street, a fire truck came racing around the corner. The dumpster, which had been veering slightly to the left, teaboned the emergency vehicle almost dead center. Glass shattered, metal bent and shrieked, flaming garbage erupted into the air. Upon impact, three of the fire truck's wheels were literally blown off the frame and sent bouncing down the road. Bob saw all of this as Lassie skidded across the asphalt, nearly turning completely parallel to her original position.

The dumpster bounced off the emergency vehicle and rolled back lazily. whatever was inside seemingly dazed from the impact lassie had finally skid it to a home fireman stumbled out of the ruined fire truck in a daze water geeseed out from the broken water tanks for a moment the men just stood there watching dumbfounded as the dumpster slowly spun around and around flailing tentacles frantically hurling out flaming pieces of trash Then, almost as one, the men snapped out of their trance, springing into actions that have been drilled into them. A man unhooked a hose from the disabled truck. Two others joined him, and together they began running for the nearby fire hydrant. As one, everyone leapt out of Lassium began running toward the fire truck, Greta already attempting to light another Molotov cocktail as she ran forward. "'Don't put it out!' they were shouting. Flaming trash of assorted size fell out of the sky.

The firefighters looked on at the small group with perplexed expressions, but only stopped when they saw McDuff's Remington and Bob's uniform. Don't put it out! A frazzled-looking firefighter with the name Gacy, emblazoned on his uniform, stepped up to the approaching group. What the hell are you... His words were cut short as a deafening roar shook the very air around them. Everyone turned to see the dumpster.

rocketing backward. The beast within seemingly having regained its senses. It slammed into a telephone pole, snapping the wood like a toothpick. Slowly, it fell over. The upper half landing on the roof of the firetruck with a loud crash. A second later, the power lines fell into the street

and the rapidly growing pool of water from the leaking tanks. Two of the firefighters standing in the water realized the danger too late, and Bob watched their demise with a mixture of disbelief and horror. For a brief second the deputy swore he saw the two men's skeletons light beneath their skin, outlined in blue light for one blinding second. A second later, they were no more than blackened husks, smouldering in the shallow water.

Everyone ran in a blind panic from the spreading pool. McDuff was the first to reach the relative safety of the sidewalk. He turned and unloaded both rounds of his Remington into the dumpster, and Bob quickly followed suit. Their shots were joined by a few others, the cops who had been in the squad cars instinctively following the actions of their fellow police officer. Amidst the shower of sparks, Bob knew that at least one of the rounds had penetrated the rusty metal hide. For a second later, the dumpster jerked, literally jerked like an animal being shot.

It roared again, but Bob was reasonably sure that he was partially deaf by now, because the volume of the sound wasn't as painful as before. Then the dumpster took off once again, this time south, down Washington. Split second later, Lassie was roaring up to Bob and MacDuff, Boston George behind the wheel, and Greta riding shotgun. Bob wasn't sure when the two had run back to the car, but Father John and his pink cake were no way. to be seen. Wordlessly, the pair leapt into the back and the BMW took off. As Bob reloaded, he saw his fellow officers running back toward their vehicles, but he didn't have time to see how long it took them to get their squad cars moving. His attention was focused on the task at hand. The task at hand? What exactly was he doing? Did he really just allow a group of citizens to help

him chase down a literal monster? Is that something a real thing a real? Is that something a real? roller should do. Bob suddenly found himself doubting his actions. How had he been convinced to go about this the way he had? Father John, had a priest really so easily rowed them up? He turned to look at George. Boston George had apparently learned from his previous pursuit of the beast. He kept lasses to the things right, avoiding the paths of ruined asphalt as he knew they would be there. They were caught up to it by the time. the thing was passing Jocelyn Avenue. Bob and Macduff both took shots at the wheels, but only succeeded in further damaging the rusty beasts hide. The dumpster seemingly took no

notice of them as it flew down the road, pushing 60. Then, unexpectedly, the thing suddenly took a hard left onto Wadesworth Lane, bouncing off the side of Eagle's nest grossers as it did so. George, for all his driving skills, could not take the turn quite so well. He stomped on the brakes as he spun the wind. The car slid, mimicking the motions of the dumpster. Lassie struck the side of eagle's nest, but managed to maintain her forward momentum. "'Lassie!' George cried out in horror. "'Where the hell's it going?' Muck Duff shouted over the wind.

His voice had lost its determined timber. Bob already thought that he knew the answer to that. After all, about a mile up the road was eagle's nest. But first there was a hill to climb. Not that the dumpster seemed to care. In fact, it looked like it was actually picking up speed as it went up the slope. It was a steep one, steep and tall, offering up a beautiful view of the bay below.

A favourite for fitness freaks. Fortunately, none of whom were currently jogging or cycling up, it. No, wait. There was someone on the sidewalk. Bob couldn't tell who it was at this distance. Whoever it was paused and stared at the flaming dumpster for a moment. Then they spun on their hills and began to run away from the street, kicking rocks as fast as they could across the unused field to the left. The dumpster seemed to have no appetite at the moment as it rocketed up the hill. I'll thank God for that because it surely could easily

have caught the would-be jogger if it had wanted. Bob, what are we doing? George asked in a voice that sounded much more like Boston George than the superhero persona he put on for a few minutes. Bob turned.

Much like McDuff, the man had clearly lost that steely edge. It was as if, scraping his beloved BMW against the side of Eagle's nest grocer had sobered him up. Though he was still keeping the pedal to the metal. "'Just back off a bit,' he heard himself saying. It was as if his reasoning abilities were returning to him one by one.

And George did just that. No one offered any objections as he eased off the gas slightly, putting about thirty feet between themselves and the beast. They watched in awe as it reached the crest of the hill and literally launched itself over the other side. soaring through the air like the general lee for a moment time seemed to slow down and in that brief time lapse bob took it all in the roaring flames the billowing plume of black smoke the monstrous tentacles jutting out of the bottom of the rusty frame and any second now he was going to wake up he was sure of it this had to be a dream it had to be after all he had scored a date with mary barbado which in retrospect had definitely been a sure sign that this was all in his head.

But then the dumpster slammed into the ground on the other side with another deafening, the impact was so strong that it shook the car. In that moment Bob knew that all this had to be real, for nothing can sound that loud in a dream. Now on the downward slope of the steep hill, the dumpster began picking up speed. The tentacles hardly had to do any work at all as it flew down the hill toward the bay, putting more distance between them. Jesus, Greta said breathlessly from the front passenger seat.

The smoking thing became a blur of speed and a flickering flame as it rolled downward. The thing sheer weight, in combination with the wheels, allowing it to accelerate to incredible speed. It cleared the remaining distance between itself and the entrance to the bay in a heart. heartbeat, smashing through the gate like paper mashing. Thankfully, there was no heavy equipment in its path, and as they rolled down the hill, they could see the dock workers scattering. Bob honestly couldn't tell if the dumpster had hit anyone, on account of that goddamn plume

of smoke. By the time Lassie was crossing over the ruined fence, the dumpster had reached the edge of the land. It rolled across the dock, a far more sturdy, construction than the bridge over bluefish, and then it went off the edge, soaring out over the water. The unbelievable momentum the monstrosity gained on its mad race down the hill caused it to launch more than 20 feet out over the water before the rusty wheels touched the surface. Then, as if to further defy reality, the dumpster skipped across the water like a stone, bouncing once, twice, and then on the third time it hit the water, physics finally kicked in, and it went tumbling.

Flaming trash exploded outward in an awe-striking display as the dumpster flipped end over end. Bob couldn't be sure that between the flames and the white spray of water, he could swear that he saw the dark outline of some massive thing fall out. A second later the dumpster lost its momentum and sank like a stone. A two-tonstone, that is, a great plume of bubbles and roiling water rising up in its place. The group pulled up close to the dock and got out. Behind them came the sounds of men shouting, and behind that were the sounds of rapidly approaching silence. The four companions just stood there in silence for a while, staring out of the water.

The afternoon sky was reaching its zenith, casting the bay in its golden light. Well, it looked picturesque, though Bob guessed that it would be some time before anyone went swimming in the bay again. Absolutely amazing work, Deputy. Father John's words startled Bob out of his trance. He turned to see the priest rapidly approaching with several police officers and other emergency responders. Bob noticed that the little man no longer had his pink cake. You got here awful fast. he heard himself saying an accuser to retone in his voice though he didn't know why at this the priest quirked an eyebrow then let out a laugh and clapped a hand on the deputy's shoulder having to reach upward to do so

ah your actions and quick-thinking harried the beast off this land father john said addressing the four companions had it not been for your bravery i'm sure this foul creature would have surely done more damage The deputy just looked at the little man. He felt like he was seeing the priest in new light. That smile that seemed perpetually plastered to the chubby man's face suddenly appeared more forced than genuine. It was as if... As if... Office of Maxwell.

Bob turned to see Lieutenant Ryan George. Who he guessed was now the current ranking commanding officer, fast approaching. What the hell happened? here. Where's the sheriff? The line of questioning was not intended to be intimidating. There was panic in Lieutenant George's voice. He was not a man used to being in charge. Bob began to explain all the events leading up to the docks. He told him about Sheriff Copper being eaten, about the chase down Surplus Street and then Washington. As he spoke, Bob watched father John Slink off and disappear

out of sight. Slink. No, that wasn't the right word for it. For all their brief encounters, and by all accounts, Father John was a pleasant man. No, for his charity work, volunteering at the local soup kitchen. In fact, and so once again,

reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast.

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