Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep346: Episode 346: Scary Stories for a Rainy Night

Episode Date: June 19, 2026

Tonight’s first fabulous story is ‘Creature in the Closet’ by Jake Wick, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Jake_Wick Tonight’s next terrifying story is ‘I Cut Out My Eyes to Stop Myself from Going Mad’, a wonderful tale By Daniel Lorn, kindly shared with me via DrCreepen’s Vault and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: u/Daniel-Lorn r/DrCreepensVault/comments/wbag95/i_cut_out_my_eyes_to_stop_myself_from_going_mad/ Today’s third tale of terror is ‘My Family Experienced a Deadly Car Crash’, a story by Icydice, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.  https://creepypasta.fandom.com /wiki/My_Family_Experienced_a_Deadly_Car_Crash    https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Icydice Today’s fourth tale of terror is ‘Patty’s Food Addiction’, an original story by Dgrady237, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Dgrady237  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Patty%27s_Food_Addiction Tonight’s terrifying fifth tale of the strange and macabre is ‘The House My Father Built Was on A Cursed Foundation…’ by the wonderfully talented Yung Seti, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: user/YungSeti/ r/DrCreepensVault/comments/uwfw7z/the_house_my_father_built_was_on_a_cursed/ Today’s penultimate offering is parts 1 and 2 of ‘The Needle Man’, an original story by Trash Tia, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. u/Johnny_Blaze_Creepy/ r/DrCreepensVault/comments/x1vqmv/the_needle_man_part_2/ Tonight’s final terrifying tale of the strange and macabre is ‘We Played a Game in a Mirror…’ by the wonderfully talented Yung Seti, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: user/YungSeti/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. There's something about listening to horror stories with rain sounds in the background that heightens the experience, making it both soothing and suspenseful. Soft patter of rain creates a comforting yet isolating ambience, like you're tucked away safely indoors while something unknown lingers just outside. Rain has this natural way of quieting the world, amplifying the stillness and making each detail of the story feel sharper, more immediate. The rhythm of the rain helps lull us into a receptive, almost meditative state, making it easier to immerse ourselves in the unfolding terror, while still feeling a strange sense of peace,

a perfect balance between fear and calm, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. As ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tales may contain strong language as long as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. then let's begin the creature in the closet like Jake Wick

the first thing nine-year-old Bobby associated with that old farmhouse was this weird musty smell that was the end of him growing accustomed to the place at least for a while his uncle purchased their house because of the price and because of the economic opportunity

the surrounding farmland provided if he bought it based on looks one would have to question his taste The Kentucky farmhouse was about a hundred years old, and at least three families, one from Romania and two from the States, had lived in it since it had been built. Not even the previous landowner knew much else of the history surrounding the old place. He only held on to the property for as long as he could put the land into tip-top shape in order to turn a profit. The man barely touched the house itself, save for a new paint job on the worn wooden exterior. Bobby could already picture that dank scent as he and his uncle pulled up to the front of the house.

The car was packed to the brim to the point that Uncle Todd could barely see through the back window. And here we are, said Uncle Todd in his typical casual tone. For Todd everything was done out of a certain level of obligation. One could reckon that he took on this attitude when Bobby's parents passed in a car accident. But his attitude didn't quite match. his actions as he was anything but a supportive guardian. All Bobby could think about was the smell of that house and of how just about every floorboard wailed when he stepped on it. Ah, let's go. Todd continued. Get your shit. What we got out of the car and began grabbing bags.

Todd would periodically scold him, giving him a mini lecture on the proper way to carry bags. Bobby's second-guessed everything he did, and it was no wonder as to why. When Bobby entered the house, that musty stink blasted its way into his nostrils. He could swear he saw a mouse scurry across the floor, but he would say nothing of it to Todd, who would likely slapping around a bit for making things up. You could already hear what Todd would say, something like, complaining about a little mouse, yeah and great. Right, yard-room's upstairs, said Todd, motioning to the staircase.

Todd's room was downstairs next to the living area. Bobby started up the stairs. Each one echoed a long and drawn-out creak upon each one of Bobby's steps. Bobby couldn't stand that noise. You feared hearing those creaking noises while he lay in bed. In fact, he dreaded the thought, for it would surely mean that his uncle Uncle Todd was on his way upstairs. It wouldn't have been the first time. Bobby entered his bedroom. Across from his little bed was a closet, but the door had no doorknob, and so the door just hung open,

leaving the dark void of the closet agape. To the right, on the adjacent wall, was a window that looked out at the cornfields. At the moment there was a glorious view of the sunset. Bobby didn't have time to appreciate it, though. This place made him uncomfortable. comfortable. Bobby spent that evening choking down some canned green beans, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with his uncle. If Todd so much as suspected Bobby of being grossed out by the beans, he'd snatch him up by the back of his neck and make his belt sing. How'd you like the new place? Todd asked. It's good, Bobby quickly replied. Good, huh? I like it. Bobby crammed more. green beans into his mouth so that he wouldn't have to say anything more. Todd glared at him.

I took every ounce of Bobby's strength to avoid gagging as the cold and slimy beans slithered down the back of his throat. But he managed. One gag and he'd be seen the back of Todd's hand flying straight toward his face. Well, I'm going to need to be up at 3 a.m., said Todd. Gotta beat the sauna. At least that'll give us a few hours of cool air to work. You've got to get to plant it out in the fields, fertilize the soil, all that. Bobby nodded, obedient. I'm going to show you how to plant the corn and the soybeans. Todd continued, and the four will harvest them, but first I've got to show you how to work the trencher. Again, Bobby nodded. He feared that anything he said would sound stupid and piss off, Todd. Todd looked back at the clock and followed this by standing

up. Ah, best get to bed, he said. Todd started to walk off, but then stopped and turned around. Oh, I don't want to have to wake you up in the morning, got it? Bobby, nodded. How's that? Todd asked rhetorically. Yes, sir, Bobby quickly replied.

We'll set your alarm, 3 a.m. If it's 302 and you're not up, I'm coming in there and making my bell to sing, you hear. Yes, sir. And that'll be no way to work the rest of the day with a sore rear end. Yes, sir. Todd exited the kitchen. Bobby brought his fork to his plate, but quickly realized that he'd eaten the last of his green beans.

Todd's anger was a powerful motivator indeed. At around 11 p.m., Bobby awoke with a full bladder. He quickly sat up, counting his lucky stars that he hadn't wet the bed and drawn Todd's wrath. However, just as he was about to lift his feet out from under the covers, while he froze as he found himself gazing into the dark vacuum of space that was his closet. His vision was fuzzy from sleep, and so he could see dancing shapes within the darkness of that doorway. For the first few seconds, he could have sworn the shapes he was seeing were really there. But after a moment, even his nine-year-old mind understood that they were just the product of sleepy eyeballs.

But then, Bobby began to notice a very distinct shape in the doorway, with circular in form, very pale in colour, and had a slight neon tint. Bobby rubbed his eyes, but the shape still lingered there. He blinked a few times, but still it stayed. Bobby stared at the shape, and then he began to pick up on other features. The shape had two pitch-black dots on its surface, and that was where Bobby realized. that it was a face. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, but it was real.

He quickly hunkered back down under his covers, pulling the sheet up to the bridge of his nose. He didn't dare take his eyes off of that face. He feared that if he did, he'd look back to see it right in front of him. A few minutes passed as Bobby continued to stare at the face. He hadn't pulled the covers away from his own face, and now there was a light rug burn on the tip of his nose. knows because of it. The room was so dark that Bobby could not even see the rest of the being's body,

just the face. As he continued to watch it, the face's mouth began to slowly move upward in a ghastly grin. Bobby wanted to get out of the bed and run, but there was no way he was mustering up the courage to do that. He'd thought about calling for his uncle several times, but that may have brought problems of its own, either from his uncle's anger or maybe from the thing in his his closet. Still, it was starting to seem like a better option than lying there and having that face stare at him all night long. Uncle Todd, Bobby stammered out, came out as a small squeak that was just barely above a whisper. Uncle Todd! Bobby yelled this time, and then waited. The face's hideous grin grew wider,

as if watching Bobby cry for help gave it some sort of sick satisfaction. Uncle Todd. Even on the third try, Bobby could still make out the faint sound of Todd's woodcutter of a snore downstairs. The rest of the night Bobby drifted in and out of consciousness as that face stared him down. What the hell is this? Bobby blinked and the next thing he knew it was 3 a.m. And he was looking up at a very angry Todd who was furiously tossing Bobby's piss-soaked sheets across the room. It wasn't long before Bobby felt Todd's vice-like grip on his wrist.

Todd yanked Bobby out of bed into his feet. Any more force than Todd would have ripped Bobby's shoulder right out of its socket. Not only do you not wake up when I tell you to, yelled Todd. Then you're absorbed in the wound by pissing the bed like an infant. I'm sorry, Bobby shouted. There was a... Bobby's voice drifted off. Todd stared him right in the eye, expectantly waiting for an answer, or better yet an excuse so he could start hitting Bobby.

There was what? asked Todd. There was something in my closet, Bobby said hesitantly. Todd grimaced at Bobby for a long moment. You follow this by slapping Bobby right to the floor. Bobby lied on the floor, clutching his face as Todd began walking out of the room. Now get. dressed, said Todd. Tonight you're going to have to wash those sheets.

Actually, no, you're going to just sleep without sheets. Todd then stormed out of Bobby's bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Bobby immediately forgot about the bruise on his face and glanced over at the closet. Thin streams of daylight seeped into the doorway of the closet now, and Bobby could see that there was nothing there but a worn wall and a bar for clothing hangers. Bobby's day was spent mainly getting screamed at by Todd. Just about everything Bobby did was followed up by an angry barrage of choice words from his uncle. His previous night of interrupted sleep only made matters worse.

At times Bobby was shocked simply at the pure longevity of his uncle's anger. How could somebody be angry this much? That evening Bobby dreaded that walk upstairs. The creaking of the steps no longer bothered him too much. and neither did the houses smell. All he had time to dread at this point was that face in his closet. He tried to rationalize it himself, hoping and praying that it had just been one of those half-asleep, half-awake hallucinations.

He remembered how his dad used to say that, when he himself was little, he would see tiny little fingers moving around in the carpet upon waking in the middle of the night. Still, no matter how much Bobby tried to rationalize it, that face had just looked too real. Bobby made sure to drain his bladder before going to sleep. He had to shut the bathroom door because if you look closely at the corner of the mirror, you could see one half of that closet. When he left the bathroom, Bobby full on sprinted over to the bed,

leaping into the air and diving onto the mattress. He decided to sleep with the lights on tonight. He could have sworn there was no way in hell he'd fall asleep, especially since he shivered as he lied there freezing without a blanket. But deprivation set in and soon Bobby was lights out. Upon waking that morning, Bobby was thankful he hadn't woken in the middle of the night. Granted, Uncle Todd's ascending footfalls were not the most reassuring thing to wake up to in the morning, but anything was better than that ghastly face.

As he listened to Todd coming up the stairs, Bobby felt a strong itch on his forearm. As he scratched away at it, the itch began to grow in intensity and soon it began to burn. Bobby glanced over at his arm and immediately was filled with unease. On his arm was a thin marking, clearly a bite mark, that much was apparent even to a nine-year-old Bobby. There were two distinct markings that were part of a larger bite. The two marks looked like they'd already begun to heal, which was strange. Bobby's examination of his odd little bite mark was interrupted by Todd's hasty entrance into his room.

Todd knocked on Bobby's already open door, snapping him out of his thoughts. Let's get, said Todd. Bobby planted corn and soybeans as far away from his uncle as possible. He constantly checked over his shoulder, hoping that senile old man would keep his distance. Every few minutes after checking to make sure Todd wasn't watching him, him, Bobby would examine the bite mark on his arm. Oddly enough, it burned and itched even more in the sunlight. The bite was not from any sort of insect. Bobby knew this much. It looked like it had been left from a human mouth. A short time later, Bobby realized that his bite mark was not

the only thing that was itching and burning. No, his entire arm felt like it had received the worst sunburn ever known. Yet there was no indication of a burn upon it. The skin on his arm was tan and unburned, not a tinge of red. Bobby did his best to ignore the burning sensation. Any one complaint would have Todd kicking his ass up and down the field. By 8 o'clock in the morning, ignoring the pain was tough, but doable. Every time Todd would walk off to take a piss or to grab another piece of equipment, Bobby would take it as an opportunity to rest in the shade.

Upon doing so, the burning sensation in his arm would cool. off a bit. But as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, so the shaded areas became more and more sparse. Soon Bobby found himself taking refuge in the only shaded spot he could find, a little patch of shadow from the woodshed, which was in direct view of just about anywhere on the farm. Hey! Bobby nearly had a heart attack as he heard Todd's voice echo across the fields. He looked over his shoulder to see Todd standing about a hundred young. yards away, one hand on his hip and the other on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. He was looking right at Bobby, who was hanging out in the shade, scratching away at the bite mark on his arm.

What the hell are you doing, boy? Todd continued. Bobby struggled to think of an answer. I, uh, have a bite on my arm, Bobby replied. You're about to have a world on your arm if you don't get back to it. A little bug bite stopping you from working. Bobby reluctantly stepped back out into the sunlight and continued planting seeds. Uncle Todd was onto him now. He'd be keeping a close eye on Bobby the rest of the day. Bobby was quite sure of that. As the sun rose nearer to its midday position,

the burning sensation in Bobby's arm began spreading toward the rest of his body. His skin was on fire now. It was just about unbearable. It was as if he'd been sunburned from head to toe, but again there was not a patch of redness on him. Still, the pain was excruciating, and Bobby wasn't sure how much longer he could bear it. There weren't many things that scared him more than Todd's belt blows,

but this pain within his skin was as frightening as it was inexplicable. While the pain atop Bobby's skin grew more and more intense, the bite mark began to ooze and fester, sort of like poison ivy. Bobby had got poison ivy before, but the discomfort that arose from the moment of the discomfort that arose from the, bite mark was on another level it itched and burned the more he itched it the more it it burned the more it burned the worse it it was a lose-lose situation especially with uncle

Todd expecting another few hours of work from Bobby it was about half-past ten when Bobby knew he couldn't go on like this some part of him knew that the itching and burning would lessen if he got out of the sun it was strange and it didn't make sense but Bobby had realized it a morning of trial and error. He figured that his uncle, who was now somewhere deep in the cornfield, was a problem best dealt with later. For now, the pain was just too much.

Bobby would have killed someone just to cease it. He dropped everything and broke into a run for the house. Even the fabric of his shirt brushing against his skin burned like hell. It was the longest jog of his entire life, even though the farmhouse was only a few hundred yards away. Bobby burst inside the house, taking care to close the door quietly so Todd wouldn't hear it. He panted like crazy, wincing from the pain. But just as he had suspected, it quickly began fading away the moment he was back inside.

In just 30 seconds, the burning sensation was completely gone, and it was as if it had never been there in the first place. Bobby stared down at his arms with pure confusion. He pressed two fingers to one and pulled them away. the standard visual test for a sunburn. There wasn't one. But we continued to glance out the window in paranoid fashion. After just a few minutes his heart sank

as he saw Todd angrily pacing the farm searching for him. But we began shifting around, trying to think of what to do next. If he stayed inside, Todd was bound to come looking for him. But he simply couldn't deal with that burning pain, not again. He had to think of something, and fast because Todd was now on his way toward the house. Bobby ran into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and poured tap water into it.

As he began sipping from the glass, he heard the front door open. Bobby, Todd shouted in a so help me if you're in here manner. Bobby hesitated as he continued to gulp down the water. He pulled the glass away from his lips, making sure his voice reflected that he just finished drinking water. in here he said get in water the sound of todd's approaching footsteps followed he entered the kitchen and stared bobby down why don't we get you a jug said todd yeah let's get you a jug i don't need you passing out on me oh great thought bobby as he watched todd sift through various items in the pantry he couldn't go outside couldn't go back he just couldn't do it "'Uncle Todd?' said Bobby. "'What?'

Todd immediately replied. "'My skin's hurting me.' "'Pardon.' Todd stopped what he was doing and aimed one ear at Bobby. "'My skin, it's burning,' said Bobby. "'Where?' "'Everywhere.' "'You get poison ivy?'

"'I don't know. "'It only hurts when I'm in the sun.' Todd backed out of the pantry and approached Bobby, kneeling down on the ground and scrutinizing him. That don't make sense, said Todd. It burns so bad, said Bobby. I can't take it. Todd huffed in irritation, staring down at the ground as he thought of what to do. Well, said Todd as the wheels inside his head turned.

I guess if you ain't going to work, then you ain't getting supper right. I guess, Bobby timidly replied. Get upstairs. I don't want to see you till tomorrow morning. You better not scratch. It'll make it worse. Yes, sir. Todd stormed out of the house,

now Bobby was confronted with the idea of once again going upstairs by himself. That bedroom of his had a presence that was beyond dominance. But now Bobby was beginning to realize that the sunlight pouring in through the kitchen window was causing his skins burn to slowly return. And with that, Bobby began booking it toward the stairs. Part two. When he entered his bedroom, the first thing he did was shut the blinds on his window.

Bobby flipped on the light, keeping a watchful eye on the closet, which looked like a gaping mouth that was ready to devour him. He plopped down on his bed. At the foot was a pile of now-clean sheets that thankfully no longer smelled of piss. The burning on his skin faded away once again. Bobby's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. The sounds thoroughly startled him since he hadn't heard anyone enter the house. He was sure he'd watched his uncle walk outside, so why hadn't he heard him come back in?

Bobby braced himself as the footsteps grew nearer. He hunkered down in his bed, rolling over on his side with his back to the door, shutting his eyes and pretending to be asleep. The footsteps halted for a moment or two. Bobby tuned his ears, the sudden silence deafening. What he heard next could best be described as several fingertips making contact with his wooden door, pushing it slightly open.

This was followed by more silence, which greatly unsettled Bobby. Curiosity got the best of him, though, and he rolled over to see who was at the door. and what he saw next made his heart jump to his throat two pitch black eyeballs peered at him through the doorway they were attached to that pasty white face he'd seen in his closet two nights ago Bobby was frozen with fear for several moments

the black eyes didn't even blink and their owner was completely unmoving snapping out of his fearful trance Bobby leapt up and dove for cover on the side of his bed He propped his back up against the side of the mattress, panting like a winded animal. His wide eyes darted all over the place as he listened for more sounds. There was silence once again. Bobby slowly worked up the nerve to peek over the mattress. When he did, there were those eyes, still in the same place, staring back at him from the bedroom doorway.

Bobby squeaked with fear and hunkered back down behind the bed. A few moments passed, and Bobby heard the sound of his door creaking as that closet creature pushed it open. What followed were its footsteps. Bobby could hear it as it walked across the wooden floor, and he began to pray that it was not on its way to the side of the bed where Bobby was hiding. Though hiding was not quite an accurate description, that thing knew he was there. His forehead beaded with perspiration as the steady rhythm of the creature's foot force, He could see its shadow stretching across the wall next to him. The shadow was humanoid in shape, albeit still ghastly in form.

Please, God! Bobby murmured under his breath. I love you, God, with all my might, keep me safe all through the night. I love you, God, with all my might, keep me safe all through the night. With his eyes closed tightly, Bobby repeated his prayer over and over again until the words exited his mouth so fast that they sounded like they were all one long made-up word. He wasn't sure how many times he'd repeated the phrase or how many minutes have passed, but he soon opened one eye and glanced at the side to see that the shadow was no longer there. It's going to take many more minutes before he had the nerve to peek around the corner of the mattress

or to even move a muscle. Minutes passed, and Bobby slowly crawled over to the foot of the bed, cautiously peering around the corner of the mattress. The figure wasn't there. All that was left was the same gaping closet doorway, which Bobby was sure the creature had gone into. He felt cornered. If he went outside, he'd surely be in pain again. If he stayed inside, there was a chance he'd see that creature again.

So Bobby did what any other child would have done. He crawled under the bed and hid there. Bobby opened his eyes to darkness. He could feel a stream of drool drizzling from the corner of his mouth. and into a little puddle on the hardwood floor that he'd been sleeping on for who knew how long. It was night-time now, and Bobby was still hunkered down under his bed. The wooden panels beneath his mattress, sandwiching him between the bed and the wood floor. He was unaware of the time, but his heart soon sank as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

At first he didn't know which it was, his uncle, or the creature. But he soon had his answer when he heard the distinct and disgusting sound of his uncle clearing his three. throat. Bobby quickly crawled out from under his bed and plop down on the mattress, rolling over and pretending to be asleep. His bedroom door creaked a bit as Todd pushed it open. Todd whispered, you asleep? Bobby didn't answer, and in this moment he became terrified as he hoped to God that Todd wasn't up here for any reason other than simply checking on him. The next thing he heard was the sound of Todd slowly pacing into his room. Oh God, Bobby braced himself for the worst.

He could hear Todd circling around the foot of the bed. But a slight relief set in when Bobby heard the sound of Todd fiddling with the clock on the nightstand. Through squinted eyes, Bobby confirmed that this was what Todd was doing, just checking to make sure the alarm had been set. Bobby knew he'd forgotten to set it, judging by the curses Todd muttered under his breath. Soon Bobby could hear Todd circling back around the other side of the bed. All right, now just leave, Bobby silently prayed. Just leave and go to sleep.

The footsteps suddenly ceased, and Bobby silently panicked when he didn't hear Todd walking down the stairs. He was sure of what was going on now. Todd was watching him sleep. Should I fake snore? But then, Bobby feared that it was going on. might actually sound faith. He wasn't even quite sure if he snored while he slept.

He knew Todd did, and that was the only comforting sound that Todd had ever made, a sound that signalled he was asleep and therefore unable to slap Bobby around. Bobby thanked the heavens when the sound of Todd's footsteps started back up, and then he further thanked the heavens when those footsteps were off echoing down the stairs and causing that loud squeaking sound. Never had this creaking of stairs been so comforting to Bobby. When he was sure that Uncle Todd was gone, he rolled over and was about to hop out of bed to crawl back under it, the only place he felt safe. But once he rolled over, he found himself not looking up at the ceiling, but into those all too familiar pitch-black eyes of the creature in the closet.

Before he could even have time to scream, Bobby's entire body went into a state of paralysis, and the only sound is a sound. he could utter was a weak little wheezing noise from the back of his throat. All he could do was lie there and stare up into those beady, taxidermy-type eyes. They stared angrily down at him, and his own eyes were magnetized to them. And then, as if inhaling laughing gas, Bobby fell unconscious. Bobby's 3am alarm woke him that morning. It took a few seconds, but Bobby soon had no trouble recalling what had happened the previous evening. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay in this house. He didn't even want to reach over and shut off the alarm. That bed was now the only safe haven for him, and even being atop the bed was not ideal. The second Bobby lifted his head, he felt a sharp

pain coming from his neck, an excruciating soreness within the tendons of his jugular. He brought his fingertips to the area, but immediately winced upon touching it. He already knew what it was and it would be hackneyed at this point for him to wonder what it might be Bobby rushed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror there on his neck was a massive bite mark much like a hickie except for several clear puncture marks that had been made by teeth it looked mysteriously healed just like the other one but Bobby didn't want to know what this one would feel like upon stepping out into the sun he could only imagine all of the horrendous ways it would burn a crack ooze and fester.

Come on boy, let's get, shouted Todd from the bottom of the stairs. The sun would rise before 7 a.m., so Bobby had three hours, more or less, before he simply had to go inside. He already knew what would take place if he stayed in the sun. It was the same sort of bite as the one on his arm,

and it would produce the same effect of that he was certain. Breakfast that morning was most unsatisfying for Bobby, specifically because he found that he didn't want to eat. eat. He was hungry, but had no desire for the food on the table. He couldn't even force it down this time. It was as if every fibre of his being was rejecting the eggs and toast he'd eaten all his life. He craved something else, but he didn't know what. It drew Todd's wrath,

but nonetheless Bobby simply could not eat it. Bobby kept the most watchful of eyes on the horizon while he worked. At the first solitary ray of sunlight that he saw peeking over the skyline, he Bobby was getting out of Dodge. The bite hurt bad enough as it was. Sure enough, as half-past six rolled around, two tiny rays of sunshine peeped up over the horizon and shot straight for the bite on Bobby's neck. Almost immediately, the bite mark began to peel and seep with pus.

His skin began to feel sunburned again, and he immediately dropped everything and began walking toward the house. He didn't even check to make sure Todd wasn't looking, And evidently Todd was looking, for he soon yelled across the field at Bobby. How are you doing, boy? Going inside, Bobby said, without even turning around. Boy! Bobby heard the sound of Todd dropping the rake he was holding.

I'm kicking your ass. As Bobby began booking it for the house, he could hear a sickly crazed chuckle emanating from Todd's mouth. Oh man, Todd snickered. I'll tell you what, boy, you are done. Bobby quickened his pace, running up the doorsteps and bursting into the house. The burning feeling immediately calmed down. He looked through the window and saw Todd eagerly making his way toward the doorsteps.

Bobby locked the door. The mere clicking sound of the lock seemed to anger Todd, who broke into a full-flesh sprint up the doorsteps and then began banging on the door like a caged animal. open this goddamn door todd barked bobby shook his head which made todd angrier in a split second todd froze and contemplated his next move and then in one additional second he ran down the doorsteps and ran to the corner of the house bobby began sprinting for the back door he had to lock it before that bastard got in if todd got inside it was over bobby ran and ran but the sound of the back door opening was enough to send him running back the way he'd come. You are done, boy. Bobby booked it for

the stairs. He thought of going out the front door, but he just couldn't face the sunlight, not again. He ran up the stairs. About halfway up, he looked over his shoulder to see Todd begin his own ascent of the stairs. Where are you going? Todd asked maniacally. Where are you going? Bobby burst into his room and slammed the door shut, locking it just in time. The doorknob began wiggling wildly as Todd tried to open it. Open this door now. Open it. Go away, Bobby shouted. Boy, I'm kick it down. There was silence for a moment as Todd seemed to be giving Bobby some sort of choice to open the door. But at the heart of it, there really was no choice. Bobby was going to have to face the music.

All righty, you little shit. And with that, Todd knocked in the flimsy wooden door with one mule-like kit. He immediately lunged toward Bobby. Bobby hopped up onto the bed and over to the other side. It was now a game of cat and mouse. Todd circled around the foot of the bed, and when he did, Bobby jumped up onto the bed and went to the other side. This repeated several times, but she couldn't last forever. Bobby knew that much.

I can do this all day, Todd exclaimed. Bobby was now on the far side of the room, and he started eyeballing the doorway. Todd was by the corner of his bed at the foot. The second Todd took one step around that corner, Bobby was going to leap for that door. Todd did a little fake lunge, and Bobby almost leapt onto the bed,

catching himself at the last minute. Todd did a few more fake lunges, and then stood very steep. still, waiting to see what Bobby would do. Bobby stayed patient, however, and soon Todd ran in the corner and ran for Bobby. Bobby jumped up onto the bed and bounded across the mattress, landing on the wooden floor. But Todd was fast, and he quickly reversed back to the other side of the bed, catching Bobby's shirt.

Ah, gotcha! Todd yanked Bobby onto the bed. Bobby led out a horrible choking noise as his shirt collar tightened around his neck. Next thing he knew, he was thrown down onto the mattress. He tried to wriggle away, but Todd was too strong. Todd firmly grasped Bobby's ankles and began tugging at his pant legs. "'Ah, best don't kick, boy,' said Todd. Bobby's eyes widened as Todd began yanking hard at Bobby's pant legs.

He knew what happened next. It had happened twice before. "'No, stop,' Bobby begged, but Todd kept at it. Suddenly, however, Bobby's fear quickly ran dry. He was now seeing red, both in the traditional sense of being angry, but also in a literal sense, a dark, syrupy red. And the next thing he heard right before blacking out was the sound of Todd screaming in pain. When Bobby came to, he found himself standing in his bedroom completely alone. It was almost dark outside now.

The sun nearly finished dipping below the horizon. Bobby didn't know what had happened or why he was here by himself, but he felt not a single trace of fear, and so he began descending the stairs. Bobby entered the kitchen. The first thing he saw was Todd, lying on the table with his throat torn wide open and his voice box hanging out. His skin was jet white and not a single drop of blood was on the floor below.

And as Bobby smacked his lips and moved his tongue around in his mouth, He tasted a strong flavour of blood. Both the tang of the blood and the side of Todd's corks made Bobby grin. Feeling a presence behind him, Bobby turned around to see the creature from his closet, looming over him with its pasty white face, razor-like fangs and black cloak. But this time its presence didn't frighten Bobby in the very least. In fact nothing frightened him now. as he took the creature's clawed hand and began walking with it into the darkness, he felt safe

and sound, for he would never have to step out into the sunlight again. I cut out my eyes to stop myself going mad by Daniel Law. Part one. It had never occurred to me that so many forbidden and unimaginable desires lurked beyond the veil of existence. For years I'd suffered in ignorance of this revelation, allow my forgotten appetite to rot away within the depth of my blood. Although blind within the darkness, these cravings desperately long to be observed. But now they stirred. Now they danced gracefully on the surface of my sanity, having floated up from the depths unexplored. You can be assured that the words I speak about the unpredictable brutality of my nature are sincere. I also wish you to understand that I do not consider myself as mad.

The following recollection may inspire you to open your eyes to the secrets I'm not. now accustomed to you you may even share the same notions and illicit urges as i we are all creatures of flesh you see open your eyes i use these words with a sense of irony as it was only yesterday that i removed my own eyes with a broken piece of glass uh it hurt like hell but pain is just pain and there are worse things to endure than that what's important to note is that any same person would have done the same thing as me under the right circumstances. You will likely gather from my story that I'm probably not that much different from you and that we may share a few things in common. Growing up I was privy to a relatively normal lifestyle. As a child, nothing about my upbringing

was notably different to most, and I was raised in a fairly decent neighbourhood. A mixture of young families and pensioners filled my estate's mid-terrists and semi-detached houses. It's a rather dull place to live. I always found it challenging to make friends and always preferred my own company to others. My parents tended to leave me to my own devices. They seemed quite satisfied that I'd rather stay home reading books and playing video games instead of running around outdoors in the fresh air. At school my classmates disregarded me, which suited me fine as I didn't have much to say to anyone. When my parents finally decided to move into retirement care, I was given the keys to the family home and managed to gain employment working behind a computer screen. After a while I faded into

the background of life's scandalous, and nothing ever seemed to happen out of the ordinary. Well, until last year, that is. A young couple moved in next door to my terrace house, a tall blonde woman and a short but rather stocky-looking man who looked much too old for his partner. She was miles out of his league, young, pretty, and someone who carried a certain air of grace with her. On the other and he had the appearance of an untamed pit-ball terrier. Intimidating and aloof, he'd race around in his fancy car and designer track suits as though he owned the place.

I fancied that shoes attracted more to his wallet than anything else he had to offer. Within a few months of their arrival, several complaints were reported to the police about the frequent heated and drunken rows that would exhale from that house at night like a disgusting smell. However, their arguments never bothered me,

and soon I became transfixed with their. regular altercations. I'd skulk in the silence of my bedroom every Friday night for the evening's entertainment to commence. It usually started with a husband storming home from the pub just before midnight with a cold fish supper for his beloved wife. She'd pretend to be asleep at first, but she couldn't keep that charade up for very long. It soon grew bored and slammed the bedroom door closed before stomping down the stairs. I'd wait patiently because I knew that hubby would burn burst back in through that door only moments later. And that's when the real fun would begin.

I always had to cover my mouth to conceal my rising laughter when she finally reacted to his taunts. She'd stand up for herself occasionally, but he was much too powerful for her. Sometimes I'd hear him angrily force-feeding her that gold-fish supper as she pleaded with him to stop. The sounds of flesh being slapped and the crunch of fists on the wall would typically mark the crescendo of the evening. And I would work on the other side of that wall,

biting my fist in absolute elation as I overheard the violence unfolding. From what I could gather, the husband was convinced his wife was sleeping with everyone on the street whilst he was out at the pub. I would cackle in elation at this. Clearly he didn't know the neighbourhood very well. The only exciting thing to happen in recent years

was the old guy across the road shouting at some local kids that had kicked a ball into his beloved garden. And even that was grounds for the police to be notified. Everyone seemed blissfully unaware of reality, surreptitious songs, which now offered me my regular weekly fix. Sure, I'd watched my fair share of horror movies and crime documentaries, but this was very different. I mean, this was happening right next door, and I would ache in anticipation every day and

night until the weekend finally arrived. But eventually, like so many other glorious things in our lives that we take for granted, it all came to an end. On Friday evening my neighbours were fighting again, whilst I loitered in my usual position, with my ear pushed tightly against the wall. But as I sat there completely naked and concupiscent, I soon realised that things were getting unusually fiery on this particular occasion. Their shouting was growing louder and angry by the second. The rising intensity of this new level of aggression matched my emerging arousal, and I shook with delight at the beautiful sounds of this somewhat volatile interaction.

While their argument eventually transferred out from the bedroom, I could hear the wife screaming that she was leaving her husband. He bellowed furiously and raced down the stairs after her. A flurry of heavy slaps and angry, undecipherable shouts echoed through the wall as they brawled on the stairs. And I shrieked in absolute euphoria at this. Finally the front door slammed open and I raced over to the window, absolutely thrilled at the delights I'd soon be able to witness.

Upon sneaking my head between the curtains, I could see that almost every other neighbour was following suit. Curious eyes peered out of high windows at the rain-filled streets below. The volatile nature of the couple's relationship spared no detail for their audience as that house spat them out onto the road like guts from a rotten stomach. Well, they wrestled in the garden, bellowing obscenities at each other, as onlookers watched from the safety of their own darkened bedrooms. or usually the husband's physicality would overpower his wife but he was in a particularly drunken state that evening and consequently she managed to hold her own and fought back with venomous aggression to knock him to the floor as everyone watched on silently

unlike any other person would have done i attempted to pleasure myself at the spectacle but much to my annoyance the police soon arrived on the scene to spoil the fun sighing in frustration at the closure of the evening's entertainment they eventually retired to my bed and was soon fast asleep. As I opened my eyes, a heavy sound seemed to have spilt over from my dream. It was loud enough to be heard over the raging storm that threatened to blow the windows in. The thumping then paused for a moment as I ease myself up to sit on the edge of my mattress. But then it returned, loud, violent and heavy. The rain lashed hard against the house and the furious wind caused the entire building to shudder. Still, I was more interested in the disturbance radiating from next door.

Eager for more fulfillment at my neighbour's expense, I quickly got out of bed and carefully placed my ear against the wall. I could identify only one voice from the other side, the husband. It was murmuring words I couldn't quite decipher, as something repeatedly slammed hard and wet into the concrete that separated my bedroom from there, with thumping vibrations massaged against my bare skin, and I trembled with appreciation.

Content within the moment, my heavily beating heart began to match the dull rhythm as it intensified. A broad smile tightened across my face as I noticed the arouser from earlier returning. I envisaged to the husband punching that wall, his knuckles broken and bruised, as his wife huddled with the covers pulled up tight to her neck. The thought of her terror always pleased me tremendously, but I couldn't hear her whimpers or indeed her screams. I pushed my ear harder against the wall, but it all went silent for a moment, and that's when I could hear something approaching from the distance outside. My blood ran cold as I recognised the sound of police sirens blaring furiously towards the estate.

Concerned about my merriment being spoiled again, I implored them to head elsewhere, but within moments they were tearing into our street. My heart leapt into my mouth as I noticed lights flashing through the haze of rainfall that blurred outside. in the night. Oh, I cursed at this unwelcome disruption to my gratification. Creeping over to the window with a tennis ball-sized lump in my throat, I noticed several figures exiting a police van before banging on my neighbour's door. Almost as though in acknowledgement the war began to boom and thump with much more intensity than before. The officers responded by forcibly gaining entry to the house. A brief struggle ensued, and I tried to translate the frantic words through the wall, but the boisterous wind and rain made that impossible.

I watched and listened for a while before an ambulance pulled up outside to receive a stretcher from next door, covered with a plain white sheet. Next I could see my neighbour, the husband, ushered into the back of a police riot van, before it pulled away and into the night, closely followed by the ambulance. A few figures returned to the house and closed the door behind them. I waited for several hours, but all that remained was a calm serenity underneath the heavy rainfall a poignant underlying silence that brought with it the notion of a climax a blanket of tranquility had fallen over the neighbourhood which washed away all that was

left of my arousal i felt sick as my body purged itself of any pent-up enthusiasm and i immediately started to feel withdrawn and depressed i screamed angrily into my pillow that night until i finally fell asleep. A few days later, the news of what happened next door finally reached the public. It was those details that reinvigorated my previous condition. My neighbor had awakened, inebriated, but lucid after the initial confrontation in the garden. Overwhelmed with rage about his wife fighting back in front of their neighbors, he had utterly lost control and tried to strangle her as she slept. However, she awoke, and a brief struggle occurred as he wildly grabbed at her neck, desperate to choke the life from her.

During the altercation, she managed to call the police, who could hear everything after the phone dropped to the floor. She eventually managed to stand up, but he was right behind her, pursuing her through the darkness like an animal chasing its prey. After brutally punching her to the floor, he shoved her head against the wall. He repeatedly stomped on her until he was content that she could fight back no more, a final act of violence to end a somewhat fraught marriage. I fancied he was acting out his innate desire for gratification, whilst I lurk nearby frantically exploring mine.

It seemed we were connected somehow and tuned in to the same frequency. It's easier to blame such occurrences on alcohol and domestic violence rather than face the stark reality that something special is hidden inside us, usually unnoticed by most. And without an appropriate level of conditioning, our true cells could be left to rot dormant forever in the darkness. As I mentioned earlier, I'll be nothing but honest with my recollection, well, at least as much as mere words will allow. What happened next door afflicted me as though it were an uncontrollable and rampant virus searing through my veins. Something insidious had been disturbed within the vast ocean of my subconscious.

As I recalled that crashing and banging from next door, I visualised the wife's mangled head bursting and cracking under the hefty weight of her husband's foot. and all of this happened as I lurched and listened nearby. I envisioned the cartilage in her nose crunching as it was mashed into a pretty face. The force of his repeated blows reigned upon her as the storm outside battered houses, cars and trees, both man and nature unrelated to their aggression. Finally, the life seeping from her wounds as death's vibrant and magnificent colours washed over her. Each sadistic thought translated into my mind as wonderful and pleasing images of

blood flowing from her numerous injuries. My heart pumped furiously at a force that could have fired the engine of a steam train and a wave of electricity shot underneath my scalp. As my lungs expanded greedily and rapidly, I continued to paint a picture in my mind of what had happened next door. Overwhelmed by amplifying exhilaration, I nearly passed out, but then I suddenly became conscience of a potent motivation stirring within me. It was as though I'd been injected with pure adrenaline. Not once did I consider my response to any of this strange. Instead it is odd that I hadn't

accessed this intoxicating sensation before. I felt reborn. At that moment I wondered what specific acclimatization was required for someone sane and rational as I to consider taking another person's life. This seemed undoubtedly the next logical progression to explore for those of us with a taste of the hidden secrets, the next level. These new tendencies made me physically sick at the motion of the life I had begun to turn my back upon. I became repulsed at the thought of anyone else wasting their privileged existences, trying to act normal, whilst unwillingly masking their true selves from the world. The routine and empty charade of trying so desperately to fit in while seeking validation from others are hallmarks of narcissism and narcissist i am not social validation is

merely a poison that orders our perception of who we are educated and evolved human beings now scrambling about in the darkness of society seeking mundane employment just to pay the bills striving for nothing more than a comfortable life whilst nurturing the next generation of robots not humans Gosh, what on earth are they thinking? What an earth was I ever thinking? Social engineering and brainwashing are powerful distractions from the absolute truth, but I would be fooled no longer. It's undoubtedly insane to allow such abstract practices to stagnate us.

And I, for one, am not insane. The melody of death from next door had affected every fibre within my soul, and now I had a longing for more. I craved to treat my other senses to the opulence of this new dimension. I started to look at life with a new sense of enlightenment, as though I now had access to a more robust lens than before. A unique lens that offered me a finite understanding of what was rational. Yeah, I was tuning in to a frequency that had awakened somewhere deep inside of my very soul, an unseen frequency that likely roams in every one of us.

But just because something is unseen doesn't mean it's not that. It started to feel like a doorway had eased open somewhere, both nearby and far away at the exact same moment. Wherever this door led, I had no particular desire to close it. Neither did I have any conscious control of my newfound urges. Then a question appeared with absolute clarity, imprinted on my mind like words on the giant billboard. What does it feel like to kill someone?

The more attention I offered the concept, the more my anticipation. for the answer to the question intensified. I indulge myself repeatedly with self-pleasure as I played it out in my mind, trying to imagine the depths I could reach. I was nearing some kind of a void that promised to fuse flesh with a potent mixture of pleasure and anticipation.

And even though I'd only stepped into the shallow waters of this new dimension, they were abundant with flavor. My life had been supercharged with a new and enhanced level of direction. Before stumbling upon this revelation, my day had consisted of little more than the Monday. I'll spare you the details, as I find it hard to commit them to conscious memory. It was as if I'd been looking through someone else's eyes and watching a movie that neither excited nor satisfied me,

slowly going mad while struggling to conform to the acceptable rules of society. But not anymore. Since those deepest desires had flourished, I spent countless hours searching and rejoicing in all. what the internet offers for those of us with such cravings. But that only served to wet my appetite. Some of the executions and torture videos I found merely served to arouse me sexually, but it wasn't enough. I needed a deeper kind of fulfillment.

I had to know what it felt like to be the executioner, to swing the blade, to commit someone willingly to the grave. Oh, my eyes ache. The blood is all but dried, but my body is drained. The wounds will never heal, and likely I will soon become privy to whatever skulks behind the realms of existence, something I'm wildly enthusiastic about exploring. I can't help but smile as my mortality reaches me with long, sinewy fingers, but at least I have a story to tell.

At least I have lived. His name was Flesh Creature 21. At least that was his online handle. It would be a mistake to place your actual name and details of it. those sites. I met him on social media via a shared interest in taste of, let's say, a forbidden kind. We hadn't yet connected in the flesh, however I hadn't managed to do some investigative work to track him down. It didn't take long to identify that his real name was Dennis Palmer. After that, I uncovered his phone number, home address, and even where he worked.

Dennis was kind of special. I flowed to him as though water following a stream. Our tastes were so similar and profound that I imagined him as a brother of sorts. Like me he was tall and slim with short dark brown hair. He had slight acne scarring across both cheeks and dark rings around his eyes. He probably spent too much time on the computer and eating junk food, something I could level with. His life was as equally mundane as mine had only recently been, and I developed an absolute obsession with him before long. Venice was something of a tourist, he would log on each night simply to inspect the variety of exotic treats and videos on the dark web. Never one to get involved in any of the discussion about the latest snuff movie being uploaded,

and Dennis would just silently observe. He preferred everyone else to do the dirty work while he'd just watch from the safety of his room, just as I'd done whilst listening to my neighbours through the wall. I noticed a pattern emerging as I examined his online presence and movements. I was soon aware of when he left his house in the morning, and what route he followed to work. I stalked him. Every day for several months,

I would ride the train to the station near where Dennis lived. Upon disembarking the train, I would walk the remainder of the journey to his street. I would always arrive early for my ritual and stand directly across from his house at the bus stop. It was possible from that vantage point to see him exiting his front door at 8 a.m. He was none the wiser to my existence either,

standing at the bus stop made me blend in. I also made a point of regularly altering my appearance and clothing just in case he started to smell a rat. Once Dennis was outside his house, he turned left and headed down the street towards a large park. He'd usually stop for refreshments at a cafe called nuts about coffee. His choice of drink was a cinnamon latte with extra cinnamon, something I was partial to myself. Then he would stroll through the park,

a journey that usually took him no. more than five minutes. The park welcomed Dennis and me every morning with the subtle aromas of pine and vanilla for the flourishing green trees and blossoming yellow bushes. In the warm glow of the morning sun the park was abundant with the songs of wildlife, but Dennis showed no interest in any of the thriving nature surrounding him. He instead preferred to keep his head down low as he trudged along, paying no attention to the world around him. On the other hand, my senses were on high alert, and I I had begun to notice absolutely everything.

Dennis always walked along a wide path that skirted past a small lake to the other side. Over the months, I analyzed his every movement through those park grounds. I wouldn't just follow him, though. Oh, no. I sometimes arrived much earlier to set myself up on one of the benches in the public garden as to waver him. Sensing his arrival, I wouldn't even look up as he approached me. I didn't want to stir any suspicion, you see. I also jog past him occasionally to see how close I could get to him, but I didn't even acknowledge him.

My unconscious instinct would always pick up on his presence, and I didn't even need to look in his direction to know he was there. I even recognized his fragrance as well, a sweet and tangy aftershave that did little to mask his unwashed armpits. It's safe to say that I was entirely tuned into everything about Dennis Palmer. It satisfied me immensely that he didn't seem to notice his new travelling companion. that I knew his every move. Dennis would get on the number 51 bus to town upon departing the park. The bus ride took just 20 minutes. 30 of traffic was heavy.

He'd sit on the same seat every time, halfway down the bus on the right-hand side. Or at least he'd tried to. I'd always squeal with delight when someone had already taken his usual seat, and could always recognize the moment his demeanor changed. His blood would boil if he didn't get his face. favorite chair, and Dennis would glare menacingly at whoever dared to sit there. Thin droplets of perspiration would glaze his forehead as he struggled to contain himself,

and his face would turn a deep shade of red. Any slight deviation from his routine would utterly ruin his entire day. Once I decided to sit in his chair on the bus to await his arrival, to see what it would be like to experience his reaction for myself. As soon as he arrived and noticed me in his seat, he scowled at me with absolute malice. When his eyes met mine, I was significantly taken aback, and a strange recognition transferred between us. As exhilarating as it was, it had me filled with an uncomfortable sensation of impending doom. When I returned home that night, I vomited uncontrollably for about an hour. Since then, whenever I considered that energy transfer between Dennis and me, my heart would flutter as I became incensed with an unexpected and terrible rage.

The sensation was utterly overwhelming. It caused me to feel both sick and exhausted at the same time. His eyes had somehow triggered an illness within me, as though his presence was nothing more than a virus. My intentions were initially unclear at the beginning of my secret pursuit of Dennis Palmer. To be honest, I wanted to spend some time nurturing my anticipation to ensure he'd be a suitable victim. But after meeting eyes with him on that bus, it was almost as though my clandestine game was up. I could not allow him to become privy to my obsession. I would not let him. The only thing that would take away my toxic rage and control my deep sickness was the idea of killing this person. I became electrified at the thought of his pending demise, and at the same

time my body felt ravished by a deep and rampant longing, one that could only be satisfied. by ingesting a singular source of nourishment. A deep and rooted urge to remove Dennis Palmer from his uninspired existence. An existence I both loved and hated at the same time. Our destinies had crossed, and there was no way of turning back. I was committed. My tactics changed after that revelation, and I began to pursue him from much further away for fear of being recognised.

My movements became more covert. and I decided to stalk him in the darkness. His evening routine was as banal as it was in the day, and he began to disgust me. After work, Dennis would leave the front door from his office blocks and head straight across the road to buy chips from the Four Seasons takeaway. I scoffed. I'd used that takeaway before, but usually went for the cheeseburger.

I'd started to compare each choice he made with my own. After his meal, he'd wait at the bus stop for the number 51 bus, we should drop him directly across the road from the park. It was tangibly quieter at night, and someone had sabotaged the lights, which meant it was conveniently pitch black inside. It was easy to conceal myself in the park as I waited for Dennis to wander through to the other side each evening.

I'll groan with excitement from where I lurked as he neared me. Concealed within the bushes, and I'd wait patiently, sometimes for hours. Now and again, I followed him from behind the trees, always just out of sight. As I watched him, I would tremble and shake with silent laughter as I pondered my cunning plan. My anticipation escalated when I noticed he was starting to behave differently. Dennis usually walked, facing only the direction he was headed with no care for the world around him.

But more recently, his movement had become much more erratic than usual. He started to turn his head from side to side before entering the park, which was new. He stood just outside the gates to deliberate his venture through on one occasion, which was entirely out of character for him. Dennis was slightly reluctant to enter the park, his notion becoming more apparent every night. He seemed to be slowly becoming aware of his fate, just as I was of mine. As I said earlier, we're all creatures of flesh, but something deeper connects us all, something unseen by many. I felt a pleasurable stirring within my heart as I share these words with you. The euphoria is almost enough to dull the pulsating pain from my ruptured eyes as I now contemplate those final special moments.

That special night. I was already on the bus when Dennis sat down a few seats in front of me, and he was right on time as always. The aroma from his recent portion of chips pervaded my nostrils as it filtered from his old puffer jackets. I watched him from the corner of my eye, and my heart was steady, poised. He never missed a beat. His body language had most definitely altered. Something about the way he moved was all wrong. He was restless throughout this entire bus journey,

and it seemed like something was quite obviously playing on his mind. I began to sense fear in him. Well, as I said before, I was tuned in. Something new festered between the scent of his cheap aftershave and the vinegar from his chips. It was potent and I could almost taste it. It was like an old, well-used sock, saturated in thick, oily sweat. I knew it came from him, and it satisfied me with an intensity I hadn't felt before. A broad grin stretched across my face, and a slight murmur escaped my lips.

The noise of the bus, as it rocked and groaned, was just enough to cover my rising excitement. The more I breathed in this new scent, The more aroused I became, I had to close my eyes and bite my tongue for fear of screaming out in ecstasy. I almost misjudged the stop and had to quickly stand up to follow Dennis as he departed the bus. Stepping out onto the streets as the doors closed behind me, I decided to sit on a bench to ponder my next manoeuvre. Something had wriggled into my mind from out of the night, a wild certainty which I can only describe as that moment of fight or flight. as though I was standing on a cliff edge ready to jump into the unknown. My senses heightened to a new level,

and it felt as though the world was closing in tight around me. Nervous energy bubbled within me like acid, and I could taste the metallic hint of my blood as I gritted my teeth together. The bus pulled away with a hiss, and I watched Dennis from my peripheral vision. Usually he would head straight across the street towards the park, but this time he hesitated. It was as though he couldn't decide whether to make the journey through the Darken Park or avoid

it altogether. While I prayed for the former, choosing neither option, it seemed, he suddenly turned towards a pub that faced the park from the other side of the road. It was a pub he'd frequented once or twice before, for little more than a soft drink at the bar before he continued his journey home. Initially, I panicked, but soon realized that his need for refreshment would buy me extra time to hide in the park and quietly await his presence. As always, I'd conscientiously planned everything out,

so I was ready for the moment to present itself. Tonight was the night. Part two. I waited until he was deep inside the bar before deciding it would be too much of a wasted opportunity to not try and see how close I could get to him, to stand near him in the bar without him noticing me. Well, you must understand that I wanted to relish this,

various scents some fresh and others musk permeated my lungs as I entered the pub to keep my burning desires at bay I practiced deep breathing techniques which I employed to control my creeping desires perfume and aftershave sprayed heavily over casual clothing did little to mask the smell of smoke and piss which intensified as I approached the bar I could see Dennis with a busy crowd ordering his drink I'd never seen him with friends something else we both had in common. And so I had a little concern that he would engage in conversation

with anyone. As I approached him, I gazed at the back of his head and dared him to look around and see me. I wanted him to acknowledge somehow the potent mixture of rage and excitement I exuded. He stirred a little, but didn't turn in my direction. If such a thing as telepathy existed,

he would have left that bar immediately and headed straight to the police. I positioned myself next to him at the bar. and casually ordered a drink. I wanted to stand beside him and enjoy my drink without glancing in his direction as I marked my territory. More importantly, I wanted him to notice my blazing aura

and recognize it later when we met for the first and final time flesh to flesh. Joking back a giggle, I continued my approach. Dennis quietly sipped his drink as I maneuvered into position behind him. I ordered a small Coke, more for a prop than anything else, to help me blest me, end in but in his presence as the blood rushed furiously through my body I began to feel light-headed and nauseous the cold and sweet drink was a welcome respite to my condition we stood side by side

at the bar as though companions the ambience of the pub was undisturbed by the unseen certainty that exuded from us both as we drank groups of friends engaged in murmured conversation as frantic bar staff rushed around to keep the thirsty clientele happy and there I I stood, exactly where I wanted to be, poised and ready, soaking in the nourishment that exuded from Dennis Palmer's paws. I sucked the scent of his aftershave deep into my lungs, which caused my heart to pump with absolute ferocity, fresh and minty, but not enough to mask the underlying smoky and meaty odour which oozed from his unlawed clothing and decaying breath.

I trembled violently with anticipation, and my body shivered, which caused me to panic. for a moment. Part of me wanted Dennis to accept his fate, but at the same time I didn't wish him to become aware of my rising, undoubtedly palpable excitement. I didn't want to give the entire game away, you see, but he continued to gaze straight ahead, only occasionally lifting his glass lazily to his mouth to take a sip. It began to frustrate me. It perplexed me even. Here I was his executioner, standing right beside him with a sickle, and he didn't even have the curiosity to acknowledge the certainty of his fate. Ah, flesh is just flesh.

Well, my rage became laced with searing adrenaline, and I had to take a few deep breaths to compose myself. I decided to try and force my slide plan into Dennis's subconscious one last time, just to give him an echo of a chance. I wanted him to be scared, and I craved to smell the depths of his fear. I yearn to feel and taste the life escaping him, and that's when I decided to be scared.

to use my bare hands to kill him later instead of using the hammer I'd hidden in the park. I wanted to feel the energy leaving him as I bathed in the warm flavors of his demise. To fill my entire body with the poison of his terror would satisfy me immensely. I compelled him to sense those thoughts, but he remained absolutely and deathly still. There might as well have been a brick wall between us. Just like the one which had offered me a sanctuary to listen to the pleasing sounds of pain and fear from my neighbour several months earlier. Unluckily for Dennis, however, he had no such wall to hide behind.

I shook my head mockingly before deciding it was time to leave the bar. It was time to get ready. I finished my drink before glancing back at Dennis, who remained utterly unfazed in his ignorance. Locked in his little world, he was oblivious to the reality around him. I scowled as a mixture of compulsion and delirium hit my brain like a generous shot of cheap whiskey. Oh, just you wait, I murmured under my breath on departure from the vibrant climate of the bar to the quiet stillness of the night outside. My breath misted as it met the cold, but inside I burn like a furnace. Every fibre of my being was crammed with an unrelenting and menacing

rage for Dennis Palmer. The warm, trembling excitement from early was hidden underneath this new layer of poised and frenzied wrath. How dare he not acknowledge me? the street was still and partially vacant outside. Across the road the pitch blackness of the part looked terminally uninviting to the sparse amount of people who went about their business. No one seemed encouraged to enter wandering through at this hour of the night. For many, paranoia was hidden in the darkness, but I felt more alive than ever underneath its veil.

I didn't want to waste another moment, so I jogged across the road and went straight through the open gate between the surrounding hedgerows. The park swallowed me under a protective cloak of darkness that denied entry to the weak beams of the surrounding street lights. High trees blotted out occasional stray headlights from the passing cars. The moments of their engines were a dull white noise from within the enclosure of thick trees and dense bushes. Deep in the park by the lake was my destination. Far enough away from the buzz of the residential areas, it was perfect for what I had planned. I could feel a warm glow of excitement battling out with the unrelenting rage in my stomach.

It was a curious sensation, one I can sincerely recommend. I knew every inch of the park by heart. The lake was deep in the centre of the public gardens, with numerous tree lines to hide in. I headed towards a tall and thick tree that commanded the area across from the lake. The tree loomed over several bushes, basking under its deep shadow, a prime position for me to a wait my prey. I crouched low and look back in the direction of the park. Dennis would be arriving soon and I remained deathly still. It was essential to stay relaxed and maintain control. I didn't rehearse my crouching position so I wouldn't get stiff joints. That would slow me down.

Oh, I was conditioned for this. I was calibrated right into this moment. The park itself was silent, fearful of uttering even the slightest breath. Only an occasional shuffling of the nocturnal wildlife disturbed the evening. I waited. From a short distance away, the careful footsteps whispered in the darkness. It was like shambling at first, but then I could sense a presence that was trying its hardest not to be heard in the tranquility of the evening. Someone approached stealthily, but deliberately.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the sounds of the footfall, and the fire in my belly told me that Dennis Palmer was nearing my position. I knew the pace of his walk, and I could also recognize the rhythm of his breathing. The night was impenetrable beside the lake, but I had the advantage. My eyes were conditioned to this darkness, and I had the element of surprise. As Dennis continued his approach, I remained perfectly still, my breathing slow, measured and steady. Dennis was only a few meters from where I crouched, poised like a coiled spring ready to go off. I would let him walk a little bit past me before I made my move.

I wanted to smell those on laundered clothes under a mask of cheap aftershave and the sweat draining from his paws just one last time before I acted. The smell of his fragrance eventually hit my lungs with aromatic citrus stones. Smile stretched across my cheeks and my body shuddered. But the scent of his unwashed and disgusting body caused me to become frenzied. Bloodlust consumed me as a red mist flashed in front of his. of my eyes. Innebriated with previously unimaginable fury, I moved quickly and aggressively. My furious onslaught must have been deafening. Saliva dripped from my open mouth as I snarled and

lashed out at Dennis, knocking him to the floor as he crunched awkwardly underneath my body. My hands repeatedly crashed violently onto his face, and his pathetic and useless resistance fueled my rage even further. Slapping his feeble arms to one side, I clasped my hands to slightly around his throat. His slim neck pulsed and strained under my fierce grip, and I could finally smell his fear. That beautiful, unspoiled scent. It hit me hard and deep in the lungs, making me convulse. Viseasease, pierce and body odour drained from his pores as his dying, wretched body purged itself in retaliation. Dennis weakly lashed out with his arms as he tried to grab at me, but his efforts were useless.

My eyes stretched wide enough to tear at the edges as I clamped down harder, using my body weight as leverage. His struggle weakened further, and his arms fell limply beside him. My jaw tightened with such a ferocity that it felt as though my teeth would snap, and my hands seemed to have grown more prominent as his neck tightened under my crunching grip. I worked with such an enhanced power that I could feel my fingers connect at both sides with his pitiful neck as I squeezed and squeezed. and squeezed. Can't say how long I remained there, throttling his lifeless throat before I finally began to release my grip. I was far too dizzy and high on the fumes of his demise to worry, and at that moment I wasn't concerned about getting caught. It was as though I wanted someone

to find us tangled up in that horrific scene, but not of course to seek validation. I just wanted the moment to be authentic. Standing above my victim, I smiled proudly, taking a huge breath to recharge my lungs. Immense satisfaction coursed through my pumping veins and a warm sweat seeped from every aperture in my body as I absorb the fruits of my labour. From my loins that familiar and welcome arousal pulsated against my jeans. The corpse of Dennis Palmer laid at my feet as though nothing more than a darkened shadow. The dim glow of the moon seemed reluctant to venture anywhere near us and chose instead to remain impartially distant from the wrath I just inflicted. My heartbeat eventually began to slow down, and at that moment I suddenly began to feel strangely exposed.

An icy cold seemed to have sneaked up on me without warning, and the warmth from my recent exertion swiftly faded away. Paranoia? A creeping and reaching sensation then caused the hair on my back to prickle as if in response to static. I glanced around in panic at the surrounding area. A bold silence filled the night, and my eyes observed nothing more than the static. the formality of the darkened and uninhabited path. Other than Dennis lying dead at my feet, I was alone, but I began to notice something that profoundly unsettled me.

My eyes widened in response with a slight movement from just below one of the trees back towards the entrance, something unnatural stirred in the shadows underneath that tree. Something that's presence filled me with a severe and choking terror. As I watched in horror, the gloom seemed to swirl for a few moments before transforming into a more human-looking form. Whatever it was, it stood utterly and defiantly still as it gazed in my direction. I relaxed slightly, realizing that I was entirely bathed in the shade of the trees and therefore hidden from prying eyes.

Even if I could be seen, maybe this unwelcome figure was just as fearful of my shadow as I was of its. But then it occurred to me. How long had it been standing there for? What if it had been watching me this whole time? Quietly and carefully, I stepped back behind the head. and gaze back to where it stood. I couldn't see it from where I crouched,

but I knew it had to still be there. Menacing eyes penetrated the silence without care for the darkness I tried to hide within. I sensed a sudden arrival of imminent doom as a voice inside me started to bellow. Just run. Get out of here now. After killing Dennis, my original plan was to simply pull my hood up

and jog back to the train station where I had stashed a change of clothes in an old bag. After changing my clothes, I'd board the next train as though nothing had happened, the last train of the evening. A plan I'd deliberated over meticulously for months. However, that was all before I faced the possibility of a witness. Checking my watch, I only had 15 minutes until my train. I had to vacate the scene imminently. I noticed the dull sound of cars passing outside the park grounds behind me, which brought me back to the reality of the situation.

It didn't matter if someone was. was indeed watching from nearby. That was the least of my worries. I had to run. Easing out from where I crouched, I rejoined the path before glancing back in the direction of my watching. To my horror, it was still there, but it stood closer and much taller this time.

Like any irrational person in such a situation, I panicked, and for the first time I was consumed with real and abject fear. I spun around and sprinted as hard and fast as possible from that place. I raced under the trees and threw those park gardens as though my life depended on it. Avoiding the main entrance I crossed over the grass towards some railings hidden behind a thicket of bushes. My heart almost stopped as I turned my head one last time before climbing the fence. The shadow had followed me, but it stood entirely still upon my gaze, almost as though it was

convinced I hadn't seen it yet. But I had. I vaulted over the fence and landed heavily on the pavement below. The street was empty in both directions and I could hear the distant murmur of approaching cars, so I quickly crossed the road towards a side street to avoid being seen. I ran and ran and ran, continuing around several corners before my muscles began to burn. It wasn't until I slowed my pace to catch my breath I noticed a cold breeze tickling my neck, which compelled me to turn around.

Something lurked at the corner of the street I'd just departed. My heart froze as I recognized the presence that had followed me. through the path. Once again it stopped confrontational upon my gaze, but it was no longer just to face the shadow. A streetlight above illuminated its form. What I saw caused a jolting, scream of fear to blaze throughout my body as though I'd been struck by lightning. The twisted face of Dennis Palmer grinned at me from under the streetlight with absolute malice protruding from his eyes. His face contorted terribly under the yellow glow from above. I've been watching him for months.

I knew how he moved. I knew the clothes he wore. But it just couldn't be. I killed him in the park. So what the hell was this? This just had to be my imagination. Eventually I managed to turn away from that madness, and I didn't stop running until I reached the train station.

Tears ran down my face, and my incised burn like coals on a furnace. Eventually slowing to a fast stride, I swiftly entered the toilet and immediately vomited into one of the same. sinks. Checking my watch I realized that I only had a few more minutes until my train. I was hesitant to waste any more time, so I made for the cubicle and stepped onto the system. Reaching inside the ceiling panel, I carefully removed my bag. After quickly changing into the clean

outfit I prepared months earlier, I packed away my discarded clothing and placed the bag over my shoulder. Seconds later, I departed the toilet and headed straight for a seat I knew would be safe from any cameras in the station. I rechecked my watch. The train would be arriving at any moment. I forced a wry smile. I'd be home soon, and it would be as though none of this had ever happened. I just had to relax, and soon all of this would be over.

As I tried to control my breathing, I could sense its threatening eyes gazing at me from the entrance to the station, but I couldn't turn in the direction of the stair. I wouldn't. I couldn't bear to see the eyes of Dennis Palmer staring back at me again. Instead, I tried to brush off this notion as fanciful. It just couldn't be real, but Dennis Palmer laid dead in the park. This had to have been a figment of my imagination. Or maybe it was his ghost. My heart boomed in my chest like a bass drum. His presence remained steadfast and utterly menacing,

no matter how hard I tried to relax and control my breathing. I could feel him glowering at me, and it occurred to me then that I was the one being stalked. Sweat trickled down my back as the long sinewy fingers of fear tickled my tingling skin. Deep breathes in and depress out. The train finally approached and I felt a surge of relation as it slowed to a halt right in front of me. I moved slowly enough to keep an eye on any sudden motion from my pursuer, whose eyes watched me with every step. But he didn't seem encouraged to follow. Instead he just remained out of sight and it wasn't until I was seated that I decided to glance in his direction to confirm. if he was still there.

The train doors closed, but my eyes never left the threatening gaze of Dennis Palmer, who watched me and the train pulling out of the station. In just over an hour I was back outside my house, and suddenly everything seemed surreal

as though I'd been dreaming. Maybe killing Dennis had allowed me to access a twisted dimension, one that I was not yet conditioned enough to endure or comprehend. I dumped my bag of discarded clothing stealthily in one of the neighbour's bins before entering my front door and finally closing the night outside and behind. Slumping against the door, I went back over every detail from the past few

hours. Although shaken quite considerably at being followed, I couldn't help but feel proud of my achievements. A smile broadened across my face as I relived the events at the park, and I chuckled as my mind wandered back to the vivid memory of the altercations heard through the wall. Like my neighbour, I'd ventured into the unknown to a previous, unexplored dimension so of course there would be consequences I looked down at my hands hands that had recently strangled the life out of Dennis Palmer or had they somehow it all just didn't seem real what happened has happened there's no turning back now when my neighbor was arrested for his wife's murder her body was

carried into an ambulance as I watched he was now spending the rest of his life in prison for his actions but at least he knew it was real all real. For my closure, I just needed the corpse of Dennis Palmer to be found because that would confirm that whatever followed me was merely a figment of my imagination. That would make things authentic to me and help balance my fractured mind. This would all be over the news soon, and I could watch everything from the comfort of my home, protected once more by the concrete walls from the world on the other side. It had been a very long and exhausting day, but the work was now done and I needed to keep things together.

I stood up and noticed how weak and drained my body felt. Stretching my arms above my head, I yawned hard and decided it was time to get some sleep. I couldn't wait to close my eyes and face whatever vivid dreams lay in store. Gritting wildly, I skipped down the hall into the bathroom and switched on the lights. A scream immediately stuck in my throat like stubborn vomit that wouldn't shift. At the same time, a sharp gasp came from the face in the mirror as I stared into its manic and terrifying, blue eyes. Immediately panicking, I lifted my hand to my face to try and conceal the reflection, just for a moment, before slowly sliding my fingers down and past my eyes. Oh, dear God,

no, Dennis Palmer gazed back defiantly from the mirror in front of me. His smile stretched widely from cheek to cheek, and I completely lost control. I smashed the mirror with fists until my hands were bloody and the broken remnants stared back at me stubbornly from below his terrible face leered at me from every shard of glass Dennis Palmer's face not mine but how could this be he grinned at me from every broken fragment scattered on the toilet floor and his laugh bellowed triumphantly in my ears within that moment everything became clear I'd not just open the door to whatever lurks behind the veil of existence I'd wandered into unknown realms

This experience was merely a symptom of the aftermath and the effect of exposure to this uncharted void. It was all simply too much for my unaclimatized mind to comprehend. My now broken mind fractured just like the mirror on the floor. I closed my eyes and focused on my deep breathing exercises, and that's when the answer presented itself. If I couldn't see what was before me, it couldn't make me go crazy. I used the longest shot of glass to pierce my eyes. The pain was staggering and I passed out several times before finishing my brutal operation.

Blood seeped and squirted from my sockets, as I continued to dig the glass in and around to scoop out as much tissue and sinew as possible until I could see no more. And then with absolute bliss, I retired into a deep and glorious sleep. My laughing delight is my recollection now comes to an end. alone in the darkness of the quiet and peaceful nights my body trembles as I ponder my absolute stroke of genius the pain is excruciating but I smile proudly at my achievement to think of something so precarious just proves how conditioned I am now and even though I can still smell the faint odor of Dennis and sense his foul presence I would never again feel his gaze upon me it would drive him mad to know this wouldn't it but not

Not me. Oh no, not me. I destroyed my own eyes to prevent myself from going mad. Would a mad person even consider doing that? I think not. You see, I'm not mad. My family experienced a deadly car crash, 8.40 on a Saturday evening. They say that there are some moments in life that will remember for an eternity. Events that we find are branded into our minds, whether we like it or not. You say that we recall these moments down to the minutest detail, and I can attest to that theory quite well. The clear water droplets plummeted from above, splashing into the windshield. Cars travelled alongside the vehicle, their headlights illuminating the rain, and the night sky contain thousands of dazzling stars above.

Inhale! My chest rose, my lungs, taking in crisp air from the slightly opened window beside me. I turned my head, my eyes meeting with hers, and I then. and falling about her gorgeous teeth and her rose lips. Exhale. My gaze fixated on my rearview mirror, observing my young boy, strapped firmly in the back seat, fast asleep.

Inhale. My eyes grew wide as the high beams flooded my vision. In an instant, I launched my foot toward the brake, clenching my teeth hard, jaw locked firmly shut. The sound of metal colliding terrorized my ears, and my car's momentum carried us forward. Glass shattered as the vehicle came to a violent halt, causing my body to jerk forward and my face to plant directly into the steering wheel. Two shrieks, one from beside me and one from behind erupted into the night.

They died down as soon as they began, but suddenly there was no sound at all. My body was rendered immobile and my eyesight faded away, yet my lips still functioned. They gently parted, but all I could squeak out was a measly, no before darkness overwhelm me from that point on i vaguely recall the noisy sound of bustling people and being in a white corridor beaming light shone overhead beckoning for me i tried reaching out towards it yet i couldn't move my arms my eyes fluttered and i once more drifted away into sleep i'd stay in the hospital for several weeks recovering from various fractures and undergoing multiple surgeries. My body ached, it my physical pain could not compare to my worries about my family.

Although I felt a relief like no other wash over me when the staff informed me that my son had survived. A familiar sense of dread later overtook me as I learned my wife was in critical condition. Those nights took an eternity to pass. I consistently glanced towards the clock on the wall, observing the hands tick by minute by minute. Tears would claw their way from my eyes at strange hours of the day, drenching my face in moisture until my cheeks burned red. The sweat forming in my palms dampened the bed sheets I clenched. Each time one of the staff or doctors came into my room, my vision darted towards them. I knew they could read my mind.

They would give me this pitiful look when they looked into my pleading eyes. Every time I asked, they gave me the same non-answer. Oh, I assure you, Mr. Johnson, we're doing our best to treat your words. wife. Every day I met with some variation of this response, yet I persisted, determined to hear that my wife will be okay, until one day one of the staff entered my room. Shakily standing up to greet him, I grinned and extended my arm towards his. That's when I noticed a sullen look plastered on his face, and my heart descended below my chest. It spoke calmly, methodically, each word exiting his lips in slow motion.

My knees quivered lightly at first, and then more rapidly as he continued. As they eventually buckled, I clapped to the floor, my chest furiously heaving, each breath I took growing more, exasperated than the last. Several people restrained me and placed me back onto my bed. I think they were trying to give me words of encouragement and sympathy in the process, but whoever they said blended into an incoherent mess. The men and women beside me blurred into unrecognizable forms, and I stared straight ahead. The apparently fell stench of perspiration dripping from every orifice of my body dug into my nose and pricked my eyes.

My mind, blank as a paper, grew weary, and I finally gave in to the staff attempting to keep me still. The nurses helped clean me up shortly following that outburst. After receiving fresh clothing and being given time and space to come to the same. terms with the news my nurse escorted me to the lobby and there he stood waiting for me i rushed towards him as quickly as possible stooping down i embraced him resting my chin on his scalp and gently padding his back he buried his head into my chest my shirt moistened and i held him even closer he knew before he left the hospital i received a few recommendations from psychiatrists and therapists in my area. After thanking the staff for all their help, my son and I took the bus

back to our neighbourhood later that night. He had bait chicken with rice that night, but he just sat there, poking his food with his full. Sying, I finished my plates, hoping it would inspire him to do the same. Instead, he pushed his food away from him, in front of where an empty chair stood before the table. One knew he wouldn't budge, but I was aware that. at the hospital have been keeping him healthy and nourished. I told him he should go to bed and get some rest, and he obliged, hopping up from his seat and making his way to his room. After he crawled in bed, I tucked him in and asked if he'd like me to sleep in his room

for the night. He shook his head, rejecting my offer. I bent down and kissed his forehead, wishing him a good night. I opened my laptop and researched the therapy centre cited in the pamphlet I'd received earlier. I grimaced when I wrote the costs for each one. My wife made money along with me for our family. That, combined with the opportunity costs forfeited by my hospital stay, took immediate therapy

out of the question. Sying, I closed the computer and trod over to my bedroom. Placing my palm against the wooden door, I trace my fingers along its perimeter until they met the cold brass knob. down from five, I forced myself to open the door upon reaching zero. I set foot into the room, flicking the light switch upward. As the bulb cast its light onto dull grey walls surrounding me, I muster the courage to set foot, one in front of the other.

Making way over to the oak frame of my queen-sized bed, look down upon the blankets before me. The bed felt so different. It felt so empty. Beside the bed sat a dresser with a picture frame placed atop it. There stood a man in his soulmate, their faces beaming with glee. Feeling the tears trickling down my cheeks, I glanced back toward the bed, realizing I was dampening the sheets while I wept.

Breathing in deeply, I turned and exited the room with haste. Retreat into the living room, I lay down on the couch, and after a few hours of tossing and turning, my body finally shut down and let me rest. I didn't recognise where I was. All I knew was that pure life surrounded me, overloading my senses. My mouth opened, yet I still didn't make a sound. I extended my arm, roping ahead of me for whatever service I could find. And my fingers were met with...

A wheel. The sound of an engine roar from somewhere within the light. Tires swerved, and voices shrieked. Metal tearing into metal. incoherent shrill cries produced from the back of the car was this truly happening again my head jerked forward with the momentum of the vehicle the commotion ceased as suddenly as it had arrived leaving me in a state of disarray the cold night air seeped in through the shattered window erecting the hairs on my arms and everything was still it was a dream i knew it was a dream so i could so vivifully sense the beads of sweat trickling down my arms and pooling around my knuckles. How is it that a figment of my subconscious mind was able to perfectly replicate the texture of the leather-coated steering wheel which I so desperately clung to?

Internally, I knew what would greet me if I were to shift my gaze to my right. Then I felt it. The round objects slumped against my shoulder, the messy strands of hair against my arm, the warm liquid droplets falling and splashing against my hands. couldn't even form a coherent thought before my attention shifted the sudden weight pressed against my left shoulder five scented fingers held me in their grip my head spun around in the opposite direction to observe who was touching me upon doing so my gaze was met with an arm reaching through the shattered window i tilted my head up and before me stood a man he stood tall adorn with black jeans and the grey dress suit. His frame was much too small for his clothes, though. He appeared fragile. The skin of his arms seemed to loosely stretch over the bone underneath. It was as if he disintegrated if even the slightest force were applied to him. Despite the situation around me, my body eased into the seat.

I felt a sensation of relief wash over me. He carried an unexplainable aura of familiarity about him. Even despite his malnourished frame, even despite his lanky stature, even despite his face appearing to have been blurred out of existence entirely, I didn't fear him. It almost depressed me that my encounter with him was brief, as I awoke before my eyes scanned what should have been his face. It all happened so fast, I placed my hand on my left shoulder, running my fingertips along its surface. The imprint that would have been left by the man was not there. And of course it wasn't. It was just a nightmare after all. I can't say for certain I understand what I dreamt of that night, but it all felt so real. I didn't recognise the man I encountered either, so how could I possibly

have felt such an intrinsic connection between him and I? Although I'm not sure what to make of it, I can't help but get the sneaking suspicion that there's more to this than I'm currently comprehending. After all, a dream is said to be a gateway into the subconscious. Whatever the case might be, I was sure to keep you guys updated. Well, thank you for listening to what I've had to say up to this point. Part two, I felt a soft tugging on my beige shirt. The small hand of my boy gripped the polyester tightly. I placed my hand on his head, gently.

massaging his scalp and pulling him closer to me. The funeral service had occurred just hours prior. Our family wasn't particularly social. We had a few friends and family stopped by and offer their condolences to me. It was nice, but, if I'm honest, it didn't make me feel better in the slightest. Excuse me for feeling this way, but it wasn't exactly receptive to socializing at my wife's funeral. I only went out of necessity, as well as in pursuit of some form of closure. Well, that closure never did arrive. After it was all said and done, the other attendees left, and it was just me and my son, standing there before her casket all alone. I'll step forward, placing my hand on the wooden box. The casket sat on a platform. Roses and candles were placed

near it on a table. It was a lovely setup yet didn't feel complete. I knew her body, wasn't inside her mangled corpse could not be presented for an open casket funeral so we had planned on having a cremated and having the remains buried I turned preparing to leave but before I could something peculiar caught my attention I spun around eyeing the casket I had been hearing things no the only ones in the room were my son and I I turned back to exit the room only to find my boy had disappeared. Where had he gone? He couldn't have left the room. I hadn't heard any footsteps. Before I could call his name, I heard it again. I most definitely had not been imagining things. He shone, where are you, buddy? I called out, now aware of the anxiety bubbling within me.

I heard no answer. Rather the only thing I heard was a faint laugh coming from behind me near the casket. I recognise that laugh, and my breath got caught in my throat. I spun around, facing the source of the noise. There she stood, her angelic presence seemingly illuminating the room. What the fuck? I uttered, staring ahead in disbelief. It was impossible. I have to be hallucinating, I muttered. had I gone mad

I mean so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn't immediately noticed myself moving towards her I extended my arms resting them on her shoulders her red freckles adorned her face having just enough opacity to be noticeable

she smiled revealing her pearly white palate whereupon her dimples appeared it was her she was standing before me in the flesh I wanted so desperately to speak but I could only choke on my own words She delicately placed her hand on me the cold smooth service of her ring grazing my cheek Lurring my arms to her waist I held her against me

When gazing into her eyes the rest of the world simply ceased to be All that existed was her and I at that place at that time Gently we swayed back and forth like the leaves of a tree on a tree on a gusty autumn day rocking forward and backward we held each other in our arms the skin was warm and I became entrapped in her aura my muscles relaxed and soon enough I was no longer conscious of our movements my body went on an autopilot as we danced to the beat of our hearts conjoined as one I was in heaven for my love was alive again I closed my eyes smiling in contentedness

I heard a wet splash, and at the same time liquid pulled into my hand. Its warmth juxtaposed the suddenly cold surface I felt pressed against me. My eyes sprung open, the once lively eyes of Elizabeth were now sunken and dull. Her appearance was now ghoulish, and her skin appeared to stick closely to her bones. Looking down at my hands, I saw that they'd been covered with blood. A large laceration covered the surface of her stomach. and the stench of charred flesh infiltrated my nostrils i shoved her away from me and clapped to the floor i only had a split second to process what had happened before thick chunks of vomit erupted from my throat oh i wish i hadn't

met her gaze again her sweet smile had transformed into a sickening grin she dragged herself towards me leaving a streak of blood and pus in her path they attempted to get up and stumble away from her but no avail. I felt nauseous and struggled to do anything besides clumsily shuffling away. Her grimaced in pain as I felt her latch onto my arm, digging her yellowish, rotten nails into my skin. She used her momentum to lunge at me, shoving me to the ground and landing on top of me. I screamed and I fought and I clawed at her, desperate to get her off me. Somehow, even though her body appeared rotten and broken, she overpowered me, screamed. draping and clawing at my flesh, and then I felt a tug on my beige shirt.

A tiny hand gripped the polyester fabric. I picked myself up from the floor and looked down at my son. I looked back up at me, a look of concern and fear on his face. A puddle of vomit and tears occupied the floor beside where I glanced. Did I imagine everything? No, I quickly realized that wasn't the most important question at that time. that my boy witnessed what had just happened. How could I have allowed myself to appear so weak in front of him?

A boy is meant to see his father as a superhero, a strong man who can persevere through anything. Not only had that person collapsed in the hospital, but it collapsed here as well. God, what would he think of me? Regret and dismay ran through my veins at that moment. But those feelings were interrupted as Sean embraced me with as much strength as his life.

little arms could muster. I froze and then gently reciprocated his embrace. He had seen me claps, seen me cry, seen me at my most vulnerable. Yet when I looked upon my son, comforting me when I needed it the most, I didn't see a child who felt disappointed in his father. All I saw was an act of compassion. Not wanting to weep more than I already had, I let go of Sean and stood upright. It was only a child and had already suffered the loss of his mother. At such a young age I doubted that he had much understanding of the concept of death at all. But I knew for certain he missed Elizabeth, and so I knew I had to be there for him.

I promised then and there that I will be strong for Sean. We arrived home that evening. I treated Sean to the best pot roast I could make, and was ecstatic to see he finally regained his appetite. I tucked in him to bed soon after, and brought a chair by his bed, pulling his sheets and covers over him. The lamp by his bedside shone brightly. He, uh, you're doing okay little guy, I inquired. He didn't respond, of course. He hadn't uttered as much as a word since the incident.

I didn't understand why, but I didn't want to press him on it either. I'd get some help as soon as I could. I grabbed his stuffed teddy bear from a nearby shot. shelf and waved it in front of him. He, you remember how we got this? You know how we went to the fair last year? You played the baseball game and won tally? I'd hope bringing up this memory would elicit a response from Sean,

but he simply smiled and continued to look at me. Sighing, I returned his smile and patted his head. Oh, and Mommy and I got married, we knew we wanted a baby. And every night we would pray to the angels that the baby boy would come. one day you came to us it was the happiest day of our life Sean and from that point forward you made us the happiest parents around mom won't be around for a long time but I promise that she is watching you with the angels and she's smiling Sean she's so so proud of her beautiful baby boy so am I we'll always love you again Sean's lips never parted once

yet I knew he understood he had to have understood he just had to I just wanted to hear his voice again good night Sean I said getting up to leave his room before I could he reached out and grabbed my arm alright sorry buddy

I said leaning over and kissing his forehead he nodded his head in satisfaction and laid down I turned off his lamp and closed the bedroom door making my way to the bathroom I went inside and stared into the mirror I kept my promise to myself to stay strong for sure at least for tonight I'd rip the sink tightly leaning over and peering into my reflection

what the hell had happened earlier could have been related to the dream I had the other night why was I experiencing these disturbing visions I'd never really had to deal with mental trauma in the past so I was unfamiliar with how the process would work, how to process this information. If people knew about the experiences I was having, well, they think I was crazy. For the first time in my life, I felt small, out of control. I bore my hand into a fist, pounding it into the wall.

That night was a sleepless one. All I could do was look up at the ceiling. Empty thoughts occupied my mind. I couldn't make sense of what I'd experience. experienced, so I merely dismissed them as nightmares. I'll keep you guys updated on any future developments. I think I need an outlet to get my thoughts out. I don't want to vent to my son, so I'll list my thoughts here.

Thank you for your attention. I really appreciate it. Part three. I found it hard to eat recently. Besides the pork roast I had with Sean, I haven't had much of an appetite for anything. I lost quite a bit of weight, evident by my rapidly thinning frame. I haven't been sleeping well either. Despite this, I've been given my best efforts to stay strong.

I truly believe Sean and I will get through this. When Sean fell asleep during the evening, I decided for the first time in a while to try driving again. I've been walking or using public transport to get from place to place, but I knew that I couldn't just avoid driving forever. We've taken Liz's car that night, so I was able to use mine. I went out to the driveway and entered my vehicle. I put the keys into the ignition, slowly turning it, until I could hear the hum of the engine. Taking a deep breath, I shifted the gear into reverse and backed out of the driveway.

Deciding I'd get off to a slow start, I drove through my neighbourhood streets at a low speed. The car methodically made its way down the road, I eased up a little. I was getting comfortable driving again. Mustering up a little more courage, I turned onto a public road so I could practice driving among other vehicles again. My hands started to tremble,

so I gripped the wheel tightly. I turned on my hazard lights. I needed to pace myself and keep my cool. I applied a little more pressure on the accelerator. My body stiffened as the car picked up speed, and I responded by slowing my breathing. doing so allowed me to loosen my body and I pressed down on the accelerator even harder I lowered the windows and felt the wind blow against my face horns beeped all around me

the noise of chattering pedestrians and restaurant music was omnipresent I remembered the feeling of driving down the road at night in my car the way the breeze flowed through my hair and the way the paved rows felt underneath my tires as I looked into my rearview mirror I almost thought my eyes were betraying me. I was smiling. Not just a smirk, but a full-on grin. I released my grip on the wheel and simply drove. For miles I travelled, not having a care in the world.

Oh, how I missed cruising along towards the horizon. That liberating feeling coated me in pure bliss. As darkness enveloped the environment, I flicked on my headlights. Bering into the night sky, I saw millions of stars sparkling above, momentarily pausing to appreciate the serene view. My attention was drawn to an alternative source of light ahead of me. The headlights of another vehicle rapidly approached. Well, I defaulted back to clutching the wheel. Those lights, they flooded my vision just as memories flooded.

in my mind. Remembering to be calm, I once more inhaled a surplus of oxygen, learning it stirring my stomach before a prolonged exhale exited my nose. For a moment, the light covered my entire vehicle. Then, in a split second, it was over. I observed my rearview mirror once more, watching the car travel down the road behind me. Pulling onto the shoulder, I put the car into park and leaned back into the seat. I let out an audible sigh of relief followed by a single sentence. I did it. Returning home later that night, I quietly entered my house and went to check on Sean.

His door opened with a slight creak, and I made my way over to his bedside. I turned on his lamp only to find the covers of an empty bed pulled to the side. Confused, I exited his room and called out his name. There was no response. The door had been locked when I arrived, so I knew he had to be in the house. I checked the kitchen in the dining room before making my way to the hallway. The walls were coated in the darkness as black as tar, except for the very end of the hall. There stood the door to my bedroom, the glow of light outlining its perimeter.

I approached it, placing my hand on the doorknob and entering my room. There sat my son on my bed. In his arms sat a picture frame that held the image of Elizabeth, standing by Sean. He stared at the image, his face as still as stunned. I went over to him, sitting by his side and placing my arm over his shoulder. I noticed dark splotches from the picture frame. Placing my hand under Sean's chin, I lifted his head to face me. Red circles surrounded his watery eyes.

Using my thumb to wipe the remaining tears from his cheek, I tried to offer him the best smile I could, but his frown remained. There I sat at a loss for words. My gaze lowered and focused on the picture in the frame. Placing my hand on his, we sat in silence and viewed the photo together. Eventually I broke the silence, realizing just how late it was. Oh, um, hey buddy, let's head to bed, okay? Sean gave me a head nod and arose, traversing the corridors of the house to his roof. I tucked him in as per usual before retreating to my bed.

I then picked up the picture frame and held it in my hand. Oh, Elizabeth was as beautiful as ever, and for the first time in ages, viewing her did not cause me distress or pain. Rather I felt a sense of acceptance. I recalled what I'd told Sean about her watching over him with the rest of the ancient. angels. Well, I'd set it to ease his mind, I too had begun to tell myself the same thing, that somewhere out there in the universe my Liz was watching, hoping for the best for me. A glance at the image of Sean standing by his mother.

He had the purest grin on his face, one that could melt my heart one thousand times over. I knew he did because I remembered taking that photo. that wasn't how he appeared now. No, in his place stood a different Sean. A Sean without the grin, without the energetic and hopeful eyes. Rather one with deep gashes and ruses embedded into his flesh. One whose limbs appeared contorted into unnatural positions.

In the blink of an eye, his happy demeanour changed into one of shock and terror. Taking aback, I dropped the photo and rushed back to Sean's room. I burst through the door, only to find him peacefully asleep in his bed. He was there, alive, in one piece. I saw him with my own two eyes, making my way back into my bedroom. I scooped up the picture frame and gazed upon it once more. Well, there he stood, looking perfectly happy. Rubbing my eyes in hopes to clear my vision, I viewed the image again,

hoping to confirm that what I saw was real. The photo remained unchanged. still showing Sean as the gleeful little boy I knew him to be. I put the photo away and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over my body. Sinking my head into my pillar, I closed my eyes. Although it took a few hours, I eventually drifted into a deep slumber. The following day, I woke up early.

Entering the kitchen for a glass of water, the sound of footsteps caught my attention. They were heading down the hallway, which leads to Sean's room. Well, figuring Sean had woken up, I followed them down the hallway, I saw his bedroom door a jar. Inside I found my boy sitting beside the being from my dream all those nights ago. There he was in his slick grey suit. He appeared as malnourished as ever, his thin frame giving him a feeble look.

His face remained blurred, so much so that I couldn't discern any of his features. I watched as he extended his bony fingers towards my son, laying them atop his head. He brushed Sean's hair with his hand. Neither one of them faced me, and despite the circumstances, I didn't feel fear for my safety, or Sean's. I walked toward the creature, attempting to touch it. Mere centimetres before the tips of my fingers grazed its figure. My body lunged fold, my forehead drenched in sweat.

I observed my surroundings, realizing I'd not yet left my bed. I decided to put the picture frame away in my closet for the time B. The thing freaks me out, and after that dream, and what I would assume was my hallucination yesterday, I just can't bear to view it. Well, once again, I'll be sure to keep you all updated. Look, I can't express my gratitude enough to you all. Truly.

Thank you. Part 4. Sean, I needed to speak to me. I must have uttered several variations of that phrase for at least half an hour. Please, buddy, you can talk to me, okay? I promise you can talk to Papa. No matter how many times I repeated those words to him, he simply wouldn't answer. I desperately needed to know that he could speak.

I needed to know that he was real. The truth is the constant barrage of delusions had taken a toll on my psyche. Distinguishing between what was real and what was merely a figment of my imagination had become difficult. I had to know Sean was real. I wanted to believe he was. I would know if he was real if you could just speak. Could he not see the anguish in my eyes? Why wouldn't he utter just a single word? I gripped his shoulders tightly, begging him to even part his lips, once. He never obliged my only wish, but no amount of bribery or pleading could elicit a response from him. All he did was grab my arm, turned towards his room, and then marched towards it.

As I followed him, an overbearing sense of dread began to brew within me. I found my heart intensely pounding in my throat as we entered the room together. There, the entity sat. my head hung low as Sean released me from his grasp and trekked towards the being I had I too approached it once again attempting to touch this thing preparing to suddenly awake from what I'd assumed was another nightmare I placed my hand on the figure only I didn't wake in my bedroom once again instead it two placed its hand on me and we felt each other's papery frames Slowly but surely the details of the being's face were revealed to me.

As I looked upon it, I recognised its features, for they were my features too. I stumbled backward, watching as a thing with my appearance leaned towards my son, gently kissing his forehead. I ogled the creature, swallowing the oceans of saliva that are built up in my mouth in a single, swift gulp. The creature locked eyes with me, and I locked eyes with it. As this occurred, a sense of familiarity washed over me. My mind darted back and forth, unsure of what to make of the situation. That is, until my thoughts inexplicably settled on the memory of the accident on that fateful night.

I recalled the blinding lights, the shrill cries of fear and suffering. No, there was more. the overhead traffic light from which a soft red hue shone in the night sky my vehicle had passed underneath the light and then the impact happened the doctors had they truly told me my son had survived yeah they say that there are some moments in your life that you remember for an eternity there was a quote that i wrote back towards the beginning of this so then why Why couldn't I recall the words of the doctor who told me that Sean was still alive? Could I truly have forgotten?

I snapped back to reality, keeping eye contact with the being before me. Only now, Sean was nowhere to be found. The sense of familiarity I felt soon dissipated and was replaced with boiling hatred. I glared at the monster, my palms bawling up. I rushed towards it, tackling it to the ground. And before it could react, I began pummeling it with my heart. fists you know the reason Elizabeth is gone the reason Sean's gone now I'm gonna kill you I exclaimed gritting my teeth and continuing my assault on the being it showed no

resistance simply allowed me to keep striking it again and again and again and again and again I had no plans on stopping blood flowed from the thing's face and onto my fists With every strike I could feel my body breaking With every blow I could sense the light within me begin to extinguish And I carried on, ignoring the growing pain within me I was going to kill this man for taking what I'd held dearest to me At that point I couldn't even see the thing

Tears clouded my eyes, blurring my sight I simply pounded my fists downward Hoping to murder the figure in my fit of rage I felt a soft tugging on my beige shirt. It was gentle, yet enough to pause my assault. A tiny hand gripped the polyester fabric. My arms fell to my side, and I turned my head, and there he was. My boy stood by my side.

I froze, my eyes widening like saucers. I witnessed his lips parting for the very first time. I forgive you, Papa. He smiled at my face. me and embraced me once more. I embraced him too, feeling the streams of tears begin to erupt from my eyes. Not wishing to get my tears on his shoulder, I closed my eyes, and I soon found that a second pair of arms had wrapped around me. The smooth surface of a ring pressed against my skin. I didn't let go for what felt like ours, but I knew I couldn't hold on forever. As I opened my eyes,

I found myself alone with the figure in what was once Sean's room. I stood up and approached him once more. In one swift motion I hugged the thing, pulling it close against me. When I let go, the thing vanished from my view. It was over. I fetched the picture frame from the closet and placed it back on my bedside.

There stood Sean and Liz, standing beside each other with their grins on their faces. In the reflection of the frame, I could see my face besides theirs. I smiled with them for one final time. I know Sean and Elizabeth and the angels are looking from somewhere out there, wishing the best for me. I know they would want me to forgive myself. Though doing so isn't going to be easy. I do think I'll manage to do it. They may not be with me on this earth, but I know that they're with me in my heart and mind. Oh, thank you all

for listening. I think I'm going to be okay from this point forward. Don't expect any more updates from me. I have the feeling that I shouldn't move on. Well, it was a pleasure. Patty's food addiction by Dee Grady 237. Don't be scared, Eddie. It won't bite. Or will it? The camera zooms in on the pink crab claw in Pat's hand as his voice dips down into Mogged demonic bellowing. It zooms out to show animated flames leaping out around Pat's head like a halo, and the playback speed slows down to half. In a flash, normalcy resumes, and Pat continues on. No, no, it's already deliciously cooked. Don't worry, Ed's. Is it me, though? Or was the camera shaking a little there? Pat's eyes glint with good humor, and his warm, endearing smile broadens as he

brings the segment home upbeat pop music plays over its final words the Santa Monica crabhouse is devilishly good and you my fiends I mean friends I've got to check this place out beep the description for more info and don't forget to like and subscribe to Patty's food addiction to follow our food tour across the States see you next time weirdos the video ends and Pat tosses a cell phone onto the motel's floral bed spread. Not bad, right, Ed says, sleepily. He's already made himself comfortable on his twin bed, the one tucked in the corner.

Pat, of course, has taken the window bed. Not bad. Pat raises his eyebrows and waits for a response. Eddie, finally noticing the expectant pause, glances over at his friend. Yeah, you don't like it. it's missing the wink sound ed what the hell is a wink sound eddie replies already mourning the sleep he'll lose to whatever argument is on the horizon i told you right after the shoot that you should add a wink sound when i wink at the camera it's funny people like it right okay i'll send a memo out to my team of one to get on that for next time edward pat says in the

pandering tone of a parent waiting out to Charles' temper tantrum. Look, I added flames shooting out to your head, Pat. Sorry I missed a wink sound. How the hell is a wink even supposed to sound? Gee, Eddie, I didn't know you hated your job so much. Pat crosses one leg over the other and lets his eyes linger on Ed's, daring him to continue on, daring him not to acquiesce. Not what I meant.

Because, if I remember, you were the one practically on the street when I offered you this position. Oh, great, yeah. Just keep holding that over my head, Pat. Defeated, Eddie lays back down on the bed and turns over to face the wall. You're welcome, Pat says cheerily. He propped himself up in his bed and turns the television on. Hey, Eddie. What? Ed grumbles. A wing sound should be like a little bell ringing.

What? Eddie half turns and his profile is washed away with the silver light of the television. Or just for next time, there should be a little bell ringing any time I winked the camera. Okay? Ed turns away, too angry to speak. Looking over at Ed's back, Pat points the remote at the TV screen and turns the sound up to the maximum volume. Sleep well, Pat shouts. Ed's only reaction is to pull the pillow over his head.

Ed wakes up, sweating. When he pulls the pillow off his face, the hushed sunlight from the open doorway pours in and bakes the room with the dry desert heat. He takes off his glasses. Pat, rubs his eyes and puts his glasses back on to look around the room. The bathroom door is closed and he can hear running water.

He looks back towards the open front door. Jesus, Patty, he left the door open. The beam of sunlight shifts and a shadow small and quick flutters just outside the door. Ed walks towards it. A grey rat peeks his head around the door and looks at him with murky black eyes. Ed screams and jumps up on the bed. The bathroom door opens and pad appears, his lower half wrapped in a towel. We've only got 15,000 views on the Santa Monica video.

I'm telling you we need to find it. in our niche. There's too much food content out there right now. Why are you on the bed? Red. Doorway. Ed's pointing but looking away. Pat looks at the door and walks closer. Huh? What? Eddie says. It's dead. What? It's dead. Look at this. Pat throws the door all the way open before Ed can object. The rat is lying on its side. side flanked by a skinny orange cat. The cat's standing over the rat, chewing on its exposed intestines. Close it. Close the door. Ed shrieks. Beat it. And Pat deposits a quick kick to the cat's side as it hisses at him and then runs away, abandoning the mangled rat at the door.

The drive out of California into Nevada is hot and uneventful. Pat talks and Ed pretends to listen. Red swirls of dusty cliffs rise up around the road as they drive through the desert. When the land settles into miles of flat plains, the world is divided into two, perinkle blue and apricot, meeting on the horizon and a line as sharp as a night. The camera lingers on a cherry tomato perched on a bed of iceberg lettuce, then pans up at a steady pace to reveal each additional layer of a colossal stack of food. The stack ascends in the following order a bloody New York strip two Belgian waffles drenched in syrup and butter a fried chicken thigh and drumstick jiggling shrimp lo main a dollop of beef and broccoli

cold glass noodles with kimchi shrimp cocktail and three pieces of crispy bacon fanned out on top as the camera reaches the top of the edible mountain Pat's eyes wide and crossed in disbelief peek over the top of the bacon the camera pulls out to a wide shot and Pat can be seen holding the plate with two hands. He's walking away from a pristine buffet that snakes around a room as wide and tall as a ballroom. Tourists in cargo shorts and white sneakers mill about, holding their mounds, though the airs are not quite as outrageous as Pat's. Oh! Pat pretends to lose balance and tips the plate to one side, but then writes himself at the last moment, laughing. What do you think, Eds? Did I get a good?

get enough. Animated sparkles glint around the top of the food and then an inserted belching sound rings out. Pat puts the plate on a nearby table, grabs a piece of bacon and rips off the end with his teeth. He chews enthusiastically. Ah listen friends, if you're hungover, sad, lonely, happy, celebrating any or all of the above, then gravy train buffet is the place to be in Las Vegas. the food is fresh and beyond bountiful Pat snatches another piece of bacon off the top and hands it to a passer by The young woman looks at the piece of bacon nervously

And then at the camera She giggles, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear And takes the bacon and scurries away Follow us on our food tour across the states We've done the big and bold and now We'll be chasing down the lesser-known establishments of this great country I'm talking greasy spoons, roadside smoke brisket, the works, subscribe to Patty's food addiction to see it all.

The camera zooms in with quick jerky movements and settles on Pat's mouth as he's finishing his call to action. A piece of charred bacon sits on his lip and glistens as he talks. A fake sparkle shoots out of the bacon bit on his lip and a bell rings for a second and then the video ends. Pat looks up from his phone and over the roof of the car at Ed. Funny? I thought you'd like it, Ed smiles. The sky is a low blanket of Cassie's, barring a burning line of orange and pink at the border of sky and earth.

The pair slide into their respective seats and head east, putting more distance between themselves and the lights of Las Vegas. Let's stop somewhere. It's been hours, Ed says. It's only been to There's been nowhere to stop anyway I want to make it to Winona Fine, I'm sleeping then No

No The least you can do is entertain me I'm driving, I'm paying for the rooms and meals Ah geez, all right Great Go on then, Pat says Okay What's in Winona

Nothing. Where there's nothing, there are hidden jams. I want to find the weirdest small-town spot possible. I'm sure it'll be a culinary delight. Hey, how'd you hear about this place? I thought the next episode was Albuquerque. Some girl in Vegas told me about this place. It's from there, apparently. He says it's complete shit and there's nothing to do, and we should avoid it at all costs. And, um, you took that as we should definitely go and eat the food there? Yep. Pat smiles to himself, staring hard at the road. That looks at him and scowls. Oh, you didn't.

Pat looks at Ed and grins. Come on, man, it says, turning away disgusted. Suppose, I'm supposed to give this one to myself too, huh? Prime me to avoid Allison when we get back. You know I can't lie for shit. Pat says nothing and starts happily humming. Ed pulls his hoodie up over his head and shuts his eyes. It's his go-to routine, and the only way he's found to help him escape the torment of being Pat's friend.

Arguing would be futile. Scolting would only make Pat more proud of himself, so he simply shuts down, leaving his friend with the only punishment that would really wound him. being alone with himself. The only thing Pat can't handle is loneliness. A world without a stage in spectators. The car hits a bump and it jostles Ed awake. He sits up, startled, surprised that he actually fell asleep.

He looks through the windshield and sees a white square floating towards them out of the midnight dark. As it gets closer, Ed can make out words on a white sign. For an Apache reservation. Ed watches it pass by and disappear again into the darkness. Ah, here we are, Pat says, turning left down a dirt path. The sound of his voice startles Ed out of his thoughts, and he looks over at him. Where? Ed says.

A small wooden arrow is stuck in the ground at the right of the dirt path, and it reads, Sally's diamond. Gray, fat shrubs that are probably green in daylight, sit on either side of the side of the road. of the road as they drive towards a mellow orange glow in the distance how do you know they'll be open ed says sitting up in his seat and squinting ahead she said they're always open who are right the memory of pat's infidelity creeps back in and makes him feel slightly ill they put up to a double-white trailer with a truck parked on the right side of it it's an old pickup from the 50s sitting on cinder block It's rusted almost beyond recognition.

Amorphous lumps of brown material can be seen in the back seat where Pat's headlights shine in. Ed jumps in his seat as two shining golden eyes appear from out of the truck's window and glare at them. Pat turns off the headlights and the animal, still visible in the dim light from the trailer's windows, reveals itself to be a cat. It jumps out of the truck window and disappears behind the side of the trailer. and what looks at Pat with deep incredulity we're not really eaten here are we yeah damn right we are Pat says

he turns the car off and walks towards the door and Pat gets within two feet of the place a figure appears behind the screen door and then slams it open Pat stops suddenly his feet slide into a halt in the gravel why there are you open pat says A bare bulb to the left of the doorway turns on and finally the man can be seen clearly. He's old but looks strong with broad shoulders in a thick midsection with muscled arms still untouched by age.

His hair is thick but shockingly white and pull back into a low ponytail. He stands out against his tan skin. Ed gets out of the car and stands behind the shelter of his car door. He looks at the man and wonders if he's part of Apache. The man looks pad up and down and then says, Closed. The blinds in the window to the left of the man's head flick open, and a striking woman with long, dark hair looks out.

She looks much younger than the man, possibly she's his daughter. Come on, Pat, let's go, Ed says, uneasily, already putting one foot back into the car. He sees the woman's eyes flick over to him. They glow like the cat's eyes. She taps on the glass twice with a knuckle and the old man looks back at her. This time Ed goes ahead and gets himself back in the car without hesitation. Pat, meanwhile, has been gazing at the young woman with his signature Paddy smile. The man looks back at Pat, noting his blatant flotation.

The man smiles, revealing a mouth full of garments. Pat smiles back, proud of himself for disarming the man so easily. We've been travelling all night. and we're awfully hungry. This place looks just so cool and we had to stop by. I actually have a popular YouTube channel.

Yes, hungry. Let's see what we can whip up for you, boys. The man opens the screen door and goes back inside. The door snaps shut behind him. Come on, Eddie, Pat shouts. No fucking way, Ed says to himself.

He folds his arms over his chest and He looks at the window and the woman is still there looking at him. He blinks and waves tentatively. She closes the blind. Pat's face appears in Ed's window and his expression is a warning. Do not fuck this up. He opens Ed's door and pulls him out by the front of his hoodie with one hand. Well, let's go.

Get the equipment. Oh, Pat. Pat is already opening the trunk and holding things out and onto the ground. This is crazy. You know we're going to get murdered right. Eddie, we're doing this and it's going to be huge. People love to be scared and this, my friend, is scary. Just stop for a second and listen.

Ed grabs Pat's arm and turns him so they're facing each other. How do you know they're even going to let us film? We have to get them to sign the release form. Don't worry about it. I'll talk to the woman. She seems friendly enough. Pat picks up a heavy black box of sound equipment and push it against Ed's chest. Ah, let's go.

The inside of the trailer is cut into two parts. The outer door leads into a room with a small wooden bar set against the wall. Five small, mismatched tables are scattered around the room. A folding screen separates the kitchen, which consists of a small stove, refrigerator and a counter. Ed puts the equipment down and Pat walks around talking to no one. A great place, wow. Very rustic. Homie, you know. We haven't started filming yet, Pat. Ed says as he starts unpacking the camera.

You can't film in here. The woman from the window emerges from a door leading to the other half of the trailer, probably their living quarters. Oh, hey, there she is. Pat says. You can't film in here, she says again. Oh, yeah, um, sorry. We won't. That's okay, Ed says, and starts packing up swiftly. Pat's steps between them.

I'm Pat. Not sure if you get the internet around here, but I have a famous YouTube channel called Patty's Food Addiction. Basically, we're touring around the country looking for good food and good people. Unique places, too, like you're a fine establishment. We'd love to put a spotlight on your restaurant and feature you in our next segment. it gets you a ton more business pat smiles from ear to ear already celebrating his successful manipulation the woman stares at pat blankly and then disappears behind the kitchen's folding screen the old man emerges from behind the bar and handsom each a warm bottle of beer only tattered white

remnants remain of their labels he smiles his fleshy smile and walks through the door into the other section of the trailer. Pat nods towards Ed indicating that he should try the beer first. Ed sniffs at the top of the bottle and then takes a swig. It tastes skunky and warm but drinkable. The woman comes out holding a chipped white plate topped with a mess of something gray and brown that gyrates with each step. She puts it down on the nearest table with a thong and then drops two forks next to it. She looks at them. Eat this. and then you can go she walks behind the bar and begins drying glasses and stacking them neatly on the dusty wooden bar before her pad and ed edge

over to the table and peer down at the substance the lump covers almost the whole plate parts of her to bumpy and rainbow shiny like biophringence on a piece of meat other parts are as smooth and grey as shark skin it's impossible to tell if it's meat vegetable or some kind of oatmeal mush what the hell is this pat says loudly you don't want it then go she says angrily and approaches the table wait ed interrupts this is perfectly fine thank you so much really eddie you expect me to eat this we aren't even filming what's the frickin point pat says ed pulls pat away from the table and whispers. The point is that we woke these people up in the middle of the night, and they've been hospitable. You can't just insult their food. Then you eat it. Pat's suddenly grinning. Yeah, this could be our

alternate segment theme. Eddie's inedible food tour, something like that. Ed looks over Pat's shoulder and sees the woman glaring at them. I'll do it, but we're not filming. Pat thinks for a second and then agrees. I'm sorry about that. Pat here has a sensitive stomach, but I'll be happy to eat the meal. Thank you again. Ed says, seating himself down in front of the food. Pat sits on the other side of the table and smiles at Ed expecting me. Well, here we go, Ed says.

Picks up his fork, but then pauses and guzzles down half of his warm beer. The tips of his fork sink in, and he finds no resistance as he scoops up a chunk of the flabby substance. His stomach clenches, but he places the morsel into his mouth anyway. It's as soft as bread pudding and chews quickly, tasting salty, vinegar and an earthy flavour that he can't place. He swallows and closes his eyes, willing his gag reflex to relax. Bright white stars dance around the inside of his eyelids,

and he fears for a moment that he's going to pass out. He gags for a moment and then regains his composure. Ed opens his eyes, but he can't see anything. The world is steeped in blackness. He blinks and looks around, but he's blind to the world, and then a pinprick of white appears. He squints and concentrates on it as it grows in size. A pattern of thoughts can be heard as well,

and they also increase in volume as Ed stands there listening to the void. Pat, he tries, but he has no voice. The wide is now a thumb-a-sides. and the thudding is growing louder. The white shape grows closer until he can see that it's the body of a man riding a horse. The horse's hooves are thundering towards him, and the man's body is brown and painted with black streaks slashed up and down his chest. His head and face are completely wrapped up in a white cloth,

but antlers emerge through the toll of it, sharp and broad as a staggs. When Ed tries to scream, he wakes up in the car. He's panting and drool, he's drying on his chin. He looks around and realizes he's in the passenger seat of Pat's car. Pat's driving, and he looks over at Ed. He, uh, you are right? What happened? Ed croaks.

His mouth feels like sandpaper, and he's incredibly thirsty and surprisingly hungry. I don't know, man. You ate that nasty shit, and then we walked back to the car, and you passed out. I did. I don't remember. Where are we? Hallbrook. Gonna find a motel.

Take the day off so we can sleep a little, Pat says. Pat is being suspiciously easygoing. What about the next segment? It says. I already got it, Pat says with a sheepish smile. What do you mean? Well, the trailer trash diner. He, well, who didn't film that? Ed says, feeling even more disoriented.

Oh, I did, with my phone, Pat says and tosses the phone over to Ed. It goes to Pat's videos and opens up the most recent one. He presses play. Well, the video is shaky and shows the plate of food in front of Ed. Half of the shot is obscured by Pat's beer bottle, which he used to prop up the phone and partially hide it from view. Ed watches himself gag and then close his eyes for 30 seconds. Then his eyes open again and he takes another bite and then another. By the end of the video, Ed has devoured the entirety of the meme.

The rest of the video shows Pat thanking the woman and the walk back to the car. Ed has suddenly developed a thumping headache. Oh man, we've got to stop somewhere, man. I need some water. We're almost there. Stop here. Stop here. Ed says hysterically as they near a gas station with a little shop attached.

Jeez, all right. Pat pulls over and waits in the car for Ed to go in. It comes back with a plastic bag filled with snacks and drinks. He plops down in the seat, shuts the car door and immediately grabs a large bottle of water out of the bag, twists off the cap and starts gulping it down. Nothing for me. Pat puts his hand in the plastic bag and starts rooting around him. minute, but Ed slaps his hand away.

All right, then. I don't want any of that crap anyway. Bad for my physique. Pat pulls out of the gas station and starts driving towards the center of town. Ed rips open candy bars and chips and choms down, trying to fill a cramping emptiness in his stomach. He's hoping isn't going to end up being food poisoning. He finishes off the last Snickers bar as they pull into a parking space at the motel. While Pat sleeps, Ed lies on his bed and watches TV. His stomach is grumbling and looks bloated under his thin t-shirt. Eventually, he too falls asleep.

Pat wakes up to a dark room. He's slept longer than intended. His hand fishes around in the blankets for the remote. Whatever's playing on the TV is loud. We can't find it so he sits up, squinting. It's dark in the motel room and the TV is off. The chill raises the hair on his arms and legs as he realizes that the sounds are coming from inside the room. Eddie?

Pat lunges for the bedside lamp and it turns on. When the light hits the room, he can see that Ed's bed is empty. It looks around wildly, trying to find the source of the moaning and slobbering. Then he sees two pale white feet sticking out from the space between Ed's bed and the wall. Pat stands up and walks over and sees Ed's sitting on the ground, staring. straight ahead, shoveling a piece of pepperoni pizza into his mouth with both hands. Sauce and grease cover his face and his crooked glasses. Ed, what the hell are you doing? Pat says with an uneasy laugh. Ed stops chewing and looks

up at Pat. His mouth filled with half-masticated food. I'm eating. Yeah, I can see that man, but it's... Pat looks at the clock on the bedside table. It's three a.m. I couldn't sleep. I took a walk and someone had left it outside the door so I just took it. So you're eating garbage? Oh great. Just go clean yourself up and go to bed. We're going to leave in like three hours. Ed lays down where he is and falls asleep with a piece of pizza still clutched in his hand. Pat looks at him, disgusted and then goes back to bed. The next day they drive the three hours to Albuquerque and and make it to the 50s-themed 66 diner. The place is pristine, shiny and bright like a cartoon.

Hey, Daddy-O! Check out this double-decker cheeseburger, chili fries and milkshake combo they've got over here at the 66 diner in Albuquerque in New Mexico. The camera zooms in on the melted orange cheese that's sliding down the side of the beef patties. It lingers there for the entirety of past dialogue. What the fuck is this, Ed? you didn't get any footage of me talking. Ed is unresponsive and eating his third hot dog from the diner as they sit in the car reviewing the footage. Pat grabs the hot dog out of Ed's hand and throws it out of the window.

Ed turns toward him so quickly that Pat flinches back and hits his head on the roof of the car. Hey! Pat says, but Ed grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him forward. Their nose is a touching and Ed pulls his lip back and bears his teeth. He makes a sound in his throat like a snarl. From Pat's perspective, Ed's eyes look black,

and his face is impossibly long and white. Ed lets go and gets out of the car. Pat's heart is thumping hard in his chest as he watches Ed walk back towards the diner. A busboy exits the side door and tosses a trash bag into the dumpster behind the diner. Ed makes a sharp left towards it, Pat can only stare in disbelief as Ed hauls himself over the side of the dumpster with ease

and starts tearing through the garbage, pulling out clumps of leftover food, half-eaten buns, mounds of wilted lettuce and tomato, meat and cheese and coffee grounds. They blend together in clumps as he pulls them out and stuffs them into his mouth. Without thinking, Pat turns the car on and backs out at the parking space. He slams on the brakes before nearly hitting a couple exiting the diner. and when he turns back towards the windshield to accelerate forward. Eddie is standing there in front of the car, his mouth smudged with Phil. He stares at Pat and then slowly walks around to the passenger side and gets in.

He turns his head and looks at Pat. Are you going to leave without me? Why the hell did you do that? I was hungry. After a few moments of shock silence, Pat drives the car out of the parking lot and onto their next destination. The two do not speak during the hour drive to San Defang. That night Pat has trouble falling asleep in their hotel room,

despite it being slightly more upscale than their previous lodging. Ed is sleeping soundly, but Pat feels troubled. When he finally falls asleep just past midnight, he's haunted by strange nightmares, filled with torchlight and behemoth beasts moving through ancient landscapes. Pat wakes up, gasping and sweating. He's never had a nightmare before. God, he's in so much pain.

He fears he must have thrashed around and injured himself. He tries to reach his arm over to turn on the lamp, but his arm is stuck. He pulls again and realizes his wrist is tied to the bed. His other wrist is as well, and so are his legs. A sharp agonizing pain lights up in his right leg. He screams and pulls against his restraints. What, him?

Eddie! Somebody! But no one answers. A car drives by, the headlights lighting up the room through the slats of the blinds, allowing him to see the end of the bed. Huddle there is Ed, chewing on his leg. His teeth sink in deep and he rips off a chunk of calf meat. Pat screams again.

Ed keeps on eating. A glint of light catches Pat's eye from the bedside table. He looks and sees his cell phone. It's recording live on YouTube. The gruesome nightmare he's in is reflected back at him. Thousands of comments are spilling in as people watching being devoured. Golden eyes flash in through the hotel window. Somebody, please, help me!

Pat is pleading with the voyeur in the window, with his subscribers with anyone who will take pity on him. The eyes in the window shiver with movement, and then suddenly he can see the outline of a cat, stealthy and silent. Watching them, the house my father built was on a cursed foundation. A phantom roamed its halls. By young Setti. I knew something was wrong when my father awoke me that night. You have to stay quiet, princess. It's like a game, he'd whisper.

We can't wake up your mom. I'm going to take you home now. I was confused but young and still covered in the haze of sleep as he led me out of the house, to his truck in the driveway. Even my attempt to place a small bag I'd been allowed to pack in the trunk of his car was denied. Just hold it, Bryn, he said, pulling me back from the truck. We need to be quick. The car's to look back at our house, as we pulled.

off a modest two-story home in the suburbs my room was the second window on the top it'll be the last time i saw that a house for years i remember his face illuminated in the passing street lamps as we drove the expression he wore was unlike any i'd ever seen before in my youth i attributed it to sadness he and mom had been fighting a bunch recently and i'd heard the word divorce shouted which which meant something even to a nine-year-old. Now I know it was a sort of guilt I hoped to never understand. We drove for hours before the fog of sleep and confusion faded enough for me to ask. He is, uh, mommy meeting us there?

My father's grip tightened on the wheel. Your mother is, but she's not a good person, Bryn. She wanted to take you away from me. I was confused. I knew my parents yelled and sometimes fought, but in my young mind, Dad had never hurt me. Why would my mother ever want to do that? Wasn't my father doing that now? He told me we were going to a new house.

That it wasn't ready yet, but he was building it, and he'd make sure it was the best house I'd ever seen. I'd be able to design it with him, put a pool in the bathroom, a slide in place of stairs. Well, by the time we arrived at the location, and as his car was pulled into a halt. I had long since fallen asleep, my mind full of whimsical ideas about my new home. Well, I arrived to a grim reality. The car was parted in the wake of the skeletal frame of a small house.

It was by no means a palace. In fact, it was quite a bit smaller than the one we already had and sat in a lot surrounded by forest that made it difficult to discern direction. It was only partially completed, missing several walls and flooring in parts of the second floor just a little ways away from it at the mouth of the driveway sat an older model camping trailer which would serve as our home for the following year during that year i learned not to ask about my mother not to question why i couldn't call her or when i'd next

see her father's mood had always been prone to sudden shifts almost exclusively towards anger it'd It would be than reason for so many of the fights he and my mother had had. The ones where I try my hardest to hum some song from memory, or bury myself in a book, in the hopes of distracting myself from hearing the screaming and slamming. Even though Mom wasn't around, and his temper had, for the most part, seemed under control. I knew not to push things. In the best of circumstances, he'd dismiss any question about my mother's absence, usually pinning the blame vaguely on her, and then sulking silence for hours afterward.

But during the worst, which came far more often, he wouldn't say a thing, simply glaring at me before stewing in a silent rage that always felt like the quiet before a familiar storm. I'd never known him to blow up on me. In fact, it was usually the opposite. Growing up I was his princess, whom he seemed to feel needed to be protected from. from what he viewed as my mother's bad influence. He never put his hands on me,

apparently reserving all the worst of his wrath from my mom. But she wasn't around now, and I wasn't going to take chances. I would never yet be violent toward me. A part of me was always certain deep down that he was capable of it. During those months a strange new reality began to settle in, and with it a new day to day. It's strange how easily a child can't be able to. adjust to a whole new way of life it's funny how malleable you are at that age no matter how strange

or peculiar the new situation may be children just assume the adults in their life know best and adjust allowing it to be their new normal i was homeschooled on the days my father wasn't working an odd job or construction gig and when he was i occupied my time reading the books he'd bring me back from town in the trailer. Above all, I was expected to stay on the property, told never to wander too far from the trailer. I was home alone would grow boring, and in the boredom I found the perfect breeding ground for longing.

As my mind would turn to thoughts of my mother and my old life. I miss my mother, my old room, and my old home, though I knew better than to express as much to my father, who never took well to discussion of our past life, as he called it I'd try and stave off this longing flipping through the tiny picture book I'd managed to sneak from my room when I'd packed struck by an odd urge at the time it contained my favorite photo of my mother and father for months before I was born at their wedding I'd always thought my mother looked like such a princess in the image a white dress and

long brown hair I'd always taken after style beautifully far cry from the usual exhausted mother appearance. When that failed to suffice, I took to wandering that skeleton of a house that stood like a surfacing corpse beside us as a distraction. Despite my father's many warnings against its safety, there was something about the creaky old shell of a home, slowly filling out day by day into something livable that filled me with an odd sort of comfort as I wandered its haunts. And that all changed one day, entirely without warning, save for my father ripping out much of the foundation of the house. He'd been returning home from work visibly stressed more and more recently. He'd been more insistent than ever that I stay with in the clearing,

not even venturing out into the forest anymore. Only questions on my part were dismissed with a brief safety in reply. And then one day, father didn't come home on time. Five o'clock came and went, sunset soon following, and still he hadn't returned. It wasn't until long after dark and I had fallen asleep rife with worry that I heard the crunch of his tires on the gravel path leading up to our lot. It didn't even come to the trailer, going straight for the ghastly form of the house, far more ominous in the moonlight, the sledgehammer over his shoulder. Well, that was the first night of his digging. I watched from the window as he entered the house and began slamming the head of his hammer into the concrete. The quiet of the forest was pierced by the constant thud of metal on cement, chipping away slowly.

I fell asleep that night to the incessant, almost haunting cluck of his hammer against the newly laid concrete. Oh, it's not right, not yet. Yeah, the cement was too porous. The whole thing would have sunk over time. He'd offered briefly an explanation when I questioned him at breakfast the following morning about what I'd seen the night before. I knew something was wrong, though. The woods didn't feel the same after that day, and the house even less so. Suddenly its halls felt so hollow, foreboding. In the days following that night, when I was home alone, and the wind whistled through the hollow halls, I was certain I could hear a voice seeing it.

There was a woman, her words indistinct, but an immeasurable sadness present in her tone, as it echoed in the frigid air of the night. It was around this time that the dreams began plaguing me. They were always the same. There was me, a house, and a woman. The house stood like the remnants of something old and dead. Its wooden frame was replaced with pale bone and thin veins running in place of the errant wires.

At the centre of the basement, she was always stood. The woman in white, her face covered with a veil so thin and ethereal in the wind, but it appeared to be made of spider-sill. She sang a song so sad, so familiar, that it always sent a pang of sorrow through my heart. I approached a sense of unshakable familiarity driving me for. My hand would reach out for her veil, half expecting my fingers to tear through it and contact up and then I always woke up my face would be wet with tears and an air of dread would cling to me for several minutes i learned very quickly not to mention the woman the voice or the dreams to my father after his reaction

that following morning i'd never seen him so pale when i brought it up his face screwed up and his head seemed to turn an instinct to cast a glance down the hallway well he busied himself that entire day refilling the ruined basement floor with cement and sequestering me to the trailer for safety reasons For the next few months things progressed as normally as could be expected The dreams continued eventually becoming an accepted part of life Thoughts of my mother plagued me all the questions I couldn't ask piling up I missed her I wondered if she knew where we were I doubted it even at that age I could now understand that my

father kept me cooped up here for a reason. That summer my father made a few friends on one of his latest jobs and they helped him finally finished its construction. I watched as covertly as I could from the window of the trailer, staying out of sight whenever they were around, as per my father's orders. He was so proud in those final months of its construction. Ah, now we can get to leave it all behind, truly, he would say, gripping my hand. But the look in his eyes was always so desperate, pleading, as though he were trying to convince himself. And then he'd wipe it all away with a smile as he looked on at the rapidly forming house before

us. By the end of the summer the house was complete. It was a modest two-story house, painted a vibrant yellow, which had been the colour of my choice. It was a far cry from the castle my father had initially promised, but it was a home and was surely going to be a step off and a beat-up old trailer. I spent the following weeks transforming the empty shell of a house into something of a home, painting the walls in the small living room a regal sort of mahogany, my own room covered in facsimiles of unicorns, golden-haired princesses,

and other things my father saw as being fit for a little girl's room. But the dreams continued in the weeks following our move into the house, but they, well, they changed in subtle but disquieting ways. For one, the woman's song now didn't sound quite so distant. From the very first night we spent in the house, I had the dream of the woman. Well, it was different this time. Her voice seemed in not to come from somewhere outside, but rather carrying through the pitch-black hauls of the house. It was as though the sound originated from somewhere deep within.

The way it seemed to almost carry through the walls, airy and chilling, as though the house itself was singing her sound. somber tune. Over that time, I was constantly exhausted. My father started to notice something was wrong, as they nodded off during dinners. But he obviously couldn't begin to suspect what, though. I often gave the excuse of not being used to my new room, which seemed to quell his worries. He bought the first TV we'd owned since leaving home. It was a cheap thing, but I was thrilled to have something besides books to entertain myself with. and it was fine with that so long as I avoided adult programs and only used it under his supervision. There were other effects of my lack of sleep, ones that were odd and harder to justify to myself.

I was beginning to hear that strange singing even in my waking hours. Whenever I was just about to nod off, it would start, as if my dreams were beginning just a tad too early. I learned quickly not to react too much when the singing began its echo from behind our basement door. It was clear that whatever it was, Father couldn't hear it. Time began to lose its meaning after almost two years. My sleep schedule was shot and paired with the fact that Father insisted I remained with an hour little section of the woodland. My mind remained constantly in an odd haze.

So when I began seeing the woman in white in my waking hours, I could only question my own eyes. Like her song, I tried to ignore her. when I caught sight of her pale, incorporeal form. As she moved through the halls, her form like the static of a television, cloudy and fuzzy like she was made of snow. Where she passed, the dull red of the wall seemed to rot and decay,

revealing necrotic muscle and tissue beneath. She would drift by seeing that song that felt so familiar until she reached the basement door. It was always the basement door. There she would wait, turning her head to watch me as if waiting for me to open it. For months I never did. I tried my best act as though I saw nothing at dinner when it seemed she appeared the most, keeping my eyes locked on my father as she'd wander past on her way to that basement door.

If I waited long enough, she would disappear, fading into nothingness. on some particularly disconcerting occasions she stood behind him staring down at him through that veil though i couldn't see her face i could feel hate radiating from her she remained like that until father had left the table at which point she continued on to the basement door as time seemed to pass in a blur, my resolve began to wane. My father began to catch my gaze wandering more and more often, roaming as if following something he couldn't see. I could tell it was freaking him out by the worried looks he'd shoot me, all the way his gaze would fall on the basement door. When the night came that I finally broke, my father was away. As the construction season passed, he'd taken a job

a few nights a week at a local warehouse that kept him away from home until the early morning hours the house was mine in those hours it never was i allowed the luxury of feeling alone even when i couldn't see her i could hear a waking dream superimposed over reality i was eating alone at the dinner table the tv blowing some local news channel in the other room just to stave off the silence and then her song began a tanty i'd tell you the dinner-table a table tent stop out of instinct, doing my best to keep my eyes on my food as her form drifted into the room. My father was gone, which meant there was only one place she would head, as she did so often. The basement. I watched from my peripheral as she moved past the other end of the table.

Perhaps it was a year's worth of exhaustion and rising paranoia finally making me break. But her song, that hauntingly familiar hymn, words always just out of reach I felt like I knew it I slowly chewed the chicken from my microwavable dinner and two things occurred to me almost simultaneously like lights flicking on in the darkness one was an idea

the other a dawning realization I dropped my fork before I could even consider my next actions I was up from the table pushing the chair back and rounding the table She stood, flickering like an old movie outside of the basement door. For once I looked, not bothering to try and hide the fact as I approached. I think by that point, a part of me already knew that the woman was no mere effect of exhaustion.

She was real, or at least not limited to my imagination. I always tried to justify the faint creaking of flaws as she passed over them, but I always knew. My heart raced like a jackrabbit in my chest, a smell reminiscent of when I sat inches from our old box set as a kid, singing my nostrils. The paint on the wall seemed to bruise, turning yellow and then grey as they rotted with her passing.

If I could think, I reached out and touched the nearest wall, running my finger along it as I approached. It was wet and brittle to the touch, a thin trail of clear slime extending with me as I pulled back. She froze, coming to a stop at her usual destination, and turned to watch me expectantly. A cold dread sunk its claws into me as I stared into that veil, holding me in place for a moment.

I mustered the fleeting wisps of courage I had. With a sigh, I pulled open the basement door. Her reaction was immediate. She shot forward, passing through my arm as though it were nothing. I yanked it back, gasping as an icy wave of pins and needles filled the limb. Her head tilted just slightly, as though curious about my reaction, but she turned in an instant disappearing in a faint glow into the darkness below. I know no rational person would have followed, but I was young, that curious familiarity seemed to pull me for. It was odd to think,

but I almost felt more comfortable with the phantom woman at this point than I had around my father since the night he'd returned with the hammer. Something about him had just seemed different. I followed the woman into the basement, the steps groaning underfoot. A dank, damp smell had already come to fill the air, intermingling with the dust left by construction. With each creak of the steps as I approached the cold floor beneath, the knot of anxiety in me poured itself tighter. The feeling of dawning dread started to eke past the patchwork wall of bravery that I'd built. I with my hand blindly for the string attached to the singular light bulb in the basement,

eventually finding it and pulling. Nothing. A second and third ball returned the same results. The woman's fate song rose from behind me. I turned to face her. A faint glow illuminated the other half of the room, and I shuddered. It would have to be enough. Slowly, I began to approach her.

She was kneeling, head lowered into her hands, as she sat before a spot on the concrete. I recognized it immediately. It was a slightly offshade of grey, different from the rest of the room. knew her the sound of that incessant clattering my father's hammer against concrete rang in the back of my mind so much had changed that night it had been after that that the woman's song began to haunt me it had seemed to be yet another point in my life at which things have taken a turn for the unfortunate a strange catalyst for a dark shift the catalyst for all of it being the night my father took me from my home The woman raised her head from her hands as I approached, staring up at me with that same silent expectancy that she possessed waiting outside of the basement.

"'What? What do you want for me to do?' I asked, my voice shaking with desperation and the ever-present instinctual sort of horror always at the back of my mind as I stood in the presence of the impossible. She lifted her arm, pointing one pale, unclear finger towards a dark core. of the room illuminating it as though holding a pale blue candle in the corner read my father's sledgehammer I took only seconds before I understood what I was been instructed to do what I've been called to do for months I made my way to the corner gripping the handle of the thing in my small hands oh I strained kneeling as I lifted the hammer from its corner maneuvering it around and over my shoulder

before approaching her again. The woman stood, a fluid, almost instant motion as if she'd moved from one still to another, stepping to the side of the strange point in the cement. The air buzzed with indescribable energy, thick with attention caused by the presence of something impossible and the sheer insanity of what I was engaged in.

I stared at the woman for a moment, almost trying to peer beneath that veil. I was sure for a moment of what I was about to do. She gave me the briefest nod. In that instant, I felt certain of what I must do. I raised the hammer as high as I could manage, swaying lightly under the weight and brought it down with a clank of metal on concrete.

A few chips of cement broke off, but little else. I did it again, and again. The progress was slow. almost negligible at first and though I wondered if I was even making progress I was spurred forth by the woman's gaze there was something down there I suppose I might have realized that deep down that my father took to it with a sledgehammer his excuse it always seemed lackluster I continued like that for hours until my palms were slick with blood and sweat tearing open from the friction I was drenched

my hair clinging to my forehead and my pajamas to my skin my arms were on fire but i continued hours passing until eventually i made a significant dent in the concrete there was something there visible just beneath the dust and debris it was wrapped in cloth white at one point now stained a deep rotten grey the smell hit me immediately i dropped the the hammer to my side, stumbling away as my knees buckled and my eyes watered. The cold pit that had been present inside of me from the moment my father woke me up in my room and stretched now until it enveloped me. The stench was like meat long gone bad, almost like the cat that had been hit outside of my house when I was little and left out in the summer sun. It was death, pure and unfiltered. I felt tears running down my face and. I felt tears running down my face fought off the urge to relieve my bladder as my body shook in response to this smell.

The woman turned and faced me, and in an instant she stood before me. One of her hands rose to my face, and I started to cry, but she continued, holding it as close to my face as she could without passing through it. I could feel a radiating coolness from her, faint but there, and she kneeled until her veil was only inches from my face. She began to sing, that familiar wordless hymn of hers. It echoed through the empty room, filling my mind with a sudden, much-needed calm. I felt my heartbeat slow and my breathing return to a steady pace.

Upon seeing my reaction, she turned her head towards the crater I'd made. When she turned back, I knew what she wanted me to do. I nodded, stealing myself and moving towards the reeking hole. in the ground she followed at my side and it brought me a comfort i hadn't felt in years i kneeled at the side of the fabric holding my nose with one hand and reaching out to grab at the edge of the cloth with the other and poured it aside my heart dropped and my stomach flipped in my gut there was the head of a corpse beneath petrified his gray skin clinging to the bone and its hair its hair was almost a reflection of my own long dark lock mommy I

breathed the word my throat tightening tears springing fall I turned my head to face the woman who'd been haunting my dreams searching for some sort of answer as a look to her the veil over her face was obscuring her features began to dissipate fading like smoke in a breeze and the pale almost blurry countenance of my mother stood before me she gazed down at her body and look of sadness noticeable in the faint visual snow of her features as she looked at me all at once recognition bloomed and everything clicked the familiarity of her song a song whose words i long since lost a time but whose tone i would always remember as the lullaby my mother sang to me when I was younger. I'd seen her pale dress before as well in the singular photo

I'd managed to bring from home. It always made her look like royalty. A stomach turn, as I realized why my father had been acting so suspiciously. He'd killed her. He had killed my mother, burying her beneath my very feet. I felt like I might be sick. Mommy, I... I breathed again, an overwhelming mix of sadness, longing, and hope filling me all at once. She kneeled until her face was at my level, a sad smile spreading across her features. Why? Why did you make me do this? She frowned, her colourless eyes somehow glistening with emotion at that. It confused me at the time, but in hindsight I imagine she needed me to know, needed me to understand I wasn't safe with my father immediately occurred to me that her colours seemed to be fading now that otherworldly sort of pale

blue was now a faint white like a light being gradually lowered i could feel somehow that i'd done it whatever it was she required of me my mother or what remained of her at least was not long for this world her face fell and then screwed in an instant a look of fury blazed over her experience expression. My heart almost burst from my chest. She turned to face the basement door, then turned back to me her expression stern. She extended one rapidly fading hand towards a singular window in the basement, leading into a window well outside. From somewhere upstairs a door slammed shut. Brian, where are you, baby? My heart sank as though thrown in quicksand as my father's voice carried down the stairs. I felt a fear unlike anything I felt since shocked my system as I

glanced back at the body of my mother. I couldn't know what he might do to me for uncovering it and I didn't want to. He killed my mother. There was no telling what he might be capable of doing to me. The realization that my father would become someone unrecognizable to me was a chilling one. I'd left the table in a high, leaving my food nearly untouched in the basement door wide open. If he came looking, which I was certainly would, it would only be a brief matter of time. That icy burst of pins and needles exploding in the skin of my back drew my attention then, and I turned to see what was left of mother, gesturing frantically at the window, her meaning finally clicking.

Bren, you down there? I've told you. it's not safe. Others's voice carried from nearby now. He couldn't be too far from the basement door, just a bit of hallway and some steps still separating us. I hurried over to the window, wincing with each slap of my feet on the concrete. We began to fumble with a lock, each of my father's approaching footsteps from the floor above, making my heart leap further into my throat. Finally it twisted with a pop, and I slid the window open, letting in a rush of the the frigid night air. Brinley, his voice was louder now, hoarse with a blend of rising anger and panic.

The phantom woman, my mother, watched me with a longing expression as she kneeled down beside her exposed corpse, her eyes communicating everything she was unable to say. I love you too, Mama. She nodded her head once, pointing again at the open window. I climbed out, standing up in the window well, and she was, shooting her one last glance. She kneeled, almost frustrating, until her face was within inches of her corpse.

Its mouth snapped open as if some invisible string had been yanked, and in that instant with one last glance my way, she was gone, disappearing inside the mouth of the corpse, which snapped shut behind her. The faint dull glow seemed to settle just beneath its skin, and for just a moment I could see her laying there she used to be beautiful face merely sleeping and then it was gone the glow fading leaving only the dried

husk brindley jane adams answer me damn it my eyes widened with cold panic he was coming just at the top of the stairs now by the sound of it the thump of footfalls on the basement stairs sprung me into action spurring me forth like a frightened animal. I strained to pull myself out of the window. My arms felt hot and full of sand after my hours with a sledgehammer. I scrabble for some purchase along the rigid metal walls with my feet, eventually managing to boost myself up enough to just slowly begin rising onto the ground above. It was dark out and the forest around me was pitch black, with the exception at the faint light glowing from the windows of the house. I groaned as I pulled myself

out of the window, well, out onto the ground, but had little time to catch my breath. Oh, God, oh my God. I could hear his voice, his stunned whispered just a few feet away in the room beneath me. He was in the basement now, surely seeing my mother's corpse uncovered

and the window open mere feet away. Really? Really? He sounded on. unhinged, his voice seemed to shake the walls around him. I pulled myself to my feet and ran. Twigs and crinkling leaves and that was the sudden burst of movement as I peeled off towards the tree line, which had, for years, symbolized the border edge of my entire world.

Brinley, please, I did it for you, baby. Your mom, she was sick. I thought she might hurt you, and she wanted to take you away. but Bryna, you know Daddy would never heard you, right? His voice pleaded from behind me, at points wavering with exertion. A chance to glance behind me as I ran to the corner of the house, heading off towards the gravel path that served as our driveway, just in time to see my father pulling himself to his feet

where I'd stood outside the window well just before. Her eyes met briefly, his glistening with tears and an unfamiliar man. darkness. My heart pounded in my chest and my lungs burned, the bottoms of my bare feet beginning to sting from the pebbles, the twigs, and the detritus of the forest. Brindley! God, he practically shrieked my name. Brinley, I did it for you. He was gaining on me, I could tell by the rapid approach of his unhinged screaming. Despite my best efforts, I was half the size of my father and without my share. shoes running was growing to be excruciating i had to think of something quickly i veered off hoping my father

wouldn't emerge in time to see where i was heading racing off towards the old trailer it had all but been untouched since the house was built a rotting memory stooped on a cinderbox i quickly crawled beneath and held my breath watching the corner i just rounded my father emerged second later. His eyes were wide and wild, searching frantically through the surrounding brush. His hair was slicked with sweat and clung to his forehead in wet clumps. And in his hand, he gripped a blade. I didn't want to know what he intended to do with it. How did you know? He moaned into the darkness, his voice wavering as he sobbed the question. "'What's it those dreams, huh?

"'Did your bitch of a mother fuck me over just one more time from beyond the grey?' "'He spun as he spoke, eyes practically bulging as they scan the darkness, "'and his face a deep red, jaw clenched and teeth bared as his spit all flew. "'I clasped my hand over my mouth, praying for my very heart-beaten breathing to be silenced. "'He shook with emotion, unmitigated rage, and an unhinged sadness. He screamed loud and raw, kneeling down for a moment with his head between his hands.

And my heartbeat practically froze as we stood almost at eye level. To my luck, he stood, never bothering to look beneath the trailer. Brindley, I know you can hear me out there. I tried my best for you, baby. I really did. I tried to make sure you didn't grow up like, "'Hur, that you were good and obedient. "'But I'm sorry, baby.

"'Don't think I can help you,' he muttered. "'Head lowered in his hands. "'No matter what I do, half of you comes from her. "'Maybe, maybe you were always heard.' "'His eyes snapped up, right at the trailer. "'He rose, his hand working nervously around the hilt of the blade, "'and rounded the trailer opening the door. He thought I was inside.

Well, this was my chance. I carefully stood out from beneath the trailer on the opposite side as I heard the door shut behind him. I was no more than 20 yards from the tree line. If I could disappear into the woods so I could find my way back to the road eventually. I knew it was risky. I knew he could potentially see me from the windows of the trailer. But staying put felt far riskier. So taking a breath

I slared out from beneath the trailer And darted for the trees I was just passing the first line of old oaks When I heard the door slam behind me And the clamour of movement Rindley Come here, baby girl I'm not mad

I understand now You are never going to be mine Always hers Always poisoned by her sickness But that's okay Daddy's gonna help You see mommy again I promise

It'll be easy. Just stop running. I felt jagged rocks and sharp twigs tear into my feet, but I didn't slow down, racing through the forest as branches whipped at my face and my eyes. Oh, come here, you little bitch, he roared that familiar, unhinged anger I used to see during his and my mother's arguments.

It was now finally taking full control. My father was bigger. faster and angrier. But for me, well, I've been stuck on that property for years since we'd moved, limited only to the surrounding woods for any semblance of adventure. I knew them better than he did. There was a gulch approaching, through which a small stream ran, farther down the way a large cement pipe opened up into it, big enough for me to crawl into. The sound of breaking branches is an earth trampled underfoot grew behind me, my father screaming a wordless, rage-filled scream. I let myself slide down the gulch, landing in the little stream below, pulling myself onto its banks,

and ran until I reached the pipe crawling inside. The faint trickle of water echoed through the long, dark tunnel, and a wet, damp smell filled the air. I stayed quiet. footsteps approached from somewhere outside and I felt my heart sore into my throat threatening to suffocate me right there as they drew nearer the sound of water being disturbed as someone trudged through it made me freeze right as a bear of legs appeared outside of my hiding spots knowing my life likely depended on it really you come back here damn it i jumped but managed to stay quiet really he called again voice lower raw now with emotion he stayed out there for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than minutes moaning my name like some phantom as he roamed the woods in

searching me the moment he left the spring i was gone darting through the woods regardless of the injuries to my feet refusing to stop until i reached the nearest active road i nearly got myself killed throwing myself in front of the beams of the approaching pickup signal them to stop luckily they managed to stop a mere foot away from me well now what in the fuck are you think the driver began a big burly sort of guy with a thick red beard and he paused as soon as he got a good look at me god i must have looked a mess twelve-year-old girl covered in sweat and filthy water clothes torn from prying branches feet bleeding and eyes red and puffy. I offered the best, briefest explanation that I could. The truth. My father had killed my mother and was now trying to kill me, leaving out the unnecessary details

for time, and a doubt that it would make me seem anything other than crazy. I suppose I was lucky I hadn't stumbled into a worse creep. The man immediately drove me to the local police station, even giving me his jacket to stay warm on the drive after seeing me shiver while we drove. I didn't bother to mention that it wasn't from the cold. When we arrived at the station, the cop at the desk's eyes widened upon seeing me, her face going pale at first. Holy shit, she breathed. Brinley Adams?

I nodded, confusion and exhaustion covering my thoughts in a haze. You're alive, she breathed as if looking at a ghost. She stood from her chair, giving the man a questioning look, causing him to raise his arms in a placating gesture and begin explaining. Hey, I just found her on the side of the road, almost hit the damn kid. Oh, she was a mess. The woman rounded her desk, kneeling in front of me. Brinley, you've been missing for almost two and a half years. Ever since that night, your father...

She trailed off, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "'Killed my mom,' I finished, eyes glazing as the words seemed to finally hit home. She nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. "'No, this is going to be hard, but one of the other offices is going to take you to a room and ask you some questions, okay? I need you to tell us what happened these last few years.' So, I did. The woman called her colleagues, and before long the precinct was abuzz with the room. news of my return. Apparently my disappearance had become something of a minor phenomenon in the

area, old reports of my being seen years prior stirring our ordeal into something of an urban legend. The morning after my father had taken me, my mother had reported the kidnapping and was raising hell to get me back. Her efforts were blowing the story up, and my face had apparently been on so many post-its, billboards, and newsreels, and I was something of a minor celebrity in the area. I couldn't be sure, but when my mother disappeared, they suspected my father had played a role, but with him still M.I.A. It was impossible to prove, so the case of her murder and my kidnapping both fell cold. Until my miraculous return, that is, by the end of the hour, officers had already been dispatched to my father's house in search of him. They found him, in the basement,

alongside my mother, having repainted the walls with his brain. and the business end of a shotgun. I spent some time in the foster care system before they eventually found my next of kin, a cousin of my mother's who was willing to take on the responsibility of raising me. Well, as ridiculous as it seems to survive what I did, I lived a relatively good life, all things considered.

My past would always be marred by the hideous scar of what I'd experienced, and my nightmares were played by half-remembered memories of phantom women and the sound of a sledgehammer. But I was alive, and each passing day was another handful of dirt on the coffin of that memory. Or at least, it had been. I'd been content to limit my recollection of the event for the odd therapy session, and never once would I have considered reliving it all in the form of a story,

but, well, I guess I don't know what else to do. I almost convinced myself I'd misremembered much of the events. Through therapy and self-doubt, I'd been more than a little. willing to rationalize the things I'd seen and heard as some convoluted coping mechanism my mind had devised to lead me to a conclusion I must have somehow known deep down and provide the closure I needed but now now I'm not so sure it began last night last night as sleep began to pull me into its murky depths I heard something something dearly, unshakably familiar, the scent of cold chill down my spine.

From somewhere outside of my house, amidst the surrounding forest, echoed a sound I recognized, wordless but unmistakable. It was the rage-filled cry of a man, one I'd heard many years before. My father, the Needle Man, by Johnny Blaze. It was another cloudy night in Doyle, Massachusetts. The thick black sheets seemed to blood out the entire sky, leaving a malevolent aura in the air. The surrounding city streets were still damp from the recent rainstorm.

The walk back home from work seemed to a stretch and eternity in the gloomy weather. The weather and added stress of forgetting my keys at home left me in a dark mood. I hope that one of my roommates was home to buzz me in, otherwise it's sitting on the cold concrete staircase until I have the chance to tailgate someone else into the apartment building I shivered as I zipped up my north face jacket and braced myself for the dismal walk home You got some change Look down to see a homeless guy sitting against a nearby building holding a small cup I could smell his musk from several feet away

Yeah, let me check I poured out a ten dollar bill for my jacket and placed it in the cup and I put out a ten dollar bill for my jacket and placed it in the cup and up, silently praising my own generosity. He stared at the bill for a second in the cup, long enough to see the amount, and then peered back up at me with an annoyed expression, as if I was wasting his time. "'Gee, welcome, asshole,' I thought to myself as I continued on my walk. I tried to quell my rising anger, reminding myself how that interaction likely had a lot more to do with him than me.

I continued my walk for several minutes, so preoccupied thinking about the unlawful, and I was ungrateful beggar and I barely noticed the reflection of a hooded figure on the corner of a nearby window. I instinctively turned around to see the black shape walking a safe distance behind me. It was still too dark to see his face, but I could see his outfit, black joggers and a gray hoodie. I turned around and picked up my pace, and to my relief, he began to cross the street and take a right turn out of view. I started a podcast on my headphones and continued several blocks down the streets. "'A true crime podcast for a dangerous idea while walking home alone at night.' I chuckled to myself.

I shivered at the thought of being one of the characters in tonight's episode. A drug-addicted wife attempts to poison her husband for the insurance money. As I turned a corner, I saw another person behind me, about to do the same. He appeared to be the same hooded figure I'd seen before, on my side of the streets again. "'Here, what do you want?' I shouted from the street corner. I made sure to leave a healthy distance between us in case I needed to bolt. Oh, I'm sorry about that, a silky smooth voice called back. It was deep and had the cadence of a radio host.

I was lost and was wondering if I could ask you for directions back to Cheshire Square. And it's my better judgment, I took the extra time to give him directions. My apartment was only a few blocks away and the area was generally pretty busy. What's the worst he could do? "'Yeah, sure,' I said. "'I was trying to be nice, "'but I did find the man's voice unsettling "'and wanted to get moving soon.

"'Yeah, turn around, go back the way he came, "'take a left down the path that cuts through the garden, "'and take another left on it. "'I realized that the path would take him right back "'to the street he diverted to when I first noticed him. "'But at that moment, a tall cloaked man "'ran out of a nearby alley "'and lunged at me with something metallic.

I wasn't able to make out his features too well, but noticed he was wearing a plain white mask and had long, spindly fingers. The time seemed to slow down as I dodged him to the right, narrowly avoiding getting stabbed in the arm. I was able to see what he tried to hit me with. A needle. Adrenaline instantly flooded my body and I ran. I could now hear the two chase me in close pursuit. Well, I'd always been a strong runner and only needed to get a few blood. in order to make it to my apartment.

The fear of not knowing the needle's contents pushed me to an even faster pace, though. The ground was slippery and I could tell my assailants were having trouble catching up with me. I gave every last ounce of strength to increase the gap as I sprinted back to my building. Once I'd made it,

I'd planned to buzz every door and get the attention of the whole apartment. Well, that, in the bright motion-activated floodlights outside my building, would have to keep them away. and if not all I needed would be for one person to press the door open button in their room when I'd be inside. Several seconds passed as the men chased me down the street.

I could see the outline of my building getting closer as the sounds of their footsteps grew more distant. I flew towards the front of the building and immediately ran my fingers down every button to buzz the 20-plus rooms in the building, making sure to press my own rooms button several extra times. I turned around to see the outline of just the masked man behind my apartment's floodlights. He wasn't moving any closer. The absence of his accomplice had made me even more on edge. My eyes darted around the perimeter searching for his presence. Get the fuck out of here, I screamed. My roommates will be down here any second. Without turning away from him,

I checked the door one more time. Still, closed. He then produced. and unfolded a small rifle from his cloak. I could barely make out the unusual shape of a gun. It had an abnormally wide barrel. I heard three pulses of gas emit from the gun and saw three tiny metal needles zip through the air towards me. I immediately fell to the ground for cover. Glass from the windows behind me cracked open from the shots.

I heard the buzz of the apartment door unlocking and immediately swung it open and sprinted in towards the lobby. my two roommates might me downstairs as well as many other neighbours shuffling down to see what the commotion was what happened my roommate sam shouted as he began dialing nine-one-one on my phone i was i was shut at i gasped between breaths well i don't think they hit me when i began feeling light-headed which i assumed was from my adrenaline rush beginning to wear off geez that was close i don't know if they're out there guys be careful my other roommate Tracy slowly warped to me horror painting his features as he noticed a small syringe firmly embedded in my left thigh percy why do they shoot at you with he

stuttered as I appeared down to see the needle I was instantly hit by a tidal wave of what I could only describe as peace love and understanding washed over me as I open my eyes to see what could only be God gazing back at me he told me humanity would be be safe and he was watching over us. I opened my eyes again to the warm lighting of the apartment lobby. Why were there so many people here? I recognized Sam and Tracy, but who was everyone else? I wasn't sure, but I somehow knew they all felt immense love and compassion for me. I felt the exact same bond with each and every one of them as well. I closed my eyes. What was able to visualize the bright orange glow emanating from the room. Other colors began to join.

in as well red and blue lights were added to the orange creating a dazzling light shot as i drifted off into a peaceful slumber i faintly heard of a voice speak into a radio 1052 passable drug overdole it's been some time since this incident i learned through the nurses that i was injected with a shot of pure heroin after the hospital ran a battery of tests to ensure there were no infections i was sent home with not much more than sad smiles and the medical staff's condolences. Despite the best efforts of the many witnesses and the city police, no one was able to find the masked man or his accomplice. I wasn't able to get a good enough description, so my accounts weren't of much help either. I quickly began to learn how difficult it was to find a first-time offender with no

discernible motive or relationship to the victim. It simply ruled a random act of violence from someone who was soon dubbed by the locals as the needleman after news of the incident got around well the needleman visited my apartment again a few weeks after this incident i had a quiet tap at my window at two or three in the morning it didn't wake me up as i'd barely been able to sleep since our first encounter i opened my window and followed him outside into the chilling night air i was able to get a much closer look this time I noticed how tall he actually was as he stared down at me with this expressionless white mask. His long limbs and fingers seemed to sway back and forth in the faint moonlight.

The skin underneath his cloak appeared grey and rotten, covered with deep red sores. I felt no fear, not even anger, only an insatiable hunger. He handed me the needle this time. I imagined the heavenly sensation I'd experienced. in my apartment lobby as well as how it was so cruelly ripped away from me and i needed to feel that again just once chapter what has it always been like this murmured pat as he gently shrugged his shoulder to point to the scene to our left i looked over to see the encampment which stretched down hampton street as far as my eyes could see tents that were once every color of the rainbow seemed

all converge on the same dismal grey hue. No, it's definitely gotten worse, I answered, mimicking his quiet tone. I observed the tense with a mix of pity, curiosity and regretfully some disgust. The focal point of the picture, a homeless man lay completely flat on the sidewalk, using a dirty pair of Jordans as a pillow. A few feet to his left, a woman was slumped over a tree, slowly drifting in and out. It wasn't even 4pm. Around the area I could see needles, caps and small saline tubes.

Everything seemed to be covered with a layer of grind. The feeling of emptiness was palpable from the group of tents. The people seemed soulless, at their chance at a normal healthy life stolen by addiction. We noticed a guy swaying back and forth directly in our path and braced ourselves for some kind of interaction. None came as he stumbled to the same. side and let us pass. I know it's a little rough here, I said. But don't worry, it's a lot better around my place. No worries, man. I've seen plenty of this back in Rhode Island, he replied nonchalantly. We continued the wall back, roughly tracing the coast of the city, Doyle, Massachusetts.

We were close enough to see the beach to our right, but still several blocks away from touching its sand. All the grimy beach stretched in a crescent moon shape separating the city in my neighborhood on the north side and the campus on the south. Ah, Christian! My dad greeted me with a warm smile on his face as he put the newspaper down to give me a heart. My dad was the city mayor, as one could have guessed given his dress shirt, slacks and personable nature. That man really lived the part. And you must be pats, he said as he shook my friend's hand. Nice to meet you, Mr. O'Brien.

Pat returned as he shook my dad's hand. I don't see Jenna. She couldn't make it, my dad remarked with a sly grin. Jenna Flynn was my childhood friend who I admittedly had had a huge crush on since we met in elementary school. Oh, shut it, Dad, I said sheepishly, is I playfully punched his shoulder. Just in time for dinner, my mom called as she walked in

from the other room, also to give me a hug and greet Pat. How's the first month of college? My mum asked. Pat and I glanced at each other for a second. I was pretty good, Mom. Super busy, I answered. Pat nodded in agreement. Well, we're doing Thanksgiving food tonight, she smiled, knowing that was my favorite.

We quickly washed up and sat at the table. Oh, how do you guys become friends? My dad asked after a sip of wine. We actually met in class during the first week. It's a new elective. Myths and Legends of the Northeast. Oh, spooky, my dad remarked, amused. Did they talk about, you know, the needleman?

He asked as if he was telling a campfire story. And my mom shot him a dirty look. Thomas, not in front of our guests? Come on, he replied. Story's obviously made up. people getting shot with a needle by a complete stranger for no reason sounds like a junkie trying to take even less responsibility for his actions pat and i watched uncomfortably as my mom replied oh thomas just drop it well what do you buy his thing that ass gesturing over to us did you know about him

unfortunately for pat he'd just taken a large bite of turkey we waited for several seconds for him to chew Well, the needleman, it sounds pretty far-fetched to me. My dad then chuckled and mom relaxed a bit. I shrugged and added, I don't think we ever knew Percy since he was a few years older. He had a reputation of being a big partier in high school, but it never seemed to be into heart of drugs. Well, I'm sure there's a lot that guy I did behind closed doors.

I just think it's far more plausible. He got caught messing with the wrong stuff and tried to make up a story to cover for it. Dad continued. I just think it's easy for people to offload responsibility instead of just owning up to their own bad decisions. We get it, Dad, I interrupted, sensing a rant coming. You pulled yourself up by the bootstraps,

made a name for yourself by taking action, yeah, yeah. And the three of us started laughing. Doug glared at me for a second and then joined us too. I was quiet as I gave him a right home with my dad's Tesla. He lived on campus, so the drive was pretty quick. Hey, sorry about my dad. I started, feeling the weight of both Pat's silence and the quiet electric motor. He gets on his high horse about personal responsibility and all that shit sometimes.

But he really does, meanwhile. Pat was silent for a bit, and then asked me, he didn't see addicts as people, does he? I looked over to see a sad look on his face. I don't know about that, but... Well, I think he sees them as very different people, I admitted. Do you have any addicts in your family? I guessed.

I saw his head nod in my peripheral vision and felt my face grow red as I record my dad's words at dinner. I even felt guilt wash over me as I reflected on judgments about the people we saw on the walk home. That was the first friend I'd made after I started college. It was friendly and we shared many interests, but I always felt some distance between us. His personality had a somber undertone, very dissimilar from most people our age.

I was starting to understand where that might have come from now. Jabber two. No way, guys, check this out. Jenna exclaimed as she stuck her phone between my face and my laptop. Her dyed red hair draped over me momentarily. Can I get two seconds to answer this question? I remarked, pushing her hand away. Pat Jenner and I were at tat.

a coffee shop on campus, getting ready for our first round of midterms. Jenner just finished up her shift and decided to stay with us afterwards to study. She moved the phone over to Pat while I finished balancing my chemical equation. I looked up to both of them, looking at me with wide eyes. I grabbed the phone to see a news report from just a few hours ago. The headline read, High school teacher and young mother claims to have been attacked by the needleman, dash cam footage captures the act.

I scroll down to watch the short video. Though it was dark and half of the frame was taken up by the windshield, I was able to make out someone being chased. The figure chasing her was tall and dressed in black. I thought I saw the white mask but couldn't be certain. She was much shorter in wearing jeans than a sweatshirt. I could tell from the video that she wasn't going to win that race. Holy shit, I guess he's real.

Jenna Remount. There's no way. What did they say if she was a reliable person? Did she have any history of drug use? Well, the article said that she was as clean as a whistle before this, Pat answered. Friends and neighbours are adamant that Rebecca had no history of drug usage and really even drank alcohol. Pat read as he squinted at his phone, which now displayed the article as well. Well, that is super freaking creepy.

I imagine what it would be like to get too. chased like that, knowing that one slip-up could mean a lifetime of fighting with addiction. It could even be worse, there was no telling what could be in those needles. I looked around at the coffee shop and noticed how eerie and quiet everything had become. The several long tables were almost empty, save for a few people who looked just as shocked as we did. I furthered my gaze to the window to see the last scarlet rays of sun start to dip below the horizon. The imminent threat of nightfall brought another question into my head. he um did they catch the guy i'll find out where he went jenna shook her head as she also began to instinctively scan the room with her wide eyes

it's near the high school where she was attacked home security camera saw him heading back the same direction he came from but that was it it's good that he was on the opposite side of campus but that's still a little too close for comforts well still no motive doesn't seem like it hey you think he has other drugs I'm not into H, but I wouldn't say no to weed or something. Jenna finished. My eyes widened for a split second, and I made motion with my hand at my neck for her to stop talking. He glanced over at Pat. His brow was furrowed slightly, but there was no other response.

Hey, um, sorry about that, Pat. I'm just trying to lighten the mood. No worries, Jenna. It's no big deal. Pat replied with a forced half-smile. We then decided it would be a good time to pack up and head. back home. Hey, uh, you good to walk by yourself back?

I asked. Still a little on edge. We can come with you. I'm sure the three of us could take this dude out, especially if we use Jennifer bait. Jenna grinned and punched my arm. Nah, I think I'll be good. Just a few blocks. I insisted.

I think we should walk together. That story got me a little spout. I think we're all just better off with a walking boat. Well, he finally accepted. After Jenna and I had walked Pat back to Stetson Hall, we began down the same path that Pat and I had walked to get back to my neighbourhood on the north side of the Crescent. There was still that eerie stillness in the air. I had a feeling that the recent news had much of the city on edge.

There wasn't much foot traffic on our walk, save for the usual suspect. I shivered for a second as we passed the homeless encampment on Hampston Street, imagining the needleman's tall frame jumping from behind a tent and sprinting after us. Besides the creepy atmosphere, our walk continued uneventfully, though. So, um, you still don't regret coming here instead of Cornell? Jenny asked carefully. Oh, I love D.U., I answered her. They have a far better engineering program. I've already made a lot of friends here, and it's close to my family, and we both knew a big reason I stayed in Doyle was to be closer to Jenna.

And, um, it's nice to have you around, too, I admit it. She smiled, reassured. Okay, good, just making sure. Also, um, did I upset Pat back at the cafe? I was just joking. I hope he didn't take that too seriously. Don't worry about it. He's just had some drug users in his family, so I think it's a touchy subject.

Okay, gotcha. Keep that in mind. Jenna and I enjoyed each other's company as we continued. the walk back to her house it was just a few minutes from mine the silence in the air was ten times more noticeable now than I was by myself my eyes scanned every corner of the road as I walked my mind casting ghostly apparitions of a tall mass figure hiding behind every fence and dumpster as I fumble for my keys to unlock my door felt the feeling of running out of the basement after you'd shut the lights off

imagining a hand grabbing at my ankles and the gaps in the stairs Then heard a loud clap and jumped like a startled cat just to turn around and see it was a neighbor closing their garbage bin. I took one last glance outside and quickly shuffled in, blocking the door behind me. Chapter 3 I saw my dad the following morning as he stumbled down the stairs around breakfast time. His mid-length brown hair was disheveled and eyes bloodshops. He was not in any condition to go to work, but regardless I saw him grab his brown loafers and slip them on by the at all. Did you hear about Rebecca, Dad? Looks like the needleman was real after all. I asked

curiously. He slowly nodded, but I couldn't tell if he was answering my question or just dozing off. I've been up almost all night talking to different people about it. This bastard has some nerve to come out again. He growled. What are we going to do to stop him? We opened this case with the city detectives and we're increasing the police presence around Doyle. This is such a bad time just before the goddamn re-election. Dad, two people were assaulted. Someone could have died. I'm sorry if that sounded selfish.

But it's not just about me. Whoever this needleman is, he needs to be dealt with as soon as possible. If we elect a new mayor before catching him, he can easily attack again during the transition. We'll be sitting ducks while the police and detectives adjust to the new administration. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yes that makes sense, Dad. Good luck with everything. Thanks, Christian, and you stay safe, okay. Try to walk in groups and be careful around nighttime. Yeah, also, I just think it's safe if you take the long way to campus from now on. Don't want to risk anything. He gave me a half hug and started out of the door.

Yeah, sure, Dad. Don't worry about me, I'll be good. I cringed at his subtle hint that one of the addicts on Hampton Street could be responsive. possible. Hey, um, before you go? He stopped halfway out the door. I highly doubt that someone on Hampton Street would have the ability to stage an attack like this. It just seems too measured. I don't see the point in focusing there. He thought for a second. That's, um, a good point. I get that I have my biases, but I can't let that affect how we run this operation. Yeah, I'll keep that in mind. He walked back over to ruffle my hair and then left the house. Some months passed by since the last needleman attack.

The hysteria in Doyle started to die down and people returned to their normal routines, though there was a noticeable increase in police presence around the city. I learned, however, that there was no return to normal for his two victims, as I read from an article I saw in a newspaper dispenser at the campus dining hall. Well, in both cases, Percy's. the biology student and Rebecca, the young high school teacher, they were unable to continue their lives as normal. Percy had taken a leave of absence from school a few weeks after the first incident. He became reclusive and lost touch with friends and family. Paramedics found him in the

middle of an overdose in a nearby town. He didn't survive. Rebecca, however, she was able to cope slightly better. She also quit her job shortly after, but was able to gain admission to the Quincy Rehabilitation Centre. She reported that her recovery process was slow and steady, but she'd not relapsed once since being admitted. Jenna pulled a chair out next to me as I read the final words from the article. State investigators are still looking for the connection between Keith and Stanley. There were about some motive of the needleman remain unknown. God, that's horrible, Jenna remarked sadly, as she finished reading the rest of the article.

I know, and I don't think the detectives have made much progress either. Seems like they're more interested in throwing cops everywhere than actually finding a motive for solving the case. Is there anything your dad could do? Jenna asked carefully. I sense what she meant by her statement. Probably, Jenna. It just doesn't seem that much of a big priority, especially with elections coming up. The city's really fucking quick to turn a blind eye on people in that rung of society, no matter how they got that. "'Yeah, Christian, but your dad is the city. He should have the power to—'

"'I'm not my dad,' I snapped, and then I immediately felt guilty at the harshness of my tone. Jenna remains silent for a few seconds. "'I know you're not. I'm sorry. You're good. I was planning to talk with him soon. Maybe there is something I could do to help. I shouldn't have to be your burden,' she responded. Yeah, I know.

But if my influence could help change just one policy somewhere, I might as well try. She nodded solemnly. Jenna and I finished our breakfast and were walking through the campus garden when we saw someone sitting on a park bench with his back turned to us. I could see over his shoulder

an extremely detailed drawing of a cloaked man with a ghostly white mask holding an orange-accented syringe. Oh, curiosity got the best of me. Is that the needleman? I asked. He quickly turned around to reveal thick glasses in the head of unkempt curly hair. Why? Did you know anything about him?

Jenna answered. Nope. What about you? Is this for our class or something? Look down for a moment and then look back up. I'm looking for him. My eyes widened. Are you fucking serious?

Do you know what he can do? to you. Don't go playing around like he's some made-up urban legend. Someone literally OD'd not too long ago. Percy overdosed, he said quietly. My breath caught in my throat. Percy Keith? Jenna chimed in. Did you know him? We were roommates when it happened. Never got a chance to see the needle man, but I saw his needle. I saw what he did to my friend. and I am going to find him. I'm sorry, I started. Don't be, he said, with a strange look in his eyes.

I can worry about morning right after I find the needleman. What do you plan to do when you find him? I inquired. My curiosity peeped again. If anything, I figured he must have more information on the needleman that could be shared with my dad and the authorities. Any league could help bring us closer to catching him before another victim was created.

I just want to know why. After that, we'll see what I'd do to him. I wondered how he was so sure he'd not only be able to find the needleman, but somehow get an interrogation out of their encounter. How do you plan on getting this guy to talk if you find him? Jenna asked before I could. Well, I haven't got that far yet, he admitted. I stifled a condescending laugh in an attempt to avoid upsetting him.

He, um, what's your name, by the way? Tracy Chapter 4 Trace and I soon became friends after that. At first I wanted to keep him around in case he found any important info on the needleman that could help with the case. Despite my initial agenda, I soon began to enjoy his company too. I found his eccentric personality endearing.

Many times Tracy, Jenna and I would hang out at the school library. We'd do homework while we researched any leads that might point us towards the needle man's identity. Pat would always be invited but seemed uncomfortable with Tracy's obsession who would usually avoid meeting up with us when he was around. I understood and never tried to force them to be friends. Why would you want to inject someone with heroin? Tracy asked out loud, deep in thought as he rifled through his binders full of notes. Jenna and I both looked up from our homework. He was louder than he thought. What makes you think there's a reason behind it? Jenna asked as she lowered her book.

Could have been a random string of attacks, right? That doesn't really make sense. The attacks are too calculated, I admitted. There could even be multiple needleman. The police did report an accomplice. Tracy nodded. He's far too precise. Smart enough to avoid police presence for months now.

He obviously put a lot of thought into these attacks. I mean, a gun that shoots needles? It'd take an engineer to put something like that together. Yeah, good point, Jenner agreed. And if that is the case, there's no way his victims were random. Tracy finished. So, did Percy have any enemies?

Did he owe anyone money or something? Well, he was a stoner with a college student salary, so probably. Jenner added, I don't think a drug dealer is going to give out more drugs to someone who couldn't even pay for the last load. There's nothing they get out of that. I agreed. And the amount of people talking about this now.

I can't imagine a drug dealer would want that kind of attention. Whatever the motive is, I'll find out when I track him down. I stared at him again for a few seconds. The eyes behind those thick glasses showed no hesitation. I don't know if I can change your mind, but please, be careful. Jenna also nodded quickly in agreement. Guys, don't worry about me. I'm not just going to stand there and let him stab me.

He stood up to display his matching jacket and pants. And this material is similar to Kevlar. When I look for the needleman, I'm going to be almost covered head-toe in this. Winter came and went with no other reported attacks. Somehow the case still remained unsold. Doyle law enforcement seemed to be completely useless as well. What they seemed to be able to do was harass and intimidate people

in some vain attempt to create a facade of control or competency. In reality, Tracy was making more headway on the case by himself than the entire force. On the night of April 15th, Tracy claimed he'd finally found where the needleman was. I think I know where he's hiding, Tracy said to me at the same tat we were at when we found out about Rebecca. Tracy had a frantic tone as he pulled out and unfolded in a large map of Doyle. It was difficult to see past all of the scribbles and drawings he'd added. This time Pat happened to be studying with us as well. Look, Tracy, I feel like it's going to be dangerous to go out looking for him.

At least call the police or someone. Let them know the info you found and they could do something. Pat pleaded with him, the invisible shock, his colour left his face. Yeah, Tracy, I know what you've been through, but this is a stupid fucking idea. Getting killed is not going to help us. It's not going to help Percy either. I just want to know why he did it. Tracy replied in a choked voice.

I just need a chance to torture myself, and after that, Tracy lifted up his armored shirt to flash a silver 9mm handgun. I backed up slightly in shock. Tracy, this is not how you... So here's where I think he's located. Tracy cut us off to start showing us his man. Oh, I can't do this right now, man. I need to head home, Pat said nervously, and I didn't stop him.

Tracy nodded politely as he left and then continued. Okay, so this is where West Ridge High School is. Directly south, we have my old apartment, where Percy was attacked. I nodded silently, beginning to understand the pattern. Okay, so we attacked Rebecca from the north, and camera footage showed him retreating south in the direction of Percy's apartment. Yeah? He chased Percy down the direction of the high school right.

Well, since the police presence was heavily around my apartment that night, he probably retreated north, right? So you think he might be hiding somewhere between your old place and the high school? Exactly, Tracy confirmed in an excited voice. Where do you think he's hiding, then? The small college neighborhood over there. Yeah, the Grisha neighborhood. And I'm going to look for him now.

Join me if you want. I thought about it deeply for a minute. Sorry, Tracy. I just don't think it's safe. Is there anything I could do to convince you to stay? I asked one last time. Tracy shook his head, his conviction holding firm. I gave him a hug.

If you need any help, I'm going to call the police and send them to you, okay. Sounds good. Thanks, Christian. I heard the clink of metal as Tracy opened the door to the coffee shop. and disappeared into the night. Tracy went missing that night. My dad found me in hysterics the following morning. He forced me to calm down and explain what I was rambling about.

Son, just tell me what happened, he said calm me. Tracy said, the needleman was in Grishie neighborhood. He was going to go looking for him. He hasn't responded to any call or message since then. I showed him the picture of Tracy's map from my phone. He stared at it for a bit. it. I'll call some of the force over there. Where were you before he went out looking for him? The tad on the east side of campus. My dad ran his finger across the picture of the map.

That war could basically take him across campus. It could have been captured anywhere between those two points. I hadn't thought about that. I'd assumed that he'd made it to the neighbourhood. Do you know for sure if it was related to the needleman? My dad asked as he began to pace the living room staring at the picture on my phone. What else could it be? You saw how obsessed Tracy was with finding him. And the one night he actually goes to look for him, he disappears. My dad nodded and said softly,

Christian, should have told me about this last night. We could have sent some officers with him. My eyes teared up as I was hit with guilt. Yeah, I know, Dad, but he told me he didn't want the law involved so he could get revenge himself. My dad nodded. I understood some. I'm going to get all of this information to the police as soon as possible. We'll find Tracy, I promise. The next few weeks seemed to crawl by. News of Tracy's disappearance

began to spread like wildfire, and several city rules were created as part of an emergency mandate. For one, all citizens without prior approval would need to be in Saibay, 8pm. For minors, it was seven. Citizens were also instructed to walk in at least groups of two. The campus was littered with both officers and the National Guard. They'd been called in a week after Tracy's disappearance. My dad, startled by how close I was to encountering the needleman, hired a plain-clothes officer to escort me to and from school, a 230-pound ex-marine named Serga. His menacing presence made most people keep their distance, the exception being Jenna and Pat. My loss of freedom was not even on my mind, just the mystery of how Tracy had vanished

without a trace. There was no evidence of a struggle anywhere on his planned route across campus. Detectives began to suspect that he didn't even make it all the way to Gritshire, since Hampton Street was far closer to the coffee shop and was a much easier scapegoat. Hampton Street became another hotbed for police activity. Their presence was felt around the area, and I knew of several arrests being made. None, however, gave us any more information about the Needleman. My family, as well as Jenner and Pat, or a crucial support system during this time. They made sure I was taking care of myself

and provided much-needed company. I could tell they were both shocked as well at Tracy's disappearance, but were trying to stay positive for my sake. No signs of any struggle might even be a good thing, Jenna said one day I now walked to the campus game room. The three of us, Pat myself and Sergei,

did a double take at this comment. Well, I mean, there's just no evidence that something bad happened. Don't know, it's just a thought. She continued, colored draining from her voice. Yeah, I suppose that could be, I agreed, with little enthusiasm. Any news from the FBI, Serge?

Pat inquired. He looked over his shoulders with suspicion and responded quietly. We might have a lead. Can you guys keep this to yourselves? The three of us nodded. We didn't find a late. between Percy and Rebecca, but there was one between their parents. Both of them worked with the same hospital several years ago. Don't tell anyone this information, okay? He hissed as we

neared the D.U. Student Center. While our eyes moved upwards to see his hardened frown, and we nodded again. Chapter 6, several circles of couches as well as many rows of tables lined the perimeter of the well-lit game room. Jena sat on one of the couches, absentmindedly doodling on a notebook. Sergei was sitting on a table, pretending to read a book while his eyes circled the room like a horn. The middle of the room was reserved for a few pool and ping-pong tables, one of which we were playing on. The closest wall to us had a large TV, which happened to be playing a one-on-one interview with none other than Mayor Thomas O'Brien.

I watched the orange ping-paw ball past Pat's paddle and bounce on the laminate floor as his attention became fixated. on my dad. Joining us right here is Doyle Mayor, Thomas O'Brien. Thank you for joining us, Thomas. Oh, thank you for spending some time to speak with me, Sandra. I saw my dad's carefully crafted sitting posture and demeanor as he began to answer Sandra's questions. He was wearing asleep black suits and had his mid-length brown hair perfectly styled.

Without the beard he was previously growing out, he almost looked identical to me. I nervously scanned the room for a TV remote in case the interview went downhill. I was also checking to see any change in expression on Pat's face. This face remained stoic, eyes still glued to the screen. Other people in the room also started to tune into the interview. We wanted to address a few common questions many citizens have been asking. First of all, I wanted to address the fact that the city of Doyle has and continues to have a serious drug problem.

You've been re-elected as Mayor partially due to your promise to create. and implement a pragmatic approach to rehabilitation. She was reading the words off of her page. It's been a few months since the election, and many residents do feel these words were simply lip service. Thank you for addressing these concerns, Sandra. My dad replied in the emphatic sincere tone of a media-trained politician. First of all, yes, I understand these concerns,

and we have been working tirelessly to implement just that. Just last week, my team and I implemented a policy to drastically reduce the amount of jail time one faces when caught with small amounts of both heroin and other opioid substances. We're also currently working with medical and law enforcement resources from the Quincy Medical Center in order to utilize their world-class methadone clinic to help with treatment. Sandra nodded slowly. Why understand, Thomas? It still brings up the question. Why has Doyle been so slow to help treat this problem at the root? heroin has been decriminalized for years in every neighboring city why are we also forced to have addicts

travel almost seven miles to Quincy without any reliable transportation infrastructure to get them there why do we not have any rehab resources here in Doyle oh I cringed as I watched the grilling proceed my dad tried to appear calm but I could tell he was flustered hey um my serve right I said as I hit another ping-pong ball towards Pat just to see it back bounce past it again. That remote was still nowhere to be seen. I could see Jenner in the corner of my view looking at the TV as well. Sergei seemed unbothered as he continued to read his book. I understand that there's still work to be done and we are making sure to prioritize key opportunities over the next four years. Now next question, based on several independent news sauces, you've

been reported to have close ties with a few big pharmaceutical manufacturers, specifically the company Citie N, which is now America's leading producer of both oxycodone and buprenorphine. We can't help but to feel the part of this drug crisis was facilitated by those very companies and the gateway opioids they provided to our citizens. I can assure you, Sandra, that information is both dated and grossly blown out of proportion. Any policies my team and I enacted around Citie N and other pharmaceutical companies were strictly to get the most effective painkillers into our pharmacies, hospitals and dental clinics, we fully trust the authority of Doyle's medical staff to safely dose these drugs based on patient needs.

Pat was now a few steps closer to the screen. I could tell by his frown that he was not happy with my dad's answers. Hey Pat, everything good? I called. He gave me a quick expressionless nod and returned his attention to the screen. Now, final question is one of the many people are likely waiting for. It seems like when things can get any worse than needleman starts to purposely create drug addicts. What can you do to stop the needleman before he attacks someone else? What can you do to stop the needleman before he attacks someone else? We have another person recently reported missing, again tied to the needleman attacks. We've been forced to hide in our homes, patiently waiting for some information. When will we

hear more from our city leaders? Where is the progress on the search for the needleman? By this point Pat resembled a kid with watching Saturday morning cartoons, his head head a foot away from the screen. My dad, however, was looking like he'd aged a decade since the beginning of the interview. Well, thank you for bringing that up, Sandra. We're trying to gain as much knowledge as possible on the needleman and will put him behind bars. We've involved the FBI in order to trace a link between his string of attacks and help us find his next attack before it even happens. Until then, law enforcement resources have been more vigilant than ever. Officers have been placed at schools, colleges, hospitals, neighborhood entrances, and especially

areas with high drug activity. Do you mean to suggest the needleman may be one of the addicts living on Hampton Street in southeast Doyle? Sandra asked, eyebrows raised. We do not have a definite answer, but it's certainly possible. They would have the means and potentially even the motive to do it. He then turned to the camera. So the needleman, we will find you and you will face the consequences of your atrocities. I walked up to the TV and pressed the channel down button on its side.

A baseball player now occupied my dad's old real estate on the screen. Past trans broke, he slowly looked back at me. I had a feeling that I knew what he was thinking. Style always had such a shitty response to the drug problem. How much of that was old Brian's fault? Well, he finally spoke after a bit. Has Doyle always had such a shitty response to the drug problem? Well, he left out the last part, but I knew he was thinking it.

Why else would he ask me? Yeah, I agreed reluctantly. It was like this when my dad became mayor. He nodded solemnly. Oh, I'm sorry, Pat. I imagine the pain he might have been able to avoid if his family had better access to treatment. It's not your fault, man.

You don't make the rules. I couldn't help but hear a touch of resentment in his voice, though. Chapter 7. Dad, what the how was that? I said in an exasperated tone as he walked into the house. Don't use such a language in this house, Christian. He scolded. And I didn't back down.

How come you didn't tell me about any of these ties to city again? Didn't we talk about Hampton Street already? There's no chance you're going to find the needleman there. I showed you Tracy's notes, Dad. He's in Grisha. He dropped his work back and sighed as he rubbed his eyes. Son, do you know the first thing about being the mayor of a major city? I have a million things going on at all.

all times. I'm not a detective and I'm not on the needleman case. They told me Hampton Street is a place of interest, so that's what I'm going with. Yeah, but Tracy said... I'm sorry, but it doesn't matter what Tracy said. My dad interrupted. Tracy's not a detective, nor is he in the FBI. They have their protocols, and that's what they're going by. He continued, and that city-end deal was in place long before my time. Well, do you think his contribution? to the drug problem in Doyle? He paused. Look, it's complicated.

I don't know. I'm a Christian. I got another call coming up. I've got to go. He took off his shoes and hurried upstairs then. Days turned into weeks as the search continued for any evidence of the needleman to Tracy's whereabouts. I was beginning to lose hope of ever finding it.

It was made by the time I heard any news, mostly snippets of information either from my dad or through Sergei as he escorted me to and from Classies. We have a bit of information. He told me one day after my final statistics class of the semester. Not much, but it could be something. So Percy and Rebecca had a common link. Both of their moms were to the same hospital at the same time. They said that both of them also shared a few patients,

including our person of interest, Celia Dove. You think she might be the one with a grudge against them? She died 20 years ago. Well, it's not much, but a motive could be forming here. To stay hopeful, his case might be over soon. His hardened face nodded and gave me a small smile. And Sergei was right. Just a few days later, the needleman was captured.

Again, Sergei was the one to deliver the news. We saw his mouth drop as he read a message on his phone. Holy shit, they caught him. I stood up from my chair and yelled, a little too loud for a library. No freaking way. How do you know? Do they find Tracy? It felt like most of the library had hurt me, and excited whispering started to pop up around the large room.

Jana and Pat were similarly excited. We exchanged hugs and began badgering Sergei with questions. Just, give me a second, guys. Sergei said, poorly disguising his excitement as he picked up his phone and walked away to take the call. We returned a few minutes later. We found a guy who fit our description off of Hampton and South Street. Same needle gun and mask were found on him. Fifteen rounds of syringe ammo as well.

Looks like he didn't resist arrest and has been cooperating with the offices. Bastids in the interrogation room right now. I quickly dialed my dad's number to find that he was outside the interrogation room. What's going on, Dad? I asked quickly. Did he say anything about Tracy? The guy's around 5.11 Caucasian male. He's wearing very dark clothes. I'm not sure if anyone in some.

heard him talk before, but he has a rather deep, raspy voice, very distinct. Oh, son of a bitch won't confess to anything. What even tell us his name? I'll let you know if we get him to talk about Tracy. What was he doing when they caught him? I asked, still curious about Sergei's disgruntled patient story. Seemed like he was there to buy heroin. Some guys around here said he was paying double or triple the street price.

Glad they caught him when they did. Look like he was preparing for another attack tonight. A bitter sweet feeling washed over me. The needleman was finally caught. However, I assumed the worst for Tracy. Several weeks, and he still hadn't turned up. I shivered as I imagined the needleman disposing of his body in the back. The weather was dark and foggy as Pat split up with Jenna, Sergei and I.

Sergei and I dropped off Jenna, and then we began to walk home. I don't think you'll need me here anymore, Christian, he said as he offered his hand at my front door. Hey, thanks for all your help, Sergey. I shook his hands and he gave me a firm pat on the bat. I stumped the forward. Good luck with everything, kid. Hope you find out what happened to your friend. I nodded and returned a sad smile.

I had a lot of questions for my dad during dinner that night. Why does it feel like there were so many loose ends, Dad? I asked. I mean, there's still no trace. We have no clue where Tracy is. I'm not sure what his motives are. Why Rebecca and I'm... us? What about their parents? Christian. My dad cut me off. We're still looking into it.

Sure more will come in delight when we finally find his identity. We paused for a second as his eyes tilted upwards in thoughts. Maybe these attacks were less calculated than we thought. I don't know. I'll sit with the detectives tomorrow and get back to your son.

Chapter 8. The next day was just as hazy and dark as the one before it had been. Strange dreams my brain. I watched as a needle slowly squeezed into my thigh, filling me with its putrid black sludge. I screamed and begged him to stop, but I couldn't move my body. He took off his mask to reveal my dad standing before me with a twisted grin. Sorry, son. City N needed to test their new medicine. They'll only hurt for a bit. Oh, I woke up in cold sweats as I jumped up screaming

and frantically trying to pull out the non-existent needle. I calmed down after several deep breaths and reached over to grab my phone. I had a new group message with Jenna and Pat. Patrick Casey. Hey guys, I was gonna go to a small party tonight to celebrate the end of the semester. Feel free to come as well. I know it's been a tough year, so I figured it might be nice to unwind a bit. I groan to myself at the thought of hanging in a room full of strangers and the mean and a small

talk that came with it. My mood was still pretty glum from the past few months, so naturally. my plans included watching movies in my room while trying to wait for any information from dad. Before I could finish in typing out my thoughts, I saw a reply from Jenna. Jenna flippen. Sure, Pat, sounds like fun. I don't know if Christian and I have been to one college party all year, L.O.L. You'll come too, right, Christian.

I groaned again and threw my pillow across the room, resigning myself to accompanying Jenna. Yeah, sure, guys. I guess I can make it out. They both hearted the message. Where is it, by the way? Patrick Casey. It's on the west side of campus, near the Garden and Cheshire Square. We can meet my dorm around 8pm and head over together.

With my semester being completed and nothing else to occupy my time, my day dragged on with not much else to do but check my phone and wait for any updates on Tracy. I spent most of the day staring at a computer screen, trying to occupy my mind. I finally heard something around 4 p.m. Dad, the detective still haven't gotten a name or confession now for the guy. They're going to do a face scan soon. I'll let you know what comes up. Jenna met me at my house around 7pm and we started our walk to campus.

Isn't May supposed to be warm? I asked out loud, feeling the micro-rain particles coating my face. And sunny too, Jenna added. Maybe we should have just stayed in and washed a movement. movie. We've only been walking like fifteen minutes, Jenna. It's not too late, a flake, I laughed. After a few more minutes of walking, Jenna turned to me and asked,

So, um, how come we haven't been on a date yet? My cheeks began to glow red. I struggled for a second to come up with a response. Didn't we just have a study date last week? I quit. She grinned and shook her head. I mean a real one. Hey, how about tomorrow night?

Waiter, isn't it supposed to be my job to make the first move? You had like ten years, buddy, she laughed. Okay, fair enough. Yeah, tomorrow night sounds good. How about we go to that Italian place downtown, you like? Oh, I'd love that, she said warmly, and she rested her head on my shoulder for a second. I felt a warmth swelling in my chest that,

just for a second, it raised all the negativity in my head. It even felt like the fog was beginning to clear up a little. He eventually made it to Stetson Hall and told Pat about our date. That's about time, he smiled as he clapped me on the back. There was a bit of sadness in his smile, but I couldn't quite place it. We had a few drinks at Pat's place and started the walk across campus to the party. The cozy feeling of the alcohol, plus the excitement of my date with Jenna, caused me to forget about Tracy and the needleman for a bit.

It was nice to feel that weight off my shoulders. Around her students seem to be in good spirits as well. the police presence on campus had diminished significantly, replaced by the excited looks of other students getting ready to go to parties and events of their own. He finally neared the house, a few blocks into the college neighbourhood. The surrounding houses were also throwing parties, as evidenced by the music and coloured lights. We walked into the house. I saw the music and lights coming from downstairs, but there weren't too many other voices. I assumed it was still getting started.

I got around to the bathroom, but it looks like the guys are downstairs, Pat said quickly as he shuffled across the main floor. Jenna and I made our way down the stairs. Just as we reached the bottom step, I noticed my phone had been buzzing in my pocket for a while and picked it up to see several messages from my dad. The last one read, What's Pat's last name? I replied, Casey, why, Dad? Christian, get back home right.

now. Startled, I looked back up at the entrance to the basement to see the light from upstairs disappear as a heavy metal door swung and was locked with a metallic, Gingna and I began to panic and ran bang up to the door. We began to frantically pound on it. I noticed Jenna's movements were slowing as her head started to bob up and down. I then noticed how drowsy I'd become as well. My vision blurred. Then everything went. black, chapter nine, the next thing I remember was slowly waking up in the basement. It was a dingy concrete room filled with miscellaneous tools and supplies. I saw many white masks in a stack, a small collection of weapon prototypes and a medicine

cabinet filled with syringes. The only light came from a few dim bulbs on the ceiling. I tried to move and notice both my hands spread out to the side of me, shackled in place. I was standing up but my feet were restrained as well. To my writer saw Jenna crumpled next to me. Both of her feet shackled and her hands cuffed behind her. She was still asleep. I began to panic and thrash, but there was no give in my restraints. Jenna, I tried to scream, but a muffled gurgle came out through the gag I felt in my mouth.

My fear and panic began to rise. Oh, where the fuck is Pat? came out as another inaudible gurgle. Off towards the other end of the room the pale face and curly black hair of someone chained to the floor. Tracy! He was awake but wasn't able to respond due to his own gang. He made a few sounds and pointed to his left.

Out from the shadows of another room crept a man. His imposing frame was almost tall enough that he needed to crouch. Your black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. His face was wrinkled and grey with razor-thin lips. His black eyes, small and downturned, reflected a life of suffering. Though he wasn't wearing his signature white mask, I had no doubt in my head as his ominous presence washed over me. This was the needleman. An indescribable sensation of dread filled my core as I looked down to see a small medical cart at its size.

He had several full syringes, sailing solution, alcohol wipes and many other supplies. My thrashing grew violent at this point, blood spilling down my ankles and hands. He tore open a small square labelled Purole and wordlessly walked towards me. I felt a slight cooling sensation as the alcohol touched my arm just below my left bicep. Tears started flowing down my face. I began to hear Tracy scream vaguely in the background. I attempted to break my wrists as he turned with a small syringe filled with a cream-colored liquid. There was no chance, though.

They were bound too tightly. I began to pray to any God that would listen. Please, someone help me. Dad, the cops anyone. I did nothing to deserve this. Please, don't, I screamed through my gag. I started sobbing uncontrollably as I felt the small pinch of a needle piercing my flesh in a slight rush. as the heroine flowed into my veins.

It was amazing how quickly my grief began to evaporate. A euphoric peace replaced it. The best feeling I'd ever had in my life. I couldn't even remember why I was so upset in the first place as I happily tilted my head forward. I noticed that Jenna had begun to stir as I started to nod off. My fear returned tenfold when my eyes reopened. Jenner had begun to repeat exactly what I was doing

I woke up her eyes were wider sources tracing between me the medical cart and the needleman who'd been sitting on the basement floor waiting we got up again and went to grab another syringe I was almost two days to think at this point my head bobbed towards Jenna my love for her was still there but my protective instinct to defend her was fading I felt completely powerless even apathetic Part of me even wished she could feel how amazing it was. What to my surprise, he walked over to me again. I heard Jenna unleash a guttural scream, but there was nothing she could do. He injected me again, and then went back to sit on the floor of the basement.

By the time the third injection came, I understood exactly how heroin could destroy so many lives. It felt unbelievable, but not as euphoric as the first time. My only desire was to feel the same bliss I'd just experienced. He started to hear a heavy banging on the door. Jenna and Tracy both screamed as loud as their gags would allow. Through my half-closed eyes, I saw the needleman walk over and unlock both of the cups that held Tracy in place. He quickly jumped up and backed away to the opposite corner,

but the needleman made no attempt to catch him. He simply produced Tracy's handgun and slid it towards him on the ground. Tracy picked it up with trembling hands and shot the needleman in the temple. Chapter 10. Tracy took a few steps forward. I shot the needleman's crumpled mass again. I heard another loud bang from up the stairs and then fell unconscious. They woke to sunlight streaming out of a hospital window,

the ache of the worst hangover ever drumming in my skull. Jenna and my parents saw me wake up in an adjacent room and quickly walked in. I saw their eyes were red and puffy. I could also see Tracy in the waiting room. His face was much more taught than when I last saw him. Are you feeling okay? My mom sniffled. Her sniffles then turned into full-on sobbing.

For a brief second, I didn't remember why I was there until the events of the previous night came flooding back. Oh, are you okay, Jenna? I croaked as I tried to get up. Oh, easy. Take it slow, my dad said in a hoarse voice. I looked up to see the grief on his face. This was the first time I'd seen him cry in my life.

I'm fine, Chena replied. Didn't even touch me. I could hear the guilt in her voice. After a few hours, I was cleared to leave the hospital. I waited until the five of us made it back to my house before I began asking questions. My dad began. So you knew about Celia Duffrad. So Percy's mom was her daughter many years ago.

Herrbacca's mom was her pharmacist. We dug up some hospital records to see that they over-prescribed her opioid drugs after an accident, and neglected all signs of her spiraling drug problem. I nodded as I began to understand. She died the next year from a heroin overdose. So, the needleman was her son, Alastard Dove. My dad finished. And who did you guys catch off of Hampton Street?

His brother, Daniel. And Pat? Tracy answered this time. Patrick Casey was his cousin. I gasped. That son of a bitch planned this whole thing. I brought him into our house. How much of our friendship was a freaking setup?

Tracy replied again, slowly. Alistair wanted me to believe that Daniel and Pat had very little to do with his actions. I know that can't be true, but I think he was prepared. for the legal aftermath here. The amount of evidence they could probably collect on either of them is minimal. My dark grouted anger but remained silent. He let you kill him. What did he kidnap you for? They knew I was getting too close to exposing them and wanted me out of the picture. Alistair promised me that after his final plan unfolded, he let me be the one to take his life. He didn't even mistreat me when I was down there. He was given enough to eat and a little mattress

pad to sleep on. So it was some kind of vendetta against the doctors who let his mom die? Why go after Percy and Rebecca, not their parents? Allie would say of us that, ah, that's the only way they could understand my pain. And why me? Jenna, who'd been silently observing the conversation, began to cry. Tracy pursed his lips and shook his head. I don't know. The following trial of Daniel Duff and Patrick Casey would, was one of the most convoluted and publicized in Doyle's history. I was told that Patrick was found in his dorm room and didn't resist arrest. I stared at him with malice as he sat next to me on the defendant's side of the room.

After setting me up for an entire year, I didn't want to sit here and watch some lawyers in a jury deliberate his sentence. I wanted him dead. He never once made eye contact with me. The lawyers that had represented the defendants were sharp and decided. When they broke down the timeline of the needleman attacks over the last 18 months, there was a little definite proof of Daniel and Patrick's involvement in the crimes. Even my dad's best lawyers were struggling to make a good case.

When Alistair attacked Percy, reports claimed there was another person with him. That made Daniel a co-conspirator. When Rebecca was attacked, it appeared that Alistair acted alone. Tracy's disappearance. Tracy and I did our best to make the case. that Patrick was involved in his kidnapping. He was with us that night and conveniently went home with just enough time to alert his cousins. And again he happened to have an airtight alibi. With no concrete evidence, the full blame of the kidnapping fell once again on Alistair.

Impersonating the needleman. Daniel's lawyers made a strong argument that it's not illegal to carry a white mask and carrying heroin was hardly punishable by law. The only charge that could be made was of obstructing justice. Finally, Jenner's and my kidnapping. The lawyers argue that Pat was coerced into setting us up. It's made him a co-conspirator, but the kidnapping charge fell once again on Alistair. After weeks of trial, the final charges were Daniel Duff, accessory to assault with a deadly weapon, obstruction of justice, harboring a fugitive, 27 years. Patrick Casey, accessory to kidnapping, obstruction of justice, harboring a fugitive, 19 years. And that was it.

The national media attention died down after the mystery was solved. Everybody went about their lives, for good this time. Well, that is, everyone but me. The trauma from that night stayed with me. The curse of addiction, too. What did you do to him, Dad? I asked in our drive from the courtroom. the other guy has directly played a part in ruining his family you haven't done anything like that you didn't even know him or his mom my dad turned to me a look of compassion and grief in his eyes

i don't know whatever his motive was won't change anything now we'll get through this christian i promise i wouldn't wish my next few years on anyone well maybe patrick i didn't return to school the following year i began to school the following year i began to working a part-time job instead making just enough money to afford my next fix i was a functional addict for some time i tried my best to hide my drug use from everyone and continue on as if nothing had happened well jennah found out within a few days after she noticed my attitude change my parents found out soon after that too i able to hide my drug use any longer i began to distance myself from everyone close to me i eventually ran away from home for a while I overdosed twice after that and miraculously survived both times. I distinctly remember seeing my dark sunken eyes in a mirror at the rehab centre.

At that moment, it was when I decided enough was enough. Chapter 11, I stared into the black pool of weak coffee in the styrofoam cup I was holding. In my peripheral vision was a circle of black plastic chairs around me. About fifteen people, all of their eyes were fixated on me. on me. So I'm displayed horror, some pity. One of them, a blonde woman with wrinkled skin, was looking down at the floor. For years, contemplating my revenge was the only thing that kept me sane. I counted down the days until Patrick's release so I could, I guess, didn't know what I'd do. That seething rage somehow dissipated more and more as each day passed. For some reason,

I just couldn't handle the burden of it anymore. I made the conventing. conscious choice one day to leave that part of my past behind me and focus every ounce of strength I had on getting clean. Quitting Heron was the hardest thing I've ever done. I'll never be free from addiction, nor will I forget the circumstances that made me an addict. But with the support of my loved ones, and after years of failure, I stared down at the enamel V-I on the small bronze coin in my other hand. Well, I've been so well for six years as of today.

The group clapped lightly as we ended the session of narcotics Anonymous. I'm so proud of you, Jenna smiled as she picked me up. I kissed her and reminded her, I couldn't have done this without you. Yeah, I know, she laughed as we began our drive out of the medical centre and to my parents' house for dinner. Well, it had been ten years since I was attacked by Alistair, but Doyle felt radically different from what it was like before.

We passed through Hampton Street. Gone were the rows of tattered tents. now held a small elementary school. Seeing the struggle I went through did something to my dad, but his outlook on addicts changed almost overnight. In fact, he did exactly what he'd promised in his one-on-one interview with Sandra Maynes,

create and implement a pragmatic approach to rehabilitation. By the end of year two of his second term, construction of the world-class Keith Medical Center was complete. It was designed from the bottom up to help those in recovery with a mix of behavioural therapy, method-one treatment and city-funded rooms to help keep users off the streets. By the end of year three, the City of Doyle implemented the recovery rooms program at every major hotel in the city. This program helped homeless people transition from living on the streets

to living in hotel rooms across the city. Well, as unpopular as that idea initially was, it worked extremely well. People recovering from homelessness were given a warm, safe place to stay. They had a much better chance of recovering when away from other users. And hotel guests didn't even notice them since there was only one in every 20 rooms. At the end of his term, regulations were passed that strictly limited the ability of doctors to prescribe opioid drugs. Menaceae pain relievers and cannabis were positioned as replacement options. My parents greeted Jenna and I warmly as we arrived. Hey guys, nice to see you. Congratulations, Christian.

Oh, thanks guys. Check out my coin. I pulled the bronze anniversary coin out of my pocket. We ate and talked about the past few years, reminiscing about days gone by. Everyone was so excited to hear I'd begun going back to school part-time for engineering. My dad told us how we started volunteering at the hospital,

helping recovering addicts find their best treatment options. We finished our dinner and said I go by. Jenner was quiet for several minutes on the right home. She passed the revamped Hampton Street again. She finally pointed out of the window and asked me, Christian, do you think this was what Alistair wanted? He played a game in a mirror, and something was looking back. My young setty.

My heart skipped about anxiously, and I took another deep breath to calm my steadily rising nerves while Melinda set the room up for our game. I sat at the centre of Mel's bedroom, feeling every bit the part of a lab rat, The room had been tidied, the floor cleared of any obstructions, as she fumbled to set up the old, mahogany, chival mirror we'd managed to fumble down from her attic a few feet in front of me.

The room was dim, intentionally so, casting us in an unusually oppressive sort of darkness. The only light, with the exception of the candle we were using in the spirit of the game, was the moonlight streaming in through the window, which Mel had left open for the crisp night air. I shivered both from the chill of the house made frigid by the Illinois full weather and the dark mass of anticipation swelling within me at the prospect of the game ahead, which, particularly at that moment, felt far more like an experiment than a game. More turn to face me, there in the mirror again, checking to make sure my reflection was perfectly aligned at the centre of its large surface. Finally, satisfied with everything's place, she turned to face me.

"'Okay,' she said, clasping her hands together and shooting me a wide, excitable grin. "'You ready?' Her eyes gleamed with nervous yet enthused anticipation. "'You get what you're doing right.' I shrugged. The video she'd sent me had given a brief explanation of the game, or ritual, whatever it was, enough that I had a basic understanding. Still, as I sat in almost complete darkness, only the light of my phone,

illuminating the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a steadily creeping sense of unease at the prospect, like so many strangling vines tightening around me. It wouldn't hurt to hear it all explained again, if no other reason than to buy myself a bit more time. Just, um, explain it one more time. Like which part? Well, the game is, or how to play it? I nodded, smirking a little.

She shot me a look of mild irritation. lips pursing into a tight frown, but obliged with a sigh. Okay, well, we're playing the mirror game, obviously. She gestured to the mirror behind it. I got a glimpse with myself in it, and couldn't help but frown, pulling my sweater tight around me. Well, it's simple. You stare at yourself in the mirror for about ten minutes,

like really look at yourself, and after a while you'll start seeing things. "'Fing's,' I asked. "'The rising waters of reluctance audible in my voice.' "'She shrugged. "'Things,' she responded back. "'Well, there's nothing specific. "'Some people see their face change.

"'Other see shadows of colours. "'It really depends on the person.' "'As her words painted eerie pictures in my mind, "'I found my gaze wandering back to the mirror "'and felt a cold chill down my back, "'like an icy caress. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting my mind drift towards the sounds of the night around me.

From the open window I could hear the sounds of the surrounding woodland, the chirp of crickets and the croak of distant toads from the bog, paired with a breeze moving through the leaves to form a soothing melody. I let myself focus on it, trying to quell my uneasiness. What... I paused, considering what I was asking. How is that possible? She scoffed again, arms hanging at her side

and an expression fit for a frustrated child, not a 17-year-old. I don't know. Sign stuff. Your brain like, well, make stuff up till it tries to fill in what you can't see properly. Something like that. Did you even watch the video?

I nodded. Oh, relax, look, I tried it already. Saw some weird shadows. My face did some weird stuff in the air, but it wasn't too bad. I thought that over for a second. And, um, we're in the dark because... But that a slightly mischievous grin slipped to her face.

She scratched her head, the tattoo on her arm flexing as she did so. My eyes lingered on it, a little smiley face, right eye winking, almost conspiratorially. Well, that, she began. It was my idea. Thought it added a little atmosphere. She waved her hands like some budget magician at the word atmosphere, and we both laughed for a good bit after. After a moment her expression settled, smile fading.

You ready? I guess so, I muttered, sighing and casting a glance at the sky outside, littered with the distant stars like flecks of white cast across a dark canvas. I'll set the stopwatch. You should be done after the ten-minute mark, But you should start seeing things at five.

Nothing bad should happen, but obviously if you need anything, I'll be right outside the door. My stomach felt knotted with the sort of anxiety I'd previously only known, being strapped down to the seat of some terrifying amusement park ride as a child. It's a sensation you get having locked yourself in for an experience that promises discomfort, at least, horror and maybe fate's far worse at most. I simply nodded. steadily burgeoning nerves robbing me of my voice for a moment. Mel nodded back, and after setting up her phone to record me, leaning against the back of her desk, which sat to the side of the old mirror,

she made her way to the bedroom door. Have fun, she chirped, casting a final look my way. Oh, and good luck. All I could manage was a nod in response, the faint tingle of unease gnawing at my gut. As the door of her door shut behind her I felt a small surge of that animal panic one only feels while alone in the dark. It was a strange, contradictory sort of terror, both utterly isolating it, feeling as though every snap of a twig or rustling leaf might harbour some unseen threat lingering just out of sight. I shuddered once more in my seat, this time having less to do with the temperature, frigid as it was. God, it's cold, I thought.

This is stupid. I should just... My mind began running through every reason to abandon our experiment outright. Still, I'd agreed to try this. It sounded interesting before I was actually sitting in the dark by myself, and I knew Melinda wouldn't let me hear the end of it.

Besides, once I was done, it would be her turn to try, which was a funny enough thought, given her jumpiness, to stir some motivation. I sighed, locking eyes from me. myself in the mirror a few feet ahead, taking stock of my appearance as I settled in for ten likely very boring minutes. I grimaced. I'd never been much of a fan of my appearance. I knew I wasn't

ugly, but it had always bothered me how my nose felt just a tad too big for my face or how bushy my eyebrows were. I never spent too long looking at myself for fear of whatever imperfection I might discover next. Still, Mel had spent almost an hour convenient. me I looked fine and that perhaps it might help to see a crazy version of my if anything and my resolve faded as curiosity struck a twitch from just behind my eyes derailed my train of thought I paused staring at the space though there was nothing for a moment I was certain I'd seen something moving crawling down between my eyebrows across my nose still whatever it was it was gone as soon as it had appeared I sucked in my breath, trying to steal my heart. I was already questioning myself, whether I'd actually seen anything or in my nervousness, just convinced myself I had.

Just relax. If you freak out, Mel, we'll never let you hear the end of it. It's a game. My attempts to reassure myself helped a bit, but as the seconds passed, my eyes locked on their counterparts in the mirror. It couldn't help but feel the distinct sort of unease one feels when they lock eyes with an eerie stranger. As a second has passed, I began to question myself. God, had my eyes always been so beady? Do I always appear so angry? Perhaps it was the

lighting, I thought, or the angle at which I sat, but I couldn't help but notice how upset I looked. My eyebrows seemed to curve, creating a permanent glare, lips rested in soothing nearing a sneer. It seemed almost sinister, and somehow it didn't feel right. I shifted, swallowing hard as I forced a smile. I smiled until I was squinting, watching with a mild unease in the mirror as my face shifted in response. Somewhere in the depth of my gut, I felt a distant, almost perceivable twinge of dread. I was smiling, obviously, but somehow even that didn't look right. around my fingers across my face, not a sense of dysphoria taking hold as I did so.

I couldn't explain it, but I felt almost disconnected from what I was seeing before me. Even my smile looked wrong, sarcastic almost. Is this what she was talking about, the illusions? I thought was both comforting and slightly unnerving. If this was the effect, a strange, mild shift in my expression. I was supposed it wasn't anything too. too bad though there was something really deeply disconcerting about it I blink wait did I blink I felt my mind beginning to race a mild undercurrent of panic beginning to set in

I'd seen myself blink but for some reason I couldn't remember doing so it's an instinct you blink without realising it relax my reasoning was sound though somehow deep down I remained unconvinced. I'd seen my reflection blink. There was no way for that to be possible unless I hadn't. With every passing moment it felt like, like the mirror was fading away, falling into the background and my own reflection was growing more prominent,

more pronounced. It's difficult to explain even now. You'll start seeing things. It's different for everyone. Mel's words played in my head abating some of the growing panic with the much-needed reminder. This was supposed to happen after all. There was no specific thing I was supposed to see, but the whole point was to see whatever illusion my mind conjured up. I guess mine was as imaginative as blinking.

The thought almost made me laugh. But I noticed something. It was strange, difficult to even put into words at first. at first. I could see that there was something wrong with my reflection, yet for a while I couldn't tell what. It felt as though my eyes were adjusting, yet with every second my own face seemed less familiar than before. Seconds passed with my eyes locked on my reflection, a silent, eerie tension in the air. It took a moment before I could tell exactly what felt off about it. My expression, or rather the expression of my reflection.

My face, my reflection was staring at me, its face a placid mask with something like surprise or shock, eyes wide and unblinking. My heart threw itself against my ribs, thudding with such intensity I could feel it in my ears, as initial confusion began to quickly give way and the slow trickle of panic grew to be a torrent. I began to make exaggerated expressions in the mirror, my mind desperately trying to make sense of the situation. The me in the mirror was unmoved. It took me several seconds to process the impossible reality of the situation. This is okay. This is supposed to happen.

The reminders did little to assuage the swelling sense of animal panic. A primal sort of instinct that screamed for me to stop, to cover the mirror. get as far away from that room as possible. I wouldn't let myself do it, though. It was nothing more than an illusion, after all, and knowing Mal was on the other side of the door. That made the idea of bursting out in a panic a reluctant one. My reflection's expression began to shift,

from a wide-eyed, stomach-churning stare, to a look of morbid disgust. I felt my stomach flip as I watched its face shift with an unnatural speed and countenance, His brows arching angrily with an almost cartoonish exaggeration, a sneer of unwavering disgust, peeling across its lips. Slowly it began to rise from its... My chair, its expression somehow only growing more hostile.

Nothing more than an illusion. I tried my hardest to remain convinced of that. Yet as the reflection rose to full height, standing over me in my chair, it all seemed far too intricate for any illusion. that wasn't from some substance. My jaw twitched as I teetered on the verge of calling out for Melinda. The more this progressed, the less I found myself worried about seeming terrified because I was.

The other me raised a finger as if to indicate patience, and a cold dread swept through my chest as I watched it reach somewhere out of the mirror, his hand disappearing from view for several moments. My heart pounded as it watched me. as it watched me, eyes gleaming with a look of malice that made my blood curdle. Nothing more than an illusion. It's nothing more than it... There was a faint sound from the side of the mirror, a familiar hiss of wood. The candle flickered and then went out, plunging me into a darkness that seemed to move in on me.

My eyes strained through the sparse light, only the moonlight oozing through the clouds and open window to illuminate the scene before me. I've had my mouth fall open in a silent question as I watched the draw Mel use for her makeup supplies on the desk that sat behind the mirror. It slid open with a slow, deliberate sort of motion. From within, I could hear movement. My eyes darted between my reflection and the desk, my mind reeling as it refused to make the impossible connection,

until I saw what was in her my hands. It was a small, handheld, makeup mirror. I'd seen Melinda use it dozens of times. Hell, I'd borrowed it on occasion. Realisation struck with the force of a sucker punch, and I quickly realized I was shaking,

despite my best attempts. This was more than a mere illusion. Somehow, some way, the thing in the mirror was more than just the effect of light reflecting back of the surface. It was tangible. It was real. The other me smile stretched and stretched and stretched, impossibly widened until I could see all of its teeth in an expression more fit for a shark than anything resembling a human. I tried to stand, but as I did it threw itself back into the chair, eyes locking with mine. I felt something.

in my head, but it's difficult to describe, almost like having another user log on to the same computer for a split second. There was a feeling that I was momentarily somehow locked to it. My knees buckled, and I fell back into the chair with a painful thud, my back landing awkwardly against it. I felt a scream rising in my throat as the panic reached a fever pitch, mouth already agape, Mel's name on the tip of my tongue went. It crushed the mirror. I cried out, my right hand searing with pain, my flesh burning with the unmistakable sensation of glass digging deeper into my palm. At a glance I could see no blood,

but the power of my hand burned a deep red, several gashes visible from beneath the skin. Her eyes locked. A primal horror gripped me as I took a shuddering breath, and it glared back at me with that smile. Before I could call out, or scream for Melinda's help, it had raised its bleeding hand to its face, stretching its mouth open, slowly releasing the contents inside. The effect was immediate, dueling sensations of warmth and cool coated my tongue,

and though I didn't understand how I could taste the metallic blood in my mouth, feel the cuts appearing across my tongue as it smiled at me. Sticky ribbons of scarlet saliva trail from my lips, as I was too afraid to even risk swallowing while my mouth was filled with this rancid taste. I waited with a pounding heart for the excruciating pain in my throat, struggling to stave off nausea, unsure of what might happen if I accidentally swallowed. I took small, deliberate breaths through my nose. But the pain never came.

It watched me, its utterly inhumane appearance, somehow seeming satisfied as it took in my reaction. God, it isn't trying to kill me yet. The understanding emerged suddenly from the maelstrom of horror and panic. Something in its expression resonating. It just wanted me quiet. It's not done with me. The thought was like venom in my mouth.

My mind spinning with the unnerving possibilities of just what that could mean. None of them were good. I tried to stand again but found my muscles locked. in place the attempt making my legs seized with painful cramps oh shit tried moving my feet keeping my eyes locked on the mirrors and I could feel my toes moving so I wasn't paralyzed it seemed but as long as my doppelganger remain seated I would be too my mind spun as I tried to think of some way anyway to call out its eyes were changing shrinking until only the pupils were

left. I wanted to run to scream, but I knew I could do neither. The sensation of the phantom glass shifting in my mouth, as its sinister grin stretched, served as a warning. Despite its inhumane appearance, its expression was unnervingly familiar. It was a nightmarish vision of the look I'd get right before doing something I shouldn't, a grin that usually spoke of mischief, now one of unspeakable bloodlust. I knew I had to do that. act that whatever came next would surely be devastating. I couldn't have expected what was going to happen. She rose to her feet in an instant, and my every muscle shrieked out in searing pain as I

repeated the act unwillingly. Her teeth began to chatter with what I can only assume was excitement, giving that nightmare smile and even more other-worldly effects, those pinprick eyes peering through me. Slowly she, we, raised out. hands to the corner of the mirror my heart throbbed painfully with dreadful anticipation as they approached the corner growing closer closer until the lips of my fingers touched the surface it wasn't cool as glass should be instead i felt a warmth beneath as though i were merely touching the window of some warm room it was then that a glass began to well to move the sensation

sent a sickening chill down my neck, raising goose flesh in its wake, the warm glass beginning to swell outward where my, in her, fingers touched. I knew immediately what it was doing, and the icy claws of terror sunk deeper into my mind with the understanding. Oh, it's trying to get out, I thought, my stomach churning with a nausea bred from adrenaline. It's trying to get out of the mirror. I was right. And as if to confirm my realization, I watched in horror as one by one her fingers began to emerge,

pulling through the glass that looked more liquid now with notable effort. Brought to mind the image of an animal reaching through an amniotic sack, and the thought made me want to vomit. Its flesh was impossibly cold, like ice to the touch, corpse-like, and I wanted nothing more than to pull away. But I was stuck. My legs locked in the standing position, one arm locked at my side while the other began to grasp the hand reaching out of the mirror.

A grip began to tighten around my fingers with an impossible strength. I felt something crack in my index finger, and a dull yet searing pain radiated through my hand. My vision spun with the pain. I wanted to scream but held it back, my mouth clattering open and shut in unison with its own, the painful shift of glass palpable every time. So I watched, terror washing through me like floodwaters, as slowly her hand began to emerge. It pushed upwards as though moving through the surface of solid water,

gripping my wrist with impossible strength. It pulled me closer, drawing its face nearer as it tried to press its way forth. Ear, close to the surface, I could hear its voice. was the hiss of death and decaying things, the whisper of dead full leaves as winter's chill cold hand left the world barren. I've spent a lifetime staring back at you, watching the pathetic life you'll lead, attached to this disgusting form. A lifetime of whispering, that voice at the back of your head, urging you to cut and trim and break yourself. His face slowly began to push through the glass, warping and splitting as it emerged. The centre of its face emerged from the glass, and for a moment I could see what it truly was.

His skin was pale, the inhuman grey of a corpse, with divvits running through its skull almost like a pumpkin. Well, there should have been a nose. There was nothing but skin. The only thing that remained was that smile, stretched. impossibly wide dripping with murderous intent as it began to pull its top half through its form quickly returned to the mirror version of my own you brought me here now you will watch from behind the glass well i knew immediately what it intended goosebumps charged along my back as i pictured myself trapped somehow within the mirror this was what was coming from the other side I couldn't imagine what lurk there well I had to do something screaming

was out of the question as was running any attempt would at best result in nothing and at worse my collapse I worked my grip nervously around the corner of the mirror she it was so close I could feel the unnatural chill radiating from her skin and the smell of the rancid scent of decay heavy on its breath I noticed quickly how its nose leaned to the right, the reverse of my own, an odd detail that my mind seemed to grasp in what I felt might be my final moments. It's cold, always cold inside. You'll never know worth again, just the cold, harsh touch of the mirror. And it giggled, a cackling sound that made it evident it had never made such a noise before.

It was then that an idea emerged from amidst the maelstrom of terror, a hail Mary from somewhere in the panicked recesses of my mind. Burning anxiety curled around my heart at the thought of what I was going to do, knowing failure meant certain death or worse. Still it seemed that or a fate worse was almost sealed, so I had no other choice. So I grabbed the mirror for dear life, gritting my teeth despite the pain. The other me was a little more than half-way out, his body with grey skin, almost reptilian in appearance in the brief seconds before it regained my own.

I could feel its hot breath on my ear, taste the rot that seemed to spill from its very pores, around his tongue along my cheek, unnaturally long and forked, covered in small barbs. It's so cold and dark. Misery until the moment's unwratched, weak thing comes to stare at you. Don't worry how I'll visit often. Every time I pass a mirror. It was pulling me forward, my face nearing the surface of the mirror over its shoulder. I prayed my hell Mary found its target, and, with a final breath, I tried to step back.

My legs locked, and instead, I found myself slowly tipping backwards. There was a split second, as me and the mirror rocked. It stuck in my grip, where the thing peered down, then back at me, confusion plain on its face. In an instant, as I slowly began to rock backwards, it was replaced by a fury that made me want to leap out of my own skin. Oh, it snarled, its every feature twisted in a mask of animal rage.

It clamped down on my arm, its mouth large enough to engulf most of my forearm. I felt it digging in, dull teeth slowly sinking through flesh. The pain was excruciating, and it was almost dulled by the realization that it was too late. As we began to careen backward, it released its grip, emitting a shriek that haunts my nightmares until this very day, and I'll cross between the haunting whale of a mountain lion and the sound of metal in a car crash. I hit the ground with a thud that sent white waves of pain through me. The sound of shattering glass immediately followed, and, through blurred vision, I watched as it shattered with the mirror. Instantly the pain in my mouth was gone, replaced by the sharp ache of my skull

and back as I lay amongst the glass. The door flew open, and in a panic I struggled to stand, cutting my hand on some of the glass. Mel stared back at me from the open door. Her expression, equal part shocked, confused and horrified. What the fuck happened? She almost screamed, taking in the sight of my bloodied form amongst the glass. She quickly crossed the room, careful to avoid the worst of the mess, as she extended an arm to me.

I was about to explain, panic still clinging to me like a stubborn fume, prepared to tell her everything. When I paused, my eyes lingered for a moment on her arm, on the smiling tattoo she'd gotten at the end of our junior year. And my stomach turned. I couldn't understand how I'd missed it before. Are you okay?

She asked, still appearing shocked. Yeah, I tried to stand up and got dizzy, I offered, pulling my sleeve down to hide the skin. clear bite marks on my arm. I think I should get going. I don't feel the best. Should I drive you?

She asked, making her way towards her dresser for her keys. I can if you... No, no, I'm fine. It'll clear my head, I offered. Before she could dispute, I was making my way to the door. I exited the house,

trying not to seem overly eager. Mel's lingering presence in the background made my heart pound with nauseatingly familiar anxiety. As I pulled away, my eyes didn't leave the house, or her standing in its front yard, until they were long out of sight. And when she was, I hit the gas, speeding home and locking every door and window upon arrival.

She's called several times in the past few days, even stopped by. I told my parents not to answer. I'm not planning on answering her calls either. You see, it wasn't until the moment she offered me her hand that it clicked. Perhaps my paranoia had raised my perception of it, or I was just willing to acknowledge what might have seemed an odd mistake before. But now I know for sure.

I'd been there when Melinda got her tattoo, holding her hand as the design was drawn into her skin. It had been something simple, just a smiley face, winking its eye. When I arrived home that night, after locking myself in my room, I hurried to my phone, scrolling through old photos for one in particular, praying I was mistaken. It was taken the night she got the tattoo. When I saw its cold confirmation settled in, in the image of my phone, the tattoo was winking

with its left-up. No matter how hard I racked my mind from every memory I have of her that night. It'd have been winking it's right. I don't know how long my friend has been gone. Swapped with her doppelganger from beyond the glass. What I do know is that thing that was there with me that night. He invited me to play that game. It was never met.

I guess if there's anything to be taken from this, is to be wary of your reflection. I don't really spend much unnecessary time looking in the mirror anymore. You never know who. or what is really looking back. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen.

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