Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep331: Episode 331: Paranormal Entities

Episode Date: April 14, 2026

Our opening case of the supernatural is ‘File 184’, a wonderful tale By Ringo Cross, kindly shared with me via DrCreepen’s Vault and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission:user/RingoCross99/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/14oy9mg/file_184_john_henry_section_1/Our second tale is ‘Ghost in the Keys’ by M. D. Norton, read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Ghost_in_the_KeysOur next case is 'I Know My House is Haunted' by Boe Whiskey, kindly shared with me via my subreddit for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: user/boewhiskey/ We continue today's vid with the case ‘I'm a Night Janitor for a Haunted Elementary School’, an original story by f4c3m3l73r, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. user/f4c3m3l73r Next up I offer you the case ‘My Friend’s Dead Dad Haunts me’, which is another original work, this time by Mordley, again kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. user/mordley Today’s fifth terrifying tale of horror is the case ‘The 5th Rule of Babysitting’, a fabulous original work by Santiagodelmar, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. user/Santiagodelmar/ Our penultimate case of the paranormal this evening is ‘The Haunting of Apartment 106’ by Narrow Muscle 9572, again kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. user/Narrow_Muscle9572/ r/DrCreepensVault/comments/ybpgxj/the_haunting_of_apartment_106/ We round off our investigations into the paranormal with the case ‘The Traveling Cemetery is in Town’, a wonderful, original work by Scare-in-a-Box, kindly shared directly with me via my subreddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: user/Scare-in-a-Box/

Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Normal entities captivate our imagination because they embody the unknown and challenge our understanding of reality. They tap into deep-seated fears of what might exist beyond the physical world, blending mystery, fear and curiosity into an irresistible mix. Stories of ghosts, demons and otherworldly beings invite us to question the boundaries between life and death, science and superstition and logic and belief. They provide a thrilling escape, allowing us to explore the supernatural while safely nestled in the comfort of the familiar, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution.

Tonight's tales may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. File 184. John Henry By Ringo Croft. Chapter 1 The Joker and the Fool

Greetings I'm a special agent Michelle Harris and I work for a relatively unknown agency called the Department of Paranormal Investigation or DPI for short I explained the operatives regarding my agency and my investigative report

labelled file number 177 the story of MS Summets Also a short summary of my background, education and overall experience can be found there This is another one of those reports I felt compelled to complete for various reasons. All too often cases like this get buried in the archives

and are forever lost to the hands of time and indifference. I have to bring at least a modicum of peace and justice to their memory. Solace and clarity, the only two things that seem to ease the weight that burdens my conscience. In my earlier file, I delved into the inner workings of my department when it comes to handling cases. I fear my prior more informal explanation may have failed to shed sufficient light. I feel it's important to illuminate the reasons why I do these reports outside of their obvious cathartic nature. So please, bear with me.

The terminology may be a bit disorienting, but I'll do my utmost to keep my explanation turts. First, I'm assigned to the case by my immediate supervisor, who's called a field coordinator. Then my partner and I take some time to look over the files and determine a course of action. We're assigned to a case for one of three reasons. Number one, a part of a project or experiment. Number two, a resource specialist flagged a civilian occurrence as a PEP. And lastly, the case was directly assigned to us by the obtruths board of trustees. As a DPI agent, it's my primary duty to identify if the case under investigation is paranormal in nature.

If it is, then it must be assigned a PLI, which is short for proper level of inquest. There are two major codes, VPE and EOE. PLI is accomplished by either completing a final report and attaching a file number if it is a VPE or an all-important dossier number if it's an EOE. These reports are completed by us if they're the latter and a source agent if they're the former. If a case is considered a high enough threat to national security

is forwarded over to the Board of Trustees for further examination. The trustees will take a vote and if it passes, the files are handed over directly to the White House. This is when our observational report is possibly turned into a military operation by OSS. The EEO tag is needed for any report to be taken seriously by the higher ups. It's so crucial that getting it wrong could lead to a permanent strike on an agent's disciplinary record. If a case is indeed considered EOE, it's our job to understand the phenomenon behind the occurrence. or disturbance. I don't want to overload my report with DPI jargon, so I'll end here. Another case in question, CR file number 184. Please bear with me for another moment.

I know I just promise not to cram my examination full of technical bits, but I need to explain why I do these reports specifically. VPE cases like number 184 are not considered a priority. They are unofficial reports in essence, meaning they're paranoia. normal in nature, but not EOEs. Cases of this lesser magnitude are the most common according to the SOP. Usually we hand over our initial reports, called a CIR or criminal investigation report, to a source agent and they convert our CIRR into a criminal report file, or CRF, for short. These final reports are given a three-digit file number and stored under the non-essential category in our complete archival report folder, or CAR for short.

I must emphasize how rare it is for a special agent to complete their own final report. For this reason, I'm secretly ridiculed by my superiors for being far too endearing. It doesn't bother me. I made a promise to myself that I would never forget the human aspect of every case, no matter how dark. In many ways, it's the only thing that brings me back whenever I feel astray. I've seen a lot in my short tenure at the department. Most of the things can be easily explained, rationalised, or complex. compartmentalized away. There are a few cases that have been difficult for me to slip neatly into a

folder and lock away inside of my mental file cabinet. What's odd is that it's always the non-essential cases I lose the most sleepover. It's not like these cases stand out for their brutality or injustice, especially compared to their EOE counterpart. You'd think with a bachelor's in psychology, I could unpack my own emotions. Perhaps one day I'll sit down on my own proverbial couch and spend the evening, psychoanalyzing myself instead of all these supernatural beings, though I doubt this wonderful idea will ever come to fruition. Considering I barely have enough time to do anything meaningful outside of work, as you can imagine, a job like this demands the bog of my attention. Now to the case in question. See our file 184. It all began with a man named John Lucas Henry.

He'd been suspected of killing his entire family in a fit of paranoid psychotic. It's. Initial intel didn't give us much to go on. He didn't deny slaughtering his family. His reason was that the voice inside his head made him do it. If I had a nickel for every time I'd heard that line, I'd have a jar full of him by now. Okay, maybe not a jar, but you get the idea. We give my unabashed skepticism, but in my professional opinion, the voices in my head made me do it. It was the typical excuse suspects used when trying to avoid criminal response. It is true that I work for an agency that investigates paranormal occurrences. Believe me, the irony is not missed, nor the hint of injustice provided by my incredulity. The fact remains, no one in our department takes this criminal justification seriously.

It always falls flat when scrutinized by an agent worth his or her badge. Though the excuse may be banal and a bit cheeky, the psychology is fascinating. I suppose this would make sense coming from someone who is obsessed with the human mind and what makes us tick. For as long as I can remember, well before I chose to pursue a degree in psychology, right after the situation with my sister, I often found myself pondering the merits of dualism and immaterialism. My thesis explored the true meaning of consciousness, as well as why so many of us view the brain and soul as separate experiences connected by one source, the body.

The last section of my conclusion paragraph went like this. I'm convinced that I possess a soul. When I die, I'll be judged for my sins unlike machine intelligence. Thus, I can say with supreme confidence that, no matter how futuristic or evolved artificial intelligence becomes, it will never possess a soul. Machine is cold and objective. The human experience is warm and subjective.

Take away our subjectivity and we lose our humanity. Make no mistake about it. AI is intelligent, and it would be foolish to argue otherwise. Intelligence is a part of their designate, but AI is not sapient. This rare distinction belongs to the only surviving member of the human species, Homo sapiens. As you can imagine, the conclusion to my thesis was considered controversial in some psychological circles, while simultaneously being lauded in certain theological circles. The notoriety is probably what put me on DPI's radar when I think back, but who knows? The reason my thesis caused a stir was because of the astonishing hypothesis, which was a book

written by Dr. Francis Cripp. In the book, she argued many things. Too many to explain in my report. The crude gist of her work states that we are, in fact, nothing but a bunch of neurons, and it's these very same neurons that create what we assume to be consciousness and subjective experience. This is of course a gross paraphrasing of her work. Even still, much of what she says in her book has been backed up by cognitive psychology and neuroscience. I'm not writing this report to sway anyone's ethics or further the debate between dualism and monism. I'm merely divulging what motivated me to pursue my studies. In truth, I've always had a passion for understanding the inner workings of the mind. speaking of which the case in question file 184 is an interesting one what i thought to be a textbook example of severe dissociative identity disorder turned out to be something far more sinister our story begins at the detroit metro airport on july sixteenth two thousand nineteen when we arrived we were immediately hit with our first obstacle somehow there had been a mix-up with our seats instead of being assigned to business

business class, we'd been assigned to economy. I found this a bit irritating, but things happen. My partner, the always irritable Agent Adams, wasn't having it. Seeing his reaction, I tried to calm him, even going so far as to offer him the window seat. He scoffed at my proposition, turned to the clerk, and informed her that we were government agents on duty. The clerk shrugged, apologized profusely, and told my partner there was nothing she could do. She said it in as polite a tone as possible, which only irritated my partner even more. He hated it when people were being overly nice to him. Me trying to play mediator,

asked if she could book us first-class seats for the following flight that just happened to be in a few hours. The compromise was enough to get him off her back. He turned his fury on HQ, first dialing up our supervisor and laying into him pretty thick. This surprised me. For some reason I thought he was calling to. to inform him that we were going to be late due to a mix-up with our flights.

Then after abruptly ending that call, he went after his next targets. He dialed up the resource department and cursed their supervisor for assigning us to a case in rural Georgia in the middle of summer. I remember sighing and telling myself to get mentally prepared for a long trip. Now I think back on it, I remember how baffled I was by his odd conduct during our first few cases together. I was the agency's first female graduate from the DPI Field Investigations Unit. As you can imagine, I'd studied incredibly hard to earn my badge.

I graduated with high marks and did everything by the board. It's funny now, but at the time, working with Gary had been something of a cultural shock. I'd been assigned to work with him by the board for reasons that are still unknown. Their decision caused something of a stir and is considered unprecedented. The story behind our first encounter is interesting to say the least. I'll elaborate one day, but for now it's safe to say I was put into a situation that nearly killed me. Oh, this is some fond memories. I'll admit I've learned quite a bit about the supernatural.

A lot more than I would have if I was working with anyone else. One of the most important lessons he's inadvertently taught me was to always judge a book by its cover. Strange, I know, it's nothing easy. ever come out and said in one of his many, less than witty comments. It's just something I've noticed. That's all. I say this because, out of the five years we've worked together, I can count on one hand how many times I'm seeing him phased under pressure. Our destination was the city of Butler. I have no clue why places like this were called city. It was located in one of the more rural areas of Georgia and was the county seat for Taylor County. I already knew

it was going to be a long drive. My partner was still cranky from the flight and told me that since I was the junior agent, it was my duty to chauffeur him around. Knowing the operations manual like the back of my hand, I insisted that his claim wasn't true. When I said this, he shrugged and said

he was still groggy from the sleeping pill he'd taken during the flight. Before I could argue, he hopped into the backseat, slipped on his sleeping mask and stretched out with a travel pillow he always brought with him. In truth, I didn't really mind. He'd been a total baby thus far. I could use the peace and quiet to think.

I thought he drifted off to sleep. I remember him commenting how, if he somehow made it to heaven, he'd get booted out for complaining that it was too sunny. He found my joke clever and replied with, Start driving already, and turn the AC on so he can get out of this hellish heat. Sending me out of the sticks in the dead of summer to chase ghosts.

Wait until I get back to HQ, I'm going to file a giant grievance. I agreed with his assessment of the case and said as much. I'm surprised the resource department flagged it. I'm sure this will be a textbook non-paranormal. Hey, remember, Michelle, don't try to solve the case. We're not detectives. You'll burn yourself out trying to be a hero. I don't know how many times I have to say it.

Our job is to give people enough rope to hang themselves. If you do that, the case will solve itself. I thought about what he said during the drive. It didn't make sense, but then again, the things he said hardly ever made sense. After dismissing his comment, as the ramblings of a miserable man, I listened to a self-help podcast for about 30 minutes. After that, I sank my teeth into a lengthy audio recording I'd made the other night, detailing everything we knew about the case.

For the most part, I did a lot of thinking. I thought about my career and if I should put it on hold to pursue my postgraduate. Well, I doubted it, but then again you never know. I know one thing for sure. My job had been taking a toll on it. They were waiting for me to finish my training. I was assigned to work with Agent Adams straight away, and I've been going non-stop ever since.

Another part of it was the work itself. The things I've learned have stretched my moral fibres beyond imagination. It's shocking to know who really runs the world, how they operate, that there isn't much we can do to stop them, other than create an observation department, as the vampires love to call us. I grew up in a very religious home. I've always known God was real, even before my career. My faith was the only reason I went into psychology instead of psychiatry.

Another thing that bothered me was verifying the existence of God. Oh, and I don't just mean any old God. I mean, God in the biblical Christian context. That's right, he exists in all of his glory and grandeur, just as described. And yet, he hardly intervenes. I can't tell you how much this bothers me. The reason he leaves us to our own devices is because of what the angels call his almighty holy decree on free will.

The whole free will versus divine will controversy or dispute, depending on which scholar or entity you ask, is crucial to the angelic schism and eventually led to the great heavenly rebellion. I suppose you could say it was the first doctoral dispute. Amazingly, the issue of free will is still a hot topic within the Holy Order. The rebellion did little to change that. When I first learned this, I was so surprised it took me a few weeks to really digest the implications.

I always believe that the biblical story pertaining to God and Satan was a neat little story about good and evil. It's a bit trickier than that. Oh, the Holy Order. I've mentioned the name a few times. Why do I even begin? I suppose with their mission? No, it's too complicated. I'll put it this way.

They're the angelic governing and organizational body for all the angels stationed on Earth. There's a lot more to it, but this is the short answer. During the drive, I also thought about my family. Based on divine doctrine, I believe my sister's soul is one of the many unfortunate ones trapped in a place she was never meant to be. The idea of hell had become personal. A little piece of suffering I could call my own. God could be downright cruel sometimes.

But the rules are the rules, I suppose. And knowing this made me feel hopeless and sick to my stomach. The pain I'd buried when we buried my sister was beginning to resurface. Just then, my phone ran. Speaking of family and inescapable sorrow, it was my father. With that in mind, I took a deep breath before finally deciding to answer.

Hi, Dad. Hello, Ladybug. I'm not 12. I know, I know. Yeah, everything okay. You'd know if you answered my call. Sorry, I've been busy with work. There's not an excuse for.

not talking to your father for a whole year. I know, I know, I'm sorry. It's okay. That's not why I call. You're not in trouble, are you? I am, but there's nothing you can do. Does this have anything to do with your drinking? Yeah, that's what they say.

You know, doctor's always trying to play God. Give me a second to gather my thoughts. I thought of him, it was too grim a thought. As soon as this case is over, I'll come visit you. You act like I'm dying. Your mother's the one you should be worried about. Dad, please, not this. Then was the last time you talked to her.

Dad, come on. How long is she going to walk around in that imaginary world of her is pretending as she's still alive? You know what? I didn't want to leave her. You know that right. I know. Believe me, I know.

You're the son. psychologist. You tell me what's wrong with the bugger. Dad, please, I'm not a psychologist. Even if I were, now's not the... Then when is? Well, it's okay for everyone to drag my name through the mud for leaving the crazy hag. But it's okay for her to drive our family apart. Ash, with just as much my daughter as she was your mother's. He was 17. You were there when it happened. You saw how she blamed me. Well, she still blames me. You wouldn't know because you got out of there and did right by yourself with cards and now this cushy government gig. I understand.

I know how... No. You don't know how I feel, so don't bother with it. I'll tell you, all right. Imagine living with someone who won't let go of that kind of pain. I loved ass just as much, damn it. I'm sorry for leaving your mother, okay. I couldn't keep living like that.

Been reminded of your sister day and night, thanks to her baddy ways. She still makes her bed, you know, while she's the same tired old school uniforms. Talks as if Ash is due home any morning now. You tell me, who wants to live like that? No wonder I turned to the bloody bottle.

He stopped ranting and began sobbing like mad when the pain had finally breached his defenses. It was a guttural cry, but it was very difficult to listen to. I could feel my own eyes well up, but I had to stay strong. I had to for him and for my own sanity. Oh, bloody hell. Sorry, Ladybug. I just wish everything could go back to normal.

Me too, Dad. You two were close, eh? Yeah, very. That's good. Where are you? I'm at the pub. Dad, you really need to stop drinking. Oh, Mother Mary, he muttered under his breath.

I could hear the empty shot glass rattle when he slammed it down on the table and demanded another round. He made a scene about it, using alcohol as an excuse. He drunkenly proclaimed to the whole bar that he'd found his long-lost daughter before, shamefully downing another shot. Dad, you really need to knock it up. off. So, what do you think, Doc? About what? My screw is your mother.

I reckon you think I've just as many nuts and bolts rattling around as that old tinker. He said, before cackling. I have to go. Sorry for my behavior. I understand. You keep making us proud here. Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, Lady Bug.

I ended the call and sighed. I remember looking back to make sure Adams was still asleep. I don't know why that was the first thing I did. I thought as I fought back the tears. Oh, I suppose it's what I deserve. I've been avoiding my parents for a while now. For the longest, I viewed their behaviour as a distraction. I made a mental note to visit him and, maybe even mother.

After that, I pretty much blocked out the whole conversation and bravely carried on giving this investigation. my full attention. Chapter 2. Southern Hospitality. We arrived at the Taylor County Jail at approximately 0,800 hours on the following day. July 17, 2019. It was a brand-new jailhouse that was located right across from the old one. The only reason I knew this was because I foolishly went there first,

only to be met by a bunch of rusted yard equipment inside of what was now a makeshift storehouse. Across the way, it was a set of rail. railroad tracks that stretched endlessly in both directions. Ah, the good old city of Butler. There wasn't much to say about it other than it was just like any other small town, quiet and quaint. The townsfolk were extremely nice and a little too nosy. I wanted to see the courthouse, but my partner frowned upon the idea. And so we entered the jailhouse and made our way over to the club. I informed him who we were, and the sheriff was expecting it. He promptly called for him over the two way. There was a fair bit of radio chatter between them. He apologised for the confusion

and asked that we sit tight. Apparently the atmosphere around town had been tense, but he promised that the sheriff was on his way. Agent Adam scoffed at the comment before grumbling that he was going outside to vape. Before leaving, he made a snide remark about how annoying it was having to wait. He sneered when I informed him that perhaps this was calmer, giving him a taste of his own medicine. I remained inside and exchanged a fair bit of small talk with the young club. I learned a bit more about him and the case. Of what I gathered, he loved his softball league, hated the fact that he came third in the annual chili cook-off, thought all the fuss of Mr. Henry's case was unwarranted. I agreed with his last sentiment and told him that the

sheriff probably pulled a few strings to get the case handed over to the FBI. I didn't tell him of course, but we receive a significant amount of our cases from the FBI and CIA, especially the latter, so much so we call them legacy cases, is there partly to blame for my agency's existence in the first place. Being that this was a rural area, Mr. Henry's behaviour and alleged crimes had stirred up a hornets nest. These were good on his townsfolk, who believed that God and hard work were the cure for everything. Nobody could wrap their head around the fact that it was one of their own

and not some sleazy ne'er-do well from the big city who committed the ultimate act of evil. My opinion of the case was that this was just a classic example of the devil made me do it. Technically speaking, the devil could not make anyone do anything. There are a few technicalities, but suffice to say, we rarely investigate the devil made me do it crimes because of this. At the department, we call these archetypal cases crying wool. The sheriff arrived before we could sink too deep into conversation. When I looked over, I saw him shaking Agent Adam's hand.

He made a colourful comment about the weather as they made their way inside. His off-handed remark got a slight chuckle out of my partner. He walked over and introduced himself as Sheriff Russell, Giles Jr. When I asked what I should call him, he said, Everyone calls me, Russ. We chatted in the lobby for a while longer. this was due to us having to wait for his deputies to secure John Henry before he could be moved into the interrogation room.

The sheriff offered to take us to see the Ward Edwards Museum later that day. In his words, it was the world's largest outdoor museum, a claim which cannot be refuted since we failed to take him up on his offer. He also gave us a few pointers regarding places to eat. Apparently the China Walk restaurant was all the rave, and Ms. Betty's fried chicken was one of a kind. especially the fries. He also told us more about the courthouse.

Everyone visits the courthouse, the clerk threw in, which got a nod and chuckle out of the sheriff. I told him we tried the local coffee shop, but it wasn't open. The clerk laughed and said, It's never open. Why is that? They inquired. Their boy's sick, he answered.

That's hot. That's nonsense, Ernie. Now stop putting bad rumors on honest folk. Ain't nothing wrong with their boy. Sorry, boss, he meekly replied. Chapter 3, Interregnum. Two deputies ushered John Henry into the interrogation room with us. His handcuffs were chained to the restraining bar on the table.

They left his shackles on, along with the spit mask which concealed the lower half of his face. The sheriff thanked his terrified deputies and told them they could wait outside the room. Before we could begin, I informed the sheriff that I'd need his mask removed. Otherwise, it would hamper our communication. He agreed, but warned me that this was for our own good. Browsed over the suspect's file while waiting for him to undo the stress. The process took much longer than usual. When he did finally finish, I thanked the sheriff and then addressed Mr. Henry.

Greetings. I'm Special Agent Harris, and this is my partner, Special Agent Adams. He said nothing. Instead, he stared into my eyes with a vacant expression. Seeing that I wasn't about to back down, he finally spoke. His voice was heavy and steady. It matched his burly lumberjack frame. Your first name?

Michelle, anything else? There's always more. Oh, really? Like what? Let no man say when he is tempted. I am tempted of God. The God cannot be tempted with evil. Neither tempteth he any man.

But every man is tempted when he's drawn away of his own lust and enticed. What are you getting at? I asked. Be careful of the company you keep. Why is that, Mr. Henry? Let me pray for you.

"'Beg your pardon?' "'You were in the serpent's dam.' He said as his eyes wandered over to my partner, Agent Adams. Then he added, "'I know an evil spirit when I see one.' "'Sure. You can pray for me.' "'What?' "'No,' Agent Adams blurted.

"'Why not? "'It'll make him feel more comfortable. "'Besides, maybe he... "'Besides, maybe he's right.' Maybe I am in the serpent's den. I taught my partner with a keen eye. You brood of vipers, how can you who are evil say anything good? But the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.

A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in him. And an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in him. Agent Adams got up from the table in disgust. He flailed his arms around and said, what the hell where's my freaking vape pan every time i try to quit somebody does something stupid to tick me up just try to ignore him i told mr henry with pleasure he nodded before bowing his head and beginning his prayer father god keep michel safe during these tumultuous times the faith will be tested but only through you will she find the peace and so salvation she so desperately seeks. Better to be blind and of faith, than see and be ignorant of faith. Those serpents who walk amongst you do not be fooled by their slithering lives.

Walk with the word of God, that His divine word carry you in stride to the gates of the promised land. Let the light of commandment and judgment overcome the darkness and wickedness that surrounds you. That was quite an interesting prayer, Mr. Henry. Good. I was afraid I may be getting rusty. Once a man on the cloth, always a man of the cloth. I'm sure your flock misses you.

I'm sure they do. Now, what do you really want? He asked with a suspicious eye. I'm glad you asked. Before we can formally begin the interrogation, I must state for the record to any individual suspected, detained, or in your case arrested and charged with a crime, that we do not use recorders due to the classified nature and sensitivity of our work. We rely solely on pen and paper to assess the merits of each case under review.

And we choose to classify yours. We'll determine what cause of action is taken in any future criminal litigation against you. The Department of Paranormal Investigation is an autonomous division within DHS. we fall under the Protocol 7 initiative, which was signed into existence by a secret executive order 1300P7 under the American governmental observation and assistance program. Even though we're part of DHS, we are not subject to any DHS laws or operational procedures due to this initiative.

Anything said by you or anyone else in this room is considered classified and cannot leave this room. You do not have the right to an attorney. Anything you say will be used to properly classify your case. You may end the interview at any time, but we reserve the right to proceed with the investigation using emergency countermeasures. The violation of UDHR is part of NWGO Action Code 11, for World Order Agreement and a separate arrangement,

the Treaty of Concord, which is signed by the acting president of the United States every year. This treaty allows us to void the civil rights of any citizen, non-citizen or unidentified entity upon U.S. soil. Now, if you are indeed contacted by the devil, we'll get to the bottom of it. As a DPI agent, I'll do my utmost to see that it is done, and your case is classified properly. We hope that you will fully cooperate with our investigation. It's in your best interest to do so, and will help expedite our decision. The information I just shared with you was a mandatory reading of the treaties on discourse and disclosed.

This is a diplomatic expert that denies legal counsel to anyone we investigate. Do you understand, Mr. Henry? I'm not quite sure I do. Agent Adams blew a large cloud of mist into his face after taking a hit from his vaping. I'll tell you what it all means. It means you have the right to remain silent, but it will be held against you. What agency is this? again. D.P. I. He grumbled gruffly. And you've seen this before? What do you think?

Wouldn't have asked if I knew. I quickly chimed in. Don't worry, Mr. Henry, we're the good guys. You have nothing to fear. Just tell us the truth about what happened. If your story checks out, you'll be free and clear. You have my word. The sheriff gave him a pat on the back before telling him, See, told you I'd bring in some folks who could help with this. I kept my word. I don't worry, John, you'll be clear to this mess in no time. Let's not get too hasty, but not until we finish our investigation, I told him. I might not look at it, but old Henry here wouldn't hurt a fly.

It's been a solid pillar of our community for as long as I've been bug hunting. I put on my reading glasses. A few things in his file stood out. Not wanting to start questioning him yet. I made some more small talk. I wanted to gauge his temperament. So I said, You know, my dad used to be a pastor.

Used to? That's right, used to. Did he lose faith? Something like that. Very unfortunate. His first name's also John. I mentioned before turning my attention to the crime scene photos. I had to admit they were stomach turning.

I placed a finger to his arrest photo and said, John Lucas Henry, H-47, of African-American descent. Two kids, Mo and Lauren Henry, husband of Suzette Henry, pastor of the Second Flint River Missionary Baptist Church, veteran, farmer, coal miner, railroad worker, faith healer. Now one person in town has a bad thing to say about you. Sheriff Giles butted in. I is a good man, I tell you.

Ain't no way he did this. Hmm. I wonder now. How did a good man wind up murdering his entire family? He stared silently into my eyes for a moment before speaking. If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It's better for you to lose one part of your body and for your whole body to be thrown to hell. And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off,

and throw it away. It's better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell. Agent Adams then had a very audible groan. He'd been standing in the corner, vaping away up until that point. After Mr. Henry had quoted yet another Bible verse, he began to impatiently pace back and forth, checking his wristwatch periodically.

When I looked over at him to see if he had anything to add, he gave me an annoyed expression. the one he always gave when he wasn't getting his way. Then he'd send his attention to Mr. Henry and grunted. Looks like we're not going anywhere for a while. Should I grab a snickers while we're at it, huh? Mr. Henry? He simply shrugged and said, Do as you will, evil doer.

Ah, isn't that grand? Pot just called the kettle black, Agent Adams muttered. Don't mind him. He's always this fussy. I informed Mr. Henry and the sheriff. The sheriff seemed surprised by Agent Adams' conduct. After computing it in his head for a while, he had what he thought was an aha moment.

He thought we were using the tried and true good cop, bad cop routine. I let him believe it. Even though I knew our tactics weren't a ruse, it was better this way. Knowing that Agent Adams was always this indecorous would have, well, would have made the investigation that much harder. So with that in mind, I began reading from the report, adding a decorous touch as I did so, to really drive home my role as the good cop.

You seem like a good guy. But these crimes, I don't know. It says here you savagely murdered your wife and children with a sledgehammer. That true? I mean, I'm sure a big strong guy like you had no problem swinging that thing around like a broomstick. Mr. Henry growled but said nothing. He just stared at me as if I had no. clue. Agent Adams chuckled. He did what? You didn't read the report? Oh, only glanced over it.

He really killed his family with a sledgehammer. That's what the report says. Agent Adams stopped pacing and vaping long enough to glance over at Mr. Henry. He just shook his head and smiled derisively at him. Mr. Henry, you're the demonic version of the legendary John Henry. And this was how the interview pretty much went, with me trying to pry valuable information out of the suspect while my partner did nothing but make snide remarks. His antics aside, the gist of what I was able to gather from this story went a little something like this. John Lucas Henry was born in 1972 in Savannah, Georgia, the youngest of seven, their family grew up impoverished by all metrics, or what he likes to call, and I quote, "'Bor-in a poor man's rainy day.'

He did share a few stories about his childhood, but claims not to remember much about his formative years. He didn't speak too highly of his late father, but not his mother dearly. He shone with pride when he told me that she was still hanging around in the swamps of the living, as he called it. his fondest memories from childhood stemmed from helping the local church. He recall going there almost every day to help keep God's temple pristine. Later, when he was a fair bit older, he told me that his fondness for Bible study and about the first time he got to lead the opening prayer for Thursday evening church service.

His parents worked as sharecroppers all the way up until the practice was phased out of Georgia sometime in the mid to late 50s. He smiled when recalling the day his family packed up. everything they owned and threw it in the back of the rusty old beat-up forest a green truck his dad had owned for as long as he could remember the sun shining they wanted better for their children and traded in a hard life of sharecropping for a one-room shack in the bucolic town of morke when he was a young boy he was an avid hunter and fisherman misses doing both with his four brothers the only trouble prior to this incident came when he was 16 he got caught by the sheriff

illegally scrapping metal and junk parts to help put food on the table. He told me this is why he enlisted in the army, so he could help feed his family. He joined when he was 17, served with honour and distinction for four years, before returning home to Georgia to help bury his father who died after a long battle with lung cancer. He spent time as a drifter, coal miner and railroad worker. He settled back in Mock, who was 29, married his childhood sweetheart,

and rebuilt the same old church he grew up attending. The place is a glorified shack, but his ministry and faith healing bringing enough to carve out a modest living. The only noteworthy thing to come out of the interview happened at the end when I asked him, Why did you do it? Why did you take a hammer to your loved one?

He replied with, The devil made me. Mr. Henry never denied killing his family, just that it wasn't his fault. He swore up and down that he loved them and would never hurt them. He was thoroughly convinced that it was the voice inside his head

that had compelled him to commit his vile deeds. Agent Adams got a good snicker out of his assertion and repeated, Ah, the devil made me do it, loud and grand enough to get under everyone's skin. That was pretty much it. I thanked the sheriff for his hospitality and Mr. Henry for giving me the information

I needed to finish my report. The drive back to our hotel wasn't too bad. We did a stop to pick up some Chinese from the E-tree the sheriff had mentioned. My partner was livid for most of the ride. He cursed the resource department for assigning us to a bogus case and claimed that they were amateurs. I held my opinion in reserve. The last thing I wanted to do was listen to him double down on his crude remarks with even cruder ones.

He stopped at the local shop to pick up supplies. Adams' foul mood changed for the better almost as soon as we walked in. He immediately gravitated towards the sweets and grabbed a pack of candy cigarettes. Well, I haven't seen these since I was a kid. His comment intrigued me. I asked him to elaborate, and he told me.

Jacob and Rosalind would get me these all the time. Every time we go fishing, we'd start by the general store, grab some bait, and ask Jacob to buy me a box of these. man they're the exact same ones I have to buy some he expressed this a bit exasperatively and was stupefied by the delightful coincidence I never heard someone refer to their real parents

by their first names but when I asked he confirmed that they were indeed his biological parents I wasn't surprised by my question I wanted to dig deeper but the moment had already passed all it took was for the clerk to politely mention that they didn't carry any vaping products for him to be

back to his glum old cell. When we left the store, he offered to drive the rest of the way. He told me he needed something to do to keep his mind off the thought of nicotine. I didn't mind. In fact, I gave him a few words of encouragement, along with the keys. I told him that he did right by not giving in to his vice, and jokingly suggested that the candy cigarettes could act as a temporary replacement if he closed his eyes and tried harder.

He scoffed at my attempt at humour, but thanked me half-heartedly for the words in the same skull. Then he grumbled obscenities to himself about the summer heat and how unfair it was that he'd have to dip into his vaping reserves. I tried to review my notes during the car ride, but his singing was awful. He kept asking if I enjoyed this or that song,

and I kept saying no. When he asked if I liked the wallflowers, I told him they stunk, nearly drove him off the ledge, which I found moderately amusing. Much more amusing than his daughter. dreadful singing. When we made it back to our hotel, just before getting out of the vehicle, he coldly looked over at me and said,

Oh, Michelle, I know you. Just hear me out. You don't have to say anything, okay? You think there's more of the case, but there isn't. You're not going to find anything if you dig deeper. What I need from you right now is for you to go to your room and enjoy your Chinese. Listen to some good music while you finish your report and pack. You're for sure going to classify this as a non-paranormal event and forward your findings over to the gullible sheriff so we can hop on the next plane out of here, first thing in the morning. Got it? Shouldn't we at least get our field coordinator to sign off on my report? You know, before we hand the case over all willy-nilly?

Willie-nilly. He chuckled and groaned incredulously before saying, Just do it, Michelle. I'll deal with him when we get back. I told him I'd consider it. If he didn't like my response, I was more than happy to ford out of my notes so he could share in the task.

He, of course, declined and quickly changed the subject. As soon as I made it to my room, I jumped into my work. After reviewing all the evidence, I concluded that John Henry's case was indeed a severe case of dissociative identity disorder. It was once called multiple personality disorder, but we don't use this.

name anymore, given its negative and distorted connotation. What I concluded was that a part of Mr. Henry was completely unaware of what the other part was doing. This was suspected from the beginning, but it wasn't made evident to me until the interview. I say this because Mr. Henry demonstrated traits typical of the disorder, such as dissociation and deep depersonalization, barely spoke or responded to questioning, and when he did, his remarks were often unfitting. His bizarre unsocialization may have spawned shortly before or after murdering his entire family.

This is atypical, but can be triggered during one of the three phases of psychosis. In my opinion, Mr. Henry should be transferred to a mental facility for proper treatment. His inability to control his behavior in certain mental states, combined with his difficulty understanding that what he thinks and feels affects how he behaves and acts is extremely concerning, making him, in my professional opinion, an extreme danger to the public at large. I took deep sigh after finishing my report.

Not because I was relieved that it was over, but because I didn't receive that usual sense of fulfillment I got whenever wrapping up a case. The thought lingered in my head as I ate what was now cold cuisine. Something wasn't right. And whenever I had a gut feeling that was this strong, I was never wrong. I closed my laptop and asked myself,

What am I missing? Come on, Michelle, think. I knew it wasn't a case of possession because this wasn't how possession worked. I found this out when my sister passed away. Possession is a very haphazard affair that needs an object, which in turn works as a conduit between the possessor, the spirit, and possessed person.

In my sister's case, it was an antique mirror from the Victorian area that did the trip. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. The televangelist on the TV screen caught my attention with his evangelising. The image drove me crazy. What were my instincts trying to tell me? Come on, think, Michelle, think. This isn't right and you know it.

That's when it hit me. As I sat there, twirling cold noodles with my thoughts, pondering something Mr. Henry said. I didn't think it was anything of note at the time, but when he talked about the voice in his head, he claimed it was, and I quote, That tricky old serpent loves to play, disguising his voice as a woman, so I wouldn't think it was him.

Once a trickster, always a trickster. This innocuous detail almost went right over my head. The memory and moment when it all clicked still haunts me to this day, as if I had have caught it sooner, Maybe the case would have had a different outcome. Sadly, it all makes sense now. Okay, what am I talking about? Now, I want you to picture the devil.

Whatever you're thinking is probably wrong. Forget the banal images of a jester, jokester, or horned demon. Even my partner knows much about him. He always has a bead or two on the occult. I think he's met just about all the heavy hitters except for him. He wasn't the type he wanted to meet. The last thing he'd do is be the voice inside your head. He simply wasn't the type to play charades.

He preferred to get his hands dirty, but alas, his story is one for another day. I called Agent Adams and asked him to hear me out. I said this because I already knew he wasn't expecting to hear from me until tomorrow. He reluctantly agreed, and I reluctantly shared my theory. When I told him everything I mentioned prior, He agreed that it was odd. And then, to my surprise, he mumbled a few expletives before insisting that he had to make a few phone calls. He refused to explain anything further and said that he'd call me back.

I paced up and down my cramped room while waiting for his return call. Even though I'd never do it, I could see why he vaped. Times like this really wreaked havoc on my nerves. I'd say about 15 minutes later he was at my door, banging on it like a madman. He was still putting on his suit jacket when I opened it. He didn't even wait. He just blurted out that we had to leave.

When I asked where, he said back to the jailhouse. Chapter 4. Rose. During the car ride, my partner didn't say much. He was speeding like a bat out of hell through the town. Luckily, our hotel wasn't unreasonably far from the jailhouse. When we made it, he pulled in front of the building. threw the vehicle into park and rushed out.

He banged on the front door like a crazy person, trying his best to get the attention of the deputy on duty for the nightship. The poor deputy was seated behind the counter with his feet up, sound asleep. The deputy was so startled by the commotion, he nearly fell out of his chair. He jumped to his feet and hurried over to the door. As soon as it was unlocked, Agent Adams barged in and demanded to be taken to John Henry's sound. The young deputy protested and insisted he'd have to open. care request through the sheriff. My partner was in a foul mood. He stared coldly at the young guy

and told him something very chilling. He said, well kid, I know you're just doing your job. But if I were you, I'd listen to me. I'd listen before things got out of hand. A place like this doesn't stand a chance against the things I know. What does that mean? You value your life and the life of your sheriff. You'll take us to see Mr. Henry. No, I won't ask again. I'll turn my back and let what happens happen. When it does, I won't lose a wink of sleep over it. Okay, follow me, he said with a slight tremble.

We followed the deputy through the sally port and down the corridor that led to the jail cells. Mr. Henry was in the last one all the way down at the end. When we reached it, the deputy stopped to catch his breath. Give me the keys, Agent Adams demanded. Are you mad? I could lose my... Life or job. Which one, kid? What are you talking about? Give me the keys and wait outside.

And your precious sheriff gets here. Tell him what I said. Okay. You guys don't need help? Whatever you do, don't come back. God dang. You want me to tell Sheriff Jowls to wait outside of his own jailhouse? Why don't I tell him to piss in the wind while I were at it? I know he don't look at it, but he's got a mess of a temper. You know what agency we work for? It's something to do with the paranormal right.

Good guess. He possessed or something. Look, I can't guarantee that Mr. Henry will survive. Still, my suggestion is the best and only chance we have at minimizing casualties is this. I don't care what you tell him. If you come back, you will die. Simple as that kid. The deputy nodded his head solemnly.

He turned and slowly trotted down the hall while babbling to himself about how much of a pickle he was in. My partner heard him and mumbled a few invectives in private retaliation. He glanced over at me then and then to Mr. Henry. Relief washed over his senses. It wasn't too late. Our suspect was indeed still alive. Mr. Henry rose from his bed and made his way over to us. There was a glint in his eye as he approached.

Oh, well, well, so the demon and the angel return. Whom do I owe the pleasure? If you've come to find salvation, then forgive me. All I can offer you is damnation. Mr. Henry said with a strange grin. He stared at us with a look that was as cold as the stone wall behind him. A shiver went down my spine. The only thing that separated us from this monster was a set of steel bars.

Agent Adams handed me the keys and said, Unlock it. Are you sure? I asked with a great deal of reservation. We don't have much time. That's your call, I said before jamming the key into the lock. Then I muttered. You know I hated when you leave me in the dark like this.

He checked his watch before saying, Oh, damn it, we're too late. The tricky smirk on John Henry's face made me hesitate. I just knew he was. was going to pounce on me the moment I turned that key. I stole a deep breath, placed a hand on my service weapon, and... Stopped. Something out of the corner of my eye seized my attention.

There was a shadow at the end of the hall. First, I didn't think it was real. I watched with bated breath as the figment of my imagine became real. The anticipation sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to draw my weapon, but my partner's calmness was infectious. A woman, a few inches shorter than me, casually wot over. Her knee-length crimson jacket matched her lipstick and hair. She was wearing a pair of leather pants, boots, a white blouse, and a loosely strong black corset.

Stuck out even more than her flowing open hair was her eyes. Her right eye was green and her left glowed red, piercing through the oppressive dimness of the night. Her expression was cold. A lack of verve or vim in her pale skin. gave her face a pallor that made her look somewhere in between living and non-living. I could tell by the way she moved that she wasn't like anyone else I'd ever encountered. Stiff and mechanical, yet graceful and elegant. My first thought was vampire, but I was familiar with how subtle they moved.

She seemed like something else altogether. Something about her made me feel uneasy and queasy. The nauseousness was strong enough to snap me out of my stupor. I drew my weapon and ordered. her to identify herself. When I did this, she stopped her leisurely stroll and stared at me with a look of intrigue. I looked over at my partner. Instead of reaching for his weapon, he reached for his vape pen. The disgruntled look on his face told me that he knew her. Instead of saying something that would have been useful, he shook his head and murmured. I have finally crawled out of that

hell home. I was wondering when you'd return. Shame. It just starting to enjoy a life free of headache. She laughed and said, long time, no sea. Not long enough. How'd you guess it was me? I didn't. You can thank my partner. Oh, you have a new partner? Yeah, not CIA anymore. Oh, do tell. I formed a new agency, Department of Paranormal Investigation. And before you ask, the answer is no. My co-name isn't black squid. That's all over. I'll miss the good old days, she said with a reminiscent smirk.

You were the only one able to handle the squid suit, am I right? Yeah, that's right. You're one of a kind. Well, the feeling is mutual. Oh, I feel honoured. Well, you shouldn't. What? Why not?

she asked before stealing another step towards her. I warned her against taking another one with a stark reminder that I wouldn't hesitate to shoot. My partner stepped in front of me and calmly said, Put the gun away, rookie. What the hell is going on? He's not here for us. We can't just let her... We're not going to let her do anything.

She'd kill both of us before you could squeeze that trigger. I don't know about you, but I'm not for you. finished living. There has to be something we can do. Yeah, there is. We can finish our investigation in one piece. Our job is not to intervene in the affairs of the supernatural, or in her case he dispossessed. He coldly reminded me. Seeing how displeased I was by his pacifism, he took a hit from his vape pen, then took a step back. That's your move, rookie. I don't know. Sometimes we got to learn the hard way. get the gunk out of the ears when the mind gets all bogged down by sanctimony.

I glared at Adams, then at her. There was no way I was going to let her pass without doing anything to try and stop her. Hey, hey, stay right where you are. Take another step and I won't hesitate to use lethal force. She smirked and told Agent Adams, don't worry, bark a wheezy on her. I like her, she has potential. Oh, but don't think you don't owe me for this.

I'll see what I can do. He grumbled rather begrudgingly before deciding to throw in a... Thanks, for good measure. He walked over to Mr. Henry Sell, looked over at the poor guy and said, You're a very unlucky man. Wish I could say I was holding an ace up my sleeve. A good hand just wasn't in the cards for you. So, would any of you like to know why I did it?

Why I became the voice of pandemonium in his head? This is the part where I explain my plan after all. Keep it to yourself. You haven't changed. Neither of you. Well, I'd like to hear the details, I said. Finally, someone who understands theater. Now be amazed, brave protagonist.

Stand aside as I needlessly waste time pouring over the details. Oh, and I promise you a gut-wrenching story. or you get your guts back. It was indeed I, the director who beguiled how beloved Thespian into slaughtering his entire family in the most theatrical way imaginable.

That's right, old Henry. It was I. Does my voice seem vaguely familiar? I hope so. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed making you squirm in your own head. He said, with a look of relish in her dead eye, Mr. Henry began shaking the bars

and screaming like a wild man. The rage and realization had finally simmered. And he cried out in righteous anger. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, your rod and your staff. They comfort me. She vanished into the valley of shadows, making me second-guess everything I thought I knew.

My haze of confusion didn't last long. No footsteps were close, eerily close. No. It wasn't my imagination. was standing right behind me. I froze when she leaned into my ear and whispered. Simply slaughtering him isn't enough. I want to see a sorrow bloom in his eye. She placed her hand on my shoulder after sharing her sick secret. The touch was chilling, so much so I wheeled around and aimed my weapon at her. Who are you? I demanded to know.

She looked over at my partner and smiled grimly. What an inquisitor. agency is. I see the government has been busy recruiting the brightest minds. Answer my question, I shouted. She ignored me, allowing her gaze to roam over to John Henry. He was in a blind rage by now, shaking the bars and growling like an enraged brown bear. For a minute there, with how burly he was, I thought he was going to break free, but he was human after all. It's okay, Mr. Henry. Stay calm. I'm going to get you out of there, I cried out. I told you I was a man of God. I told you I would never hurt my family. I loved them with everything I had. And you, you devil, you took them away from me. God, I call upon your

holy word. Strike down the serpent. He cried out in a fit of pain and panic. She raised her arms and twirled around in a way that showed off her figure and finesse. Well, why do you think? Am I to die for or what? Hopefully I left enough to the imagination. I always try to keep up appearances for my victim, she said with an untamed viciousness. Her words stabbed through him with such force. Again he called out to the Lord God.

Oh, Almighty Father, that old serpent, the enemy of man an angel draws near. The traitor himself dwells among us in the flesh. Let your word be my shield. Safeguard me from the defiler, but I am not afraid. You who does not show fear in the face of terror, shall not be terrorized. I shall not walk in the valley of fear, but faith. Be gone, devil.

Craw back to the pits of despair where you belong. He hollered out as if he could cast her away with his booming voice. Stay away from him, I shouted. She stopped twirling and peered over at me. You still haven't figured it out? figured what else? Try to shoot me. What, but... Go on, I insist.

I tried to squeeze the trigger, but it wouldn't budge. I ragged the side and tried to fire again, but instead of hearing that distinct click from my Generation 5, Glock 19, there was silence. I checked to see if my gun was out of battery, but saw nothing unusual. I even tried to reset the trigger, but the same thing happened.

My look of vexation, amused her. She blew a kiss and said, I disabled it when I was behind you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. She wagged her index finger and continued. I broke the safety firing pin with one tap of the finger, right in the middle of the slide where the barrel of firing pin come together and go boom.

She shook her head in pity at my pitiful display of silence before turning her attention back to John Henry. She hopped right up to the bars and exclaimed, Did you miss me? I certainly missed you. She smiled sinisterly before, swaying away effortlessly when he lunged at her. The big old hand was so close, but so far away. It was like a bear poor compared to her head.

No matter how hard he swung or how much he struggled, he couldn't find his mark. She looked over at my partner then and said, she really didn't see it her. Oh, what makes it so sad is, She leaned her head to the side without looking, avoiding Mr. Henry's angry swipe with ease. Wow, and here I call myself moving slow enough so she could see me disable her gun. It seems our protagonist is a little slow on the draw. God, you're a real pawn factory, Agent Adams grumble.

You saw my gambit, I assume. Yeah, I saw it all right. I don't know about her, Gary. I prefer your old Eagle squad back when you were CIA to this newfangled supernatural bunch. Cut her some slack. I barely saw what you did. I'm getting old, Rose. I'm not as sharp as I used to be when we used to tangle.

Agent Adams mentioned. What a shame. Should have taken me up on my offer. Telling such as yours shouldn't go to waste. Agent Adams shrugged before coolly taking another hit from his vapid. Yeah, immortality is overrated. Ha, says the grumpy old man. She smiled.

You did this, eh? Agent Adams asked. What do you mean? She inquired or trying to play court. The act wasn't very convincing, but she carried on with her hack performance. I didn't ask for this. I'm a victim here too, you know. Be forced to feed on blood, stalking poor sard's day and night.

now cast destined to watch the world wilt around me. You know why that's like? If I were a brave fool, I'd plunge a stake into my own undead heart and put to death this miserable never-ending existence. She paused for a second to make sure we were looking. Her innocent little act transformed into one of darkness, exposing her true desire to a crescendo of angry catcalls that erupted from her not so amused a victim's prison cellar.

I wonder what I would feel. like? Would it be unsteady and ignoble, or steady and noble? I'd hope for the latter, but embrace the former. Perhaps I'd feel something for the first time in a very long time. Perhaps I am a poet, contrary to what my critics think. Oh, you're far from a poet, Agent Adams said. Ah, what would you consider me then? Sadist, he replied. What should we do? I asked. Let her have her fun.

She'll get what's coming to her. People like her always do. I resentfully holstered my useless service weapon and watched in utter defeat as she began to toy with Mr. Henry like a cat toying with a mouse. He was howling, mad, and as angry as a raging bull. His prison jumpsuit was drenched in sweat. I could feel his frustration manned with every failed attempt to strike her.

With a crazed growl, He reached through the bars, grabbed her by the jacket collar, tried his damnedest to smash her face into the steel bars. She stopped herself from hitting them with such strength and ease. It was undeniable who was in control here. Her face wasn't even an inch removed from the cold steel. With a look of longing in her eyes, she told him, "'Was it hard not having me around?

It's hard for me. Not about you all the time. I never wanted to let go, but I had to. It was the only way. I have a confession to me. I wanted your crimes to fester on your mind. He assaulted to languish in that dark, dry pit of hopelessness that once overflowed with hope.

I wanted you to realize that God would never in a million years forgive you. I don't kill you, he cried out while trying to again, in vain, smash her head into the baths. This time he even reached his other hand through and placed it to the back of her neck for lever. Her merriment only fueled his disdain. He tried with all his might again and again before finally giving up and punching her in the face. She buckled over and pretended to be hurt.

The moment was fleeting and soon her mirthful wickedness shone through like a black candle in a white arcade. The shame and horror of witnessing her unleashed naked cruelty upon an innocent man is hard to live with. Only I would have done something, anything in that pivotal moment. He might still be alive. I know it's not true, but it's a thought I've wrestled with every day since then. The poor man cried out at the top of his lungs. God is my protection. He warned us about your wicked ways.

But we have to do something, I told my partner. We are. We're doing our job, Michelle. How can you be so calm? An innocent man is... Before I could finish my statement, I looked over at his cell and couldn't believe my eyes. She was standing inside of it, right behind it. Even he couldn't believe it.

He stood there for a moment frozen in fear. When his mind had finally caught up to reality, he quickly turned around and placed his back to the barns. The shock made his knees buckle and his breathing heavy and uneven. He still don't get it, do you? Who are you? I'm the one who is in your head whispering those awful things this whole time. Wasn't the devil? Little old me, the revenant.

What? Oh, God. Save me. You have a strong mind. Took a bit longer than usual for you to let go. Dear God, no, no. She nodded slowly and said, Now you're starting to see.

I'm not surprised to. the person with a skull as thick as yours took so long to figure it out. Well, I almost gave up, but oh my, my efforts have borne fruit. You with a voice in my head? Yes, she grinned, wildly. You, you tricked me. Yep, it was me the whole time. Chapter 5. Rose continued. He looked over at us and cried out for help. I had to turn away. He was a strong, proud man who had taken care of himself

and those around him all his life. A man who had done nothing but give back to his community. Now here he was, begging for help like a feeble old man. The only reason I was alive was because of her mercy. I knew if I tried anything,

she wouldn't hesitate to go back on her promise to Agent Adams. What use would I be to humanity dead? What good would I be to my sister's memory if I followed her to an early grain. The feeling, it was like a sucker punch to the ribcage. Even with all these thoughts clanging around in my head, my first mind was to think of a way to save him.

I grabbed the keys off the floor and jammed the first one into the loch. Damn it, it didn't work, I blurted it while fiddling with the key ring. God, why, why have you forsaken me? I have done nothing but serve you and your son faithfully. I have done nothing but be a grateful man in an ungrateful world. He cried out in a fit of grief. Rose placed her hand on his chest, and with a gentle push, induced his heart into an irregular rhythm.

She took a step back and watched the chaos that bloom from her grim garden. Mr. Henry's eyes bulged like a wild animal ensnared by a hunting snare. She grabbed him by the wrist and yanked his arm towards her. This one whiff of the blood that flowed through his veins was enough to make her dizzy from shame. nameless pleasure. Weeze, he wheezed through clenched teeth. She ignored his wimperes, chortling ever so softly, as she said. I prefer the wrist to the neck.

The blood tastes sweeter this way. Let him go, I shouted, while trying yet another key. It's okay, Mr. Henry. I'm going to get you out of there, I promise. Why is it cruel of me to take everything away from you? Your family, your sanity, your faith. It feels like I'm cradling your life in my arms right now. I can't wait to feast on this lovely stew of misery.

He hissed in agony. Oh, I wish it wasn't over. God, please, save. The look of malice in her eyes penetrated his soul almost as deep as her fangs penetrated his flesh. There's absolutely a feeding frenzy. She let go of all inhibitions and drained away like, a leech stealing the vim and verve from an imprisoned angel.

He let go of his arm and he crumbled to his knees. He stared up at her, tears slipping from his broken gaze. There were no last words. There was no last-minute miracle. Close his eyes and took his final breath. I shuffled through the keys on the key room. There it was. God, what I hoped was the master key.

I shoved it into the lock and the door popped open. Without even thinking, I rushed over and checked for a pulse. There was nothing. His hand was stiff and ice cold. The only thing left of this proud man was a crumpled pile of flesh and bones. He stepped past him as if his life meant nothing. I could see I'm making her way over to my partner, Agent Adams. He saw it too, and before speaking, released a cloud of mist

after taking a sizable hit from his vape pen. My, my, my. I see you haven't lost your neck for absentee. cruelty. Once a monster, always a monster. Really? Was I that insufferable? He frowned and said, You should go. Is that any way to treat a friend?

You're an old friend of mine. What about our history? What about it? You used to be one hell of a weapon. Agent Adams didn't say another word. He just stood there glaring at her, waiting for her to get the hint that he wasn't interested in reliving the past. My hands were trembling as I brought them together to say a short prayer for Mr. Henry. The anger inside me made my stomach turn.

Couldn't take it anymore. I needed some answers. I had to know who this lunatic was and why she had done the unthinkable. When I approached her, she ignored my question. Instead, she reached inside the sleeve of her crimson coat and retrieved a rose, offering it to me. I don't want it. take it or else or else what i'll make you i'm not taking it as you wish you're sick my sense of justice was amusing to her She stared longingly into my eyes without saying another word.

My existence, I bet it was fuel for her sick imagination. Her bitterness touched my soul like a septic dream. For some reason, I started to feel sleepy. The drowsiness hit me like an avalanche of emotion. My eyelids felt heavy, and a feeling of ease washed over me. The world around me was a serene palace void of fear or reproach. My arms tingled. My mind lost its vehemence and thirst for clarity.

I could feel myself slipping. Slowly but surely I knew I'd never want to escape this palace of golden dreams. The more I resisted, the more appealing its hypnotic hymn. I was so tired of being afraid. Everything I ever wanted was right here at my finger-tips. You all right, Rookie? What? Snap out of it.

Where'd she go? go? He did another one of her disappearing numbers. My eyes are old, couldn't keep up. All I know is you took the rose and then she was gone. I looked down and saw the rose I'd never asked for or remembered taking, clutched firmly in my hands. I looked over at Agent Adams in shock. I wanted to scream, but the thought of how foolish I'd look lamenting in front of him made me scream on the inside. My sister, a promise I'd made to her right before she died. I couldn't fault her. I just couldn't.

I had to remain strong. You okay, rookie? Yeah, what happened? You can stand in there straying off into yonder for a while now. For a moment there, I thought you were... That's right. What? What's wrong? She mesmerized you.

She did what? mesmerized you form of hypnosis we only thought demon laws could do it but I guess Revenants possess that ability too oh damn it what's wrong

I have to update my report to reflect these new developments in the case that's your old self I see good that's real good rookie I'm glad you're okay why wouldn't I be it's not like in the movies you know

when demon laws mesmeries mesmerizing you, you go insane. But I guess Revenants sound as strong, which makes sense. Demon lords? You know, the fallen generals. We call them demons or whatnot. Your mind must still be a bit jolted.

It's okay, Rookiee. I got you back. I know a few mental exercises a little jog your memory. Thanks. No problem, Rookie. Why do you keep calling me that? What?

Rookie. Yeah. Well, think about it. Huh? We're not superheroes, Michelle. We're not here to save the day. I know it's ugly business, but since when did our job become pretty? This isn't the movies, kid. Well, even if it were, we're not the protagonists. We're the people willing to get our hands dirty if it'll save our country.

I know. I just wish there was something we could have done to save Mr. Henry. I mean, I get it. Our job is to investigate and report our findings. I know the information we provided is crucial to take in our country back before the end times, but still, I'm human. It's hard to see someone in need and not doing anything. Now, this is only your fourth case. Wait until you get a few more notches under your belt.

Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet. He told me, which I found to be rather ominous. Looking back on it, he was right. The more I've seen, the more I've come to question my decision to pursue a career at DPI. I could go on and on about my moral dilemma, but that's not what this is about. His next statement threw me for a loop. For a second there, I thought he was purposely trying to pour cold water on my dreams of a better tomorrow. You have a background in psychology.

You of all people who should know we have to keep the psychological separate from the logical. He looked down at Mr. Henry's drained husk of a corpse, as if his ordeal was a cautionary tale. We're only guests. It's not our job to get involved. Right now, information is our greatest weapon. We take what we learn and use it to secure a spot for humanity in the war between good and evil. Are you really on our side? I've been fighting to keep our nation free since before you were born. I'm 26. You've been doing this for that long. You're pretty old.

Story for another day. I smirked. Oddly enough, an expression as simple as this was cathartic. I look forward to hearing that story, considering you never talk about your past. It's not as complicated as you think. What now? I asked. He looked over at me with a crooked smile and said. Ah, good, it worked.

Jogged your memory. You should still probably see the in-house shrink, but as far as mental faculties go, you should be as good as new. What do you do? Ah, nothing much. Nothing much at all, rookie. Eh, whatever you say. Come on, let's go see the sheriff.

Good news is he was right. Mr. Henry was a decent man. Bad news is no one will ever know. Sounds like a plan. It looks like you could use a bite to eat. Don't look so frazzled. Nice bowl of chili will do the trick. Getting mesmerized takes a little.

lot out of you. You've been mesmerized before? Yeah, nearly killed me. Well, what happened? Maybe I'll tell you about it later. Too hungry to think straight right now. I shook my head and said nothing more. I simply followed him as we made our way through the sally port. The whole time I remember thinking how oddly predictable Agent Adams was and how oddly unpredictable everything else was, which makes me wonder why the agency paired us together to begin with. Working with him had been a crazy crash course in the political machinations of the supernatural, one which I cannot say I was totally prepared for. That was it. We stuck around with the sheriff and a few curious locals until the county coroner arrived. Adams and I answered their questions as best we could, but it was difficult since we weren't

allowed to say much, given the classified nature of our work. It's always sad having to hold back vital details, but the last thing we wanted was to start a panic. We were out of there before I knew it, just like Agent Adams said we would. When we returned to HQ, the first thing I did was bury myself deep in DPI archives. I had to know more about these revenants. It was difficult to put the pieces together with what little intel we had. Apparently, Revenants are more recent phenomenon. The new kid on the block, so to speak.

It all starts with their leader. A young boyar born to vampiric nobility in Romania. The Dracul demonic order, to be exact, which is the oldest and most prestigious bloodline. It was already a prodigy by the age of seven. His fighting ability was so profound, it drew the attention of the master of all vampires, the devil himself. He took him into his custody as an apprentice,

making him the first and only person to ever be given this honour. Some say that he was conditioning him to be the next Antichrist, this is highly unlikely given the nature of the devil and the arcane and ritualistic methods used by the church of the new faith when choosing an acceptable candidate to say the devil was hard on him during his training would be an understatement for six years he suffered a taste of the torment his master had endured in the pits of hell after he'd been cast from the heavens

the boy was able to hone his skill under the devil's tutelage becoming something of a legend in arguably his greatest moment he was able to battle a high-ranking archangel to a draw at the age of 14. The records are scattered, but apparently vampire aristocrats are no different than their human counterparts when it comes to scheming and court intrigue. His talent had become a thing of envy and worry. How long will this go on? He was only 16 and already he'd been given the title of warden. He'd risen through the ranks fast than anyone thought possible and was still climbing, allowing this young upstart to continue his rise was an unimaginable affront of their own

proudful aspirations within the Transylvanian Corps. A cadre of influential nobles came together in secrecy and conspired against him. They agreed to forge documents that would implicate him in a plan to overthrow the Wolf King. Their plan was comically bad and everyone saw right through it. Everyone surprised the devil played along. no one knows why and I will not add to the speculation with my own misplaced conjecture. He told the boy that the only way he would let him walk out of Brown Castle alive was if he defeated him in ritual combat.

Details surrounding the fight are scarce. The only thing I know for sure is that he was soundly defeated. As strong as he'd become, he was no match for the devil. It was quickly brought to heal and punished in the cruelest way imaginable. when I say cruel I mean surprisingly twisted even for the devil and his notorious standard of cruelty as I explained earlier forget what you thought you knew about him he's God's greatest adversary for a reason he's far from a court gesture or a wounded dog waiting to be put out of its misery he's the harbinger of evil the manifestation of everything that God is against

if I were you I pray that you never have to find out what I mean but he is truly the embodiment of wickedness, darkness and ungodly determination. Somehow the boy survived his punishment and lived on, becoming the very first of his kind. We do not know his birth name, but he's called Lord Bale or First Revenant. Based on what we do know, he's one of the most powerful beings in existence. So dangerous, in fact, that it's an executive directive specifically on him and two others called Cerberus. The three are to be handled with extreme caution and considered to be the greatest threat to the world as we know it. The other two are the devil, for obvious reasons, and a woman by the name of Charlotte Barano.

Her story is a remarkable one. She works for our OSS department, but again, another story for another day. I already knew about the other two and why they're so dangerous. Asked around headquarters about Lord Bale and the rumors regarding him, and they're all over the place. allegedly his ability to travel back in time is what makes him one of the three demigods, which is what these three targets in executive directive Serberus are called. When I asked my partner about this, he scoffed, but didn't dismiss it outright as gossip, like he usually does when I bring up subjects from around the water cooler.

Revenants are classified as a unique subcategory of vampires in our database. To my knowledge, this Lord Bale created four vassals. The two known ones are Bethel Rosemary and Terence Walker. His motives and reasons for choosing them are unknown. The only thing that is clear is that whoever he chooses must prove themselves worthy before he offers them further insight. Well, there's more, but sadly I must end my findings pertaining to the reverent phenomenon here. The last thing I want to do is overshadow the life and legacy of John Lucas Henry.

He was a proud man who believed wholeheartedly in the Word of God. The few snippets I was able to provide into his remarkable life are enough to leave a sort of literary memorial. No one's surprise the case was deemed low priority and closed almost as fast as it opened. I understand that the agency has limited resources, but still doesn't change the fact that every life is precious. Even though I have an eminent amount of respect for my partner, Agent Adams, my greatest fear is becoming cold like him. I often wonder if his behaviour comes naturally. or if it was all the years of work in the supernatural field that caused his coldness. Well, this concludes my report.

File number 184, John Lucas Henry. My CIR regarding this case, along with my CRF, will be transferred over to the Resource Department. Sadly, what remains of Mr. Henry will forever rest in the DPI digital categories. No dossier number was assigned to this report. The subject was deemed too insufficient to threat to national security. to be given one. Special agent Michelle Harris. Badge number 9578-823, July 4, 2023. Case 1. Ghost in the Keys. Detective A. Wilson, case file 311714, July 2008. New murder investigation today. This is the creepiest thing I've seen in a while. While the putrid smell of the victim,

The victim's apartment couldn't do it. The state of the victim's body made me throw up in my mouth. It was a mangled mess on the floor, unrecognizable pieces swimming in a pool of deep red blood. This was clearly a homicide. The victim's wallet in his bedroom confirmed his ID. It appeared as if the victim had tried to fight back, suggested by the revolver near the body and the two bullet holes in the wall. The strangest part was that several weeks ago another victim was discovered, mangled. in the same fashion as this poor guy. Well, we might have a serial killer on our hands. There was no will in his name,

so the few valuable belongings that weren't considered evidence, some furniture, TV, watch, and a piano, I think, were gathered and given to the victim's parents. No DNA, other than the victims, was found on anything. Luckily, we did discover a possible lead. In the blood puddle was what appeared to be the victim's journal. blood stains were on most of the pages, making them unreadable. However, it looks like the latest entries remained intact.

I'm transcribing the contents here. May 28th, 2008. Summer at last. No more homework, studying, and finals until September. My final that I took today didn't really go well, but at least it's done. When one ordeal is eliminated, another presents itself. I bring out of money in order to keep the... hellhole of an apartment, I need to find myself a job.

Yeah, I'm going to be able to do that in this ghetto. I don't understand. I thought college helped you find jobs more easily. Well, I hope it's worth it after it's all over. With the economy the way it is, it seems like only scientists, engineers, or other people ruining their college experiences by choosing obscenely hard majors for Latane careers. Being an artist doesn't seem to cut it. At least I'm away from my parents.

While I'm still rotting, at least I'm not rotting with them. They said I won't become anything that I'm doomed for failure and might as well just give up. And they said a lot of things. I can quit whenever I want. He just tripped and fell down the stairs. Well, I need to believe that they were always wrong. I need to believe that my hard work and scholarship that I earned was merely a prelude to my success story. June 4th, 2008.

all of this free time is killing me after applying everywhere for work and getting no reply I gave up for the summer the anxiety of possibly losing my apartment is bothersome but being alone friendless and lost to my thoughts is just tortuous needing to escape I got my keys and went for a drive in my truck after about an hour of aimless driving I investigated a garage cell from a small house in a nearby neighbourhood

I peruse the selection of wares lamps, bedsheets, a dresser, all seemed in decent condition. Or perhaps the owner was moving. One thing did catch my eye. In the distance was an upright piano. His brown paint was chipped, but it still retained an aesthetic appeal.

I played a couple of notes, slightly out of tune. I remember taking piano lessons when I was a child, but when addiction overcame my parents, the funding was cut. I thought to myself that purchasing this instrument might provide a distraction from my deleterious thinking. I approached who I assumed to be the proprietor, a man like he was in his 50s overseeing the sale.

Something about his facial expression stuck with me. I know the face of depression when I see it, and this man had it. The haunting look in his eyes told a story of a life plunging into chaos and all hope becoming lost. Well, it was strange. I asked about the price of the piano. Well, they offered me it for $30, and I admitted that it was, well, it seemed like a low price or a piano. But the man insisted that he'd sell it to me for that price. Eventually, I accepted the deal, loaded the piano into my truck and set it up in my living room

with the help of some other residents. I played a few songs that I could remember, but it was evident that my skills had rusted with time. I'll see if I can learn some songs through tutorials on the internet. internet tomorrow. June 5th, 2008. Just when I'd all but given up hope, I received a phone call from the mini-mark today for an interview. It's certainly not my first choice for a job, but beggars can't be choosers. Since I don't have a nice suit, I decided to go with the outfit that I wear when I go to the bars. Unfortunately, that's the best I've got. Spending the rest of the day practicing the interview in front of the mirror.

Hopefully I won't be too nervous tomorrow. June 6th, 2008. I was saying the interview went terrible would be an understatement. The manager was a total asshole right from the get-go. I spent all night preparing for the interview and I thought I was completely ready for anything the interviewer could throw at me. How wrong I was. The office that I was instructed to go to was a glorified closet.

It made my apartment look good and I had to say something. I entered his office and looked around. There wasn't a single decoration on the walls and I noticed slight faults on the ceiling. In front of me was the manager's desk. He sat in a plastic chair that was clearly too small for such a fat man. I approached the desk and the manager welcomed me with a slimy, toothy grin on his face. It was at this moment that I knew I was fucked. He said in an oily voice,

"'He said in an oily voice, "'heav receipt.' There was a problem with that statement. There wasn't a single chair in the room other than his, and he knew it. In retrospect, I could see why such a self-important narcissist like himself would ask that question. Probably thinks that it would test my ability to think in an uncomfortable situation or something. That's not clever, that's just rude. I answered the question by saying that I prefer to stand. He asked a few other questions about my job experience and whatnot.

The sad reality is that this would in fact have been my first. first job but I couldn't admit that. Instead I told him that I was an excellent art student and a quick learner. That's the best I could do. Needless to say, there's no way in hell I'm getting a call back. Screw this. I'm going to look back at this entry one day and be able to just feel the anger in the ink. Time to bust out the booze and go to bed. Or pass out, whichever comes first. June 7, 2008. The weirdest thing happened last night. About a quarter past 3 a.m., I swear I heard music coming from a piano in the living room.

The sound was very faint, but it did have the distinct piano tone. When I walked into the living room to investigate, the music stopped. Well, that definitely got me spooked. June 8, 2008. I was practicing this afternoon when I struck an A in the higher register. No tone was played. I struck the note again. only to be greeted with a thud.

I opened the piano and searched the interior to determine if anything was broken. As my eyes scanned toward the trouble area, I was startled and jumped back into the bench. Lodge between the hammer and the string was a large, dead, bleeding rat. Admittedly, this frightened the hell out of me when I saw it. I've seen rats before, but none were this big. This creature's body was nearly a foot long. each tooth was as long as a nail and as sharp as a blade

I bet a group of these rats could deck down a dog I took some tongs from my kitchen remove the rat from my piano and tossed it as well as its tongs into the dumpster I wiped off the blood from the piano to sterilize the hell out of it I guess that explains the noise I heard the other night June 10th 2008 I heard the piano playing again

and what followed I will never forget the music that woke me up was more defined than the last occurrence last time it was very faint or be it audible this time however not only was the music much more audible

but it was actually music well I didn't recognise the song but it was a coherent organised piece of music I exited my bedroom and walked into the living room to investigate and the music continued astonished and a bit frightened, I turned on the lamp to see what was actually performing.

I really had no idea what to expect. My finger shaking. I flicked the light switch. As the room illuminated, I saw that on the piano bench sat a girl. She was facing the piano until the sudden lighting caused her to turn around toward me. I felt like I was going to lose it, but something about her presence was strangely... me. No, no, no, she wasn't real. There's no way. Then what did I see? I don't do any drugs. Deep in my heart I knew what happened wasn't an hallucination. This was no dream. This was real.

When she turned around, we locked eyes. I felt that I needed to run away, but I couldn't. Something about her beauty was absolutely mesmerizing. She looked slightly younger than me. She had long, silky, smooth black hair that reflected the light just enough to detect a hint of blue. The look on her face when we gazed for the first time was what I could only describe as a combination of fear and sadness. Her sapphire blue eyes radiated a certain element of emptiness that lingered in her soul. She was wearing a short black dress with black high heels. Such attire will be suitable for a piano recital or performance, except hers had, well, more personality to it. After being lost in each other's eyes for what seemed like in eternity, she smiled.

She then got up from the piano bench, walked toward the window, and gazed at the moonlight. I walked over and stood next to her. Finally, after minutes of silence, I asked, Who are you? No reply. She just turned her head and faced me with a warm smile and then continued staring at the moon. Eventually I took her hand and held it. I woke up this morning feeling happy for the first time in months.

This happened, I don't care what anyone says. June 26, 2008. It's been a while since I've written an entry in here. I've been spending the past several nights with the girl. I was always awoken with a different yet equally beautiful piano piece. I'd then meet her in the living room and enjoy each other's company until dawn. She was still silent, but that's okay. I could tell that she listened to every word I said.

I'd spent hours talking to her about the troubles of life and such. The facial expressions that she'd reply with made it so that I could always tell what she was thinking. She continued her beautiful piano playing, and I'd listen as each new sound resonated through my soul. What we had was absolutely perfect, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Although the other night, something out of the ordinary happened. When I went into the living room to see her, she gave me the same sad and fearful look that she'd given me when we first met, and then just dissipated.

It vanished, gone. This exact same scenario repeated for the past few nights. After some serious thinking, I concluded that her spirit is definitely connected to the piano somehow. Tomorrow I plan on going back to the garage sale that I bought it from, and asked that strange man about it, June 27th, 2008. The visit was a real eye-opener. I gained so much information in this visit that I'm writing all of it down here while sitting in my truck. First I forget important details.

I poured into the driveway where the garage cell used to be. The neighbourhood seemed quiet. Too quiet. I knocked on the door thinking there'd be no answer, because the man had just moved or was lighted. dead on the floor. Thankfully, he answered the door promptly. After an awkward introduction, he invited me in for a cup of coffee.

I entered the small house. Well, it was reasonably large and seemed rather empty. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. You could see the dust particles floating through the haze. We used my smartphone to secretly record the conversation so that I wouldn't miss a single detail. We sat down and sipped coffee. When I inquired about the piano, he said that it belonged to his daughter.

It was then that I stealthily hit, recalled. Always good. Might not have had many friends, and people might have called her weird or creepy, but I know Sarah was always good at heart. She just loved that piano of hers. Got it for her as a gift for her 18th birthday. She said that she always wanted to learn how to play piano, so I decided to help her fulfill that dream of hers.

I always remember that. smile she had when I gave her the piano. One day, though, everything changed. I asked the door to see two police officers standing in front of me. They said that my daughter was wanted for murder. My sweet daughter wanted for murdering some poor soul. She wasn't home at the time, but the police had a warrant to search the house.

In her bedroom, they found a hidden photograph that she took of her victim. A couple of hours later, received a phone call. call from the police department informing me that my daughter was killed while being chased by the police she fled into a busy street where she was hit by a truck after i learned the truth about her i just had to get rid of all of stuff i was just so sad confused my aunt angry i didn't want any trace of her around here so i sold all of her belongings in the garage sale that's when you bought the piano her father burst into tears then reached into a drawer in the coffee table and reached into a drawer in the coffee table pulled out a folder. He handed it to me and explained that it contained photographs and documents

pertaining to her case. He added that he intended on burning them, but hasn't done so yet for some reason. Examined the photographs. One picture was a copy of the aforementioned photo that Sarah took of her victim. I have no idea why her father would keep this around. The victim in the photo was just a pile of mutilated body parts. I put the photo down almost instantly. I put the photo down almost instantly. I couldn't look at it anymore. Next, I picked up the forensic photograph of Sarah after she'd been hit by the truck. At this point, I'm certain that Sarah was indeed the girl I've seen from the piano all these nights. I'm terrified that I've actually been haunted by a ghost this entire time. This also may realize who I've become, slaving away at something

with no physical presence night after night. I don't think I've even left the apartment in weeks. enough's enough I can't live like this any longer I'm destroying that damn piano as soon as I get home the entry continues at a later time as evidenced by a slight change in handwriting and legibility

this could very well be my last message so while I lay here I'll provide as much details as I can I pray that someone will find this journal if you are reading this burn that piano do not let it leave your sight without destroying it i beg you it's the only way to silence her forever i entered my apartment after stopping at the hardware store to buy an axe when i entered the living room i heard a high-pitched hum coming from the piano it was not a sound that a piano made it sounded similar to the feedback of a malfunctioning microphone i saw the girl sitting on the bench facing the piano away from me her head pointed down with her head pointed down

in an unnatural position. As I approached her, the hum grew unbearably loud. I dropped my axe to put my hands on my ears, which ultimately didn't help. I walked up to her from behind, removed my right hand from my ear and placed it on her shoulder, and shouted, Stop! Suddenly the humming stopped, and the silence sent a chill down my spine. She then turned her head around to face me.

and what I saw will haunt me until I die I don't even want to write it down here I fell to the ground when she turned around to face me her face wasn't the same as when we first met that night her flesh was decaying and falling off of her face like a corpse her once sapphire blue eyes were just two abyssal

holes now her jaw dropped an unnatural distance revealing her rotted mouth and that wasn't what frightened me the most what frightened me the most was when she it spoke for the first time his voice was a simultaneous low frequency and high frequency

like when someone uses a computer to disguise their voice on television during an anonymous interview it said to me four words that destroyed a part of me do love me and that damn humming returned louder than ever I got off the floor as quickly as I could and careened toward my bedroom and logged the door. After I mustered as much courage as I could afford, I obtained the chest from under my bed that contained my father's revolver.

It was still loaded. I know that I'm powerless against a ghost, but I'll try and defend myself nonetheless. I'm almost done. My hands are shaking. I can't feel my legs as I lay on the floor against my bed. My vision is starting to blur. That fucking humming. I can hear it coming now.

Even if I survive this, I'm saving one bullet for myself. I can't go on any more after this. This is all I can write. God help me. Case two. I know my house is haunted. I know there are things in my house. Other things, other beings.

I'm used to this actually. It's just part of who I am and what my home is, and has been for as long as I can remember. They always come and go, usually without much damage. Even the stubborn other things eventually can be dispelled. But the ones that have come to me recently are unlike anything I've dealt with before, and I fear they may be the end of me. I'm trying to recall when exactly it began.

My days have become blurry, but I'll do my best. I believe the first instance where I noticed signs that these things, these new things had arrived, well, I remember there being small signs. Things moved around, items disturbed or misplaced, an uneasy feeling of not being alone. Temperature changes, faucets running, floorboards creaking. The typical signs of a haunting, you know. I've become accustomed. to them, so they don't frighten me, but they do make me alert.

Not everything that passes through my home has always been very friendly. I started becoming alarmed when I noticed wallpaper peeling off of the walls in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I know that over time this can happen, but it was coming off in large strips and I could hear it being ripped away from the wall. The sharp tearing sounds startled me as I rested one evening. I followed it to see the decorative damask wallpaper that my grandmother had installed being destroyed. Bits of it were already on the floor and the wall itself looked as if someone had taken a knife to certain parts of it.

Edges were lifted up and I watched as they were pulled away from the wall in various strips and pieces. With each tear of the paper I felt my heart being torn. My grandmother had so meticulously picked that wallpaper out and even else. asked for my opinion. In the end, she had chosen one of the ones that I told her I liked. It was as if this unseen force was just ripping at my memories without consideration. I yelled. I screamed. I pleaded for whatever it was to stop, to leave it alone. It paused for a few moments and I felt the air near me shift. I didn't move, not out of fear, but out of shock. I still stared at the ripped.

wallpaper. The things that came into my home had never destroyed something like this. After a few minutes, it began again. I tried desperately to make it stop. I pushed the strips against the wall. I cried, I begged. Nothing worked. I wet myself into such a frenzy until my energy was spent and I collapsed onto the carpeted floor. Eventually I fell asleep or passed out from exhaustion. When I awoke, an entire wall's worth of wallpaper was in tatters on the floor. The bare wall that had been previously hidden made my heart hurt, and I forced myself to leave the room, dejected and downtrodden. The wallpaper tearing continued in spurts over the next few days,

along with the other normal haunting signs I'd mentioned before. I took to entering the room a few times a day and asking for whatever it was there to just stop. I asked what it wanted, how I could appease it. I was always to no avail. I never received any type of message or sign, and it didn't stop until all of the walls were bare. And it only escalated from there. I was lying on my bed one day when I felt everything shake. I sat up, immediately wondering if it was an earthquake.

I was about to climb out of bed when I noticed the edge of my blanket moving. and the foot of my bed my comfortable duvet was being moved away from the corners and bunched up haphazardly toward the centre the shaking had stopped for a moment while this happened and i knew immediately that it wasn't an earthquake as i'd first suspected stop i yelled they seemed to do the trick the blanket stopped moving the bed however began to shake again i pulled my knees up to my chest and backed up against the headboard, pressing myself against it. A loud scraping sound emanated from the end of the bed, and it moved a few inches against the wooden floor.

I gasped and yelled again for it to stop. Please, stop. This is my bedroom. What do you want? I screamed at the seemingly empty room. The bed moved another inch or two before it ceased. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I didn't blink. My duvet was then ripped away from me violently. I grabbed for it as it was thrown to the ground. Fabric slipped against my palm, but my fingers found purchase on the edge of the blanket.

I tugged it back toward me, getting a better grip on it with both hands. The blanket felt slack for a split second. Then the other thing that had a hold of it yanked hard, pulling my body along with it. I did my best to stay on the bed, but my shoulders and head were left hanging off the of the bed. I clenched my fists around the blanket, refusing to release it. There was one more yank, more gentle than the one before, and I fought back with every ounce of strength I had. I took a moment to gather my thoughts before I righted myself back onto the bed. Before I could sit up, though, I felt a strange sensation on my right shoulder. It was a slight tingle at first, but in a matter

of seconds, it felt like my entire shoulder was being grabbed by the devil himself. The pain was sharp and fiery. It burned into my body from one point and spread like shattering glass throughout my entire arm and down my back. I held in pain, and barely felt the bed being shot over more from where I was. Whatever was in my house, it was strong and didn't care about me. I don't know how long it lasted. the pain and the bed moving. It felt like hours, but I know it couldn't have been that long. At some point the pain began to fade slowly. I only laid there in agony as it dissipated.

When it had subsided enough and I found some strength, I pushed myself up, saw that my bed was now against a wall, and my bedside tables, which had flanked each side of the headboard before, were now removed and no longer in the room. My blanket was mostly on the floor, floor and I saw some scratches on the hardwood floor from the bed being moved. I weakly pulled my blanket back onto the bed and curled up into a tight ball with it wrapped

and bunched up all around me. Dears stung my eyes but none came. I wasn't broken yet, but I was feeling myself beginning to crack. I never dealt with anything this intense. I know it might not seem like a big deal to you or most, but I was feeling myself. I was but in the moment, as these things happened to me, it was absolutely terrifying. I had experience with hauntings. I knew what to expect. It isn't like in the movies or books. It's usually more benign.

Most people hardly even notice the presence of spirits, because they're so innocuous. And places like my home that become sort of a way station are usually mostly left alone. They come, stay for a while, and then move on. I don't know why it happens this way. Can't even begin to try and figure it out, so I'll stop trying a long time ago. All I know is they typically don't stick around. Some have been more persistent, yes, but simple tricks get rid of them. When small things are moved, I put them back.

When they fog up the mirrors, I write messages asking them to leave. Even trying to talk with them directly can work. I even have certain protection symbols and items around the house to try and keep the beings moving along. If one's being stubborn, can move one of my totems into a central place in the house, and once they encounter it, it aids them in moving on. Or if they came across one of the symbols expertly crafted and positioned in important corners of my home, they realized that this place is protected and they let go. This new thing, though, had started with destroying my house and attacking

me. This had never happened before. It had actually touched me and the pain I felt terrified me to my call. Maybe I'm superstitious but I began to wonder if this was some sort of demon. Things kept happening. My days melted together in a mess of pain,

terror and destruction. A wall in the foyer was turned to rubble. The stairs were torn apart and blanks of wood littered the floor. The kitchen was completely annihilated, as if a bomb had gone off amidst its barriers. Along with the damage to the property, I began smelling something. It happened at least half dozen times and always started the same with a slight burning smell, then a shifting cloud would form.

As the cloud formed and moved itself through the house, stretching and contracting and stretching again, the air would increasingly begin to feel heavy and depressive. The scent shifted to something else Along with smelling burns There was something else that I couldn't place my finger on It lingered and made me feel sick Made my head swim and my body feel weak When it was abrasive enough

I'd find out later that I'd passed out I'd tried everything I moved totems into various places That would be easily seen I wrote messages I yelled I pleaded I offered deals, I made sure the symbols were visible. These were all met with harsh retaliation.

The totems were ruined, the symbols were carved into, breaking the protection seals, and the messages were ignored. All of my pleas and attempts fell on death or apathetic ears and eyes. And then there was the altercation, an actual interaction that confirmed there was more than one being haunting my house. I was walking around my home, feeling my heart fall apart in shatters bit by bit as I surveyed the broken pieces of my life. When I entered what used to be the parlour, there was a new symbol on one of the walls. It felt ominous and dangerous.

I approached it hesitantly and saw that the lions were impressed into the surface, as if carved with some sort of tool. The closer I got to it, the worse I began to feel. My vision became muddy and I couldn't focus on anything for too long. My chest felt tight, my body heavy. I took a step backward away from it and faltered a bit. I reached out for the couch and it wasn't where it belonged. I fell to the floor and crawled away from the wall. Ah, there you are.

I heard a voice from behind me. I looked over my shoulder and up at what had spoken. still difficult to focus even with a distance between myself and the symbol all i could see were blurred edges of something clad in or made of black i felt animosity pouring from it who i tried asking but felt too weak to finish you are unwanted in this place it said the voice was male but i couldn't see any details of the creature. This is my home. I managed to get out as I struggled to stand, using a table to help steady myself.

The thing spoke again, but I couldn't understand the words. He reached out toward me, and I bolted, almost tripping over myself. And it barreled after me, knocking over whatever was in its path, chairs, tables, the umbrella holder, and more ended upturned or shoved aside. I stopped suddenly when I entered the kitchen and felt something growing inside of me. It was a churning hurricane of fear and anger. I wasn't sure which I felt the most, but seeing the kitchen again, forced into this carnage that barely resembled the comforting room it had once been,

shifted something inside of me and planted a seed of rats. I turned on my heels and plant a barrel toward the creature to be the attacker instead of the attacked this time. But just before my hands could make contact, it sidestepped me and yelled out something unintelligible. My body was pulled to the ground as if by some sort of force. I felt in my hands and knees held in place somehow. The room around me spun and my vision went black, as it had before when I smelled that strange scent that made me sick. When I came to, there were more symbols on the walls, and I found that I couldn't leave the kitchen. I could stand, I could walk around, but I couldn't cross the threshold from the kitchen to the rest of the house.

I couldn't explain it. After pacing for a while, I heard distant voices and saw shadowy figures from the adjacent room. They were blurry like the other one had been, and I couldn't understand what they were saying. There were two or three of them, it was difficult to tell, as their forms appeared to shift and meld into one another, before separating again and moving around. The voices were strange and sounded too far off for the distance. Please, let me go, I called out weakly. There was no sign of them hearing me or noticing me at all. The other things moved away from my sight, and I was left completely alone.

I spent days there, trapped in the kitchen, tortured by the sounds of my house being torn apart. occasionally one of the beings would appear in the doorway and say something in its demonic language it would bring with it the dizzying smell and when i was weak it touched me and i felt that scalding pain as i had in my bedroom i didn't know how much longer i'd be able to take it every time it happened i became weaker and weaker after i don't know how many days i was finally released from my kitchen prison I don't know if it was on purpose or accident, but I was able to finally move about my home once again. I am prepped here, but at least I can move around. These things still haunt the walls and rooms of my home.

They seem to still be intent on tearing the house apart. I don't know how to get rid of them. I fear they might be the end of me. Look, if anyone else has experience with this sort of, thing, please help me. I'm at a loss for what else to do and I worry that I'm running out of time. But, well, on the plus side, I'd finally figure out how to possess a living human. Case three. I'm a night janitor for a haunted elementary school. I'm a night janitor for an elementary school and my work hours are from 3 p.m. throughout midnight. Sometimes I stay until almost 3 a.m. when

their after-school activities. I have to help set them up and then clean when they're over. Leave me to clock out at almost dawn sometimes. My designated section was 24 rooms that I have to clean alone.

Lately it's beginning dark rather early. When the clock strikes six, the sun begins to descend into the horizon of swaying trees and half-lit homes, eventually disappearing. Around the same time, all of the other staff members hurry out of the building leaving me to my work.

I'm going to leave the name of the school and my real name and others real names and the location out of this one because well I just want to keep my identity and the image of the school safe. So for this story I'll be Tim. Since I work nights I always get that paranoia that I'm being watched. I always chalked it up to my mind playing tricks on me since I'm all alone in this building for several hours at a time but it was right after Halloween when something strange began to occur it was that time of the year when trees lose their leaves and take on a skeletal silhouette autumn I started to notice

that more and more the students looked as if they were shaken up about something I was looking at the floor when walking quiet anxious signifying a sort of retreat while this didn't sit well with me. The students were dismissed at 3.30, so I'm present while they're still in class. I'm a first-time father and cared for these children. Well, I may just be a janitor, but I'm not some weird or a heartless guy who just wants a paycheck. These kids were young and needed to feel safe. So I talked with them when I was given the chance. They call me Mr. Tim, the vacuum man. I'm in my 20s, so I'm approachable to a young.

younger crowd, and I felt this brought a sense of comfort to them, rather than being some creepy night janitor who is unwelcoming. I saw a child who was walking down the hall, and was obviously frightened about something, constantly looking over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised. So I asked quietly, Hey, uh, something bothering you, kiddo. He let out a short yell. Oh, it's okay, it's just me.

Hey, is everything all right? I tried to reassure the boy. Oh, hey, Mr. Tim, yeah, I'm okay, he said nervously. Well, you know, if there's something bothering you, don't be afraid to tell me about it. I can probably help you. I'm Mr. Tim, the vacuum man. He laughed and then said, yeah, I know. Okay, well, um, whenever I've used that,

this bathroom, I see this tall man smiling at me. I immediately got the chills. What, um, is it someone in the school? Someone you recognize? He replied, no, I can barely see him. He's all black, it's like a shadow, but I know he's there. I know it. Well, this could just have been the child.

imagination. I mean, Halloween had just passed, so maybe he was just scared from that. But all of the other students were behaving rather oddly. So maybe this boy was really seeing someone or something stalking him in the bathroom. Yeah, that sounds like it's just your imagination, kiddo. I wouldn't worry about it. Yeah, maybe it's just your mind playing tricks on you since Halloween has just passed. Try to focus on your schoolwork more. maybe it'll go away. I tried to calm him. Yeah, I'll try.

He spoke softly. All right, off you go then. This bothered me. Was there some pervert hiding in the bathrooms here? My mind began to race. I couldn't just ignore this information. My first thought was to tell the principal. When I did, her reaction was exactly as I imagined.

she called the student to her office and asked the child to explain to her what he told me we did sort of frantically and this made the principal uneasy the next day she hired a security guard to patrol the hallways after about a week the kids still remained anxious but never spoke of this figure no one really pried on the matter anyway we just expected this to be some sort of scare tactic to make this person flee if there was anyone there to begin with. It seemed like it worked, so the security guard was dismissed and the staff resumed their cheerful outlook on their jobs, instead of being worried about a creep that may have been lurking in the shadows ready to pounce on a helpless child. Well, I'm just glad this wasn't the case. But I remember one particular shift. My calendar read that there was going to be a Cub Scouts meeting in the media centre at 615

and basketball practice at 6.30. So that meant I'd most likely be here before the break of dawn. At around six I unlocked one of the front doors for the Cub Scouts counsellor and the coach for the basketball team. Moments passed and the Cub Scouts counsellor walked through the doors. I greeted him, helped him set up and went back to my normal duties. I didn't have to help the coach since the gym had everything he needed for sports. I just had to lock the doors once they were done and refinish the gym floor. from all those shoe marks and any trash on the ground.

As far as the Cub Scouts meeting, well, it was the same concept. Just had to vacuum around the used area and disfanked any surfaces used along with throwing any trash left behind away. During my normal shift duties, I couldn't help but feel as if I was being watched. I kept telling myself that it could have been a student

or parent watching me from a distance, but I was in a more secluded area of the building, away from the after-school activities. This was different. It felt like someone was nearby. You know how you can hear someone coming from around a corner without hearing their footsteps,

or physically seeing them? It was just like that. Only all around me. Once the after-school activities came to an end at around eight, I made sure every person was out of the building and locked the doors. The front doors had windows on them,

and it was pitch black outside. Once I finished engaging the last lock, I couldn't help but notice a tall and dark-clothed man behind me in the reflection. When I quickly turned around, only to see that no one was there. What the hell? I thought to myself. I sighed and continued on with my duties. I started with the gym floor and began buffing the floors.

This was the job that took the most time, so I wanted to get this. done first. As I finished, I turned the machine off, and in the distance I could hear muffled screams. It was coming from the building. Okay, something isn't right here, I exclaimed. I got all of the equipment into the receiving room and left the floor to dry, but I could still hear the faint sounds of screaming. It was coming from my section, and I still had rooms to do. Well, I decided to put on some headphones and listen to music so I could ignore these strange occurrences. I decided to put on classical music as it helped calm my nerves. I started with Moonlight Sonata, a piece from Beethoven, and then just let my playlist shuffle. When I clean the rooms, I normally just

focus on what's in front of me. But tonight, I couldn't help but look around me, as if I were to see the man in a corner somewhere. I tried my best just to ignore it, but when I got to a part of a room located by a window, I felt compelled to look outside. All I could see was total darkness, pitch, black. Not a street light, no, dim and distant lights from a home, just darkness.

And the power went out. I was absolutely terrified. What I saw outside will haunt me for the rest of my life. It was the most sinister, elongated face I've ever seen in my entire life. His eyes sunken in but wide and focused, wrinkled skin with a white complexion and the most menacing smile I could ever imagine, complete with what seemed to be over a hundred teeth that looked like needles. I wasted no time and ran out.

of that building without even clocking out or looking back. I ran outside to my vehicle without looking over my shoulder to see if that thing was following me. And when I started my car, I drove out of the parking lot. To the left of me in the playground, I could see him watching me. He was waving. The next day my supervisor was furious, as I just left without clocking out or calling security to lock the doors. I explained what happened and he fired me. One day, on my own accord, I went to that school, I wanted to warn the principal about what had happened to me.

I met with her and I told her to hire an exorcist or get someone to cleanse that school. Well, because there's something evil in there. She replied, Tim, I don't understand what happened. I told her everything. how this tall man scared the living day lies out of me how I heard screams everything her mood changed she seemed uneasy

she had a long breath and began to say there's some something I want to show you she went to a filing cabinet and opened it sifting through files she finally pulled out a book it was a yearbook from 1986 "'What's that for?' I asked. She then flipped through some pages and finally stopped on a page that had pictures with descriptions under them.

She pointed one out and said, "'Here, take a look.' What I saw was a tall man mopping a floor with a smile I will never forget. It was the man I saw that night. It had to be. My God! said while shivering. He was the janitor here from 84 to 86.

I was told he'd go into the bathroom and spy on the kids, smiling at them. My heart sank and I let out a whimpering cough, trying to clear my throat, which was now gasping for air. What happened to him? I asked. She closed the book, looked at me and said, aside from the spying, he got from the spy. he got fired for constantly scaring the children even after Halloween was over he'd make them scream in terror

those were the screams i'd heard after he got fired he'd stalk the students they'd go missing at first no one thought anything of it but a detective brought him in for questioning he was then arrested admitted that he kidnapped raped and killed 15 students The detective claimed that he was smiling when he confessed. He was given the death penalty by lethal injection, and it said that he smiled even as he die. Case four. My friend's dead dad haunts me. So, I have a situation.

Well, more of an unusual paranormal phenomena than a situation, which has me. puzzled. I'm trying to find out why it's happening to me and what I can do. So please, if it seems like I veer off course, let me know and I'll get back on track. I'll start it from the first encounter that happened that day. Then I'll go on every day I actually had encounters instead of day by day. I'll start with a dream that I've constantly had since, well, since I could remember. I'm driving in the middle of the night. I'm in the hurry to get somewhere. I don't know why.

All I know is I have to get there. And then, boom. The car in the opposite lane has swerved into my lane, accidentally clipping me into losing control of my vehicle and crashing into a tree. Me not having my seatbelt on means I go flying out of the car and barely missing the tree, but landing on the hard surface of the asphalt. legs are broken, ribs broken, and impaled into my lungs as I lay there. I'm still alive, but not for long.

I see a figure approach me, and I muster whatever energy I can to call for help. And everything goes dark. Then I awaken in my room, looking up at my ceiling again, hearing my dad calling for me to go downstairs while my phone alarm was going off. I muster up the energy and shake off the pain that comes with that dream. Shut my phone off and get up. I go downstairs to see my father already having breakfast on the table in his work attire ready to go. Morning, my father said. Morning, I replied, while rubbing the sore spots on my body. You know, if you keep sleeping in like this, I'm going to have to attach an alarm clocked your head.

Sorry, I don't know what it is. It seems like I just can't get enough sleep. Ah, you're just growing. Just got to always plan around these things, though. Like, I don't know, go to sleep earlier, or set multiple alarms on your phone or something. He was right, as always, giving me hindsight and how I should handle things.

Though I didn't mind it much, because, at the end of the day, they did help, even though some were kind of obvious. We finished breakfast, and we did the usual goodbye hug before we went our separate way. As I'm making my way to school on foot. I see the same three things, basically, landmarks of a sort. I see Benito's Tire shop, Tom's Burgers, and that older gentleman standing by the tree off T-street. He never replies, just gives the glare as I walk past him.

His shoes are scuffed, full of holes and covered in mud. He doesn't seem to cause any trouble, so I don't really feel threatened by him. I mean, he's been by that tree for years, ever since I began walking this way. Also, I have about £30 on him, so if he does try something, I doubt it would end well for him. I get to school to meet up with my friends. Todd, Sam, who's a girl, by the way, and Luke. All three have been friends. since elementary school. And although we're all the same age, I do look three years older than them.

I usually have a foot in height over them. Also, I've got facial hair on top of it. They tease me by saying I was held back four years, or that I'm a Sasquatchy's son. Both are possible, especially the fact that I don't look a lot like my dad. So we all make our way into school. I guess I should explain a bit. Well, it's a normal high school, like seen on the TV. There were the cliques such as the jocks, the mean girls, the stoners, emo, goth, and the nerds. But the difference was, nobody ever had any beef with the other. Sure there were a couple of bullies here and there, but overall everyone was pretty decent to each other. Being a freshman, it was still a lot to take in. That and the ridiculous amount of homework

you have to do. But things weren't so bad for me. I was actually accepted to the vast football team as a middle linebacker. I'm sure it had to do with the fact in my first year I was already outlifting the team and even some of the coaches. Not to do my own horn or anything, but I was already up to four plates on my bench press. And for those who have no idea what that is, it's a little over 400 pounds. I never liked this sport, but it was a good way to take out my anger on people, while possibly having a chance to get to go to a good college for free.

Anyways, not the point, sorry for going off course. The reason I bring that up is that there is a varsity cheerleader that cheers for our games, who? For some reason, I cannot stop looking at, but not in that perv way that would make me into a stalker. Like, well, just wanting to get to nowhere. Seems so interesting, I don't know. So, every game we're out together, I turn into my awkward wave, and she smiles, waves back. Then I go and crush someone's soul on the field while everyone cheers. But this time,

she approached me. Hi, Abel, right? She asked. Um, yeah, although my friends call me Abe, like Lincoln, you know, because I'm so tall. And Abe Lincoln was tall. Right, I get it. She laughed. I'm Anne. I was thinking maybe sometime we should hang out, like go watch him. movie or something? Looking down, rubbing my head, still kind of nervous because she's three years above me after all. Now, don't blame a kid for being nervous, so I look back up, ready to say yes. When I saw the man from the tree behind her, and paused in shock, looking around at the

expressions of everyone else to see if they see what I'm seeing, but none of them seem to notice him. I look forward again, and before I can even react, he spoke. Yeah, that sounds good. We should do a group thing with all of us. It'll be a blast. I repeated what he said to her word for word. She loved that idea, and so did my friends, well, because we're a freshman, and they all agreed, and started making plans and talking to each other. The chat started to become more silent, me, because I couldn't get over the fact that I'm seeing this person who I'm convinced is a ghostman. He used me like a puppet. But as soon as I said those words, he was gone, and I was staring at Anne's smiling face,

and it kind of washed the fear I had away from me. Later that week, we all went to the movies, and just like that, we were always together. Never as a couple though I thought about the idea once And the thought made me want to vomit We had a sleepover once as well With all my friends and hers Luckily one of her friends

Kate I think Her parents were out of town for the weekend So we had a little more fun with drinks Which almost got one of my friends Laid until he puked on her Of course Classic Luke But it led to me being alone with Anne

While the others tended to Luke and his fountain of vomit that wouldn't seem to end. We sat outside to avoid the smell. I think the alcohol was starting to remove the illness I felt when I thought of her as more than a friend. She looked up into the stars above us with a smile that was so cute. Your dad's okay with you staying over here. I wouldn't know. He died before I was born. My mom wouldn't be happy. She knew you were.

were here also, you know, thinking every teenery is wanting to have sex and so on. God, it killed me to ask her to help me get birth control. The look on her face, though, is if I asked her to help me bury a body. She started to laugh, as did I. Sorry to hear you about your dad. It must be tough, I told her. It's okay. I didn't really know the guy. All I have is pitch is to go off of. But I heard he was a good man and was happy to hear that my mom was pregnant with me She replied Smiling and looking up to the stars

Oh Anybody will be lucky to have you in the life You must have known how you were going to turn out I mean Miss UCLA University we're talking about I answered She smiled But didn't say any more And I had this urge

I couldn't help myself I hugged her from the sign and leaned in for a kiss on her cheek. Shocked, she turns to me with a look of confusion. Sorry, I couldn't help it. He just looked so adorable with it. I stop in my track, as that same man appeared again. But this time he wasn't talking.

He pounced on me holding my throat in a rage. I couldn't shake him off. It was like I had an elephant on my chest. All Anne did was go to my side, looking at me while I struggled with this man. But how could she not see him? I thought to myself, as I continued to struggle for my life against this psycho. He finally spoke again. Not her. Anyone but her. I nodded in response, and just like that he vanished without a trace. I gas for air, as Anne helped me up, seeing that it was some.

wrong with me. Remembering what he said, I broke from her grasp. What the hell did I do? She yelled. Nothing. I'm sorry. Just don't want to be touched is all. I answered. I think the drink's got to me. I need to go home. I got up and before she could say anything, I walked off. I don't know what to do. I approached the man whenever he's by the tree but he doesn't respond he just stares and's now freaking out by the fact that i'm freaking out and we're starting to grow more separate which in my heart's something i don't want i want to be there for her please someone give me an idea of what's going on case five the fifth rule of babysitting Rule 1, the children should be in bed no later than 9.

Rule 2, the children must never be left unsupervised. Rule 3, contact us in case of any emergency. Rule 4. Unless stated otherwise, the children are not permitted to eat candy or junk food. Rule 5. Should you come across a room that shouldn't exist? Do not end. That last rule was all it took to dismantle any sense of normality, usually present in a job-like

babysitting, but this was the list handed to me by the woman who'd hired me, Veronica Delei, matriarch of the esteemed Delai estate. They moved into our small coastal town seven years prior, a corporate couple leading a large and powerful pharmaceutical company. I'd met her husband, Tom, working as a waitress in the only diner, towards the end of my senior year two years ago. Our little restaurant had shut its doors due to the ongoing pandemic. And when Tom found out about this, he mentioned that he and his wife were looking for a babysitter as their nanny no longer felt safe working during these times. And so her meeting was set up between

Veronica and I. She was a stern woman, seemingly scrutinizing my very soul with her frosty glare. She let me know that the only reason she was willing to hire a college student is because of how desperate she was. She and Tom had to make frequent trips out of town, even during the lockdown. Thus the strange list of rules fell into my hands along with the blueprint of the house, Veronica insisting that I familiarized myself with every nook and cranny. I first arrived at the delay, manner, on a gloomy Sunday evening. The sun was just starting to dip below the sea, and the feather clouds spayed across the sky, signaling a coming storm. To say the house was big was an understatement.

The house was a colossal mansion, Gothic Victorian, its dark polished wood and ivory spires thrust towards the sky. It stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, a brick lighthouse standing nearest to the cliff's edge. Tom was waiting for me in the driveway and led me into the estate to introduce me to his kids. Tyler was the oldest at nine,

followed by Jocelyn at six and Amber at four. They all told me this with enthusiasm. Tom looked on at our interactions, bemused, but Veronica seemed almost impatient as she studied her cuticles. They finally left and I was alone with the children. I asked them if they could give me a tour of the house. I knew that there were 12 bedrooms, eight closets, four bathrooms, a library,

two offices, a study, a large kitchen, an expansive series of interconnected attic spaces, a wine-cellar, three living rooms and a basement all spread across three stories. But knowing and seeing are two different things. If I was to be familiar with the house, I'd need to see it in its entirety. Curiosity was another factor. The house was a point of gossip in town, and I'd heard plenty of rumours about why the delays were so secretive about it. The children were eager to show me the place. place, especially Jocelyn, and she insisted that I see her room first.

I found myself jealous of the six-year-old's room. Her closet alone dwarfed my cramped room and dorm, and she had more princess-themed costumes than I had clothes. Let's have a tea party, she yelled. Oh, no, that's stuff's for girls, Tyler protested. I quieted the two bickering siblings, taking note that Amber was unusually quiet. I told them we'd take turns playing games, but they had to show me all the bedrooms first. They obliged, and with every room I saw, the more I was impressed.

Even the uninhabited ones had detailed wood engravings on the sparse vintage furniture. Dark, glossy wood decorated every corner of the house, and on every wall Victorian lanterns illuminated the corridors and spaces. Even then, the dark wood seemed to obey. absorbed the light leaving the whole house moody in its atmosphere. The sheer affluence and beauty of the place made my envy deepen, and it was apparent to see why the locals seemed to be distrusting of these people, who, in seven years, had accumulated more wealth than the entire town combined.

The children tired quickly. By the 12th bedroom they'd shown me that they were anxious to move onto a more stimulating activity. I'd been very observant, and every other room, and closet that had been present in the blueprints were accounted for. All that was left were the attics and basements. But even then I doubted I'd find one of these ominous, non-existent rooms the rules had warned me about. After the tour was over, I spent the rest of the night playing video games, having tea parties with the delay children. I even made them real green tea that I'd found in the cupboards.

When it was time to put them to sleep, it had started raining outside, occasionally a flashed, of lightning would illuminate the now nearly Stigian house. I sat in the library reading a book by dim light when I heard a noise, a very sharp and distinct creak, as if made by a careless footstep. I checked the time and saw that it was 10.43, far too late for the children to still be awake. I made my way towards a sound, guessing that it was coming from the stairway leading to the bottom floor. I crept down the stairs and, and in the room, and in the way, I crept down the stairs and into the kitchen on the first floor.

Nothing. Thinking that it was just the house settling, I rummished through the fridge until I came across a jar of pickles. I was indulging in the higher quality product when it happened again. We're creaking, but much harsher this time. I swear I caught the sound of wood splintering

and tearing at the end of it. I bolted up the stairs towards the children's room, heart pounding. I nearly flung the, the doors open to each of their rooms, but every time I found them soundly asleep. What the fuck is going on here? I said to no one in particular. I spent the next few minutes going methodically to each floor, checking each bedroom, but I found each one empty. There was no indication of anything having even disturbed the

house. I counted each bedroom, nothing had changed. Twelve bedrooms, no more or less. I wasn't stupid enough to dare to take a peek in the basement or attics. I'd wait until the delays got home before I even thought about considering it. Exhausted, I checked the time. 11.16. Mr. and Mrs. Deli would be home in a few minutes. I tried to settle down in one of the luxurious black velvet Victorian chairs. When a tremor shook the very foundations of the house itself,

the chandeliers over there clicked and, clacked together. An air-spitting shriek of shattering wood echoed throughout the mansion. I sprang back up, ready to call the police when the sound of the front door opening let me know the delays had returned. Well, I ran to warn them that something was wrong with the house. It all came spilling out of me, a single sentence of words tumbling over themselves. Veronica seemed unamused and slightly annoyed, but Tom smiled at me. I was taken aback by how handsome he looked when the edges of his eyes crinkled. It was just a dead tree falling out back.

Yes, the years of stress finally got to it. And this storm was the final push. I'm sorry if it scared you. I'm wanting to pay you extra for your troubles. Tom said. It's fine. I was just a bit freaked out, I replied. Well then, it's still raining so I can have Veronica drop you off.

Thanks, is all I said. The drive home was awkward and quiet. Veronica wouldn't even meet my gaze. I wondered if Tom was the one that decided to pursue this frigid woman, or if she'd been the one to take the initiative. She pursed her lips in a seemingly displeased expression as we reached my driveway, and I was about to mutter a half-hearted thank you, when she finally spoke up.

Tomorrow, 5 p.m. sharp. That's all she said before she took off, almost urgently. Talk about an exit. Briefly considered not returning, but the amount that they paid me for a few hours was hard to turn down. Tomorrow I'd be paid more for a long day, so I decided that I'd milk this as long as I could. Not many people were as fortunate to have such a decent source of income. The next day I was at the Deli Manor. In the bright light of the late afternoon, I got a better look at the property.

I saw the tree that had supposedly fallen over the night before. Its frayed and split trunk looked long rotted, and I was unsure if it had truly topped over just the night before. A small orchard sat to the side of the gloomy Victorian building, sharp and angular. He seemed almost angry. Strange that, amongst a serene beauty of the coast's edge, this is how and where the delays, decided to build this eerie monument to affluence.

I greeted the church. children and chatted with Tom. He and Veronica wouldn't be back until 11. I watched them drive away and spent the next hour or so playing outside with the kids. Tyler and Jocelyn were playing with some sticks, but Amber preferred to sit next to me and doodle on some scrap paper. I tried to start a conversation with the girl, but she was either incredibly shy, or her vocabulary was limited, as she never said more than two words to me at a time. I was trying to get some information about the house, but when she seemed like she wasn't going to reply, I turned to the other two. Jocelyn seemed uncomfortable and dodged my questions.

Tyler, however, seemed eager to talk. Mom says the house is old, and old houses come with old responsibilities. He said, matter of factly. What does that mean? Mom says it just means not to mess with things that are weird. Like what? Do you have any examples? The 13th room. "'In are only twelve rooms, Tyler.

"'How's that possible? "'I don't know, but mum says that if I ever see it, "'never to open it. "'Dad says mum's just stressed. "'I tried to fish more information out of him, "'but nothing was adding up, "'and he became irritated by my constant questioning. "'I decided not to push him further on this for now,

"'and instead I took the kids indoors for a snack. "'After they'd eaten, "'Jocelyn seemed to be full of energy, and was begging for another tea party, but Tyler wasn't having any of it. It was Amber who suggested a game of hide and seek. She pronounced it in a meek voices. I seek.

Jocelyn and Tyler seemed interested, so I told them only to hide in the house, and that would be it. I gave them two minutes to hide, and I heard their little footsteps echo throughout the house and had a general idea of where they'd gone to hide. I found Jocelyn first. she'd thrown herself inside the mountain of stuffed animals in her room.

She helped me find Tyler, who'd wedged himself inside a kitchen cabinet. Amber was far more challenging to locate. She seemed to be the most outcast among the trio. Tyler suggested that she was hiding in the library, and Jocelyn said that she could be stowed away in Tom's office. Both places came up empty, and I was starting to get a little worried. I called out her name a few times, but received a little bit. no reply. I began searching methodically from room to room. Tyler and Jocelyn were trying to whisper

something to each other, and I was only able to catch the tail end of it. The 13th room. The phrase brought a spike of panic throughout my body, and I was about to start questioning the children when Jocelyn started angrily scolding Tyler. Amper knows not to look in those rooms, she said in a barely contained whisper. But she always wants to. She always wants to be. She was She sits outside of them even though Mom says that's dangerous. yelled Tyler. Keep your voice down, stupid. Cindy, did you hear her?

She's calling me names. Okay, okay, settle down you two. So, um, there is a 13th room. Tyler and Jocelyn looked at each other briefly, contemplating what to do, before Tyler turned to face me and speak. Um, sometimes. Sometimes. Where? I don't know. It changes.

I furrowed my brow at this answer, vaguely aware of Jocelyn's growing discomforts. What the children and Veronica were suggesting was insane. A phantom extra room that changes its location. Maybe Veronica was suffering from some kind of delusions, and she'd drawn her children into her madness. What if Tom was unable to do anything, but, well, stick around. Show me where they tend to appear. Both children looked at each other in shock, but reluctantly agreed. They led me to the basement, a dusty spider-web infested place. I could see that a part of it was converted into a sort of living room.

Within it sat an entire vintage furniture set, and a box TV sat near the middle. The rest of it was storage, shelves and boxes beyond filled to the brim with old heirlooms and knick-knacks. I picked up a small picture frame of what appeared to be a young Veronica. I guess she was about eight when the picture was taken. I'd noticed that while Tom liked to pack his offices full of eye-catching antiques, Veronica's office was minimalistic and sparse. I figured that Tom was responsible for the interior design of the house, and Veronica only barely decorated her spaces,

packing the rest of it down here. I had the morbid thought that maybe the way Tom had built the house and how he decorated it drove her to some kind of madness slowly over the course of years. Or perhaps I'm jumping to conclusions, but it seemed as if Veronica Lighthouse is minimalistic and orderly. What if she started seeing disorder after being forced to live in a home that, while not messy, was packed with commodities from corner to corner? The Phantom 13th room, a delusion of her tired mind. One last thing to haunt her.

I guess if someone like Marie Kondo was forced to live like this, she too might go back, yes. She's not here, Jocelyn says. I've been so distracted in my armchair psychoanalysis of Veronica that I completely forgotten about the missing four-year-olds. I took a cursory glance around and called out her name, but was met with no reply. I asked the children where the next likely place was for this 13th room. It took me to the third floor and down a small winding corridor that had a little pull-down ladder leading to an attic.

I yanked the ladder down and made my way up it, telling the children to stay put. As I entered the room, I pulled out my phone's flashlight and shone it around. My heart stopped as it landed on a hunched figure. I thought that maybe someone had thrown a sheet over some furniture, but the more I looked at it, The more it seemed to be moving. It had the subtle motions of breathing. I called her Amber's name, and the figure jerked ever so slightly.

From the position and angle, I guessed it was Amber, and I reached out ready to pull off the sheet when Tyler and Justin called out from below. We found her. A heart thundered in quick, painful palpitations. My hand still locked in mid-reach, fingertips inches away from the cloth-draped figure.

My mind was in overdrive, trying to figure out what to do. Dare I pull back the sheet and see what lies beneath, or do I turn back round, leave and pretend nothing happened and live out the rest of my life telling myself it was just my nerves. The thing jerked again, and this time my fingers brushed against the fabric. In a panic I grabbed hold of the sheet, and with as much force as I could muster, I yanked it back. A cloud of dust was launched into the air and obscured my phone's light for a few moments,

moments that stretched out in agonising anxiety. As the dust settled, I could finally see the form that lay beneath the sheet, a raccoon, a fat one that sat atop an old side table. It was eating a rat, its teeth tearing into it. It stopped its feast as soon as I had interrupted it, and we both leaped back. I stumbled and fell painfully on my ass, and nearly out of the attic. The giant thing dashed towards the back of the attic where a ventilation window had its blinds half open.

The raccoon stuffed itself through them and scurried off onto the roof. Motherf! I said in a half-whispers, I got back up and ran to the window to close its blinds. I made my way back down the attic, deciding to pick up the dead half-eaten rat later. What happened? asked Jocelyn. I won, Amber said timidly. There was a raccoon up there. It was huge. Oh, that's Mr. Stripes, piped up Tyler. You named it. Well, I did. Well, Mom says she likes him because animals know not to go near the bad things. Bad things? Like what? I won. Amber spoke up a little louder. Or the 13th room, right?

Tell me about it. Your mother already mentioned it to me before. Jocelyn and Tyler looked at each other again while Amber continued to state that she had won. Well, they've always been in here, ever since Dad had their house built. Rooms just appear and disappear. We've never been inside one. And we're just supposed to ignore them, they said. Is there one now?

A 13th room? That's where you found Amber right. Yeah. Show it to me, please. I won't tell your mum. Fine, but you have to promise that you won't go inside. I won, Amber said a fourth time. It led me to one of the closets on the third floor,

and upon opening it, I saw that it was a spacious chamber with racks and cubbies for clothing. Strangest of all was the door at the other end. It was almost comically out of place, a faded mossy green, paint-chipped and peeling. A rusted 43 sat at its centre, and its doorknob seemed so ancient that I was sure it would crumble in my hands if I tried turning it.

Tyler told me that they'd found Amber kneeling in front of it, and only after they'd informed her that she'd won our game, was she willing to leave. I wanted to reach out to it and touch the door. but even at a distance I could feel a dangerous aura radiating from it. I didn't know why, but a pervasive feeling of violation invaded my very being and settled into the pit of my stomach. I turned away from it and told the kids to get going. Whatever was beyond the door, I wasn't interested in exposing the children to its malevolence.

Since Amber had won, I let her pick out her next activity, and she told me she just wanted me to draw with her. Tyler, of course, said it would be boring, and Jocelyn wanted to have a fashion show, but after some convincing I got her to join us. Tyler sat in the same room with us playing video games, and the rest of the day was spent casually. A few sibling arguments here and there, but the delayed children were surprisingly well-behaved. I wondered who was the parent most responsible for their discipline, and settled that it must have been Veronica. By nine o'clock I was eager to put the children to bed. I then waited another 30 minutes to make sure that they were asleep before I took action. Throughout the entire day, ever since I'd seen it, that door was on my mind, balanced on a razor-thin wire.

I walked with a combination of excitement and dread towards that closet, the one that held the hidden 13th room. A new theory had formed in my head. Secret rooms, that must be it. when the house was built there must have been the addition of multiple secret rooms not listed on the blueprints and Veronica must have fabricated this elaborate lie to keep her children and me away from them phantom rooms what a ridiculous concept whatever she was hiding whatever the reason for all this insanity if it endangered the children or most importantly tom i'd find it

when i reached the closet door i flung it open or too eager and in one quick motion flicked on the lights. The door was gone. No, no, no, I pleaded. I rushed to the end of the closet and threw myself at the wall. I felt that there was nothing there, that there was never anything there. I let out a string of expletives and seriously questioned if I was starting to lose it. But the children, they'd seen it too.

But what if they were also in on Veronica's tricks? Yes, that had to be it. They were all in on it, conspiring against Tom and me. I stumbled out of the closet and fell in a heap on the floor. I lay there for several minutes wondering what I should do next, how I should confront Veronica. My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar creek. I sat up, straining to locate the source of the noise, another snap, and I was starting to home in on its location. another sound this time sharp splintering like the sound I'd heard last night I lunged down the two flights of stairs in record time towards the marble kitchen

and there it stood like a monolith mocking me it shouldn't have been there couldn't have been there the burgundy and gold door that was now embedded into a wall next to the pantry was an impossibility my mind was starting to split apart into little fragments. I had been inside this kitchen at least half a dozen times today, and the door was never there. So why now? Veronica, it had to be her. Somehow she was behind this. I just knew it. I wanted to leave. I should have left, but I needed to know if this door was real, if it led somewhere. I reached out and placed my hand on the doorknob, and a sharp chill shot through me the second I came into contact with it.

As I turned the doorknob of the chill turned into deep anxiety, something vile awaited just beyond this threshold. But I had to know, for me, for Tom. I flung the door open and saw what was behind it. Another impossibility, although the delay manner was massive, the space that lay beyond dwarf the estate ten times over at least. I was looking down at a ravine, reaching deep into the unfathomable depths. The only thing bridging down into it was a spiraling staircase that must have run on for several miles. Further down the spiral were narrow suspended bridges that were at least

300 feet in length and closed the gap from one side to the other. Doors lined the staircase and tight corridors that had more branching doorways and hallways. The suspended bridges linked the hall to other far-flung regions of the ravine. It was all a maddening tangle of architectural disaster as the aesthetic changed from area to area with no apparent pattern. Some sections were industrial and lined with concrete and pipes. In contrast, others were vaguely Gothic and had frescoes and statues that belonged amongst the most famed of cathedrals.

Lights dangled in an assortment of uncountable varieties, lanterns, candles, light bulbs, and suspended orbs of energy. For the area to have this many light sources and for it still to have darkened crevices where light could not reach was a testament to its size. In depth alone it was deeper than any man-made structure could ever hope to be, and to explore one of the branching labyrinthian corridors would surely be an exhaustive endeavour. Christ, I whispered. It was a sort of whimsy that had been awakened by the sight of something that was still unexplored. As I was about to take a step inside, fear blossomed from inside me. The air around me changed, became thick and suffocating,

and I looked down deeper into the recess to see what could be behind it. The horrid snaking being was rising from the depths, its cold black skin stark against the many twinkling lights. It seemed humanoid at first glance, but then I saw it was a long, wormish thing. Along the size of its body, appendages writhed in the air as this thing rolled its body and limbs like some nightmarish centipede.

It was somehow suspended in mid-air, as if it was swimming through space. As it drew nearer, the lights gave me a clear image. It had the head and torso of a human, but the rest of it was a long, grotesque, undulating tube of darkness. Arms, human arms were the squirming limbs I'd seen earlier. They reached eagerly towards my direction. Before it could ascend further, a shriek tore out from my throat,

shocking me out of my entrancment. Scramming out of this other-worldly recess, I slammed the door shut. I stood in terror, gazing at the door, daring it to open and let out the humanoid centipied demon that it contained. Hours passed, and nothing happened. Regardless, I was still in a state of shock. The familiar sound of Tom's Buick pulling in caused my head to snap towards it. When I turned back to look at the door, it was gone,

and I'd expected that would be the case. I was curt in my greetings and departure from the delay manner that night, night. Tom seemed disappointed by my urgency to leave, and if Veronica suspected that I had broken her most sternly expressed rule, she didn't show it. She maintained that everlasting, icy, indifference. I ran all the way home and threw myself on my bed. I was exhausted, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. Well, that was last night. I know that when Tom caused me to return in the following days, I will return with newfound curiosity. And I know when the next phantom room appears, I won't hesitate to open it.

There's something beneath the earth at the delay manner. Something's hidden behind multiple layers of deceit and willful ignorance. I want to get to the bottom of it, to see that surrealist underscape once more, and to know why the fifth rule exists. It's been five days since I love it. set foot in a room that shouldn't exist five days since the delays I'd last asked me to babysit at their accursed estate for those five days dread shadowed me a deep anxiety of being exposed I'd violated their most important role so the

relief that flooded me when I was called to work today was immense when he arrived at the delay manner I was greeted with little fanfare Veronica's familiar scrutiny gave nothing away. As soon as she and Tom left, I set my plan in motion. I pulled out a small box I'd stuffed in my backpack and held it out, listening for any response. I went throughout the house, holding the box in front of me, repeating this in every room, hoping to elicit some response of some kind. The kids followed me, occasionally asking what I was doing. I sat down, mentally exhausted after nothing had come to fruition and finally acknowledged the delay children. The phantom rooms were the only things on my mind as I spent the next few hours performing tedious tasks.

It wasn't until after the sun had started setting when I heard a panic squeak come from the box. I rose to attention and listened for any familiar sounds. What was that? asked Tyler. I shushed him as I finally heard it. The creaking and splintering of wood, the sound of a new door forcing itself into existence. I ran towards the noise as the squeaks morphed into short shrieks. The children followed after me, barraging me with a series of questions. When I was in a corridor in the third room, I opened the box and pulled out the pet store mouse I brought and held it by its tail.

I dangled the now whaling thing as I made strides towards the area that elicited the most fear. from it. I stopped in front of a narrow corridor that had formed near the corner of a wall. It stretched into an area that should have been a spatial impossibility. By all accounts, the corridor went beyond the outermost walls of the house, and would have to be suspended in mid-air, and yet its end was a sleek wooden door, intricate patterns decorating its borders. I dropped the now hysterical mouse, and it scurried away, running past a screaming jocelyn and a stunned Tyler. Cindy, what's going on? asked Jocelyn.

When I turned to face them, their faces contorted in fear at the sight of the now exposed passage and door. From behind them Amber stepped out and made her way to my side and peered at the door curiously. Have you ever gone inside? I asked the quiet girl. She shook her head but gave me a look that said that she wanted to. She moved closer to the door and ran a hand along the door. the polished surface. I reached out and placed a hand on the doorknob, ignoring the sharp sting of rising anxiety. Jocelyn and Tyler pleaded with me not to open it, but I had to know.

I tugged the door open slowly, Tyler and Jocelyn flinching as I did. Inside was a room completely different to the one I'd been inside a few days prior. Now it led to some kind of brick-lined interior. Winding paths snaked out in every direction. Some curved upwards towards the walls and an unseen ceiling. What is that? Jocelyn asked. I don't know.

Want to find out? Tyler's eyes lit up. A sense of adventure blossoming inside the boy. Amp was already moving closer to the threshold. Jocelyn was the last one to join. Her hesitance was betrayed by a step. The promise that this would never make it to their parents' ears was made without a single word being spoken. The inside of the room was dark and dusty, a strange unease hung in the air, so thick it was nearly palpable.

I propped the entrance door open with a chair. Should I see the dark centipede creature from my last visit, I will be able to escape quickly with the children. Walking deeper into the room, I saw it was illuminated by the dim glow of overhead chandeliers. They were bound together in an intricate web of tarnished silver chains. They made up a giant suspended mass, an artificial sun long dead. The dim light it gave off did little to illuminate the space directly beneath it. The rest of the room was bathed in darkness. I brought out a flashlight from my backpack and shone it around.

The room was big enough that the light didn't hit any of the other three walls and instead dissipated into the empty space. We moved as a group on one of the paths until it transitioned into a stairway twisting up into an angle that should have been impossible to trek. Amber was the one to run up it. She slipped away from my grasp and ascended. I yelled after her, but as she climbed up a staircase that spiraled upside down, I was stunned into silence. Somehow Amber was standing upright on an inverted staircase, ignoring the laws of gravity that should have sent her plummeting back down. I extended my arms up towards her, as she was now above our heads.

How is she doing that? asked Jocelyn. I don't know, I answered. Tyler gawked at me as I grabbed the quiet girl and pulled her back down. There was a resistance like a force, binding her to the steps. With a tug, she broke free, and she fell into my arms. I turned around to look at the door leading back to the delay manner. the promise of normality filtering in as light, and decided that it was time to leave. I grabbed hold of Jocelyn with my free hand and held amber in the other.

Follow me, was all I said to Tyler. No one protested as I reached the door and ushered the children through. I turned back to look into the strange world contained within this phantom room. From a corner void of light, a pair of iridescent white eyes stared back at me. They moved towards me in a jerking motion As if walking on withered and unstable legs As it stood at the edge of the chandeliers' dim spotlights I saw that it was a small black impish creature

The size and shape of amber Its eyes now seem more like eye spots Intended to ward off predators instead of functioning as ocular organs Its head cocked as if it were observing us As it took another step closer I slammed the door shut. I said nothing to the children, and instead we spent the rest of the day without mentioning what we'd just done. It was late afternoon, evening fast approaching, when I finally broke the silence that had fallen between us.

Is there anything more you can tell me about it? I asked. No, not much. I don't think mum's ever gone inside one, Tyler answered. What about Tom? No, Dad's never really even talked about them. I'm sure he knows. I mean, he's the one that had the house built, cut in Jocelyn. Has anything ever come out of them? Have you ever heard anything from the other side?

No, just the creaking when they show up. But never anything after, answered Jocelyn. Okay, look, don't tell your parents about today. Stay away from the doors. I think they're dangerous. The two older children both nodded in agreement. Amber was quiet as usual, but through her body language, she communicated an eagerness. A cool coastal breeze tickled, exposed skin.

The creamy orange rays of a setting sun did little to warm me. I shivered, not because of the encroaching cold, but instead the goosebumps forming on my skin were brought on by thoughts of the phantom rooms. It wasn't until the sun dipped behind the cresting ocean. waves when I brought the children in. An hour later they were in bed, falling asleep with little complaints. I wandered over to Tom's office. Standing in front of the door, I wondered if it was worth intruding. I briefly considered searching through Veronica's office to see if I could find anything revealing a hidden truth about the insanity contained within these walls. But a different

force was tugging me towards Tom's working space. I stepped into the cluttered office and search through unorganized files and books. Nothing drew my interest until I found a photo album buried in a stack of papers. I quickly skimmed through it. I saw pictures of Tyler of a smiling, mischievous baby, of a fussy jocelyn and an eerily stone-faced newborn amber. I saw a photo of Veronica on her wedding day, a gorgeous white dress wrapped around the defined curvature of her body. She wore a smile so faint he was nearly. imperceivable. The plastic film over the photo crinkled under the force of my grip, and I forced myself to move on. The photo of a younger Tom cradling a baby Tyler caused my heart to skip a beat.

A sharp stubble jaw and dough-eye stained baby blue was all it took. My free hand had subconsciously found its way to my pants zipper, and I anxiously fidgeted with it. I remember the night he'd done the same, pressed up against me his wands. warmth, freezing me in place, and through the intensity of our breaths we communicated a shared desire. How long ago since we'd last indulged? A little under a year? When he'd first asked me about replacing his nanny, all I could think about were those shitty books marketed to suburban moms, the ones you find in grocery stores, half-naked men plastered on the covers and big bolded words like taboo and forbidden selling quotes.

I thought I would be living out of fantasy like the ones described in those books. How foolish! I'd barely seen Tom since I'd started here, and the times I had he didn't have that lustful gaze that he'd borne into me just a year prior. But now, seeing his face almost a decade younger, I could almost feel his heat, his breath, his touch. My fingertips were running along the hem of my jeans, a few dipping past when I heard that all too familiar sound,

the infernal splinter of wood. God damn it, I hissed. Flushed with a different kind of heat, I stormed towards the sound. Just what the hell was going on in this house? Well, I decided then and there that I would get to the bottom of it, know what role everyone was playing, and if Veronica was behind it, I would ruin her. I hated her and so did Tom.

He told me enough times during those sweaty, restless nights, how out of love he was with her. Well, maybe if I could just get her out of the picture, Tom would look at me the way he used to. I could stay here in her place just as soon as this shit had settled down. Oh, I'd love to be the one to wipe that smart bitch look off her face. I found the door to the ever-changing 13th room in a cellar beneath the first floor. I normally would have hesitated going down into it, but in the spur of the moment I flung the ebony wood door open without a second thought. The inside was humid this time, the scent of concrete and tar emanating from it. Still, I was unaffected as I ran inside, flashlight out and scanning the area ahead.

The door had opened into a dark urban landscape, cracked concrete and roads as far as the eye could see. I guessed it was night though No moon or stars were visible Battered streetlights were spread into seemingly random intervals And very few of them actually functioned Even then all they gave off was a weak ambient glow What the hell I ran further down the street

Trying to find anything of note but it was all so disorienting Streets branched out in wild zigzagging patterns And often intersected Causing multiple buildings to fuse together into tall, misshapen sentinels. There was no sign of human life here, no cars, no shoes dangling from electrical wire, none of the stores were even marked with any identifiers. I turned around and decided to walk back, the glow of a door still in the distance. Taking my first step towards it, I felt a searing pain jolt through me, originating from my right

shoulder. I panicked and grabbed onto something slimy and caustic. It wiggled in my hands and left a burning sensation. I tossed it to the ground and shone my light on it. I was greeted by a fat, dark, purple slug. It writhed towards me as I heard the wet squelch of something drop from the sky and land inches from my foot. I dove under an awning as I heard more of those wet plops. I shone my flashlight around to reveal more of the slugs now falling from the sky. A few burned through the plastic above and splattered around me.

I started sprinting towards the door, trying to avoid the rain of toxic slugs. I peek behind me to see that I was being pursued by some giant black cloud that hung low in the sky. It had to be the one producing the slugs. Thick wisps of black vapour curled and engulfed the streetlights as it moved towards me. A giant, iridescent green eye bloom from its centre

and set its gaze on me. It picked up speed as its slug drizzle turned into a downpour, the corrosive rain nipping at my heels. I felt two more red-hot drops land on my neck and ankle respectively before I flung myself out of the door in one last desperate attempt to outpace the black cloud. I rolled into an upright position and pivoted to slam the door shut before it could pour into the house and consume us all.

The sound of the door echoed throughout the house. I barely heard it over the thundering of my own heart. My chest ached with exhaustion and my skin was left with a sharp searing pain where the slugs had landed and left chemical bones. I searched around quickly to make sure I hadn't brought any into this world by accident. I let myself collapse after finding none. I spent the rest of the night treating my injuries and trying to calm my nerves. To hell with this house. Whatever the rooms were, they always contained horrors.

There was no denying it now. An evil lurked here, built into the very foundations of the house. Somehow this house had become linked to the malice of another world, or worlds. I decided then and there that I would wipe my hands clean of this. I sat around in ill-contained unease, waiting for the delays to arrive. When they finally did, I tried to leave as quickly as possible, planning to quit later over text. But Tom caught me by the wrist. I tried twisting away from him, but he held firm.

Is there something wrong? You look scared after death. It's nothing. I just want to go home. I need to work on a project that's due soon. I lied. Okay, but if anything's wrong, just know I'm here if you need to talk. Tom said it in as calm a voice as possible, but his eyes were frenzied.

What his eyes said were, Keep your hysteria to a minimum. I don't want my wife knowing that I fucked a girl almost 20 years younger than me. Typical, covering his own ass. I let him know with my glare that I would keep out dirty secret between us. My eyes shifted beyond him to meet Veronica's indifference. I broke away and turned to leave, wondering how much she really knew about Tom and me and about the house. Though she gave nothing away, I had a gut-wrenching feeling that she knew on some level the sins committed around and against her.

Maybe she knew from the start what I'd done knew about Tom, breaking the Fifth Rule about so much more than she let on. I don't really have anyone else to blame for that but myself, and Tom. He was the one that spoken so sweetly to me, postured himself in the most appealing of ways. That creep had waited until I was just old enough to make his move. How long and how many times had he played his games? I wonder how long until we face the consequences of what he did. But regardless, I don't plan on letting Veronica have the last life.

I'll take her down with me if I have to. A dark thought emerged from within me. me at that moment. If I could have eliminated Veronica by now, I would have. I wondered if she was the one to have set this all up with some kind of twisted, cruel form of punishment. Would this end when I was gone for good? Could I even have the strength of will to give up? I hate to admit it, but I still ache for him. Well, I ran home sobbing. I stopped by the time I was inside, but had begun crying again as I lay in my bed. I cried for so much, for the sins I'd committed, for the father I'd lost, for the pity I'd wallowed in. I cried because I knew that this wasn't the end.

Somehow I knew that I'd be dragged back into the delay-stings, back into the strange worlds within the 13th room. I fear that if it calls once more through the timber of shattering wood, I just might answer its call. Case 6. The haunting of apartment 106. The haunting of apartment 106. Sometimes I hear it scuttling in the shadows or behind the walls. I rarely witness it, but when I do, it's always a blur that disappears into the shadows,

and it never happens when I expect it to. I know I sat off my rocker, but there's a monster that lives in my eyes. apartment. I first heard its calls five days ago, the same day my sister, her husband and their daughter came over to visit before they left for a vacation. It was the middle of the night when the sound rose from the darkness, freezing my blood. Its calls sounded like an orchestra of string instruments being played by guerrillas with a propensity for causing as much pain as possible. Well, that was the first and a long series of nights that seemed to never end. The next morning when I got up, I found my chair was torn and the stuffing was partially dragged out.

I was physically attacked by this monster the following night while sleeping. The monster plunged its fangs and talons into my feet, attempting to shred my flesh from its bones. I wanted to go to a hospital to have it looked at, but, well, I'm afraid of what they might tell me. What if it gave me some kind of disease when it scratched and bit me? After two days without sleep, my mind was playing tricks. on me. I think the beast enjoys chaos. Returning home, I sometimes

find my clothes torn and laying on the floor or the remains of a digested meal. We even knocked over the urn of Grey Grandma and scattered the ashes. I decided to ask around for help and thankfully found people online. Unfortunately, since I'd not

seen this beast and couldn't give a description, they couldn't tell me exactly what I'd need, but they did recommend that I buy books of wards and rituals. In a new age shop I loaded up with everything from charms to Christian crosses in the silver and gold variety, since one may work better than the other. I didn't expect to buy as much as I did that day, but the weight of all, the charms around my neck, is a small price to pay for safety. People online also recommended that I purchase incense and sage to purge this beast. After performing all the rituals, well, all the rituals I could.

and surrounding my bed with salt, I finally felt comfortable enough to sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out of it. I don't know how long I was out of it, but when I woke up it was dark. That isn't what woke me, though. No, there was something laying on top of my hip. His tail was twitching back and forth, slapping my leg, but I was too afraid to move. When my alarm clock went off, the beast ran away. It was the first time I was thankful for having an alarm clock, if I'm being honest.

When I went to the kitchen, I saw some more of the creature's destruction. This time it decided to tear apart a throw pillow. I'm not the kind of person who likes to tell people if I need help, so I didn't tell my friends or family about this, even though I knew that if I did, they'd offer me a spare red room or a couch. Each day I go without sleep, it's as if the shadows get darker and larger. I'm not sure if I'm going crazy or not. Well, even as I think this, I wonder,

did I just see that beast? Some people online told me about the origin of Halloween and how people would place offerings of milk out for ghosts and goblins to calm them. They recommended that I do the same thing. I set a small bowl of milk out and ran out to buy offerings of meat at the store. When I returned, I saw that the milk had been drunk,

so I put out a piece of bologna. I looked away for only a moment, but when I look back, the meat was gone. But these offerings are only a band-aid. I need to identify this monster if I am to have any chance of being free of it. The following night, my blood ran cold when I heard the monster in the walls

between my bed and my neighbour's apartment. On the other side of the wall is an old woman who lives all by herself. I should have got up and run to her. I rescued, but at that moment I was a coward and didn't do anything except cover my head and drowned out the sounds with tuneless humming. I re-armed all the traps I'd set up the next morning and cried because of how useless these traps are and how helpless I feel.

It's at this point where I get more glances of the creature. A tuft of hair here, a tail there. Seeing all this, I wish I was never born. I can't do this for much longer. I'm not a religious person and I was reluctant to ask a priest for help. However, at this point, I have no other option. He said the church no longer does exorcisms, that demons are a way to explain the evils in the world and not to be taken literally.

When I insist that I'm living with some sort of entity, he recommends prayer. Well, I caused a bit of a scene when he said this and I stoned off. My friends started to notice how much I've changed and how am isolating myself, so when they reached out to me. I told them everything was fine because I don't want to bother them with my burden. As I speak to one of them, I take my time bringing out the possibility of borrowing his gun so I could go duck hunting. Thankfully, he believed me. I don't like being dishonest, but I don't see another way out of this situation. If the table was reversed and he were to tell me about it,

a monster, God, I wouldn't believe him. That night I didn't try to sleep. I sat in my bed with the loaded weapon and waited for the monster to show itself. At the moment it rears its ugly head, I was going to end its life or die trying. Hours past, I think I might have nodded off with a gun in my lap.

I wake up suddenly and raise the gun to the door where I thought the beast might appear. I cocked the gun, putting a shell, in the chamber while at the same time ejecting the one i forgot was already in there as a panda gun left and right waiting for my eyes to adjust i look for any movement after a few moments i see the wards on the floor made out of salt and they've been spread all over i really shouldn't be surprised the wars offered me no help and yet why should i expect things to be different now feeling pressure on my bladder, I dread getting out of bed when it's dark. Under the bed, the monster could wait for me

to put my foot on the floor. God, I feel like a child all over again, scared of the dark, scared of monsters. In truth, I'm afraid of everything. After a silent prayer, I jump off the bed and as soon as my foot touches the ground, I sprint to the bathroom and shut the door. Unfortunately, I didn't bring the gun with me. Deciding to sit on the cold toilet instead of standing up to urinate, I consider sleeping here with the door shut. Before I know it, I'm asleep once again. I woke up to the sound of loud and rapid scratching. In that tiny gap between the door and the floor, I see a white claw reaching out towards me.

Needle-like claws extended and excitedly scrape the floor as if it's trying to pull the door, and me, towards it's waiting more. A moment later the claw turns and reaches towards the door knob. Well, I'm thankful I'm already on the toilet because I scream like a child and because, well, I don't remember the last time I ate. I faint. When I wake up, it's to the sound of my phone ringing on the other side of the door. As soon as I build up enough courage, I burst through the bathroom door and sprint to my bed where the phone and the gun lay. Instead of grabbing the gun, I look at my phone. four voicemails and six missed calls all of which are from my boss he said that i was fired in the last voicemail well this should upset me more than it does but how could it losing a job compared to living with some kind of demon forcing myself to eat i open the fridge and the smell of old spoiled food breaks me i cry harder than i ever have in my life god babies don't cry this much

The anticipation of being attacked was almost worse than actually being attacked. So I shout, challenging the beast to reveal itself as my knuckles turn white around the gun. I position a chair in the corner so I can see more of my house, and I wait for the monster. Outside I hear people going about their day. I hear birds chirp, car start, and in the distance I hear a school bell ring indicating that the students are about to go home. God, everyone else gets to feel normal. So again, I cry. There was a moment I thought I heard a woman screaming in the hallway outside,

but it ended up being one of those happy screams. So I cry yet again. The only time I move from that chair is when I go to turn on the lights just before it gets dark. After all, I need to see the monster in order to shoot it. If the monster survives the blast, it would kill me. If that's the case, at least this nightmare will be over and I'd finally be able to sleep. Weighing the pros and cons of living, as well as the gun in my hand, I made a decision and put the barrel of the gun in my mouth. Slowly, I apply pressure to the trigger,

knowing that at any time this thing will go off and my suffering would be over. I think about the poor bastard who'd have to glean this mess for a sense. but quickly set that thought aside. As soon as I should, that would not be my problem. I had more pressure to the trigger with the business end of the gun in my mouth. My lips tighten on the barrel and I cry more, my finger not easing the tension on the trigger, and that was when the phone rang. I pulled the barrel out of my mouth on the third ring to see who's calling me. Wiping tears from my eyes at pick up the phone. phone and see it's my sister who's just come back from her vacation well she's the one person who could

talk me off of this cliff hello i answer as calmly as i can muster hey i'm coming over be there in five minutes she says what why i asked surprised i'm picking up my cat today thanks for watching it while we were gone The travelling cemetery is in town. The first stars began to twinkle through the precipitating twilight, blinking through a fuchsia sky that sank into murky lilac and wine hues while the brimming moon guarded its sky. Checking the hands on the clock of his yellow dashboard, the traveller could see he wouldn't be making it tonight.

Endless stretches of dusty horizon lay between him and his destination, sandy particles hanging in the air like moonlit mist. He gripped the rubber of the steering wheel and huffed out a disapproving sigh. With eyes dreary from the road, he scanned the skyline before him for any sign of civilization, anywhere to lay his head for the night before continuing in the morning. Far in the distance he made out tiny, twicky fences surrounding sprawling fields and little villas thrown together from adobe, as if they'd grown from the soil itself. He wouldn't be likely to find anywhere else along the rows that night.

so providing they had room for him he would have to do. It might even make a welcome change from the dilapidated budget motels he was used to. The traveller slowed his car to a crawl as he entered the village, cranny his neck to see out of the windows. There were no signs on the clay walls, nor hanging from the logs that made up the skeleton of their structure. Not even in the single glazed antiquated windows nestled within the bone-dry, wooden frames with their sunbleached netted lace curtains. Instead, he saw eyes peering back at him

with a mixture of both intrigue and distrust, grapes twitching as shadowed fingers grasped them to draw them back just far enough to gaze out. A withered old man sat on a three-legged stool, his hands on his lap and his back against one of the worm-ridden posts of his home, watching the traveller's car inch past and kick up dust through the droopy skin of his eye He made a left turn into the village centre. A small fountain and pool beneath it lay dry and dusty, presumably for years, and more adobe houses circled around it. A small number of weeds crept up through the soil, parched but hardy, barely swaying in

the wheezing breeze. He found a place to park in an empty space on the road in front of a house and shoved open the door of his car, the half-rusted metal hinge groaning beneath him. its weight and took a step out into the dusty hamlet. Slowly turning to survey his surroundings, he shook his legs one by one and swept back what was left of his greying hair before reaching for the inside pocket of his corduroy jacket to retrieve his packet of cigarettes. Glancing around, he removed one from the packet and pushed it between his purse lips and swapped it for his lighter, cupping a hand around the end to protect the flame from the wind. Now he scanned the window. Now he scanned the window,

again, drawing lazily from the end of his cigarette and exhaling from his nostrils. There was no clear indication of a place for him to stay, and the locals didn't seem too tolerant of his presence. The back of his car was filled with boxes and bundles containing all of the value to his life, tokens and trinkets to remind him of the things in his life he'd once let go. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it before strolling down towards the main road on which he drove, still turning his neck to survey the scene before him. He reached the end of the road and glanced left and right. Slowly he raised the cigarette back to his mouth and poured on it once more, the embers growing to light his face before

dying down to a subtle glow again. The ramshackle wooden door of one of the houses opposite clattered open and caught his attention. From the candlelit darkness within, the figure of a woman appeared. As she emerged into what light remained, he caught a better look of her, clad in a blood-soaked linen apron with the carcass of a chicken in one hand and a cleaver in the other. He can make her crinkled skin and sagging jails, her sunken eyes and drooping neck. She raised her head as she made eye contact with him in an upwards nod, inviting him over. Curious, he made his way over the road, checking both ways before crossing. There was no traffic, nor would there be any that night.

His upbringing in the city was ingrained into his being, even here. Outsider, why do you come here? She smiled. Her voice was filled more with curiosity than enmity, but her question caught the traveller off guard. I'm on my way to attend a convention. He wasn't even sure if she knew what a convention was. This place was so far removed from what he would consider to be society that she may not be familiar with the term.

She just smiled back at him, drinking deep of his brown eyes and scrutinizing the man that stood before her through them. Um, where am I? The traveller asked, genuinely lost. Not that it mattered where he was. He knew he was on the right road, but he hadn't taken the time to familiarize himself with every little town on the map. You're here, she cackled. What few rotten yellow teeth remained in her mouth, hung delicately in her gums. She motioned to the houses around her. You're here, she repeated happily. The traveller was unnerved slightly and took cautious glances at the cleaver trapped between her calloused fingers.

If she was making a joke, I wasn't landing with him. That's good, but... Where it is here? he responded. She shook her head and exhaled deeply. Outsider, do you know what day to day is? The traveller simply responded with a silent shake of his head. Today, it's harvest day. The fields were full of corn, wheat, and they did look right for harvesting with their golden hues.

How they grew anything out here in the clay-laden soil was a mystery to him, but he'd seen it with his own eyes. That said, it was a little late in the day to be harvesting anything. The day is already over. You mean to harvest at night? He responded. She tutted at him, shaking her head. She turned around slowly, waddling inside.

He waited, but she turned her head back around and waved him in, the chicken in her hand shaking about loosely. With a flick, he'll be able. loose the cigarette butt to the ground. He made his way inside, crouching his way through the doorframe. Links of preserved meats hung from the wall alongside dried flowers with faded family photos

of people long gone. Wooden beams lay inches from the traveller's head and the strange woman put down the chicken near a pile of chopped meat along with the cleaver. A slender stairway with wooden steps worn into curves by years of abuse lay off the main room, with another room hiding in the back.

Come, she said. Her tone more serious this time, her voice almost a whisper. In the distance a bell struck, softened by the distance. She seemed to pick up her pace of this, pushing open the wooden door to the next room with renewed haste. Inside a simple coffin lay atop a stand,

within which a young girl lay, a crown of pretty blue wildflowers atop her head. With closed eyes she rested peacefully, her lips almost in a smile. The traveller had many questions. How had she died? Who was she? And why the lady was showing him this just as a start. Once again, the bell called out.

The strange woman leaned over the coffin and stared down with heavy eyes, reaching out a hand to the girl's face and caressing it softly. A sullen look washed over her drooping eyes. and her lips pursed together as she shook her head. It didn't take long for her to move away, her hand to her face, unable to take the sight of her dead relative. One final time the bell rang out.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. The woman spurred into life, still with a serious look about her countenance, rushing as best she could to greet the people waiting outside. Two men, one with a moustache, one clean shirt, shaved but wearing a hat, made their way inside. They bowed their heads before the coffin and raised it, moving out of the front door and into the streets.

Unsure of if he should follow, the traveller stood by the door and watched. From the adobe houses, the people of the village emerged, house by house, each carrying candles and joining a great procession to accompany the dead. There were only two caskets in total, but for a small, village such as this, two was more than enough. Harvest Day, the lady repeated, taking his hand in hers. He felt uncomfortable but didn't wish to offend her by snatching it away, especially given the circumstances.

Together they joined the procession, following the twitching candlelight through the streets and towards the fields that shimmered in the moonlight. The crowd stopped at the wooden fences around the fields, while the poor, bearers sat the caskets down deep in the middle of the fields before returning to join their neighbours. All was silent, save for a few weeping women and the washing wind blowing through the crops. The traveller looked on, wondering why they'd chosen not to bury their dead. Why, in this field so full of life, would they leave their dead out in the open, soon to be baked under the blistering sun? Not wishing to disrespect their local customs.

he held his tongue. Still gripping his hand, a strange lady tightened her hold around his fingers. And for a time, nothing happened. The crowd just looked on, waiting as the last flecks of colour in the sky died off into darkness, leaving a sheet of stars across the heavens.

Abruptly, from the distant edge of the rolling fields, long stalks of wheat began to shuffle aside. A few of the villages noticed, started to murmur among themselves, pointing and nudging one another. All eyes were fixed on the movement as whatever made its way through the fields grew closer and closer a bit by bit. It moved slowly but steadily, hedging ever closer towards the caskets until it reached a stop. Through the darkness, the traveller could see what looked like a stone block, with two white

heads bobbing around in the sea of wheat. one casket rose above its surface and vanished within the block and then the other he didn't know what to make of this stealing corpses well he had to know more who are those people he asked the woman not turning his head away from the action she looked up at him with a look of relief in her eyes who were those people she corrected him He thought to ask more questions, but quickly realized he wouldn't be getting any answers from her. He needed to know what was going on with this strange town, and a resolve possessed him. He was going to find out for himself. Snapping free of the woman's grip, he climbed over the rickety wooden fence and began to wade through

the tall stalks towards the coffins. Elbowing his way through and stomping down the plants as he went, he poured another cigarette from his pocket and lit it. holding it between his teeth as he pressed on. Finally, he reached a little clearing where the coffins had been. The crops had been pressed down by something heavy, pushed aside into a loose path of broken plants. He wouldn't easily be able to find his way back from here,

but he quickly pressed on. Stomping in rhythm, his arms swung quickly as he raced to catch up with whatever it was he was chasing, and he soon came across it. a simple wooden cart with two large wheels, one person pulling from the front and one pushing from behind. Inside lay a huge block of stone, within which the two coffins had been nestled. In the misty darkness he could make out their white heads but was quickly startled by the rest of their bodies. His heart sank and his stomach churned at the sight of milky white bone, dry as the wood of the houses in the village.

These weren't just people, but skeletons brought into animation by some unseen force. Part of him wanted to run, to find his way back to the car and drive off to the nearest place that he could consider normal. For a second he glanced back as he considered it, but decided he had come too far already. The thought crossed his mind that he might be going mad, but the traveller pressed on to catch up with the skeletons as they forced their way deeper into the field. "'Hey!' he called out to them against his better instincts. It had no effect, and they simply continued along their way. Breaking into a jog, he managed to catch up, and walked alongside them, attempting to make his presence known.

"'You can't just take those people. They have to be buried,' he called. Again he got no reply. He repeated efforts to stop them, even going as far as to pull them back, but they moved with such constant force that no matter his strength, strength, they would not be budged. The traveller resigned himself to following them, observing them, at least until they reached their destination. What seemed to be hours passed by, but the fields remained unrelenting. He was sure that no stretch of farmland could be that vast, but they should have reached the other side by now, but all he could do was follow. Eventually the living bones

started taking turns through the seemingly endless crops. What seemed to be able to be able to be able to him to be completely arbitrary lefts and rights to which he paid no notice. Finally the crops began to recede, thinging out and revealing colossal stone walls behind them that towered above him. Within each block of stone was space for a number of coffins, all of which were filled. As the three of them made their way through the soaring maze of burial blocks, they passed more skeletal workers, busying themselves arranging and rearranging the blocks. moving the coffins, toiling at tasks that seemed to serve no purpose intelligible to the traveller.

At last, the skeleton stopped. A gap in a wall needed to be filled, and so they dropped the cart and began sliding out their block with the utmost care before raising it up atop another. He thought the way it might crush them, and instinctively jerked into action to help. But he reminded himself just to observe. He lit another smoke and puffed. away as he watched, puzzled. Once the workers had placed the block,

he took a moment to reflect on the girl that he'd seen laying there in the coffin and took the opportunity to scan the rest of them. He assumed that they were all full, or at least had been at one point. One of the two skeletons he'd followed in took control of the cart and began to pull it away while the other walked off in the opposite direction.

They made no contact with one another, only seeking to go about their business. This was his first inkling that he was well and truly lost. Thinking quickly, he decided to hop in the back of the cart and let the skeleton take him for a ride. Hopefully, he thought, he'd arrive back in the village field. He rested his head back on his hands, as he stared up at the stars through the puffs of smoke on his breath,

between the towering blocks of stone and coffins. It had been long enough now that he'd grown tired, his eyes drooped and his whole body felt heavy. And a groan from his stomach reminded him that he needed to leave this forsaken place. Hey, um, excuse me, skeleton? He spoke up again, only to be ignored. He called out to a few more of the walking bones that passed, but none of them answered his call.

The cart stopped moving in a crossroads with the grey blocks and the skeleton at its helm walked away, blending in with the rest of the workers as they scurried about their business. business. Before he knew it, he'd lost track of the one he'd been following. Dread finally caught up with him, and a tingle ran through his spine, swelling through every fibre of his muscle, and fizzed up to his skin, sending the hairs on his body standing on end. He stared down all four paths his skeletons clattered around him, one knocking him over without even noticing he was there. "'Help!' he asked them, glancing from face.

to bony face as they glided expressionlessly past him. Help! He called again, louder, hoping that anyone would hear him. Getting to his feet, he fought away tears, trembling as he decided to clamber his way atop the stone cues. Using what little strength he had left, he made his way up and stared around, trying to get his bearings.

Before him the mace stretched on beyond the darkness, through mist and haze in airs in airs, every direction. As he plotted a path, the blocks continued to move, the maze shifting and twisting before his eyes. Exasperated he lay down atop the blocks and stared back up into the stars before closing his eyes to formulate a plan. By the time he opened his eyes, it was morning. He took a long look out around the misty horizon and spied in the distance a sea of shimmering weak through the haze. It was a long way out still. So far it might take him all day to walk, but at least he had a direction in mind. Scambling his way down the blocks, he managed to catch

a lift on another cart, jumping out as soon as it changed direction away from where he was headed. His eyes could no longer focus, and his feet burned, but he still pressed on. making his way through the shifting blocks and avoiding the stampeding skeletons he finally found himself stepping into the fields the crops thickening around him followed by a skeleton with a cart he wasn't out of the woods yet but at least he was out of that place the sun had started to set but he knew he must press on quickly at least until he found a road a town a house a farm anything He needed food, water, nicotine, a living person. He didn't look back, focusing solely on reaching the end of the field.

For what seemed like forever, he pushed aside storks and forged his way onwards, filled with a renewed vigour as hope fueled him. Once more the stars twinkled above him, but he knew what he must do. He stopped upon reaching a small clearing where the wheat had been pressed down by a long wooden box that lay before him. He stared down at it, early moonlight shimmering on the metal decorations hammered into it. A coffin! He reached his hands down to the brass handles and cautiously lifted it up from one side.

He hadn't realised he was still being followed by the skeleton, but it took the other side. Together they lifted it into the empty recess within the stone block. He stared out above the surface of the sea and finally glimpsed the village there, little wisps of smoke puffing from chimneys in the distance. He turned to the cart and lifted it, the other skeleton pushing from behind. They had to get back to work. 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 wrong, please write a few. nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.