Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep329: Episode 329: Nighttime Horrors

Episode Date: April 7, 2026

Tonight’s opening horrific tale of terror is originally titled ‘That's Not Rain Pattering Against the Window’, a wonderful story By BearLair64, kindly shared directly with me and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission:https://www.reddit.com/user/BearLair64/Tonight’s next story is ‘Inside’, an original story Ryan Brennaman, again kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all:https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/InsideToday’s terrifying third tale is ''My Father Always Insisted I Get Home Before the Street Lights Come On'', an original work by Mia Marvelous, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.https://www.reddit.com/user/MIA-MARVELOUS/Our fourth wonderful offering is ''I Work the Nightshift: This is How I Kill Time’, another original story, this one by Crone Johnson, again kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.https://www.reddit.com/user/Crone_Johnson/Today’s phenomenal penultimate story is ‘Night of the Creeps’, an original work by Taxi Dancer, once again kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.https://www.reddit.com/user/Taxi_Dancer/Our concluding work of unmitigated genius is ‘Why I no Longer Cycle at Night’, an original work by Bizarre Ghost, also kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.https://www.reddit.com/user/BizarreGhost/

Welcome to Dr. Creepen's dungeon. Well, they say that sometimes the things in our heads are far worse than anything they could put in a book or a film. That's especially true at night. Later on, we have Inside by the wonderful Ryan Brennaman. Later on we have I wrote the night shift, and this is how I kill time, by Cron Johnson. Follow by The Night of the Creeps by Taxi Dancer. We round off tonight's entertainment with, Why I No Longest Cycle at Night by Bizarre Ghost.

Follow by, my father always insisted I get home before the streetlights come on by mere marvellous. But we open proceedings with, That's not rain pattering against the window, by bare lair 64. Now, as always, before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery.

If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Amos tossed and turned as he heard a faint noise from the roof and then a pattering noise against the windows above his head. There were blinds and heavy curtains over them and it'd be pitch black outside anyway. He worked just a little more with the thought that the weather forecast hadn't caught for rain and certainly not hail.

This sounded like one of those late spring storms, almost. The wind should have been howling, well, nothing he could do about the weather, so he turned over and fell back into a fitful slumber full of nightmare. His crops were ruined and the fields lay barren before him. His animals injured all of the bleeding creatures loat and bleated and whined piteously and looked to him for succor, but there was nothing he could do to help. the flesh melted from their frames and puddled below their skeletal forms that stared accusingly at him with red radiant eyes he woke in alarm to an alarm farm hours were long in addition to his normal output he had to tend to additional fields of crops meant for a starving world across the ocean this season he was unable to leave any fallow fields everything had to be sown and hard harvested. There had been a plague of locusts from Africa to Pakistan toward the end of the winter season, and it had now spread to Western China and north into the Mediterranean basin. The plant life was devastated. Between that and the Australian and Brazilian wildfires had panic over an unrelated pandemic. Food production and transportation had slowed to dangerous levels. The world was hungry, and the wilderness suffered.

It was up to the few remaining farm belts to feed the rest. He would do his part, though. His farm was a small one. He putted about in the kitchen until his daughter and two sons finally came stumbling down the stairs. His wife had died last summer, so his workload had increased exponentially. The kids were out for spring break, so he'd had free help with the planting. He'd show them mercy after the day and let them enjoy the one free weekend before they had to go back to studying and working full time.

Good morning. Hope you all got some rest last night. Anyone else get woken up by the rainstorm? Amos asked his small brood as they each moved about the kitchen, procuring what they wanted for breakfast. He'd given up trying to cook for his own plague of locusts. Well, he'd stopped calling them that, even jokingly after the threat of global famine had become a reality.

But he couldn't help what crossed his mind. I didn't hear anything. His daughter, the middle child, pined. I was tired, though, when I stayed up watching videos and chatting. His oldest son just shrugs. Ah, didn't really pay attention. Rain puts me deeper asleep, though. The youngest boy didn't answer.

Just settled down to a bowl of cold cereal. His earbuds already blocking out sounds of the real world. Amos didn't bother prompting him. He knew that one. had been playing online games for most of the night. He'd have been wearing headphones and staring at a bright screen in his otherwise darken room. Nathan, unlike his older brother, Amos Jr., AJ, was not personable with anyone who was not in his gaming circles or for whom he had no immediate need.

Amos sighed. He was fortunate in his kids. They got along well enough, but each was self-sufficient. As far as he could tell, they were developed. well. Nathan was 13, and he'd develop his skills and the direction he wanted to go with time. His detachment seemed normal for his generation, more of an attachment to machines than to his fellow humans. Well, we plant the last little bit today, and then, if we get done in time, I'll take you all to an early supper in town. Then you'll be cut loose until Sunday evening. Amos grinned around the table,

and each of the kids, even Nathan smiled back. Apparently he could hear after all. At least when he chose to. It had been a tough year. A tough couple of years with Glenda first, sick and then. He didn't want to think about that. Amos took his piece of toast over to the kitchen door and out onto the back porch to finish eating.

He liked to look at the farm, his farm. First thing in the morning while the dew was fresh, and he had time to listen to birdsong and the twitters and clicks of insects. So calm, so peaceful, so reassuring to his mind that all was right with the world. This morning, there was no bird song. The animals were quiet. Usually the cats and nanny goats would be letting him know that it was time for milking. The dogs would be gambling up to the porch for a quick scratch

and then leftovers for their own breakfast. chickens and ducks would be strutting and waddling about scratching for anything good to eat come to think of it the rooster hadn't made a sound then with the brightening sunlight we noticed the yard

and the close by field they were barren utterly devoid of greenery no leaves and buds the grass of the lawn was cut down to the soil and the field the field was gone

nothing but dirt he looked around the porch and then walked quickly around the house nothing was left of the natural world but greys and browns and then below the window to his bedroom he saw them bodies just inches long locusts

valentina enjoyed taking care of her plants on the terrace. The condo she shared with her partner, Pete, sat high above most of the city, and it was refreshing to take the morning air and look out on the town she loved so well. It had been a warm night, so she'd slept peacefully to the roar of the air conditioning that hummed and kept her restfully cool in their king-sized bed. Peter just left for work, and she was halfway through her first cup of coffee, anticipating her morning chores as she thought of taking care of the few outdoor very domesticated plants.

She did the last sips, and then filled her little watering bucket with the big sunflowers on the side. Back inside of the elevators, he had to get to Valentina. He had to warn her. When he'd left the parking garage, there'd been groups of people standing around

on the sidewalks. Instead of the white-collar minions purposefully marching towards their endeavors for the day, they all stood gawking and pointing. some stood silently in shock others spoke excitedly either to the people around them or into their devices the remaining few wailed and cried out in horror and pete stared himself mouth agape for as far as he could see the plant life had been devastated not a piece of green remained even the trees with softer barks had been strict the car pulled in behind him and the driver honked impatient Pete exited the garage, carefully made the block and returned to his designated space in the garage. The view had been the same from every side of the complex.

Greys and browns predominated, except where humans had left a few colourful marks of their own. It was worse than the most severe winter. Even the evergreens, the shrubs, were all bare. There were no lingering patches of green among the grassy spaces, just soiled, dry or moist from the sprinklers. He was all equally barren. He rushed down the hallway to their doors and entered. He knew that Valentina would be devastated,

but he also knew that it may be dangerous for her to be out on the terrace. He had no idea what had happened, but it had to be toxic. When he entered the living room, he looked across and saw her. She stood there at the French doors that led to the terrace. Her curves silhouetted in the murrayed. morning light. A little water bucket with the gaudy flowers on the side lay spilled at her feet. She just stared at where her lovely plants had been and out beyond, where the city had been green with late spring. Young Eduardo, merry to his friends, looked up at Jorge, a larger boy

who'd been secretly bullying him for the entire school year. Definitely not a friend, he thought desperately. Jorge had gotten a gross bet earlier than most of his contemporaries and had taken full advantage of it. This morning had been hot and Jorge had been particularly irritable. Eddie had gotten in his way somehow and landed in the crosshairs of his pre-adolescent fury.

Now he faced the consequences as the bigger boy pushed him for the second time in this latest tirade. One more shove and Eddie would be against the wall in a little troubled area of the schoolyard out of sight of any potential rescuies. Several other kids stood around, encouraging one or the other,

mostly Jorge. Most all of the main phones at the scene that unfolded this hot spring morning. They weren't particularly loud, though. No one wanted a teacher or staff member to interrupt their fun. Eddie thought he was hearing things. Maybe his ears had that roaring he felt when he panicked.

Maybe Jorge had already knocked him. cold. Maybe this was just a dream. No, he definitely heard a loud buzz, a humming buzz, a roaring bud. Then he looked up and saw the strange-looking cloud that moved in an odd swirling manner towards them. He dropped to the ground in a fetal bowl. The crowd around him just laughed, and Jorge drew back his leg to deliver a contemptuous kid. Then one of the kids screamed. and another yelled out for the rest to, Look! As she pointed into the mid-morning sky.

Above them, and approaching quickly was a cloud, a shadow that moved swiftly toward them. The buzzing chitter that had become very apparent emanated from that swarm. A few of the young people ran, and others joined Eddie on the ground and huddled in abject terror as the locust swarmed over and ate every bit of vegetation in view. Sanya Liu reporting here.

We've been hearing for a few months now about plagues of locusts from all around the world. Apparently many are attributing the insect invasions to some sort of ancient divine punishment. At this, she rolled her eyes in obvious contempt. The invasive creatures have literally taken a bite out of the planet's farmlands, at least in the less developed parts of the world. Until recently, the Americas seemed like a safe haven, protected from the invasive species by the wide oceans to either side. Yet now we look to our south and find that the croplands in Mexico have been devastated.

Areas along the border, the rich growing lands from California to the Rio Grande Valley, have been hit by waves of the devouring little creatures. According to the Department of Agriculture, pesticides teams have no effect on them. Small communities have suffered the most. As so far we urbanistas seem to be safe. apparently these bugs prefer to eat blue-collar fare at the county buffet she snickered a little and passed the platform back to the studio team wow exclaimed leah cole the studio anchor looks like the rural folk will be eaten out of their trailer parks oh hey onto something less depressing it turns out that the hip-hop artist biggie s has been seen out with actress The enormous swarms moved ever northward, with the warming onset of summer.

Within a month they were destroying the green places of southern Canada. Then, like a light switch, the devastation stopped. The insects did not die off, at least. There were no piles of desiccated little corpses in evidence. They simply disappeared, literally went off the radar. It was just as well. They cleared a swath from sea to shire. shining sea and had done the same across the world, leaving nowhere unaffected.

Almost nothing was left. The world would soon be on the brink of starvation, of a famine like nothing in the memory of the human species, nothing since the last great extinction. Amos had aged dramatically in the two months since the locusts had invaded. He was leaned to the point of gauntness and his hair had begun to grey. doing better than him, yet everyone had a hollow-eyed look. They had grain stored, but only enough to feed a handful of animals and to replant a small field or two. They'd butchered all of the animals they couldn't feed. When the freezers were full, they'd reopened an old root cellar from

his grandfather's time and filled it with summer sausage and cheese. The last remaining fire animals were those that provided milk. They were given the grain. The chickens and ducks remained, their egg production was nearly nil. The dogs had disappeared. They had been eating bits of meat along with the rest of the family, but not everyone or everything in the area ate so well, and the dogs were nice and sleek. In the summer most grass had returned.

A few tree sprouted leaves from buds that had not yet sprung before the attack. Yet the dry heat and the winds had turned much of the topsile to dust that now blew haphazardly and pile like drifts of snow when it wasn't choking. the life from them. They worked with their neighbours and the community struggled onwards. Commerce, as they'd known it for their lives up to this point, was over and done. They traded among one another out in the countryside, but did not dare risk wasting food by sending it to the city. Pied and Valentina struck out just as the madness fell upon the city. They drove as far as they could, and when they could no longer get gasoline, they proceeded on foot. They were headed for

the coast. Peter had reasoned that at least sea life would not have been affected. Valentina had agreed with as much enthusiasm as she'd been able to muster since the locusts had changed their world. Their enthusiasm plummeted when they had to leave behind most of their belongings. They were already hungry and on short rations before they escaped the outlying suburbs of the next large city. They tried to skirt around it since they could see the plumes of smoke and hear the sounds of madness and butchery. They were almost clear of the population centre when they encountered the township. Even here in the distant suburbs, people had already eaten the food available and then the pets. They'd not resorted to other meat for the most part,

though. Every little settlement had its secrets. A group of township citizens greeted them as they approached a barricade across the highway that passed through the microcity. Welcome, friends. A tall man who, as though he'd already been leaned before the plague struck, held up his hand, opened palm facing them. He carried a rifle in the crook of his other elbow,

and the other three gateguards were equally well-armed. Are you folks coming from the city? Valentina looked annoyed, and Pete could tell that she was about to say something snarky that would likely garner a negative response from the townsfolk. They were tired, hungry and dirty, and they'd walked all that day to get to this place that looked a little better tended than anything else they'd seen so far. He lifted the very nice leather bag from his shoulder and set it on the ground. Good evening. My name's Pete. This is Valentina. We ran out of gas

and we've been walking all day. We're almost out of food. Is there any chance we could shadow with you for the night. We'd be willing to work for our supper, but I'm an attorney and Valentina here is great with raising plants. I'm sure she could offer useful advice on growing anything that's left.

He finished lamely, and with no help from his partner. Valentina darted a glance at him, but remained silent. The lean man nodded and gestured for them to stay in place. He consulted with the rest of the group for a moment and then walked back towards them wearing a smile.

look we don't have much but we are willing to share we still have power and water and we have several nice homes that have been abandoned you'll be welcome to stay in any one of them the food situation is tough but I think we can get you some

community soup is what we make from donations by members of the township he used a radio that looked like a police model to contact someone a female voice answered and shortly a pair of women arrived and along with them two of the erstwhile rogue guards who escorted them to a nice little cottage a few blocks further into a settled area near to the police station the elder matronly looking woman with the librarian's glasses had carried a small bowl which she presented to valentina

i'm so sorry it's not bar but this is what we have i hope you'll enjoy it welcome to the township make yourselves at home and get some rest the couple of thanks the township citizens who greeted them so kindly and entered their new dwelling. It was still furnished, though. It looked as though the inhabitants had left hastily. There was no food to be found anywhere. Doubtless the residents had taken it, and the good citizens of the township had scrounged for any leftovers. Out of curiosity, Pete switched on the television, a nice modern model. There was nothing to see on most channels. He found a news channel, though, and sat down to out what was happening in the world. Nothing good. Valentina sat down beside him and offered him a bite of the soup.

He took a couple of slurps and urged her to eat the rest. He opened his designer leather bag that had once been filled with legal documents. He thought essential and took out one of their last remaining candy bags. They'd found a miraculously unrated vending machine in an abandoned office building and had taken the remaining items. valentina munched on the soup which consisted mostly of tiny chunks of meat and salty water the news broadcast seemed to be a recorded message that had been left running in a loop it appears as though the insect plague the locusts may have started in desert regions around the world perhaps buried beneath the sands of time waiting to emerge and devour all before them this strain is previously unknown no laboratory has come up with what they truly are. We named them locust just to simplify the terminology. So far no pesticides have worked. Even natural predators like birds seem to dislike eating these creatures. As it stands, the world will be hungry for some time yet. Many areas of the world have already sunken into extreme famine conditions. Valentina nudged him. I said that the waterworks. Maybe we can get a shower. We'll find some

clean clothes. They found that there were still plenty of clothes in the closet of the master bedroom. Valentina picked out a bright pink nightgown and Pete located a pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt. They showered and then crawled beneath the sheets for some long overdue rest. They were exhausted and slept deeply, more so than usual. The first Pete knew of the intentions of their hosts was when hard hands clamped onto him and dragged him out of the bed. strong hands and arms held him while others placed handcuffs on his wrists. He heard Valentina's piteous wails and shrieks as other hard hands and strong arms imprisoned her. She continued to screech until the sound of a fist-striking flesh ended her verbal protests.

They were taken to the small municipal jail inside the police station. There was only one officer left. He decided to throw in with the township council. when they deposed the now dead police chief a few days earlier. Tensions were still high. Some suggested that they go out into the countryside and hunt for game, but the counter-argument was that animals had to be starving as well. If they lived, they had long since fled or turned into human eaters.

The council had to get more people on board with their plan. They would not eat one another, but these two who'd stumbled into the sediment, nobody knew them they weren't real people not citizens of their new civilization merely beggars who wanted to further drain the township's resourcing valentina sat next to Pete and cried her tears long since expended she sobbed dryly into his chest the officer and two other males came to get her Pete fought as best he could, but the electronic control weapon still worked, and the officer shot the cables into him and zapped him repeatedly, far beyond what would have been allowed before order collapsed. Back when Pete could have threatened to own this stupid township, after the lawsuit he'd file. In the end, Pete was left on the floor of the cell and had to remove the barbs from the weapon himself.

He stayed on the floor for a long while and may have dozed. He was unsure. He slowly stood and tried to compose himself. Then he noticed that the party had closed the cell door but failed to lock it. The facility was old and outdated. It had no electronic locks. Pete looked around the station before he left. There were no firearms or other obvious weapons, so he made his way out of the station.

He cautiously threw the front glass doors and saw no one. He ducked outside and ran to the edge of the building. He stopped. and composed himself. If he ran, he'd be noticed. He had to find and free Valentina and then get going. And then he vowed to himself, these small-town suburbanite weirdos will learn not to trifle with Pete Goldberg,

attorney at law. He looked around as he walked into the rapidly deepening twilight darkness. He'd definitely been out for a while. They didn't seem to be anyone else outdoors. Likely they have a curfew, he thought. He circled the police station and courthouse complex to get a good look at the surrounding area and found that the little township had a community centre on the back side of the complex. He quickly realised that was where everyone already was or was headed

as he saw a few stragglers rushed toward the main entrance, where they were ushered inside by stern-looking citizens who were ostensibly armed. He approached the building and circled the structure as he looked for a side or back entrance. He was rewarded when a back door, near the dumpster proved to be unlocked. He made his way into the dark back room of the community centre. There were boxes and other containers piled all around him. He could see a bar of light glimmering beneath a door ahead.

He paused at the door to listen. Potts and pans and people talking. Ah, a kitchen! They must be getting ready to make more of that community soup. He shuddered, as he, for the first time wondered what type of creature had provided the meat and stopped the bowl. He and Valentina had consumed. He waited until the voices faded, and then tried the doorknob.

It opened. He let the door swing inward slightly, and shared the darkness with him, then gazed through it into the brightly lit adjacent room. It was what he'd thought, a small kitchen. There was one figure still partially in the room, a plump woman with folds of flesh that had started to sag with her in forced diet. She stood in the doorway that led out into the main assembly hall and faced toward the meeting that had been called toward her.

Pete could hear people speaking, but was more interested in locating Valentina and making their escape while the denizens of the township were occupied. Keeping a careful eye on the strapping woman, he stealthily looked around the kitchen. He needed a weapon. Then he saw the meekleaver in a large kitchen life, both still bloodied with whatever feet,

the cooks are prepared. He determined to take the knife, but Cleaver was clearly only useful in the kitchen. A speaker in the other room raised his voice. He sounded like a preacher giving a sermon. Indeed, he was Reverend Hamilton Wright who spoke with such passion from the makeshift pulpit in the community centre. He was on the newly minted township council, and it was his duty to explain how the feast they were about to share was not an abomination, but rather a blessing, indeed a duty to their lord, to survive and to continue to worship and sacrifice for him.

Oh, Pete didn't pay attention to the quasi-sermon. He was busy creeping. Then in the opposite corner, he saw a pile of familiar pink clothing. The nightgown Valentina had used, now somewhat bloodied and thrown into a heap. She would never have stood for that if she had been able to. Then he stuffed the back of his hand into his mouth

to contain a wretch, as he saw that on the counter that made up part of the corner was a piece that held long, dark, familiar hair. It was a scout. It was hers, Pete squatted there, staring intently at the grisly trophy from the woman he loved. The hair that his hands had lovingly stroked so often. He choked back the scream that wanted desperately to escape,

from his throat, from his soul. He knew that he could do nothing for her, for his valentina. Just maybe, maybe, get revenge. But first he had to escape. The way was clear and the folks of the township were clearly occupied. This would be his only opportunity, heartless though it seemed to leave her behind. He arose and made it to exit through the small storeroom. Behind him, the righteous Reverend called on them all to feast in the name of the Lord. As the crowd cheered, Pete let forth his own internal scream of anguish. But it turned quickly to an actual scream of agony, when the stout woman buried the cleaver in his shoulder. Eddie hunched in the storeroom of the school cafeteria. He and four other kids had been separated from their parents when the

neighborhood tore itself apart over the last remaining groceries. The school had been closed for several days before the human conflagration, but Eddie and his friends had gone up to visit the playground. Now there were people fighting a battle between them and the way to their homes. They noticed that the doorways to the school were unlocked and decided to see if there were still some food left in the old storage area. Most of it had been raided by the cafeteria workers, but after weeks of thin rations, the kids were able to scrounge some overlooked items, a can of beets and another of green peas. After their feast, though, they'd heard out at doors crash open, and the sounds of shouting, angry voices, adult voices. Then a gunshot rang out, and they locked themselves

in a storage closet. Many of the writers had supplemented their diets with alcoholic beverages. Why, had they done so with intent and in moderation? Grain was, grain, but the core members of the group did not comprehend that word, moderation. Now the alcohol-fueled rage of the mob had spilled into the last refuge of the innocent, the elementary school. Many of them had attended this school at one time, and so felt an irrational resentment toward the edivis. They tore at it for a while, able to do little damage to the child-proofing. structure. So in frustration, they set fire to the offices, to the now pointless reams of paper. Eddie and the others heard the fire alarm sound. They huddled together in fear as they crept from the

closet. Then the sprinklers opened up and drenched them in coal, stale, stinking water, grown mouldy from years in the pipes. Well, that was enough to break their stupor. Like a herd before predators, they fled. They slipped. They slipped. They slipped. and slided down the hallways in panic until they reached the rear entrance opposite the burning offices they piled out into the vestibule and halted through the glass doors ahead they could see the mayhem and madness of the rioting mob then eddie saw a figure curled into a fetal ball just outside the front doors he recognized the poor kid who'd clearly taken a severe beating he opened the door and with the help of his friends pulled Jorge into the vestibule. He now beside the bigger boy, who looked up at him in terror. It's okay, Jorge. We got you. You're safe now.

Sonia had packed her bags and her little toy dog and had flown to the Midwest to report on the locust plague. It was now time for her to jet back to the east coast and away from the increasing tensions in the now starving city. The food supplier dwindled and people had gone from afraid too frustrated, too angry and now to insane. She walked in a very straightforward manner to the van that the local affiliate had lent to her crew.

The flight they were about to take was one of the last of any kind available to go anywhere. It was a chartered commercial liner, and they hadn't even offered first-class accommodations. They drove past a line of people outside a grocery warehouse. There was no food available at retail, and very little now available at any price. The armed warehouse workers, and come gang members,

exacted enormous tolls for the merest scraps, and people gladly paid what they could just to get enough to hang on for a few more days. Sonia sniffed in distaste. Oh, I'll be so glad to get back to civilization. Well, this place wasn't great to start with. Now it's a downright zoo. And the animals are in charge. Maybe it's become more of a circus.

They made it to the airport with time to spare, but found that the gates to the terminal were blocked by a large crowd of people who'd had flights cancelled from under them. They were nearly at a riot stage. There was no food left at the airport, and many of them had been stuck there for days. Far from home and resources, desperate to reach home, to families and loved ones. It was a bubbling quadrant of humanity, pressed and packed into an ever more confined space. The three news crew members surrounded Sonia and her little dog and began to force their way through the crowd. The biggest crew member, whom the other secretly called Big Fat Bob, led the way, and when a few people in the crowd staggered into his path, he shoved a couple of them.

There was no point to it. They had nowhere to go in the press of bodies. After a while the small party was nearly unable to forge any further ahead. The crowd was simply packed in too tightly at the last open gate. the one that they needed, the one for which they had tickets. They managed to work the way forward at a snail's pace. Sonia all the time remarking on why these literally great unwashed masses were behaving in such a selfish, uncouth manner. When they made it to the gate, armed officers greeted them.

The people at the edge of the crowd resentfully let them through. They showed their special passes, and there was some attempt at screening them. Two of the crew members carried large camera bags as carry-on luggage, and Sonia, of course, had her personal bag, complete with its nervous little occupant, unbeknownst to Sonia, had urinated on most of her belongings while they navigated the crowd, and they checked everything else with the lone baggage handler at the ticket counter.

Then someone in the crowd noticed the little dog that had peered curiously from Sonia's shoulder back. Hey, that woman's taking a dog on the plane. There's no room for more people, but you'll let that dog go. Most people couldn't see the dog, and thus comprehend how ridiculous the statement was. Their resentment and hunger had been building for far too long to submit to mere reason. Someone else shouted. Hey, if those jerks would leave some bags, then another person or two could fit on board.

Well, the mob's IQ plummeted with every further screech until a large man at the front yelled, hey rush him and followed his own advice so did the rest of the mass of humanity Sonia and two of her crew were lifted into the air by the wave of pressing bodies

like so much flotsam on the tide big fat bob heavy as he was rode the wave for a short time but then sank beneath the trampling feet of the herd the little dog cowered inside the shoulder back now dropped and kicked over to

rest against a wall. Just as he scampered out of the bag, a young girl scooped him up and a bag and crouched in the corner of a pillar embedded in the wall as the crowd passed them. Her new best friend peaked out of the bag for a quick lick of her face and then ducked back inside to safety. The world continued to tear itself apart for months until finally there was no one left who was able to fight and no resources over which to strive. disease set in amongst the large population centres

where bodies lay rotting in the streets at least those that hadn't made it into cookpots and yet the earth healed people brought in what seeds they could and the spring buds grew in the northern hemisphere as the four buds bloomed in the southern it was a struggle but after seven long years the 2.8 billion remaining homo sapiens

stopped the plummet into savagery and chaos while it would be a while before they could rise they greatly slowed the fall and knew that with cooperation they would level off and regain some stability no one spoke much about the horrors of the first few years or if they did they whispered and shuddered and disgust at their own actions Amos had died in year two from heart failure Nathan had disappeared shortly thereafter

he said something about going down to the golf-cold A.J. and Madison each found spouses and settled into farm life with the new seeds that their plants had finally produced, and from those that had been stored before the locusts arrived. Many trees survived, and even some wildlife had managed to make it. They once more had cattle and goats and chickens in large enough numbers that they could sell some of the excess products, at least to their neighbours, no point wasting it on the cannibal savages in the city. Jorge's family had not made it through the riots.

Eddie's had, and adopted the boy, along with several other lost children. Things had been tough. They'd done things, eaten things that no one wanted to remember, that caused them to avert or lower their eyes when even a mention was required. Yet the kids had almost all made it to their teens and beyond. Eddie and Jorge shook hands and then embraced. as the brothers they become. Eddie was headed off to the Citizens Watch Academy.

He'd decided to serve with the entity that had replaced the police and other first responders in their area. He'd finally gotten his own growth spurt, and it was fortunate for Jorge that Eddie was not one to hold grudge it. In the far north of Canada, Sam Walker and the other two members of his team of researchers stalked along a game trail formed by animals that had survived when the locusts decided to disappear and had left behind enough plant life

that it had actually flourished. It had even begun to spread to friendly climes to the cell. He and his team had been left relatively unscathed, since he'd been in a government control facility before the disaster and its immediate aftermath.

The team was now assigned to the search for locusts. It was paramount that they find where the insects had gone to ground. They and other scientists deemed worthy of protection, had researched the many small corpses left behind when the creatures had flown into vehicle grills or hard structures head first. They were definitely not a known species of locust, but their habits were similar.

They huffed and puffed as they crossed the latest hills and stared down toward the crevasse that was their destination. According to the information they had, the split in the earth lightly contained caves and holes and other possible hiding places. As they cautiously approach the edge of the drop, he turned to his two companions, both of whom looked exhausted.

Do you hear that? They each stopped and caught their heads to listen more closely. It sounded like buzzing and chittering clacking. The noises of vast numbers of chitterness bodies rubbing together.

We found them william exclaimed in excitement ah the theories have proven true amazing that they are alive after so many years in this environment well after all they started in hot dry climates in deserts william had time for a short shriek followed by a hideous gurgle before the flesh was stripped from his bones his companions fared no better and joined him in their short shrieks and gurgles and gurgles and gurgles and his companions fared no better and joined him in their short shrieks and gurgles and gurgles and his companions were as the swarm of carnivorous locusts that had metamorphosed over the past seven years, engorged themselves after their initial waking, and then formed into an enormous cloud and swarmed forth in hunger. It wasn't the night's cold kiss that kept Daryl awake that lonely November night. To tell the truth, it had been quite a while since Daryl Hutchinson had succumbed to any kind of restful sleep. It was obvious early on, however, that this wouldn't be like any of those nights.

No, it hadn't been the cloying thoughts of his beloved Amber, who had decided to leave him in his time of need, nor was it the two open bills on his counter. Two months' rent for his shit-box apartment that remained unpaid. Surprisingly, it also hadn't been the thought of the looming third and final bill that would, in two weeks' time, arrive in his mate. All thoughts of his daily troubles had been scraped from his mind, driven out by an internal intruder.

It was a peculiar itch deep inside Darrell Hutchinson's ear. It hadn't started as an itch. He'd woken up that morning with a strange congestion in his left ear. It felt tight, like a drop of water had become trapped inside. But no matter how hard he'd shaken his head,

nothing came out. The day had gone on, Darrell just had gotten used to it. He was certain it was an issue, that would resolve itself and require no extraneous action. That had been the day, though. Half of the night had passed with Darrell staring into the dark ceiling in frustration. Somehow, the congestion had evolved into a troublesome irritation.

The itching came in awful waves that made him shudder from head to toe. It was deep inside his ear, much too deep for any of his large fingers to chlorats. He knew he tried all of them. He'd reached, dug, poked and prodded, but the itch only got worse. At about a quarter past four, Daryl understood that the congestion

wasn't getting any better. He could barely hear the sound of his own burrowing fingers anymore. Wondering if he was just simply going mad, he snapped his fingers just outside his ear. The snaps were audible, but only just. It wasn't ideal, but it was manageable. Then,

The itch turned into pain. It almost took a whole minute for Daryl's drowsy mind to even register the scratching-like sensation that had grown within his ear. Darrell moaned in frustration and discomfort as he sat up in bed. It wasn't like any earache he'd had before. They turned his whole ear raw

and that pain throbbed into the base of his skull. But this pain was different, precise and localized, surely nothing more than a progression of the irksome itch. The pain had caused him more anger than anything else, so he lashed out and brought his palm to bear on the side of his head. Not once, twice, but three times. It solved nothing, and only served to exasibate his predicament.

As the pain dotted the inside of his ear, Daryl stood up and plodded towards the bathroom, scowling into the darkness. Seeing as how every day, everything else had failed, Darrell was willing to do just about anything he could to get some decent shutter. He stepped into the bathroom, turning on the warm water in the sink. The uneven sound of running water was relaxing and welcome. The pain actually relinquished for just a moment as Darrell reached down to the water. He let it run through his fingers for a moment, and he

savoured the walk. Coughing his hand, he collected a decent amount of water, and he bent down as low as he could. There was something in his ear. That Darrell was certain, and he was ready to wash it out. He tilted his head, ready to dump every last drop inside. Stop!

Darrell shot upwards with a gasp, dropping the water into the sink. The voice had not been his. Darrell swung around, leaning backwards over the sink to see who was there. The doorway behind him was empty in silence. But that didn't ease his racing heart.

Daryl reached out quickly with his arm, awkwardly searching for the light switch. The lights uncovered nothing. The only occupant of the bathroom was Daryl. The only sounds were the running water and his own raspy breaths. He was alone. But that voice had been as real as anything. He wasn't sure what he'd expected.

An intruder, Amber, each seemed as unlikely and as, troubling as the other. Daryl shut the door, realizing that beyond it, obstructive shadows still hung on every nook and cranny. Isolated in the light, he should have felt better. The pressure pushed on his ear, and he felt the pain return once more. Despite the unpleasantness in his ear, the only thing Daryl could focus on was the evanescent voice. Had he just imagined it? For good measure, he checked the bathtub, stripping the shower curtains away in a fearful burst. Empty, there was no one, had nowhere else to hide.

The water, still running behind him, Daryl tried to massage the tiredness out of his face. He tried to bury his thoughts of the voice beneath layers of doubt. It came again. Turn off. Dalry jumped, turning quickly to his left. The voice, the quiet voice, had come from there. He'd heard it, for sure, this time, as surely as he heard the water running behind him. Yet it didn't make sense.

No one was there. No one at all. Couldn't decide whether the voice had belonged to a man or a woman, but, well, neither stood beside him. Darrow could see through the crack in the curtains that the window was sure. shut, and a quick check showed him that it was, indeed still locked. Peering through the curtains, the outside world was almost too dark to see, especially with the light reflecting from inside. Yet there was no way the voice had come from out there.

It felt too close, too intimate. It had been like someone had whispered into his ear. Turn off water. Who? Darrell jumped, screaming at someone unseen. Who's there? Turn off water. Daryl opened his mouth, but words never came.

He only screamed. Inside his ear, the pins had turned into molten daggers, and shocking electric pain coursed through his skull. Clutching his ear, his legs buckled, and he shrunked towards the floor. The pain stopped momentarily as the voice crept in once more. Stop. Pain.

Granted a brief respite. Darrell reached for the counter and he pulled himself back up. Heaving, with tears blurring his vision, Darrell wasn't sure what to do. Then his respite was over and the awful ear-splitting pain burned him once more. fueled by reflex and instinct Darrell obeyed the voice He turned the forcet And both the water and pain

Tricled away Good The voice was almost indescribable It had no emotion Daryl couldn't decide If it was pleased, upset Or even just apathetic The words just were

They existed on the fringe of his eardrum with each word, each syllable, vibrating and humming like they were plucked from the strings of a little guitar. Good. Sleep. Now. Sleep. The words gave it the emotion the voice had lacked. They gave the voice an identity.

Good, it had said. It was good that Daryl had given in. It had been something that the voice, the unseen entity, wanted, and Daryl had obeyed. and that was good. The uncomfortable, perverse thought tore Darrell from the ground, but the moment he got to his feet, his world started to spit. A nasty onset of vertigo took control. His legs gave only the slightest, tired warning before they gave out,

allowing Darrell only enough time to brace himself against the bathroom's walk. Sliding downwards, he soon came to rest on the cold tile floor, sitting slumped against the wall. The pain had subsided, but the intensity of the assault remained fresh and tender in his mind. He rose his hand towards his ear, not terribly sure of what to do next. Trembling, he tapped his earlobe with the same quivering motion that one might touch a red, hot stove. No pain came, so he touched it again. Taking a chance, he massaged the outside of his ear, bottom to top, and then,

relaxed. He was okay. Curiosity and sanity begged him to push further. Darrow wanted to put his finger inside his ear, maybe massage the areas that were still a bit sore. The congestion lingered like an echo inside, and the itch had only grown worse. Yet, the idea of the voice and its wrath held him back. His hand fell to his side. He sat there. there until morning. He didn't sleep, but his mind had wandered far. The sun had risen in an unconscious blink of the eye, and only when the bathroom would become bathed in sunlight

to Daryl returned to awareness. The warmth was a lie, magnified by the window. Outside, November cold rained. Inside the bathroom, however, the sun's beams were sweltering and blinding. Dowel stood up slowly. relieved that the vertigo had seemingly dissipated. He leaned on the counter as he tried to comprehend what had happened to him. The events, the horrors of last night, seemed impossible in the light of day.

It was still the same pressure within his ear, but nothing more. No pain, no discomfort even, and no whispers. A little light-headed, Darrell sat down on the toilet next to the window, crouching forward as he thought. What could it have been last night? He'd never experienced a nightmare that had felt so real and that he couldn't recall waking up from. The sun warmed the left side of his face as he pondered. In the light, the terrors of the dark faded into memory.

The memory could be mistaken. I'm fine, Darrell muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. I'm fine. I'm fine. Then, the reminder that he wasn't. "'Moo!' "'Memories returned from the ethereal "'as the all-too-real voice whispered a stern order into Daryl's ear. "'Darrel took to his feet quickly,

"'not for the voice's benefit, but out of his own uneasiness. "'There had been no one beside him. "'It wasn't possible, but his madness had followed him into the light of day.' "'Halt!' the voice said again. "'No, hot!' Darrell felt the side of his face. The warm touch of the sun was still imprinted there. Co.

Darrell stumbled backward out of the bathroom. He muttered madness under his breath as he made his way into the main room of his apartment. Leaning over the kitchen counter, he brought his palm to his ear three times. Each time he desperately tried to change reality with his words. Not real, he groaned. This isn't happening. It's not real. No, I'm fine. Before he could utter another word, strike another time, the pain shot through his ear again, like someone had shoved a hypodermic needle into his brain. Daryl screamed for God as he fell to his knees,

but God didn't answer. There was only the voice. Stop, it said emotionlessly. Fine. I fine. You fine. The pain tapered. We fine. Gasping, Darrell felt pressured to disagree. Pulling himself up, he realized that nothing made sense. For a moment earlier, he'd wondered if the voice in his head had truly been that. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a psychotic break caused by his insomnia or anxiety.

He wished he could be happy that it wasn't that. The voice was certainly real, tangible in his ear, but Darrell couldn't take any joy in knowing that his own mind hadn't fractured. The fact that the voice was something real terrified him far more. But it also gave him a certain idea. If it, the voice, was a real thing, and it could hear him, then maybe the voice was something that he could talk to, something he could reason with.

Where are you? Darrell asked, with his eyes scanning the room. Of course, when he wanted a response, there was nothing but silence. He asked again, where are you? Show yourself. Here came the response. Inside, Darrell felt his throat tighten. He'd been right. He could talk to the voice, but he became suddenly unsure if he would like the conversation.

It was madness. Inside? Daryl asked, repeating the intriguing word. You, came the response, horrifyingly. Inside, you. Daryl couldn't speak. Confusion gave way to uncomfortable feelings of invadingly. and violation.

Something, some entity that could hear him, talk to him, and hurt him, was inside his body. What? Daryl started, unable to find the words. What are you? This was a question that the voice didn't answer, at least not in the way Daryl wanted. Me! Was the only clue that Daryl ever got from the voice itself. It was more than enough to get him heading for the door.

Stop, said the voice, as Darrell pulled in his coat. Moving. Stop. Daryl didn't listen. He didn't even dare say it, but he needed to go see someone, anyone, a doctor, a priest, a goddamn psychiatrist if he had to, but he knew reluctantly that there was nothing more he could do. That was his aim, but as he was his aim, but as he was a doctor. As soon as his hang and touched the doorknob, Darrell understood one crucial fact. The voice was in charge.

Pain shot into his head like wild lightning, and in a moment Darrell was nothing more than a sobbing, writhing mass upon the floor. There was something the voice needed to make absolutely clear. No, it said. Stay. Darrell shook his head in denial, but the voice was adamant. Go. Stay home.

Say. Dard. No people. Go. Its words soon started to overlap each other, as if spoken by multiple beings all at once. They became overwhelmingly atop the crippling pain. A cruel lecture From an even crueller teacher

When Darrell started to scream louder and louder The voice told him Stom Screams Pain Low The more Darrell screamed

The worse the fire-hot embers burned inside his head The voice repeated itself again And again Until Daryl understood He bit down hard on his lip Stifling the scream, the voice finally allowed his suffering to cease. The pain flowed away from the epicenter in his head, and Daryl felt its tingle creep across his skin and muscles,

from his neck all the way down to his feet, before it eventually faded into nothing. Good, it said. Quiet, good. When he was allowed to get up, Daryl looked to the door. and he felt a twinge of discomfort in his head. With the same unwillingness of a man held at gunpoint, Darrell collapsed onto his couch, and he stared blankly into the ceiling.

As the day passed, Daryl would learn the voice his rules. The first came when he tried to open the curtains. It had taken a while for Daryl to even move again after coming to turns with a monster inside him, and he wondered what he could still manage. There had to be something he could do to ease his situation. Perhaps if he could open the windows, he could signal for help.

Some way to obscure that, perhaps, the voice wouldn't recognise right away. However, this attempt resulted in a painful scorning. It came in a quick, whip-like, lashing to stay his hand. Closed, the voice said. Dark. Like, dark, the scratchy voice inside his head also rebutted when Darrell tried to shower several hours later. No wet, no water. The creature inside him feared the water more than the light or the heat, he found,

as its particular temper tantrum inside the bathroom lasted twice as long as any had before. All the better to send the most urgent message possible. Water bath. Darrell hadn't intended for the shower to rid himself of the voice, and he was curious as to its limits. He remembered the outburst earlier, and apparently the thread of water cascading all around him was too much. Darrell found that the voice didn't have nearly as serious a response

when he simply removed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. That was perfectly okay. Lost for other options. Darrell had, of course, considered using his phone to contact someone on the outside. He was hesitant. The excruciating agony he felt at the foot of the door wasn't something he wished to experience again. The voice made it very clear that he was not to attract attention to himself from the outside in any way. So, what could he do?

As the day stretched on, he couldn't stop from staring at the phone, but lay charging on the kitchen counter, easily accessible. Every scenario who ran in his head ended the same way, with him on the floor, crying for the sweet release of death. There was no way that the voice would ever let him contact the outside world. Daryl never expected, however, that the outside world would try to contact him. It made him jump when the phone sprung to life. As soon as the ringing began, the voice expressed its painful displeasure. "'Noise. What is?' he asked.

"'I have a phone call,' Darrell hissed to clenched teeth as he stood up. "'No answer,' the voice demanded. "'No.' Darrell, bearing his teeth, found strength in his own frustration. It was strength enough to, momentarily, overcome the pain in his head and the fear in his soul. He walked to the phone. I know you want me alone. Isolated, right? Daryl asked. Certain he was right.

Yes, the voice said. Hello. Good. Other people are bad, right? Other people can help me. People. Bad, bad, bad people. It spoke as if a child.

If I don't answer the phone, then people will come to check on me. I've got that. I can tell them it's fine. If they come, then things won't be fine, okay? This made the voice relent. Pain fell to a light simmer. Darrow's hand crept upwards and across the counter. The voice offered no resistance, but it granted no permission.

Darrell's fingers lay, twitching, inches from the phone. They were poised, ready to grab it in a heartbeat. All he needed was the voice. permission. Answer, the voice conceded. Daryl grabbed the phone in the blink of an eye, and in the same moment the pain came once more. The voice wasn't finished. Left ear. The voice eased up, allowing Daryl to answer the call. It was from Amber, just like he'd hoped it would be. Obeying the voice, Daryl raised the phone up to his left ear. The voice warned.

Pain. Worse. Were. It punctuated its point with a sharp, brutal snap. Darrell winced, but took it. He had to. Both of them, Darrell and the voice, listened as Amber spoke.

Are you there, Darrell? She asked. Hello? Speak, whispered the voice. Say, fine. Darrell couldn't. Hearing Amber's voice, even as muted as it was, brought a tear to his heart.

It was impossible to remember the bad times. The fact that this was the first time he'd heard her voice in nearly a month, the day she walked out, the way she cried when she looked at him. It was different now because he needed her. I'm here, he said, grinning. I'm here, Amber. "'Hi.' There was a pinch in his ear.

Say, fine. Stop. Yeah, hi,' Amber continued. "'What the hell are you doing?' "'What?' Darrell asked. Still too happy to hear Amber to even focus on the angry tone of her voice. "'Don't what me. I just heard from Tom and he says you're about to lose your damn apartment.

Is that true?' "'Go!' The voice interrupted. "'uninterested in anything she had to say.' "'Yeah, it's true,' Darrell said. "'Have you found anything yet?' Amber asked. "'Anything at all? Where have you applied?' "'I've been looking,' Darrell lied.

"'He had to stall time, but he had no idea how long the voice would give him, "'nor how long Amber's patience would last. "'He had to find a way to tell her something was wrong, "'a way that wouldn't let the voice know.' Darrell had gathered it was intelligent, but to what extent? What could he get away with? He turned his gaze to the guitar in the corner of the room. Hey, he said.

Did you know you left your guitar here when you left? Guitar, the voice echoed. No. The voice hurt, Darrell, as Amber confused, asked. What? The guitar's yours. Why would I take it? No, focus.

We're talking about you. You need a damn job. Darrell, are you okay? The pained wheezing of Darrell abated long enough for him to respond as the voice ordered. I'm fine. I feel fine. I just know that you love that guitar. You not make her hear.

The voice stated, she no calm. Darrell knew what it meant. It had caught on. It knew what he'd tried to do, and it wouldn't allow it. Stop, talk, it ordered. Tell fine, stop. Daryl took a deep breath as Amber's voice came into his ear like a calming wave above the scratching whispers of the voice.

Forget it. I need to tell you something, okay? So, you listen. Got it? darrell nodded humming a simple mhm hoping the voice would allow it it hadn't stopped ranting and its orders were escalating in intensity and frequency any moment now darrell knew it the voice would have enough i miss you but you made it clear the last time we talked you don't want any help none but i don't care i don't i care about you and god damn it you need to pull your egocentric head out of your asin ask for two seconds. Stop being so pathetic. I have a friend who can set you up. They're looking for tech guys. They're looking for you. I know that getting let go sucks. I know, but here's your chance.

You can pull yourself out of this. I'm just holding the rope for you. Please, baby, please, all you need to do is tell me right now, do you need my help or not? Daryl opened his mouth, yearning to yell out, to scream out. Yes. God, yes. I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I'm stuck.

Save me. But the voice told him. No. Tell no. Help. No. His inside simmered like holes. As the tears came, they blazed like fire.

He had no choice. He was no longer in control. There was only the voice. I'm sorry, Dary whispered. I can't. Good,

said the voice as Daryl started to weep. God damn you, Daryl, Amber started. She continued to tell Daryl how disappointed she was and how simple it could all be. All the while,

the voice ordered one thing. Stop, talk, stop done talk stop the words came all at once

drumming inside his ear and Darrell whispered wondering can you hear it what Amber asked Can you hear it Darrell asked again

He heard Amber sigh Listen if you need me When you need my help I'll be here Okay I'll be there for you, but you have to ask, got it? You won't, the voice said simply. Can't.

Done. Then, Darrell was certain he died. The voice hurt him, leaving him no choice but to clench the foam between his fingers. The call ended as his fingers squeezed down hard on the screen, and Amber was gone. Not even a week goodbye He escaped his lips Only a short-lived hiss of sorrow He was alone

Trapped And at the complete and utter mercy Of the voice Several days passed Daryl remained like a walking corpse Within his apartment There was little that the voice Still allowed him to do

He existed as nothing more than a shell A vessel for the entity That pulled the strings in his head Darrell felt like he no longer existed. There was only the will of the voice. For Darrell, the first day had been the worst physically, but after he'd learned the rules, the voice had significantly fewer reasons to harm him.

The lack of pain was hardly enough to restore any sense of hope in the mound, however, for Darrell felt more worthless than ever before. Every day that passed, damaged him more and more as hope faded away. The voice wasn't fond of activity or movement of any kind. It would allow Darrell brief moments of freedom and short spans of mobility when he woke up or whenever he needed to use the restroom. For the majority of the day, however, the voice preferred it if Darrell lay upon the couch and sat there until it was time for bed. Television wasn't allowed, so the voice didn't trust the sounds of other humans so close. It was alarmed at the prospect of anyone else entering the room and getting close to Daryl himself.

In fact, Dau found that he was unable to enjoy anything that made noise. The voice had already expressed its displeasure at the use of his phone, and the one time he tried to play his guitar had ended very poorly. Each time he plucked a string, the voice would very quickly reprimand him. The voice's persistence and consumer control drove Daryl to a point of exploding, of frustration. Thinking he could push through the pain and preserve some sense of purpose, normality and humanity in his life, Daryl tried to play more. The voice didn't yield, and Daryl was forced to give up after only five notes. In a violent outburst, it was smashed

into tiny pieces. The strings curled up and useless lay against the splintered neck. After four days of subservience, Darrell had a realization. There had been four days of silence and isolation. Each morning he wondered to himself if Amber would show, and if some miracle would bring her to his door. Surely she would come and check on him eventually. Yet, each night fell without a single knock upon the door.

Amber wasn't coming for him. It took a little more than a week for Darrell to understand that she'd been completely honest during the phone call. She was done, unless he reached out to her first. That was something he could not do. And that realization led to another. Everything he had ever done had been on his own. No one had introduced him to Amber.

He'd walked up to her on his own. He'd asked her out on his own. Beyond her, he'd made his way through college on his own. He'd gotten his job on his own, and he'd gotten his apartment on his own. Waiting for Amber was foolish, and so was the voice. He would finish this on his own, swiftly and decisively. It hated the sound of flowing water, but it still allowed him to drink silently from bottles. That was the voice's final mistake.

Darrell was certain. It feared the water, and nothing fears anything without reason. maybe that's all it would take just a little water a fast baptism he could do it quickly before the voice even realised what was happening if it worked

he'd be free he would have freed himself but if it didn't work Darrell didn't even want to imagine what would happen next he couldn't fail he wouldn't removing a bottle from the fridge

he moved swiftly he lifted the lid off in a moment and he tilted his head. Yet, a further moment's hesitation as he poured the water into his ear and the game was over. A drop fell, but nothing more. There was a roar in his ear. Dare you water! The voice screamed. Stop now.

Daryl screamed in return as the pain started. like a fire eating its way towards his brain. He wasn't sure if it was the water, or perhaps blood that sloshed about in his ear canal. He wanted to stop, to let the voice win, to take the horrible ache away. But he couldn't.

He wouldn't let it win. He knew he could do it. No, Darrell stammered, his teeth clenched in awful agony. I'm done. I pour this. You're gone. You... you're going to leave no it replied confident never leave only hain somehow like demonic hellfire the pain

worsened and darrell quivered to his knees holding the water bottle firm and high above his head he held on to his hope he knew he could do it you're scared he said scared scared of the water you will drown. No, it said, only pain. And then it added another word. A new word that the voice had learned. Kill you. Kill if.

Darrell trembled. The pain had gotten worse yet, but at the moment that's all that it remained. Pain. He had to believe, hope that it couldn't get any worse than that. He couldn't kill him. I don't believe you.

He tilted the bottle, but before anything happened, the voice spoke once more, no longer screaming. Won't you, it said. Won't. No, you. Darrell stopped, and he waited. Pathetic, it said, in a tone that almost perfectly mirrored ambers from before. The first time the voice had ever expressed anything similar to an emotion. Weak.

Failure. Shut up, Darrell shouted. You don't know me. Won't, poor. Too weak. Lost everything. Stop, Darrell groaned. Stop.

Alone. No help. won't risk sad boy i'm gonna kill you darrell screamed failure darrell

failure pathetic poor water die failure failure darrell screamed and he threw the water bottle across the room

water sprayed against the walls and it pulled onto the floor as he went The pain started to recede As the drop of water trickled out of his ear And the voice offered its comfort No need help It said

I hear We okay It was wrong And Darrell finally knew it He could have poured the water But at what cost He was alone and he was a failure It had all been true.

He'd lost his job, and in the aftermath, he'd become stuck in a hopeless rut. He had believed his whole life that he could succeed entirely on his own merit. It was a fool's notion. When he lost that belief, he didn't know how to put himself out of the rut he'd dug. His ego had eliminated all possible options. On top of that, he'd lost Amber too. He drove her away, even though she'd given him every chance. He had trapped himself.

He couldn't even laugh at the irony that by the time he'd figured it out, he was still trapped, trapped by the voice. If the voice was right, and it could kill him, and he couldn't risk it. Not alone, not by himself. Going it alone had taken everything from Darrell, and he had taken everything from Darrell, and he, refused to let it take his life. He cried, and the voice said nothing. It allowed him his moment of acceptance. Barrel was glad. The voice thought, wrongly, that he had given up. Amber had called once more since the first time, and although he desperately wanted to answer, the voice had pulled

his reins tight. He wasn't allowed to talk to anyone. Or no one. one but the voice. Darrell had many interesting conversations with the entity that possessed him. When the voice felt like speaking, that is. Why are you doing this to me? Darrell had asked once. To this question, the creature simply replied with, oh. To most questions, the voice gave similar, simple responses. Darrell still couldn't figure out if it was simply because the thing was daft or because it was intentionally secretive. He wished he would tell him more, but

some of the things it didn't say told Darrell more than he needed to know. The voice had given him lessons earlier, and they were meant to restrain, Dow. Yet, in his confinement, Darrell started to listen and learn. In the week that had

passed, Darrell had learned three things about the voice, three things that Darrell believed, might give him an edge. The first was a real The realisation that Daryl had known from the beginning, heard the implications of which he was still trying to sort out. Whenever the voice spoke, it wasn't a completely internal sound. He heard it in his ear, and very specifically, he only heard it in his left ear.

Whatever it was, it seemed limited to his left side, the same side that housed that awful congestion. That's why it made him answer the phone there, so it could listen in. It was also the same reason it reacted so violently to the droplet of water. It didn't change the fact that he couldn't remove the mass, but it was a start. Lesson one, the voice was located inside his left ear. The second lesson came when he realized that when the voice was speaking, it remained incognizant of changes happening outside his body. Whenever the voice spoke in his ear, Dow found that he could move and do things

unmolested. He discovered this by accident as he was walking around the apartment one day. The voice started speaking to him, responding vaguely to some question Daryl himself reposed, and at the time Daryl had decided to remove the sock. Daryl realized, right before the voice stopped, that he had placed his right hand on the front door to balance himself. Knowing the front door was strictly prohibited, Daryl was surprised that the voice took no action against him. It simply acted as if nothing had happened. Curious, Darrell had experimented. Asking the voice, another question, he touched the door again intentionally this time. He found that, almost without fail, when the voice was speaking, it had no idea that any

action outside had been performed. However, when the voice stopped speaking, if his hand was still on the door, it offered nothing but hostility. It was also worth mentioning that the voice couldn't hear his thoughts. Any comment or question had to be posed audibly to get a response. He thought many, many times of pouring boiling water into his ear and roasting alive whatever spirit or demon thrived inside him, knowing how much it feared the water. The thoughts never elicited a response. If he posed the question verbally, however, he got a slightly less pleasant retort.

Darrell thought it was curious. Whatever had attached itself inside his body like a parasite wasn't all-knowing, and it didn't have complete access to his head. It was curious, but incredibly welcome information. Lesson two. The voice had blind spots. The final lesson, and the one that intrigued Darrell, most was that the voice didn't seem to be able to read. Daryl had only received and neglected

one call in his week of imprisonment, but many more messages had been sent by text. There had been five, at least, and just about all of them had been from Amber. Each time the phone buzzed, the voice told Daryl he couldn't answer. The voice had believed their vibrations to be the same vibrations that came from phone calls until Darrell tried to explain otherwise. He picked up the phone with the permission of the voice, who was actually quite curious about the so-called text messages. The voice ordered he'd hold the phone up to his face, and Darrell obliged, displaying the latest message. The text was from Amber. Ignoring me isn't going to stop time. He had paused after.

it vibrated, waiting for a stern response from the voice. But there had been nothing. No pain. Instead, there was a curious whisper in his ear. What say? What's what say? Darrell asked. Words, palm, say.

Daryl understood. The voice had seen the phone, and it saw that there was a message there, not a call, and it understood. that there were words. It just couldn't read them. It's just amber checking in, Darrow responded curiously. This of course initiated the same angry reaction from the voice. Darrell was hesitant to look at any messages again, yet this gave him the most important bit of information yet. Lesson three, the voice couldn't read. For days, Darrell thought about what he could do to stop the

voice. He could put earmuffs on, something that muted the voice, blinded it, but, well, that idea was quickly discarded. If Darrell rolled over onto his left side at all during sleep, then he would feel the voice is rough. If anything covered or even approached his left side without the voice's express permission was greeted with rage and venomous hostility, especially since the incident with the water bottle. It was all too risky. So, what was he to do? The plan was hatched in a dreamless night, more than a week and a half after the voice had first spoken to him. Daryl understood that he'd done so much on his own, just about all he could.

It just wasn't enough. So, what was he to do? The plan was hatched in a dreamless night, more than a week and a half after the voice had first spoken to him. Darrell understood that he had done so much on his own, just about all he could. It just wasn't enough. He could enact any one of numerous plans, but the voice held him on a leash that was far too short. He couldn't solve it all on his own, and he knew pain was unavoidable. There was no scenario where the voice didn't hurt him, and he accepted that.

He was done sitting in his rut. Now, he couldn't leave, he couldn't call anyone, and the use of his phone was prohibited. Daryl could only pick it up if the voice ordered him to. He decided to remain there and rest. The plan would remain safe inside his head until the sun rose. He took that time to think it all through. If he messed it up, any of it, then it was incredibly unlikely that the voice would be as short-sighted the second time. He waited until he was.

the next morning to put it into action. As soon as he was up from bed and the voice ordered him to move out of the bedroom and into the darker living room he made his move. How long will this go on for? Daryl asked, moving swiftly to the kitchen. He heard the itchy, awful whisper of the voice.

Until, Dahl. Me or you? He asked, moving across the room to wear his phone name. "'Either,' the voice said, as Daryl picked up his phone and placed it deep into his pocket. "'Sounds lovely,' Daryl said. "'Paying the voice remained clueless.'

"'Darrel threw himself down onto the couch. "'There was no time to waste. "'He just had to buy himself about twenty seconds. "'So, lying on his left side, with his head raised above the couch's singular pillow, "'Darle asked it another question. Do you hate me? No, the voice said. Don't hate.

Ho! What do you think about me? Darrell asked the last question, and he immediately led his head fall to the pillow. The voice spoke to him, but it had no idea that it was trapped. As it spoke, Darrell pulled the phone from his pocket and opened the texts.

Love, ho! The voice said, as Darrell found the unanswered messages from Amber. Home, calm. Home, obedience. Darrell could tell it really struggled with the last word, but he didn't know if it did so because the word was large, or because the voice had just discovered that it was blind. Sit up, it ordered. It knew, but Darrell still needed a few seconds.

He typed furiously, but the voice wouldn't have it. What do, it said? Why move? Sit up now. The sizzling started. The warning shot. Wouldn't remain so forgiving for long. The voice barked the orders into Dowell's ear, but he almost had it.

He could feel the pain build and build as the voice's patience dwindled and dwindled. Just one more second. There! Darrell sat up, tossed his phone back towards the counter, and the pain subsided. There was silence, and a tickle in his ear. The voice returned, anxious. What sound? Crash, it asked without inflection.

Fo, it was nothing, Daryl lied, unsure of how the entity had guessed it had been the phone. Use phone. Darrell couldn't decide if it was an accusation or a question. No, I didn't. I couldn't have. It's over there. Just as Darrell pointed to it, it buzzed. It buzzed multiple times. A call from Amber. No answer, said the voice, and Darrell was happy to oblige. A call quickly fell silent, and then another came through immediately after.

Why? call. I don't know why, Daryl said. Certain that had been a question. Make stop. I can't. The second call ended and a text message came through. The voice was sick of it. What message? It asked. Yes, it's a message. Read, the voice said. Daryl hesitated. He thought it almost heard the stressed inflection of panic in the voice's words. Daryl stood and cautiously approached the phone. The voice allowed him to pick it up and examine it. Daryl couldn't hide his relief as he read the message, and the voice noticed.

What say? It asked quickly. I'm done, Daryl lied. You won't hear from me again. Real words, the voice inquired. Yes, Darrell lied, reading the last two messages over and over in his head. The message he'd ridden to Amber, please help me, I can't leave my apartment, this is an emergency,

please come now, I need your help. The message Amber had written to him, I'm coming. Amber was there within 20 minutes, and they were the last. longest of Daryl's life. The voice had interrogated him time and time again about the messages on his phone. Each time, Daryl held strong and repeated the false message verbatim to the voice, and yet the voice didn't buy it. Daryl had never felt the voice act this way. It was lashing out at him in frequent, shockingly painful ways. Every time he spoke, he felt the voice gnawing on the inside of his ear like an animal.

no idea what the voice was, but he knew one thing for sure. It was scared. When the knock county's door came, the voice lost it. It no longer whispered in his ear. It pounded on his ear drum. Who here? it demanded. Who knock? Gasping, Darrell threw himself towards the door, and through the pain he looked out the peephole, and he grinned. "'It's no one,' he said. "'No one at all. "'It's just a bill collector.' "'Make go away.'

"'I will,' Darrell hissed. "'I will, but you have to let me open the door.' "'No,' the voice ruled. "'Don't. "'Trust, door shut.' "'I have to, or else you won't go away,' "'darl said. "'Please!'

"'The knocking came again.' this time with Amber's voice cutting through. Darrell, she asked, concerned. Darrell, open up this instant. I swear this better not be some kind of a game. Darrell brace for it. The moment she spoke, he knew that the voice would recognise her, recognize Amber.

And yet, the pain didn't increase. The voice was too furious to even listen. No, open. Darrell was done. listening. I'm here, he said. Pain spiking within. Hold on. Don't open the voice ordered. To this, Darrell responded, I will open it and tell her to go away. Listen to me. You have my word. I know what you can do to me. I know the pain you can cause. I'm nothing. I'm pathetic and that's why you chose me. It didn't end. But the

the voice did ease up ever so slightly, a sign of trust. I know that this will hurt. He pulled the door open, and there before him was Amber. She was radiant. The light from the hallway seemed almost blinding, and cast her in the perfect angelic glow. Daryl cried, for he didn't know how bad it could be. Are you okay? Amber asked. God, you. You? you look awful. Tell her, go. The voice calmly reminded Dall. He waited.

Daryl, Amber continued, holding her phone in her hand. Don't waste my time. Tell me, what the hell is this all about? Pain, the voice reminded. Endless pain. Daryl heard it, but with Amber there, it didn't matter. He was ready. I need help, Darrell said, quietly.

No, the voice scratched. What do you mean? Amber said. Darrell had felt strong, but as the voice went silent, his face crumpled with fear and anxiety. The tears flowed, and he screamed at the top of his lungs. It's in my ear. Daryl's mind exploded at that moment. and Amber wasn't fast enough to catch him as he fell.

Pain became everything, in every vein, muscle and bone of his body. He was stronger than Daryl had ever imagined. Screeching to God above, Daryl could only listen as the roar of the voice rattled in his skull. Lire, rotten lia, pay now, pay price, kill. The words and same. found altogether faded as a black suffocating void swallowed him whole. There was a lightness. Something was missing, and then there was panic. Daryl awoke, yelling because all he could remember was pain. It was there, the voice, and it wanted to kill him. Daryl was yelling and yelling,

but then he understood that there was no reason. There was no voice. In fact, there wasn't much of anything. His head felt light, like someone had popped a cork and let all the pain and mush drain out. There was some pain, a residual simmering within his left ear, but it was a comfortable shadow of what he'd felt before. It wasn't what he'd expected at all. He couldn't remember how it had happened, but it was gone. He had awakened. There was little pain, and he wasn't alone.

"'Easy,' Amber said, her hands on his left shoulder. "'Easy, baby, it's okay. You're fine. You're okay now.' Panting, Daryl grabbed her arm and he kissed her hand. The hospital room was empty except for her, and the moment he'd awoken, she'd rushed to his side. Resting his head comfortably on the back of her hand, he closed his eyes again. He savoured the emptiness inside his own head. it was perfect. Oh, God, he mumbled.

Oh, God, I love you. I love you, Amber. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She said softly. Baby, are you okay? How do you feel? I...

Darrell hesitated. He wanted to double check that everything was okay. He hoped it wasn't just a dream. He started again with a shock smile. because he was sure it wasn't. I feel fine. I feel free. How's the ear? Amber asked cautiously. I mean, he said, reaching for it.

It feels better than it did before. He stopped. His ear was lighter, and that was good, but something else was missing. Something important. As his fingers crept up his face, they touched something itchy and flat. There was a gauze pad over his ear.

He touched it, poked it and scratched at it. The pad was curious, but even more so was that he discovered something was indeed missing. The scratching of the pad, the rubbing of its coarse surface, and the snapping of his fingers, just to double check.

He couldn't hear any of it. I can't hear. "'Ear,' Darrow said. "'Not out of this ear.' Amber nodded. "'That's what the doctor said. "'Said you'd ruptured your... "'something.

"'The eardrum. "'You ruptured your eardrum.' "'Darrel cast his hand over the ear, "'and he thought back. "'The voice and the dying sound. "'An urgency came into his words "'upon remembering the voice. "'It was a dioness,

"'and a fear in his ear. his gaze. What was in my ear? Amber's mouth hung open. I... I... she stumbled, unsure of what to say. Amber, Darrell said, grasping her arm tightly. What did they find in my ear? There was a knock at the door and a curt... Hello? The doctor? An older man with a tanned face and an accent. exceptionally thin hairline approached. He smiled and held one of his hands deep inside his jacket pocket. Ah, you're awake, he said, extending his free hand to Daryl. Daryl took it. And much calmer now. Sorry you had a rude awakening. Dr. Hofstead, look. The doctor released Daryl's hand, and he gave Amber a quick nod. So, how are you feeling, Mr. Hutchinson? Daryl,

expelled a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. It's fine, except for the can't hear part. Yes, the doctor said. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the blockage, a significant rupture had occurred on your tympanic membrane. It was pretty nasty, shredded, basically. The good news is, given time, it's possible it can heal itself. The hearing loss you're experiencing now may only be a transient symptom. "'Blockage?' Darrell asked. "'Memories of the first night returned. "'The congestion he'd felt.

"'Yes,' the doctor said, "'a peculiar look appeared on the doctor's face. "'Excitement. "'Do you have any idea what was in your ear?' "'No,' Darrow said quickly. "'I have no idea what the hell was in my ear.' "'The doctor nodded. "'Are you squeamish?'

What? Darrell asked. I said the doctor pulled something from his white jacket. Are you squeamish? On Darrell's bedside table, the doctor placed a tiny, clear vial. Inside was what looked to be a stringy cotton ball. He felt amber squirm in his grip. She couldn't look away, but she clearly wanted to. What the hell's that?

Darrell asked. Looks like cotton, silk. I don't know what it is. Look a little closer, the doctor said. I think this is going to amaze you. So Darrell moved closer, and he looked harder. He searched the white material for something more, anything. He found it.

Something moved in the vial. No. said Darrell. It can't be. He looked to the doctor. Was this it? Yes. It was there and it had established a significantly sized...

This can't be it, Darrell said, pulling away from the vial. I mean, I heard... I heard... Scratching, the doctor asked. It makes sense. In similar cases, it's not off to hear. scratching and other noises, especially since this one was set up so close to your eardrum, literally right on it, actually. I've never seen one this established, though. It had to have been

in there for a while. Amber leaned forward. Are you okay? How could he be? Darrow wanted to scream at them all. He wanted to tell them about the voice, the pain and everything. Yet, he couldn't. Looking into the vial, Darrell was no longer even sure if he could trust himself. It was too unbelievable to be true. Hesitantly, as the doctor explained everything, Darrell leaned forward and gazed into the vial. Inside the tube, nestled within a net of milky white webs, said a tiny black spider that gazed vilely at Darrell, plucking at its webs, with a little bit of with its feet, like it was picking the strings of a guitar. I needed to get my ass in gear and leave my buddy.

Troy's house or something terrible was going to happen. I could feel it in my gut the way you know a storm is on its way by the electric charge in the air. It had been a hot, sticky mess of a day, nearly 90 with 80% humidity. We spent the day swimming, listening to music and sneaking a few beers poolside, while his parents were in up State, New York for a wedding. My dad was a bit strict and didn't like me to be out past dark. Yeah, I'm sure you've heard it before from your parents. Be home by the time the street lights come on. The thing about my dad though, he was psychotic about it. He never let me go to sleep over as a kid. Kept me from staying out past dark, so that meant no parties. My mom said it was because dad suffered

from a severe case of anxiety. I didn't make the way he treated me. me okay or how he kept my door to my bedroom locked at night so I couldn't leave. We even had bars on our windows and a high-tech security system to help him with his craziness. Every night was the same. They'd let me hang out. I went to school, came home, did my homework. A warm glass of milk and I went to bed. Were never any exceptions. My father always insisted I drink my milk. New by the side of the first firefly and the way the sky dimmed gently from blue to a hue just a tiny bit darker that my dad will be watching and waiting in his recliner that faced the front door.

If I was even a minute late, he'd be in his old pickup truck racing down Rancino Road, headlights beaming looking for me, his only son. Sadly, my mum had had two miscarriages before she got pregnant with me. I was the only one that survived. I lounge round Troy's pool a bit longer, cracked open another one of Troy's dad's IPAs. I sighed, breathing in the night air. And when I finished chugging the beer, I managed to get myself out of the pool and stumbled over to dry myself off. You going?

Troy asked as he glided into the shallow end of the pool. Yeah, I think I better. You sure? Jenny and Myra coming over in a bit. Well, Maya digs you and that stupid long hair. I smiled, tossing it back and forth to be funny, but as much as I wanted to stay, I knew my dad would be in his trap looking for me. Yeah, well, you know, my dad. Yeah, I know he's strict, but come on, it's our last summer before graduation.

I've got to go. Fine, be boring, Troy said, taking a deep breath before going under the water. I dressed and put my shoes on as I ran down Troy's long driveway. I hurried along down the sidewalk, wishing I'd ridden my bike to Troyes to give me a better chance of getting home by curfew. Instead, I jogged up the sidewalk towards the corner of the next street. It seemed like the sky had darkened in a matter of minutes. I ran further, and then I felt it. My face hit the sidewalk, and in my ankle,

A sharp pain began to appear. God damn uneven pavement. I was already late. Now I'd be even later. Cringed when I looked up. The streetlights had just come on. I'd already hear the truck pulling out of the driveway in my mind's eye. I knew my dad was coming for me, and I knew he would be furious.

I'd only missed curfew one time before. Well, the outcome was one I would rather forget. I could almost feel. feel his anger, and I hadn't even done anything wrong. Well, the beard was most likely why I had tripped and fallen. I always had a way of sneaking up on you. I managed to stand up and prop myself up against one of the small trees that lined the sidewalk, perfectly perched in front of each house that lined it in a rug. The street was empty, it was so quiet I could hear my heart beating in my ears. The light of the moon was now high in the sky, giving the whole eerie feeling I was

getting that extra oomph. I heard something behind me that gave me pause. I could hear a rustling in the bushes near me and then two red eyes appears. I managed to move my leg

along as fast as I could to get out of there. For once I wanted my father's truck to appear. A shadow leaped out from the bushes. And I saw something, I can't quite explain. When I blinked, it was there. When I blinked again, it was only a dark swirl of black mist.

A large creature with a head of a wolf had appeared. Its legs, which I managed to get a good look at, were pointed backward. It had dark grey black fur and large teeth. And the teeth appeared from a Cheshire cat-like smile. As my heart was pounding out of my chest, I heard the screeching of tires. My father pulled up alongside me As I tore my eyes from the creature To another scary monster

Namely my dad I look back It was gone Must have had too many beers But only looking at my father Made me feel slightly relieved That I wasn't going crazy You're late

He snarled I fell I think I hurt myself You could have called He said Pulling away after I got inside the truck Yeah, I'm sorry Not good enough

When we pulled into our driveway My mother was waiting She was nervous Like something was wrong Thank God you found him My mother smiled at me And then looked at my father's angry face Get to your room

Walked inside my house And went to my room I heard the doors latch from the other side There were three locks One at the top One in the middle one at the bottom, all made of steel. Now I could hear the market.

Look, I didn't give him his. All right, Joyce. Greg, he needs to drink it, or you may have to inject it, my mother was saying. I wondered what that even meant. Do it now, she was saying to my father. I heard the rustling of the locks, and as my father was doing so,

I felt a sharp pain in my side. I bent over as the pain seemed to worsen. The door was flung open, and the look on my father's face was one of pure fear. I need to inject you with something. What? I yelled. Dad, I think I need to go to the hospital. Oh, son, you just need to relax.

This will be all soon. I felt angry, and the desire to hurt him was strong. He came at me with a needle with shaking hands I pushed him away because I was now growing frightened of my father then I made the great mistake

of looking in the mirror that hung over my dresser my eyes had changed colour but were now a surreal colour of yellow and gold I felt my body come out of my skin I tried to protect you from this curse I don't understand

I held on to my throat throat with trembling hands for fear of myself, and my voice was now a deep ground. Look, son, when you were a baby, you were born different. You were just like your brothers before you, and you have that curse that skips every other generation. The doctor said, if we can put you to sleep, then you weren't turn into a monster. Come on, son, let me help you. And that was the last thing.

I remembered. I woke up naked, blood all around me, on a floating device in Troy's pool. Well, I had no recollection of how I'd got there. I only knew I'd turned into something gross and dangerous. I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my body, and looked around. I didn't see them, but I could see dead bodies next to the pool. I must have done this horrible thing. I wasted no time in racing home.

When I got home, there was a note from my father on the front door. Son, never come looking for us. You want to keep others safe? There's anesthesia locked in the top cupboard in the kitchen just above the stove. Measurements you need are listed on the side of the bottle. Damn, we tried so hard to keep you safe from ever knowing about this curse. If you ever need anything, you can call the doctor. There's a number on the bottle of medication.

He specializes in cryptid medicine. Love, dad and mom. Well, that night I locked myself in my house, inside my room, and held out the needle. I heard something strange from outside, though. It caused me to stop before he injected myself. When I looked outside my window, three creatures were looking up at me from outside I slowly put the needle down

unlocked the door to my house and joined them I leaned back on my chair and sighed even though I woke up an hour ago the mere thought of boredom that awaited me this night made me sleepy I had two jobs one in the end of the day

the other in the beginning of the night with a two-hour sleep break in between The night shift one, which had just started, consisted of me sitting in a small booth and guarding this huge warehouse. By guarding, I mean stopping stupid little kids from sneaking in. For such a huge place, the owner didn't store anything of value. I never complained. Serious criminals didn't waste their time here, making my job easy. My tiny booth was situated at the warehouse entrance.

Each night was the same. I kill time with music, phone games, singing to myself, playing with dominoes on my small desk, and finally, after an hour and a half, listening to my favourite radio show. I increased the volume on my phone, slid it on the desk, and threw my hands behind my head. The quick, catchy intro passed, and Mark, the show host, spoke out with his calm, soothing voice. The clock hit the one two zero, zero. It's midnight and we are live. Shout out to the night shift.

Everyone with insomnia, the night hours, and to all of you underage folk who should be in bed, even though you'll be getting up at 6 a.m. for school. You know how it is. I love stories, and each night we have a topic. Yesterday's sexual experiences, which put me in the hospital, attracted a lot of callers. Hopefully, tonight's topic will too.

We'll be telling each other scary stories Anything from the monster under your bed To the creep stalking you at work Hmm Look at that Seven callers already As we're doing horror tonight I'm picking you caller number six

Because six is my unlucky number A quick beep signalled someone was on the line Hey Mark Longtime listener, first time caller A man cheerfully yelled Much appreciation for the long-time fans, just tone it down a bit. Right, Mark, my bad. Your name and the story you'll be sharing.

Right, so I'm Roger. You can call me Roger because we're friends. Right, I work from home and going out is not something I like. All of my food is brought to my door and all my bills are paid online. But don't think of me as some fat lazy. bastard. Oh, never thought you were. Mark replied in a friendly tone.

Right, so one evening, get hungry and order pizza. Talk to some guy on the phone. Tells me you'll be delivered in five minutes. Ten minutes pass. I wait some more, and finally decide to call again. I'm more like, hey, order my pizza 15 minutes ago.

Right, and the guy says, you never called us. Then I'm like, yes I did here's what he tells me the guy who answers their phone had been in the toilet for over 20 minutes can you believe that

then the guy apologises and takes my order at the moment I put my phone down someone knocks and I'm like damn that's fast and this guy deserves a tip so I open the door and see the pizza box on the floor

but no delivery guy I'm thinking it's a free pizza to compensate for the long wait, and bring it to the table. The thing was stone cold. I yell and throw it to the ground. Someone knocks on the door again. I open it and see a pizza delivery guy with a second pizza, but this time warm, and he wanted money for it. So, a mysterious ghost delivery guy brought you pizza. Weren't you listening? The scary part was the cold. The cold. The cold. Pizza? Isn't the part where?

Mark paused. Oh yes. Cold pizza. Yeah, it really sucked. I... Mark cut the line mid-sentence. Oh, what a nightmare. Cold pizza.

Next caller. Let's see. Number... Number... Number 16. You're on the line. Yo, Mark, what's good? A low-pitched male voice greeted him.

I'm doing very well. Name and story. I'm Gerald. Security of the mob. This is a true story that happened to my sister's cousin. Me and the listeners are all ears. We'll name her cousin Ben. Not to give any personal info, you know.

Ben is this really big guy. plays football and wrestles as a hobby. He's playing football, last seconds of the game. It's up to him to win. This giant Hulk-like creature flies out from behind the bleachers, distracts him, makes him miss. Everyone beats his ass after the game. Nobody saw the Giant Hawk thing, and they don't believe him.

Maybe your sister's cousin lied, made it up to avoid admitting he was the reason they lost. You're like them. Just because it sounds crazy, doesn't mean it's impossible. A beep followed, signaling the caller had hung up. Well, that was enlightening. Next caller. Number one.

Muffled laughter became audible. Caller number one, you are on. Mark repeated. The laughing didn't stop. Caller number one, do you have a scary story for us? My grades. A group of kids on the other side burst into laughter. Mark cut the line.

Next caller. Time to pick. Number eight. Good evening, Mark. A young girl greeted him. And good evening back to you. Why are you up so late? You have school in the morning.

Sleep over. My first one. Oh, a big congratulations from me and everyone listening. My name is Nina, and I'm 13. First sleeper over at 13. My mom is stuck up. She finally let me use the internet for something aside schoolwork. Oh, you shouldn't talk about your mother that way.

She probably has her reasons. But back to the topic. Do you have a story for us? Oh, I sure do. This happened to me when, well, when I was young. My parents were out, and my babysitter, who used to be this super nice person, came over to make sure I didn't get in trouble. She was telling me stories when the lights went out.

There was this constant feeling of dread, so we went over to a neighbor. The lights eventually came back on, we played ball games and watched TV. Oh, how cute was the power outage what scared you? No, my babysitter. When the lights turned on, she was different. I could have sworn her eyes turned pitch black at moments, and her skin was ice cold. At the end of the night we went back to my place. She tucked me in, said she'd check on the neighbour.

There was this look in her eyes, like a cat watching a mouse. It scared me. When she left the room, I felt much safer, but I heard sounds from my neighbor. muffled yells. Nobody believed me. He lived alone, so it took more than a week for people to realize something was going on. They found him in pieces, stuffed in the refrigerator, chew marks all across his body, and pieces of him missing. Now they believe me, and they look for the babysitter, but she disappeared, nowhere to be found. Oh, sounds really scary, Mark said in a half-serious voice

Oh and Gerald I believe you about the giant hawk creature Thanks for calling Nina I think it's time for you to go to bed Next caller Number 20 Yo Mark It's Fred

Well hello Fred This is the Fifth time you're calling Oh dude That's so rare you remember Now what do you have laugh for us. Well, my job is to teach dudes and dudettes how to ride the wave. Surf's up, you know, well, I have a rule not to rock at night, but this dudette was offering serious mullah,

and she was seriously gorgeous. Now, before you continue, were you high? Dude, I'm a professional. You know, I don't get high when I rock. You said you were high in last night's story, but go on. Okay, this is what happens, my dude. Only light is coming from the full moon. The rich dudette is super confident. Complete, I don't give a shit, I might drown level of confident. We're in the water, when the waves start up.

One of the waves knocks her off and I, all Aquaman style, jump in after. The water is really dark, and I can hardly see. But I find her hand and eventually make my way down to her. Got my arm around the Dudet. Felt her hands touched mine, and I swam up. But she stops me. Dude, it's hard to be a rock underwater. Now, she's holding me, and she's pulling me even deeper.

I mean, I shits you not. Somehow I could see her entire body as if it emitted light. She was even more beautiful than before, and her legs morphed into a scaly fish tail. It felt magical. A lack of oxygen and drugs Also makes it feel magical This was different my dude

She kissed me Dude no trip No high no anything Compared to that Next level ecstasy Where it felt long It short at the same time Hard to explain

I woke up on the beach in the morning She put me under an umbrella And left me a green apple And a bottle of water And Where was the home? horror in your story? Where was the horror?

Dude, the horror is, I can't find her. I searched high and low. It was like, here's what heaven's like. Now, screw you. Oh, and I didn't get paid. But you can brag a mermaid kissed you. You've got that. Yeah, I guess, dude.

Gonna get high and listen to the rest of your show now. I know you will. Mark let out a friendly chuckle. Next call. number three. Do you think you can top a mermaid encounter? Oh, I sure can, dear. The female voice answered. Sophia, college student and adrenaline junkie. Oh, are those two the same? Mark joked.

They sure are. This is an experience I had with my ex. I'll call him jerk. I'm really into urban exploring. I finally got his bitch ass to come with me. We had a car parked in front of this abandoned asylum, which I won't name. It's night time. The full moon is up, the mood is on, and we enter. I walked like a boss, well, jerk shivered behind me. Taking pictures here and there, I explored the rooms, decided to check the basement. Here's the thing.

A lot of urban explorers come to this place. There are videos, forum discussions, maps. I know the stairs go down to the basement. But now I see an open hatch at the bottom. It appeared to have been hidden by some rubble, which was moved aside. Jerg is too scared, waits in the basement while I climbed down. The place looks entirely different. It was a well-kept, clean corridor with a few steel doors, one of which I opened.

Light came out, and I heard voices. This crazy scientist-looking mother, with blood-covered clothes, covered clothes strode out and entered the neighbouring door. In fact, my lucky stars, he didn't look in my direction. I finally sneaked in the room he'd exited and see this poor skinny guy strapped on a steel table. Bloody tools to his side, some medical tubes sticking in his arm,

creepy altogether. I hate suffering, so I instinctively help. Get him off the table and rip the thing out of his arm. He's mumbling something I can. couldn't understand back then. Later, I learned that he was urging me to leave. I was helping him hobble towards the hatch when I heard the crazy scientist ordering me to stop. I froze and looked back, only to see him pointing a gun of me. He looked pissed, really pissed. He glanced at his watch, locked eyes of me, and to my surprise, told me he was sorry. The wacko walked in the room.

shut the big steel door and locked it from the inside. So I continue helping the skinny guy. He doesn't weigh a lot, so I throw him over my shoulder and climb up. Jerk is all freaked out. I quickly explain and tell him to help. One of us on each side, we carry him out to the car. He was finally able to stand up on his own. That's when shit hit the fan.

He pushed me and jerk back and ordered us to run. Jerk began asking questions. But the skinny guy widened his eyes. I'll never forget that look of pure, fear and terror. His eyelids looked like they were trying to close, but couldn't. His whole body looked like he wanted to run, but just shook. The guy did this weird, rapid twitching motion with his lips and fingers. He let out a shout.

I can't call it a shout. A shriek, a yell. I don't know. It sounded like he begged a horrible pain to stop. It was so. loud. His fingers stretched and bony yellow nails ripped through their tips. All of his limbs elongated and his skin began to tear, revealing patches of fur. Now, me and Jirk finally stopped watching the horror show and ran to the car, but the keys weren't in my pocket. They must have fallen

somewhere on the way while we were hobbling with the man. Jirk and I ran inside, searching for them. I could hear the shout through the asylum war. A second scream emerged from deep inside, slowly growing and deafening the human one. We finally found the key when a monstrous roar sounded, and everything went quiet. That silence was much more frightening than the loud shrieks. Slowly and carefully, we tried to walk out. Halfway through, something crunched and both of us hid. I crawled under the reception desk while just.

jerk hid behind a ripped out of its hinges door, leaning against the wall. I heard pause, similar to those of dogs. The creature moved closer. The thud came from above, and I felt its weight on the desk. A disgusting clawed hand gripped the desk, and I could hear its panting. An uncanny snout stuck under the desk and sniffed, slowly lowering and revealing more of the creature's head. Just before it took a peek,

Jerk made a run for it. I heard his loud, clumsy ass. The thing on the desk instantly leaped, and everything went quiet. I was expecting gruesome sounds of flesh being torn into, but nothing. The solid hour passed, and I finally got out from under the desk. Everything was clear. No traces of blood, nothing. I walked out, got in my car and drove off. The cops found the house. The house hatch the other day, but said it was all burned and in rubble. Jerk, the guy who tried to leave so he could save himself, was never hurt off again. The other creepy part is that when I described the skinny man to this one officer who drew faces, they found a suspect and later confirmed it was him.

Two years ago, the man looked a lot healthier and worked as a well-paid chef. Then he supposedly died in a car accident. A werewolf almost killed you, and your boyfriend left you to be eaten. What a night. Totally. But in a way, I needed it. Showed me that jerk in his true colors. Oh, I'm sure you'll find someone who truly loves you if you haven't already.

I'm talking to him right now, dear. The beep followed. Next and final cooler Who'll be the lucky cherry on the top to end this spooky night? Hmm, number 30 Hey Mark, awesome to be talking with you This will be the best story of the night A young boy shouted

Is that so? We had a ghost pizza delivery guy A giant hog-like creature A man-eating babysitter A glowing mermaid and an ex-chef warwolf name and story. Oh, I'm Thomas, and my buddy Billy is here. This story is going on live as we speak.

Interesting. Well, we're all on the edge of our seats. The floor is yours. Me and my bud heard rumors. Our secret technology was being held in this old warehouse. So we sneaked in just a few minutes ago. Now we're looking through the crates, but so far just random shit. his voice became distant

What is it, Billy? He talked normally again. My bud heard something. We're going behind a few crates. Run! His heavy breathing and running sounded for a few seconds before going silence. I'm hiding in one of the crates.

This monster attacked us. It got Billy. Teeth spread ear to ear. Scars and stitches all over. the body. Its long tongue hovered out from its mouth. No! Mark ended the call. Hmm, quite a boring one to close the night with. Jump scares don't make a good story. Well, this is all from me for the next hour. Now it's time to enjoy some music. Earbuds in my ears, I whistled. I carried the crate where I'd put this two stupid little

kits into my booth. Lucky me, I'll have more ways to kill time this night. I like my meat raw. I whispered and slid my long, sharp nail across the top of the crate. College is a time of great paradox. You spend a good portion of your day in class and if you want to pass your classes, you need to spend a good portion of your night studying. Oh, and if you need money.

You'll also need to find a job and heaven forbid that girl you took home from the party now thinks you two are a couple. It was constant juggling at trying to balance school, study, work, girls and sleep because dividing too much time for one took away from the other. My parents weren't rich, so I didn't want to ask them for money and I wasn't ready yet to join the military and let Uncle Sam pay for my college tuition. So I had to get a job. I thought I'd found the perfect one, one which paid me fairly decently while allowing me to study and do homework at the same time. Yep, I became a security card. It wasn't a bad gig because the site which I was assigned to was an office building which was located across the street to an FBI branch office in a low crime area of the city. I got there at four in the evening and escorted office workers to their cars until the building closed at five.

After five, I do a few security patrols around the building, letting the cleaning crew in at eight in the evening, and letting them out again at midnight when my shift ended. In between that time, I was free to study and do homework from my desk inside the security office. I was basically on my own, and for six months at that site, I only saw my security supervisor four times. Like I said, it was a sweet gig. Then, one Friday before my shift was to start, I got a call from the security supervisor asking me if I wouldn't mind working the graveyard shift for a few weeks, out at a site located in what was known as the Great Dismal Swamp. The hours were from 11 at night to 6 in the morning, and because the site was so remote, the job would pay an additional $3 an hour. Well, I quickly agreed because I could have used the extra cash. Since I got off at six in the morning and my first class studied at nine, I had plenty of time to get ready for school.

I met my security supervisor at the main office at 11 that night and once again I wasn't impressed by him, which is why I was happy that I rarely saw him. He was middle-aged with a beer-gut and absolutely no muscle mass on him whatsoever. His hair was, in my opinion, too long and scraggly to inspire confidence in someone who was supposed to. to be a security guard, and he had a bushy porn-style moustache. His hairy arms hit really tacky-looking tattoos, which he said he got while he was in the Navy. They looked like tattoos you'd get while serving time in prison. In fact, if it wasn't for the security badge and uniform that he wore, which was disheveled and unironed, his picture looked like it should have adorned the

walls of the post office. He told me to follow him, and he got into his old brown, primer-gray Dodge, Al Bundy looking mobile that had magnetic signs on the rust-colored doors that read A-1 security services. I got into my brand-new Chevy Camaro, which I paid for during my senior year in high school for money I'd saved working part-time jobs since I was 15, and followed him as he screeched out of the parking lot and onto the highway. It was a Friday night, and this being a huge military town, it was military payday. The highway was packed, but traffic was moving quickly as we took the

exit towards the city of Chesapeake, which was built on the great dismal swamp. We were on the road for a good 45 minutes, going deeper and deeper into farm country and passing several rivers and streams. The traffic had all but vanished long ago, and the streetlights were few and far between, and still we hadn't reached the sight. I was seriously thinking that this guy was bringing me out here to kill me and dump my body into the swamp. The suspicion that got stronger when he turned off the main two-lane road, and onto a gravel road which wound between viney trees and weeping willows. The narrow road ended at a dilapidated parking lot,

at the end of which stood what looked to be an abandoned two-story building. Behind the run-down-looking building was a canal which connected to the Elizabeth River. One tilted light pole, holding two light bulbs which flickered on and off, illuminated the parking lot. And aside from the old building with vines crawling up its sides, there was nothing else in the area except dark foreboding trees swamp and probably the ghosts

of past security guards which this guy took out here to kill to my surprise however the creepy old abandoned building was well lit from the inside come on kid said my security supervisor let's get you inside

it's not good to stay out here for long huh I said nothing he answered As we continued walking, I saw several other run-down structures next to the building, though these were not illuminated and hung in the shadows. As we got closer to the building, I saw that it had been vandalised, with several windows broken out, and there were spray-painted graffiti on the walls. There was also a slightly foul smell in the air,

like wet rotting vegetation mixed with sweaty gym socks that had been left inside your gym bag in the trunk of your car for a week. week. This used to be an old paper mill a few years back, said my security manager as he opened the door into the brightly lit main lobby. The door hadn't been locked. The mill went out of business and just sat here until it was bought by a Dutch company that wants to start it back up sometime next year. Until then, they want us to keep watch over the facility to, well, discourage vandals and such. We walked down the main corridor which was littered with broken glass, leaves and more graffiti. past a broken set of double doors and towards a room at the end of the hallway. Doesn't look like there's been vandals here for a while, I observed as our footsteps echoed across the tomb-like building. Eh, probably not, said my supervisor. We got to the room at the end of the corridor, which ended up looking like an old boiler room with rusty pipes and gauges and whatnot. A large table stretched across the wall where windows looked out across the canal outside.

three old black padded chairs wrote the table well here we are said my supervisor be careful when you do your roving patrols as there may be some raccoons or other animals which have made this building their home and watch out when you walk around outside

for snakes and whatnot hey did you bring a flashlight nope I said I wasn't told I'd need one okay he said well let me get out of here if you run into trouble just call 911, they can call the night shift supervisor.

Give the lights on. I'll see you in the morning. Wait, I said. This seems like a pretty nice sight. Peaceful. Nobody to bug you and you get paid extra. What's the catch? My supervisor looked annoyed. No catch, he said leaving. Just can't get anyone to stay on this side.

Roy, the new guy, quit this morning after his shift ended. "'hmm, really?' I said. But before I could say anything else, my supervisor said, "'Oh, one more thing. Ned's running late, but he'll be with you here later. And remember, keep the lights on.' And he walked out before I could say anything else, and I can't say I was sorry to see him go.

I looked around the boiler room and saw that there was a coffee pot and an old dirty microwave at the end of the table that I guess the previous security guards had been using, as well as an old touch-tone phone that I assume I would use to call the police if Jason Voorhees decided to rise out of the swamp and hack me to death. I figured I wait for a little bit and get settled in before going back out to my Camero to get my schoolwork. If I finish my assignment tonight, I'd be free for the rest of the weekend to use my Camaro for what it was intended for to be a chick magnet.

I sat on one of the rusty old black padded chairs and he fell over backwards as the back support was broken and gave out. The creaking noise seemed to echo down the hallway. I rolled it aside and tested another chair and finding that this one was fairly stable. I sat down and scanned the table some more. I found the security duty log from the night before that was on a clipboard.

The report from the new guy, Roy, was still on it, which meant that he never returned to the main office to turn it in. Apparently he'd just hauled us out of here this morning. Roy's printing was neat and tidy, all in block letters and easy to read. I wondered why he would just leave the log here, when he knew he should have turned it in. Well, that's how a guard gets paid. With nothing else to do, I then read the log entries. Midnight, arrived on site.

Security supervisor instructs me to ensure that the lights remain on in the building. Advised to call 911 if there's trouble. Half-past midnight. conduct security patrol around inside of building, several lights flickering on and off in upstairs corridors. 1am, lights in parking lot flickering off and on, thought I saw movement outside, went to investigate but found nothing. 2.15, lights in the security room have gone out, lights in main hallway downstairs flickering off and on, going to look for breaker box. 2.30. Cannot find break a box, but I thought I saw someone outside looking through a window in the security room, going to investigate.

250, there is definitely someone outside. Called to the person, but when I got around to where he was standing, he was gone. The last entry was some time after that. I'm not sure what time it was exactly because Roy didn't write it down. However, Roy's handwriting was no longer neat in uniform, but shaky, almost as if he was panicked. It simply said, all lights completely out. That's not a person looking into the window. I'm out of here.

I tossed the clipboard back onto the table. So what? I said to myself, did a badger scare you away? The lights in the room flickered for a second, but came back on. I thought I saw something at the window out of the corner of my eye, but dismissed it as a trick of the flickering lights. I leaned back in my chair, wondering when the other guard was supposed to get here. Because I usually worked by myself, I didn't know too many other guards. I'd heard the name Ned before, but usually as old bloody Ned.

I wondered if that was the same guy. I decided that it was a good time to do a security patrol around the building to get a feel for the place. I used the term security patrol loosely as it sounded more professional than having fun exploring a creepy old abandoned paper mill. As it turned out, as far as abandoned office buildings go, it was pretty unremarkable. Downstairs had a cafeteria and break room with long aluminum tables and empty snack and soda machines. There was a front office and a conference room with empty desks and filing cabinets filled with old invoices. shipping and receiving documents and pay stocks.

By the way, if you used to work for an old paper mill in Chesapeake that went out of business, you might want to know that they have old pay documents that have your bank account information still on it inside old filing cabinets. The upstairs had two halls lined with offices and a storeroom which had cleaning supplies and a set of metal stairs, which led to the roof and the air conditioners. Dust and cobwebs covered the corners and walls, as well as shattered glass that hadn't been disturbed for ages. And aside from the lights flickering on and off occasionally, there really wasn't anything particularly spooky about the place.

I then decided to go back out to my car to grab my school backpack, and the dinner that I'd packed, two double-decker smoked ham and bologna sandwiches with Swiss cheese and just the right amount of spicy mustard and mayonnaise with a tall can of Pringles chips and a couple of ice-cold red bulls. This was going to be yummy. as I'd only eaten lunch about 12 hours earlier, and I was famished. I returned to the boiler room, tossed my backpack to the side,

and laid out my dinner, anxious to sink my teeth into those delicious sandwiches. I first rode a quick entry into the security log. 1.30, completed security patrol around building. Lights flickering occasionally, but otherwise all secure. Just as I turned to grab a sandwich, all of the lights in the building went out. I sat there in pitch blackness for about two seconds, annoyed that I'd have to look for the breaker box when the lights flickering and came on dimly. The lights were flickering when I heard a shuffling noise coming from the main hallway. Slowly I got up, easing the seat back quietly in order to hear better.

Yes, there definitely was something shambling down the hallway towards me. By this time the lights had come completely on again as I approached the door to the boiler room and opened it. I was immediately confronted by a terrifying apparition. He was tall and skinny with a pot belly, pale, white and old with long wisps of white hair dangling down from his wrinkle, liver-spotted, bald head. His nose and ears were large and broken teeth lined his open man. The apparition stared at me through crazy-looking eyes. Oh, you must be Ned, I said, reading the name on his dirty uniform. His uniform looked worse than my supervisors, and Ned smelled of cigarettes and alcohol.

Ah, that's me, boy, said Ned, pushing past me and walking towards the table. Oh, bloody Ned, they call me. Sorry, I'm late. My son had to go pick me up after the bar close, so I can't. could get here. Ned slumped down on the seat I was sitting in. He'd obviously worked this sight before. Yeah, semi here to keep your company, boy. It appears all you young folks are too afraid to be out here in the swamps by yourselves. Hmm, sandwiches. Ned picked up one of my delicious double-decker smoked ham and bologna sandwiches with Swiss cheese and just the right

amount of spicy mustard and mayonnaise and began chomping down on it. Hey, that's my... Do you know why this place chases off so many people? Said Ned, ignoring me. Because of you? I said, slumping down on the broken chair. Don't mess with me, boy, said Ned. Chunks of bread flying out of his mouth as he spoke. Yeah, I swear kids today have no class.

No, boy. Take a look out of the window. across the canal. You see all them trees out there? No, I said. I see the reflection of some old guy eating my dinner in the window and a whole lot of black night. Ah, damn it, boy, said Ned. Well, if you could see out there, that behind them trees is an Indian graveyard. About before the white man came, this land used to belong to the Chesapeake Indians. That's me, boy. I'm part Chesapeake Indian. Okay, I said, assuming that you are telling the truth,

the canal's pretty wide and the trees are far back across the bank. That had put the graveyard pretty far from here. Ah, they moved the markers, but they left the bodies here, boy, said Net. Here, right where they built this paper mill. They say it went bankrupt because they angered the spirits of my ancestors. I rolled my eyes at this drunken old creep. Like in that movie? What movie? said Ned.

Now opening my can of Pringles. That movie where they moved their headstones but left the bodies and that little girl got sucked into the television. Then a stuffed clown tried to drag the little boy under the bed. Ned looked at me questioningly. You on drugs, boy? Exasperated. I grabbed my other sandwich on my red bulls and rolled the chair to the far end of the

table where I'd throw in my backpack. At least I could get some school work done. I took out one of my extremely overpriced textbooks and turned my back to Ned, I tried to get into the zone to do my homework. You afraid of blood, boy? asked Ned, because I can't stand boys who are afraid of blood. I always say that you don't deserve to call yourself a man if you're afraid of blood. Hell, you may not deserve to live if you're afraid of blood. I slowly turned, now determined to keep an eye on this insane old man. No, don't spend too much time obsessing about blood, Ned, I said. That's the problem with you young kids these days, all weak and pathetic.

I was in Nam, boy. We rode around in blood and guts every day. Blood boy, buckets and buckets of blood. My father did two tours of Judy in Vietnam. I answered. He was with the Marines, and he never talked about rolling around in buckets of blood. Yeah, said Ned, waving his hands dismissively. Blood isn't death. Blood's life. I hunt, you know, mostly deer, and every time I hunt, I take the blood of my kills and I put it in a metal tub. Then I get all naked and climb into the tub. I absorb the life of my kills in that tub,

and I take the spirit of the deer by drinking its blood. Well, I'm not hungry ever again, I said, pushing my sandwich towards bloody Ned. When my kid got old enough, I taught him how to hunt too, continued Ned. When we got his first deer kill, we drained the blood into a bucket. I made my son pour the blood over his head. Blood, baby, blood. With all of Ned's talk of blood and guts, I could feel like that. myself getting nauseous.

You're looking kind of white there, boy, said Ned. You ain't afraid of a little blood, are you, boy? No, I said, getting up on wobbly feet. I'm going to go do a security patrol and get some fresh air. Oh, don't let them go sketchy, boy, cackled Ned as I left the room. Sweating, with spots appearing in my eyesight. I staggered down the hallway and stepped outside feeling instantly better. Where in the world did they dig up that vampire?

I walked to the parking lot under the flickering light pole and took deep breaths until the horrific images that Ned implanted in my head had faded away. It was deathly still, with the calming sounds of water rippling down the canal mingle with the songs of frogs and crickets. Suddenly, the streetlight went out and all sounds seemed to cease. Even the lights coming from the building seemed to flicker and dim. Without a flashlight, there was no point to be outside any longer. Reluctantly, I began walking back towards the building, back to where Ned was.

I decided that if he was still crazy when I got there, I'd moved to the cafeteria area and spend the rest of the shift there. As I walked towards the building across that parking lot, I couldn't help but feel like it was being watched. That made me not like Ned all the more, with his stories of Indian ghosts and burial grounds. The lights were still flickering as I walked down the main corridor to the boiler room. The flickering lights would make it hard to do homework, but fortunately, they usually didn't flicker for very long. By the time I reached the boiler room, the lights were back on.

Ned was still in his seat, facing outside towards the window. I'm back, Ned, I said. but he didn't move. He didn't say anything. I slowly walked up behind him. Ned? I stood in front of him looking down. Ned was slumped down in the chair, eyes closed and completely still. Ned, I said again, looking to see if his chest was rising and falling. It wasn't. Ned! I leaned forward, attempting to put my hand on his chest to feel for a heartbeat. blood ned cackled as he smacked his lips dreaming he turned over in his seat getting comfortable in his drunken stupor blood he said again as he began snoring oh damn it ned I said

then the lights went out completely I stood in darkness for a second noticing that the temperature had dropped the hair on the back of my neck red as I slowly turned around, having that eerie feeling again that I was being watched. Outside the window, hands pressed against the glass, was what appeared to be a very, very white little boy, staring at me. Though he was pure ghostly white, he had the round face, round nose and round facial features of a Latino or Native American. Short hair looking like it was cut in a bowl-cut fashion framing two abnormally large eyes colored pitch black and his mouth was wide open as if in a silent scream as i stood there too shocked and terrified to move the most ridiculous thought came into my mind

god you aren't nearly as creepy as bloody old net though i couldn't see his eyes i knew that the little boy was staring right through me slowly he began to fade as if being called back or swallowed by the darkness until he disappeared. Soon even his little handprints on the window were gone. When the boy faded away, the lights immediately came back on. Strangely, even though I was terrified, I didn't sense anything malicious coming from the apparition. I took my backpack to the abandoned cafeteria in order to do my schoolwork, thinking that if

the little boy Pocahontas had a problem with us. He'd come back and get old bloody ned. In fact, please get old bloody Ned. I was working on my assignment for so long that I didn't realize it was almost time for shift change. To my surprise, my security supervisor came into the building at around 15 minutes before shift change. Old Bloody Ned was asleep the whole time until the shift change. Then he finally woke up. My security supervisor shambled. down the corridor, smelling of alcohol. His eyes bloodshot, and he was obviously hung over. Old Bloody Ned awoke and stumbled to the supervisor. Hey, son, old Bloody Ned said.

Son, I thought. Hey, pa, said my supervisor. Yeah, I bought the car for you, Dad. Oh, I thought. That figures. Old Bloody Ned is my insane supervisor's father. Hey, how'd your shift go? Asked the supervisor. Ned pointed at me. Oh, this little boy spent the night shaking in his pants, son. Hell, I couldn't keep him awake through his shift. He's a freaking coward, son.

My supervisor looked at me with disdain. Boy, you are a pathetic sack of lazy crap, ain't you? Not really, I said. Oh, bloody Ned got into the old, rusty dodge and drudge and drove away, saying, I'll be back to pick you up at one o'clock, son. His sister would be on stage, a gallery of boobs at one o'clock, and we need to give her as much support as we can when she climbs on that pole. As old bloody Ned drove away, I turned to my supervisor.

Hey, man, I said. I have a suggestion. My supervisor rolled his eyes. What do you want, you cowardly little college boy? I let his remarks slide off me as I said. Look, this is a pretty easy sight. During the graveyard shift, there doesn't need to be two people here. When I come back tonight, old Bloody Ned does not need to be here. I live in a small city in England and currently in my final year of university.

I am not your average student. I don't socialize and I don't have any real friends. I prefer the company of my own thoughts. In my spare time, I like to hike through forests, watch movies, watch movies, or, if it's warm enough, read books in the sunshine. For the first year of university, I also cycled a lot. That was my main hobby back then. I lived exploring the countryside that surrounds my city,

gave me a sense of freedom and calmed down my raging anxiety. Made me feel at peace with the world. All good things eventually come to an end, and so did this. After a while I realized that I'd explored all there wants to explore, and my cycling tricks began to feel tedious and pointless. I decided to try something different. Night cycling. I know a lot of people would frown at the idea of cycling

through deserted country roads at midnight by yourself. And my family definitely didn't approve when I told them about it sometime later. But I wasn't worried. I spent enough time outside to know the world isn't as dangerous as the news would have you believe. Serial killers don't wait around every corner waiting to murder random people.

And I didn't believe in the supernatural. I wanted to believe, and that was one of the reasons I decided to try night cycling in the first place. Maybe, just maybe, I'd see something out of the ordinary. Something that would make me believe that there's more to this mundane world meets the eye, and that there are hidden things lurking just out of sight. Although I might sound like it, I definitely wasn't brave. Every time I left the safety of the lit city streets and entered the odd. ominous darkness that hung thickly over the countryside.

I felt my heart throbbing in my throat and all my hair standing on end. It was a whole other world, shadows playing tricks on my eyes, snapping twigs and rustling leaves, signaling the presence of creatures unseen. My imagination ran wild whenever I looked into the darkness that surrounded the small bubble of ghostly light in front of me. One month passed, then two, then three, and nothing happened. As I was planning another midnight excursion, it occurred to me that this too had begun to feel tedious.

The tension that accompanied my night rides was tiring and once again it all felt repetitive, pointless. I decided that I'd take a rest from cycling for a while, starting the next day. After all, I already planned my ride for the day in detail and it would pass through segments I'd never been through before. As always, I went through the entire road. out using Google Streetview. I'd started doing that some time ago after I encountered some unwelcome surprises on my rides. It also let me familiarize myself with the route, which decreased my chances of getting lost and having to pull up Google Maps in the middle of nowhere. I didn't like

stopping on my night rides. I felt vulnerable and the lack of wind rushing past me created an eerie, uncomfortable silence. I saw that there was nothing wrong with the route, but one segment did bother me. I had to pass through a small pedestrian pathway that connected two parallel roads. I zoomed in as much as I could from both ends, but the image street view gave me wasn't of much help. All I saw was a blurry pathway passing through dense trees. I wasn't happy about it. You see, I once accidentally took a wrong turn and had to cycle through a forest. It was so dark and I was so creeped out that in that forest I took another wrong turn and ended up lost in the woods in the dead of night.

I found my way out in what was probably about ten minutes. After all, I knew these woods pretty well, but after such an intense shock, I'm sure you can understand why I wasn't particularly keen on that little segment of my road. But the segment was very short and straight, so I figured I could survive one minute of cycling through dense trees. I felt silly as I got onto my bike that night. Having already decided to quit, I didn't have the resolve I had on all my previous. excursions self-doubt started creeping in why was I doing this wouldn't it be better to quit today and spend the evening watching TV in a warm cozy bed I sighed and nonetheless peddled off the ride went smoothly as it usually did and then I arrived at

that small pathway that I had dreaded according to my phone at least I couldn't see it I went back and forth along the stretch of the road I was on, shining my flashlight until I spotted a narrow gap in the bushes in an old, worn-down, rotten sign that said this was indeed a footpath. It was quite a way off to the left of where it was supposed to be, according to Google Maps. I shrugged it off anyway, and decided that my GPS was having a fit, as it often did. Even though the road I was on happened to be lit by old street lamps that cast a dim, grossly orange light around them, I couldn't see the tiniest bit of what was beyond the bushes. I sucked in a breath and stepped into the darkness. As soon as I did so, it occurred to me that the path was extremely uneven.

Pits, large rocks and gnarly tree roots covered it, so I ended up having to carry my bicycle. Luckily it was a road bike, so it was quite light. It didn't occur to me at the time that when I'd looked at what was visible of the path on street view. it appeared smooth. After a few minutes of walking I could no longer see the orange light of the street lamps. All around me were trees, and I felt like I was walking through a forest. I tried to think happy thoughts to keep myself from panicking. I knew I wasn't in any real danger, but still, I didn't like the idea of walking through a pitch black forest,

as I'd already said being on foot made me feel vulnerable, and the path went on and on and on. Unable to take it anymore, I whipped out my phone, bringing out the map. I was almost there, a few more steps than I'd be out on the road. I sped up, just as my GPS showed that I'd reached the end of the footpath. Dense, twisted trees and bushes blocked my way out. I looked at the map again. The path was completely straight.

Why were there trees in my way? Why couldn't I see the road? My heartbeat quickened as I frantically began stumbling, this way and that, shining the flashlight all over the place in hopes of finding a way through this dense vegetation. The road, I thought, it's just on the other side. It must be. There has to be a way through. My arms began to ache from maneuvering the bike.

The flashlight, you see, was attached to the handlebars. I crunch loudly through twigs, panic beginning to take control of my body, and then I froze. I shivered feeling a sudden chill. I could feel all the hair in my body standing on end as my skin tingled with the goosebumps. I felt like I was being watched. The darkness surrounding me felt intrusive, unfriendly. I don't know how else to describe it. It felt like the darkness itself was circled.

circling around me like a lion circles around its prey. My flashlight began to flicker. I smacked it viciously. Stay on, stay on, please, God, stay on. The light died. I stood paralyzed. My breathing rapid as darkness enveloped me on all sides. And then, what felt like two ice-cold razor-sharp claws

pinched the skin on my neck. I would have screamed but my throat was too tight to allow any sound to escape. I turned around, dropping the bike and swatting empty air with both hands. Nothing. Then I felt the same sensation on my right arm. I swatted again and took a few steps backwards, bumping into something wet and furry. It rushed off immediately, leaving behind it only the stench of rotten meat. Then I felt the skin on my neck.

My right arm and my left thigh had been pinched all at once. This time, however, the claws went deep into my flesh. I wouldn't let go no matter what I did. When I swatted at them, there was nothing, no claws, no hand, but I could feel them there. They were boring deep into my body, and I could feel hot blood pouring out of the wounds. My eyes began to tear up from excruciating pain as I felt more, Pinchies on my shoulder, my back, my stomach, they were all over me.

I clasped to my knees, sobbing hysterically, feeling nauseous. Just then I saw a light. I heard the soft whirring of an engine in the distance. The pain ceased at once, and the sensation of being brutally pinched everywhere at once by ice-cold razor-sharp claws just disappeared. My flashlight turned back on, still flat. flickering. It was a car passing through. Its headlights flickered as it passed me just on the other side of the shrubbery, but their bright golden light was enough for me to spot a break in the bushes.

Without wasting a second, I grabbed my bike and race through it, rushing out onto the road just as the car disappeared around the corner. I've never in my life been so happy to see a road. Immediately, my flashlight went dark again. when I got onto my bike quicker than ever before and pedaled furiously just as I felt something ice-cold touched the back of my neck. After about a minute of peddling blindly along the road, my flashlight turned back on. No flickering this time. As soon as I returned to my dorm, I locked myself in my room and then rushed over to the mirror. My clothes were soaked with blood.

But when I lifted them, there were no wounds. There are only a few small scrapes and bruises. And I felt extremely nauseous. I didn't sleep that night. I just sat in bed, staring at the wall and trying to piece together what had happened, all the time expecting to feel the touch of ice, cold claws on my bare skin. I spent weeks looking through various websites about cryptids and paranormal reports from around my area, but I couldn't find anything remotely similar to what I had experienced.

If anyone listening to this has any idea what it was, then please tell me I'll be eternally grateful. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep ever since that incident. I keep having these vivid, almost lucid nightmares. Needless to say, I no longer go cycling at night. I try not to go out after dark at all, unless it's absolutely necessary. On the rare occasion that I find myself alone on a dark, quiet, footpath at night with trees nearby. I swear I can feel a chilly breeze coming out of nowhere, carrying with it the faint stench of rotten meat. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's

podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps. the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.