Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep347: Episode 347: Horror Stories by the Campfire

Episode Date: June 23, 2026

Today’s opening phenomenal tale of terror is ‘Don’t go to Wilhelm Bridge: There are wolves out here’, an original story by Red Hot Owl, kindly shared directly with me and narrated with the author’s permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/RedHotOwl/We follow that with ‘The Mooseman’, also an original story, this time by Feisty Environment, also kindly shared directly with me and narrated with the author’s permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/Feisty_EnvironmentWe continue our session by the campfire with ‘The Dismal Maw’, an original story by Michael Paige shared with me via the Creepypasta website. http://www.creepypasta.com/the-dismal-maw/Our penultimate story is ‘I used to work as a cook in a BBQ joint, until I saw where the meat was coming from’ by the wonderfully talented Corpse Child, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all:https://www.reddit.com/user/Corpse_Child/  Tonight’s final epic tale of the macabre is ‘Stuck in Night Shift’ by Corpse Child, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all:https://www.reddit.com/user/Corpse_Child/https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/ywh77t/stuck_in_night_shift/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. There's something timeless about telling horror stories around a campfire. Sitting together in the darkness, surrounded by the sounds of the wilderness, creates the perfect atmosphere for fear and imagination to take over. The flickering flames cast strange shadows. The night hide is what we cannot see, and every distant sound feels a little bit more mysterious.

Campfire stories connect us to an ancient tradition of sharing war. warnings, legends and nightmares with one another, reminding us that sometimes the scariest monsters are the ones our own minds create. It's the perfect combination of friendship, suspense, and the thrill of being just a little afraid or knowing we're safe together, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Don't go to Wilhelm Bridge.

There are wolves out here. By Red Hot Owl. It was around lunchtime when Noah and I arrived at the base of the hiking trail. He practically ejected himself from the car the moment we were no longer in motion. His enthusiasm was infectious. I retrieved our backpacks from the seat behind me and stepped outside as well. Noah had already run on ahead. He was standing among the wildflowers and tall grass.

looking back with an expectant grin as if to say keep up nerd his disheveled mop of bleach curls and oversized t-shirts swayed in the warm dry breeze the poor guy was built like a flagpole but hell if i wasn't into it at the time i rolled my eyes with an amused siam jogged up to him then tossed him his backpack which she almost fell over trying to catch the year was 2014 we were were fresh out of high school and we're now blissfully enjoying the remainder of our summer. The plan was to make our way up to some landmark called Wilhelm Bridge. Norse parents apparently owned a cabin there that they rarely used. The perfect weekend getaway for a pair of eager teenagers desperate for some privacy.

The day was a scorcher. The woods provided cover from the sun's immediate glare, but there was no escaping the heat itself. It made an otherwise easy trek feel as if we were embarking on. a goddamn expedition. Please tell me there's air conditioning up there, at least a working fan, I complained,

while wiping streams of sweat from my forehead. Afraid not. Think Pops for God his leaf blower last time we were there, though, if that helps. No answer, with that trademark shitting grin of his, face glistening with perspiration. Very cute. The path tapered as we reached an impressive arrangement

of boulders and rocks, likely the result of a landslide. I slowed my pace in order to retrieve the water bottle from the cluttered valves of my backpack, which Noah interpreted as his cue to run ahead of me once more. He strode up to one of the moss-covered slabs and then, for reasons best known to himself, determined that it was his duty to climb it. I shook my head and squeezed the plastic bottle, shooting a refreshing jet of lukewarm water directly into my mouth.

Oh, I wish that were me, Noah teased from the presumed safety of the safety of the same. his perch. It won't be if you keep it up. Let's go before I pass out. Hey, just a sec. Well, I had no choice but to continue supervising this 18-year-old toddler as he hopped from surface to surface. Eventually, after clearing a rather precarious gap, he latched onto the side of a particularly large boulder and clambered up to its peak. There he triumphantly sat, feet swinging and eyes honed in on what must have been an impressive view of the park. Well, you're lucky, you're endearing. Noah stuck his tongue out in response, after which he went back to admiring the scenery.

I conceded and plopped onto a nearby patch of flattened grass. Once seated, I squinted upwards at the looming evergreen, catching glimpses of the sky through its tangled mesh of needles and branches. Instead of taking the time to appreciate the untainted serenity of nature, however, for some reason I decided to broach the one topic that Noah hated discussing. So, um, when do you think we should tell our folks, you know, about us? Predictably, his mood turned instantly sour. He threw his head back with a groan, clearly annoyed at me for reviving the subject.

Oh, come on, man. No, I'm tired. I'm tired of sneaking around. I'm tired of lying. Tired of getting slapped away every time I try to hold your hand in public. My mom and pops aren't exactly progressive either, but I'm ready to do it if you are. Yeah, but I'm not ready. I'll literally get disowned if they find out. You know that.

So what? You're fine with pretending like we're not a thing, like I don't exist? Oh, God, can you not be a selfish asshole for five seconds? I told you I'm not ready. I was uncharacteristic, but admittedly deserve it outburst, echoed across the pinewood forest. We both sat in tense silence for a good while, me with my knees pressed to my chest and him staring at his dangling feet.

I chewed on my lips and averted my eyes in an effort to stave off the tears. Feelings of hurt, guilt and regret came together to form a lump in my throat. I shouldn't have pressed him. I knew that, but at the same time I was so sick and tired of having to conceal something as obducely trivial as my own sexual preference, and all for the sake of complying with someone else's outdated ideology. I pride my raw lips, intending to utter an apology when, suddenly, a third voice. I always chimed in.

Don't mean to interrupt, but you all doing all right over there? It was nearby and I heard yelling. Surprised I spun around and saw our anonymous spectator emerge from the surrounding woods. The first thing that stood out to me about the woman was her excessively long hair. It was white, peppered with the occasional strand of silver, and spilled past her knees in thick, heavy clumps. Tangled in it with various twigs, leaves of, God knows what else. and making her look like some sort of ancient woodland spirit. After a rushed and clumsy descent,

Noah rejoined me on our side of the clearing. Sorry if we startled you, ma'am, and just had a disagreement, Zol. He stumbled to explain, face red and burning with embarrassment. The old woman smiled and leaned against her walking stick. If I had to guess, I'd say that she was probably in her late 60s to early 70s, though her unkempt appearance made it difficult to tell for certain.

Behind the curtains of hair, she wore a faded yellow dress that barely clung to a pair of weak shoulders. It looked to have once had a floral pattern, though it was difficult to tell for certain. It takes a heck of a lot more than that to startle this old hag. Haven't heard your voice before, though. Guessing you ain't locals. No, ma'am, promptly confirmed never. Ah, you can drop the formalities, boy.

Name's Agnes. As the odd woman introduced herself, I noticed that she wasn't looking directly at us, but rather behind us, past us. It took me a moment, perhaps longer than it should have, to realise that she was visually impaired, if not outright blind. I couldn't help but wonder what someone in her condition was doing out here all alone. My boyfriend nudged me, hinting that it was my turn to say something. Well, um, pleasure to meet you was all I could think to add. I purposefully omitted the courtesy of revealing our own names. Regardless of how harmless she appeared,

I had a gut feeling that there was more to Agnes than what we were capable of readily perceiving. Perhaps sensing my distrust, she gave me a nod and made a point of moving the conversation along. Anyhow, I might be careful if I were y'all. The wolves will be out soon. Wolves? Here. I've heard of foxes and coyotes, but never any mentions of wolves.

Noah asked with an understandable degree of skepticism. After all, our state certainly isn't known for its native wolf population. You're more likely to get more by a bear or get trampled by a deer than you are to encounter one outside of a zoo. Trust me, they're out here all right, and they sure as hell know you're here. My advice is to do what you've got to do and head back. These woods ain't as safe as they used to be. Noah and I looked at each other, mutely concurring that the world. woman was clearly not all there. The sun was still beating down on us relentlessly, and we were eager

to get a move on, so we thanked Agnes for the warning and continued up the trail. Once there was considerable distance between us and her, I looked over my shoulder and saw glimpses of the crone-light figure disappearing back into the woods. There was no evidence of her ever having been there, apart from the residual feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach. After some more strenuous hiking, we finally arrived beneath Wilhelm's bridge. which, contrary to my expectations, wasn't a natural bridge, but rather a natural arch between two neighbouring cliff-sides, effectively forming a sort of gateway. The lodge was a stone's throw away from it, situated near the centre of another large clearing. It's quite the picturesque little property, straight out of a brochure or a lifestyle magazine.

I've always been more of a city-dweller myself, but even I wasn't immune to its rural child. We shared a cold shower together and spent the rest of the afternoon indoors. As the day progressed, the torrid temperatures dropped to mostly manageable levels. We decided to have a stroll around the homestead before packaging up and heading back. Turns out that sightseeing is significantly more enjoyable when you aren't on the verge of heatstroke. You knew. We watched the once oppressive sun now dipped behind the hills, dying in the sky in a palette of reds and oranges,

which gradually gave way to an ink. encroaching tide of greyish blue. Holy shh! Noah exclaimed, before cutting himself off. At first I thought that he was enthralled by the view, until I looked over and saw him veer off in a seemingly random direction. Ah, here we go again, I thought. I didn't even attempt to match his pace,

I just trailed behind while simulating enthusiasm. The stench of rotting meat assaulted my senses before I perceived the actual carcass. From a distance it just looked like an amount of dirt Then I noticed the antlers And then the swarm of flies hovering above it There sprawled along a shallow ditch Was the half-eaten body of an adult deer This is so gross

When I stated the obvious through pinched nostrils The creature's lower half was picked clean And what scraps still remained Were being feasted upon by hordes of wriggling maggots Flaps of fermented flesh hung from exposed ribs, mired in a sickening miasma of decay. I think the weird old prune might have been telling the troop. A glance down at Noah who was squatting next to the Denanol's skull and poking it with a branch. He gingerly pushed the fur around its neck aside, revealing multiple

bite marks. We, of course, weren't exactly qualified to determine whether the culprits had indeed been wolves, but the woman's ramblings didn't seem so far-fetched all of a sudden. Let's go grab where she didn't go. I pulled my boyfriend up to his feet and we quickly made our way back to the lodge. Dusk was starting to settle. A peculiar sense of gloom hung in the air. As I pushed the front door open, I was greeted by an unexpected yet familiar visage. Blocking the cramped entryway was none other than Agnes herself. The sightless, scrawny woman stood there like a pale apparition, a form outlined by the dimness of the interior. "'lock your damn door,' she remarked with a plain tone,

"'and retreated further inside, ushering us both to follow. "'We did, albeit with a substantial degree of uncertainty. "'Our uninvited guest cautiously maneuvered between the furniture. "'I heard her joints pop as she found a suitable seat by the cold fireplace. "'Her hair brushed against the floorboards, "'her clouded eyes concealed beneath a waterfall of silver tresses, mustering a modicum of courage, I said, You shouldn't be here.

Agnes proceeded to snort in amusement. She tapped her long, spindly fingers against the arm of her chair. Fanny, I was about to say the same thing. As if to emphasise her point, a choir of longing howl suddenly tore through the stillness outside. I felt the tension from before rise from my stomach to my chest, evolving into proper dread. Noah rushed to the nearest window while I just stood there,

glaring at the hag, who in turn looked utterly aloof. How about it, fellas? You all believe the weird old prune now? What do you want? Watch the tone, boy, I'm trying to keep you safe. Keep it safe. Why? What?

From the goddamn wolves, she shouted, rising slightly from her chair with unexpected vigor. Ain't you listening to what I've been telling you? I'm the first. They're here because of me, and I don't want any more fools dying because of some old grudge. Chilt, lady. What the hell are you...

All of a sudden there was a thump, closely followed by a rattle. Noah slowly withdrew from the window. His expression was a blend between complete bewilderment and fear, the kind of fear that debilitates you and leaves you unsure whether you're meant to flee or hold your ground. As I peaked over his shoulder, I noticed that the glass was still shaking, as if someone had slapped it before running away. I gently squeezed past my terror-stricken boyfriend, walked up to it and leaned in. Just as I was about to announce, there was nobody out there.

A human fist collided with the pain, this time causing it to explode. Shards scattered like shrapnel, reaching in the meaty hand wrapped around my throat and pulled me towards the window, dragging my entire body through it, before dumping me onto the wooden porch outside. Shattered glass crunched beneath me as I landed. I rolled onto my hands and knees, straining to produce a cock. Noah shrieked in the background. His voice was quickly drowned out, though, by a cacophony of barks and ravenous grounds. I had to get to him. I had to. Ignoring the bitter taste of blood in my mouth, I looked up at my assailant. Standing over me was the figure of a man, a large, corpulent man, with arms twice the size of mine and a bloated gut to match. It was a disgusting sheen of filth covering the entirety of his naked body, and consequently suffocating the inflamed sores that occupied its various greasy crevices. The most grotesque feature of them all, however, was undoubtedly the face.

His nose was pressed against his skull and his lips were peeled back, revealing blackish gums that had curved dog-like canines protruding from them. Images of the bite marks around the dead deer's neck flashed briefly before my eyes. The beast man unhinged his oversized jaw and snapped at the air in front of me, drool seeping from beneath his carnivorous teeth. I wanted to crawl away, but as soon as I reached the edge of the platform, I realized that there was nowhere left to go. Multiple sets of hungry eyes stared back at me. There was an entire pack of those freakish amalgamations surrounding the lodge, each more inhuman than the last.

I saw a tall woman whose deformed and disproportionately long limbs allowed her to exclusively walk on all fours. Then there was a man with sharp ears and half his body covered in fur. Behind them both was something that could hardly be categorized as a person, possessing claws and a fleshy languished appendage that vaguely resembled a tale. Well, I'd compare them to animals, but that would imply a degree of inculpability. They weren't driven by simple instincts. There was intent behind their viciousness, and their wretched form was only reflected it. There was a wet snarl in my ear, followed by a sensation of weightlessness. before I was slammed back down against the unforgiving red wood.

The air was not had in my lungs. I would have cried in agony if I could. The mutant crowd of spectators jumped with sadistic excitement. Some chanted, garbled phrases that were impossible to decipher over the ringing in my skull. Others just yapped and howled, encouraging my abuse. Using my elbows, I desperately tried to pour myself for, only to be picked up for a third and final time. The hulking mass of greasy flesh lifted me above his head

and once again savagely bounced my limp body off the wooden deck. Something audibly snapped. I couldn't tell whether it was a loose bore to one of my ribs. Helpless and gasping, I lay there among the broken glass. The world kept fading in and out. Darkness occupied the corners of my waning vision, and in spite of my efforts to save it off to remain conscious, it eventually swallowed everything, including me.

I was standing beneath Wilhelm Bridge. The trees around me bore shades of autumn, and the air smelled of rain. Across from me bathed in the shadow of the rocky archway, was a young girl. Her black hair was tied in long braid that had small charms interwoven into them. Her dark narrow eyes glared at me spitefully, her lips curled in disdain. I noticed that she kept tugging on the hem of her bright yellow dress, which was dotted with flowery motifs and looked slightly too big for her. She was trying to conceal the bump inside her stomach.

Given her age, the implications of her pregnancy were disconcerting to say the least, especially coupled with the clear signs of abuse, like the purple ring of bruises around her neck. She bent over, picked a tiny rock off the ground, and threw it at me. It bounced against my chest, landing squarely at my feet. tears of hatred and frustration rolled down her face the young girl grabbed the fabric around her swollen belly clenching it in her fist

suddenly a bitter smile all through her face you know what I think I'll call her every word was laden with venom vengeful malice Agnes I was stuck in the role of a passive observer

watching through someone else's eyes as dark red bubbles began to appear around corners of her grin. Something was trying to crawl its way out of her. She lurched back, pressed her palms to her stomach, and, after what felt like hours of painful retching, a long bony arm burst forth from her mouth. The ghastly appendage flailed aimlessly, before digging its beast-like claws into the host's lower jaw and stretching it past its limit, leaving ample ruin. for another set of fingers to emerge, and then a wolfish skull, and then a torso, and then a leg. My senses were polluted by the familiar stench of rocks. I looked down. In place of the pebble

that was previously thrown at me was the decaying head of a deer. His lulled tongue began to twitch. It turned its sunken, dead eyes up at me and said, Mark, Marcus, for God's sake, please wake up. My eyes shot open. I tried to sit up, but a sharp ache in my ribs forced me to reconsider. I was back on that porch, only now I had Noah kneeling by my side. I heard him breathe a tense sigh, presumably relieved to see me conscious again. He hastily brushed some of the glass off of me, and before I could ask him what was going on,

I was already being pulled to my feet. The pain spread, radiating through my upper body, but I did my best to block it out. Though my mind was still rattled, Noah's trembling tone was enough to convey a sense of urgency. Come on, get up. We gotta go. We... What?

As I reluctantly guided my eyes away from Noah's pleading expression and towards the clearing, I was greeted by a sight that was terrifying, as it was surreal. Blood flowed freely. from the recently decapitated torsos, dying the grass beneath them crimson. There were limbs and other minced body parts scattered haphazardly about. Garts hung from branches like some sort of twisted Christmas display, with a disembodied shell lying lifeless beneath it,

features frozen in a mute scream of agony. A layer of gore was splattered across every conceivable surface, but it was the imposing figure at the centre of the hellscape that truly made me question my sanity. It stood as tall as the trees, a gangling by a pedal sculpture of muscle and protruding bone. His skin was stretched so tightly that I could see the individual vertebrae shifting in its back.

It was hairless apart from the pale mane of blood-stained fur dangling from its skull, mercifully obscuring its true visage. Only its lupine muzzle stuck out from between the strands, aligned with rows of jagged into locking teeth that couldn't even fit inside its own mouth. The worst part was that, as unfathomably monstrous as it was, there was still something about it that I recognised,

an underlying tragic element that eluded description. I watched the creature, effortlessly, pick up one of the lifeless bodies left bleeding on the ground. Its long fingers wrapped around the lesser abomination's dripping remains, and lifted them up to its gaping jaws. The crunch that the follow finally caused me to avert my eyes. I sought comfort against Noah's chest, pressing my face against it. Can't be real.

This can't be real, they whimpered. We have to go, my boyfriend repeated, feigning courage as best he could. He threw my arm over his shoulders and led us away from the lodge. I could feel his rapid breathing on my cheek, his eyes darting wildly in search of the the trail back. As evening approached, we pulled out our phones and used them to illuminate the path ahead. A pair of artificial lights shining in unison kept the encroaching darkness at bay, if only temporarily. If not for the context, it could have been quite poetic. What the hell happened back there? I finally asked, still wincing. For a while there was no

answer, only the rustling of leaves. Agnes, she told me to grab you a man. make a run for it, and that she'll hold those freaks up. And she just ran out of the door and, oh, man, I don't know. Noah shook his head as if trying to erase or at least suppress that particular memory. When that didn't work, he went on, growing more frantic with each sentence. She started changing her. He phrased it almost like a question, like he didn't fully trust his own recollection. He piled onto her, tried to hold her down, but there was no point. She ripped through them like a goddamn chainsaw. And the more she...

The more it ate, the more it grew, and... His chin trembled. His attempt at a stoic expression crumbled away, revealing glimpses of the traumatized teenager hiding behind it. Please tell me you saw that thing, too. Please tell me it wasn't all in my head. It's okay. I saw it too, I assured him. In the most comforting tone I could muster, though, in truth,

a part of me still held out hope that this was all a cruel dream. One by one, stars twinkled into existence. Wilhelm Bridge became a distant silhouette against the dimming sky, and soon dipped behind the forest entirely, as if it never existed. The blood loss from my various cuts, coupled with the intimate and stabs of pain, rendered each step a challenge, but we eventually made our way back to the car. Noah ended up driving me to the nearest walking clinic, which thankfully wasn't very far.

Turns out I was right about the broken rib. I was apparently quite lucky that it didn't puncture a lung. Took half a year, but I eventually made a full recovery, save for a few unsightly scars. When questioned, we opted for a more believable version of events, explaining that we were attacked by a group of crazy hillbillies out in the woods, which is the same version we later gave to our parents. Lying proved to be the right call,

since the local sheriff's department apparently found nothing out of the ordinary when they went up there to survey the scene. No obscene amounts of gore, no half-eaten mutant corpses, no nothing. I suspect that it would have been immediately covered up even if they did. Regardless, I won't be planning any trips to Wilhelm Bridge in the foreseeable future. I've mostly kept to my therapist's advice and never really gone down the proverbial rabbit hole. Perhaps digging into the site's history might yield some context. to the horrors we experienced that day, but I feel like some things

are best left forgotten to time. In fact, consider this a parting letter to the last 25 years of my life. Nora and I are finally getting married in January, after which we'll be planning a permanent move to Pennsylvania. The cliche thing to do would be to warn you against trying to find the actual landmark

I may or may not have renamed to Wilhelm Bridge for the purposes of this story, but we all know how that usually goes. If you do end up finding it, however, do me a favor. If you see an old woman with long white hair and a yellow dress, tell her. I said thanks. The Moose Man, my feisty environment.

What if you get attacked? What if you catch a disease? What if you... I silenced my childhood friend, and at the time high school sweetheart Brian, with a finger over the mouth. Ryan was a protective boyfriend. occasionally to an annoying extent.

Despite this, I loved spending time with it. I suppose the fact we'd known each other since third grade helped out. It's only three nights. I'll be back before Christmas. Besides, I have my knife and my dad's bringing a rifle. I would pay to see a wolf try to handle the power of a 22. I wasn't. We were suddenly cast into darkness by the gas-powered lamp,

which had previously lit up the inside of our clubhouse going out. I sighed and moved the piece of plywood which acted as the door. Sunlight flowed the walls and floor, and we both gave a sharp inhale at the assault on our eyes. I exhaled as my eyes adjusted to the outside, and I got up to leave. Our clubhouse was constructed within an old gravel pit, which was used as a trash storage by the nearby supermarket

and the construction crew which built it. The high mountains of grey rocks were surrounded and covered by empty boxes, spare two-by-fours and sheets of corrugated tin and plywood alike. We'd assembled our house over the span of three days. Two two-by-fours had been driven into the sides of the gravel mountains, which created a short canyon near the back. Plywood and metal was used for the wall in which we had installed our door, as well as the roof.

An old nail gun was stashed in one corner, in case a drunk or hobo wandered in while we were there. It only had enough gas to fire a few shots, but we only had three nails, so it didn't matter. A tarp had been used for insulation as well as a way to keep the sunlight from leaking in. We'd used one of my dad's old gas-powered camping lamps to light it up, a lamp which was now out of fuel. Brian followed me out of the clubhouse, giving a slight grunt as he moved the plywood door back in its place. I pecked him on the cheek as we said our goodbyes, and we rode in separate directions on our bikes. One day and a four and a half hour drive later, we were at the back of the campground. The Park Ranger gave us our favourites, a 20 years of membership reward.

The site was larger than the rest. and had a few layers of seclusion provided by the verdant July pines. I was hunting around for rocks to use as a firing, and my dad was assembling his tent with the effortless perfection of an eagle scout. The birds chirped, and something large, an elk, or maybe a moose, crashed around in the trees just out of sight. That night, as we sat around the crackling flames, I found myself watching the tree line.

The great pine seemed dark than usual. Their shadows more pronounced. In fact, their shadows seemed to swallow the forest entirely, blocking sight for anything more than five feet in. Movement! It was fast, less than a second long. But whatever had moved, it was huge. It looked like a man, but it was almost eight feet high.

Its arms were long And what I can only describe as lumpy Like twisted tree limbs come to life Its back legs were animalistic And curved back before ending in long curved talons Like a combination between wolf and eagle Its hands were almost human But its claws were almost perfectly straight

They reminded me of the paper claws You would fold in fourth grade and pretend to be some fearsome beast come recess. But this was no manning costume. In one hand, it clutched a deer by its neck. The creature was dead, and scarlet trails slithered down the obsidian claws. The kill was only barely touching the floor.

What struck me most about the thing was its face. It was covered in a great mask. It reminded me of one of those cow skulls that you see in every western movie, but it was elongated and far too thin. Instead of curved thick horns, there were wide antlers. They ended in sharp points, which were coated in a brownish-red substance that trickled down like paint. Hey, eh, you all right?

I split my mind from the trance I developed, and pulled the sausage, now a blackened crisp like into a cat tail from the fire. I inspected it, then chucked it into the fire. I grabbed a new one and impaled it on my stick before returning it to the fire. My dad took a bite out of his. Oh, you look like you've seen a dead body. I pondered this before responding with,

Yeah, I'm fine, just a wolf or something. You want me to take a few warning shots? My dad asked with a chuckle, before drawing out the long rifle from the other side of the log. No way, I'd rather not get kicked out on our first night. My dad took another bite from his sausage. I withdrew mine from the fire and loaded it into a bun before adding a stripe of hot sauce. I looked back to the trees. Whatever I'd seen there was gone.

How very naive of me. I woke up at, according to my watch, 2.27 a.m. in my one-person tent, 40 feet away from my father, and 30 from the picnic table which held our gun. In its case, my dad isn't a moron. I sat up in my sleeping bag, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My toes, despite the 20-degree sleeping bag, were freezing. I wrapped my hand around them, encased in their wool socks, while I'd tried to figure out why I'd woken up in the first place. The interior of my tent was warm enough to keep me asleep. The crickets were a sound I was used to as a Colorado native.

I finally realized the second set of breathing five minutes after I woke up. I couldn't imagine how I'd missed it. It was extremely heavy, but it wasn't my dad. He snored, but he didn't snore that loud. It was likely an elk. I figured they were creatures of the night. And if it were a wolf, I could try to stun it with my flashlight and yell for my dad to get the gun.

If it was some pervert who'd found his way to me, then I'd get the gun and deal with the problem myself. My fingers found the cold, ocean blue-steal body of my flashlight. My thumb pressed against the nylon-covered button on the back. I got ready to yell. and then swan. The moment my light turned on, the tent was flooded with a synthetic yellow light from the flashlight.

I scrunched my eyes together, and I heard who, or whatever was outside, hiss in surprise and pain. My eyes adjusted to the light, and I got a good look at the silhouette of my nighttime visitor. I nearly relieved myself when I saw it. The antlers extended wide, wider than my light allow. But the sharp spear-like points were all too familiar. I saw the small, half-centimeter high ridge that protruded down the skull-like mask of it. The arms were great

bows come to life in the form of powerful arms, and the front claws were almost perfectly straight, but had sharp triangular points, an almost exact copy of the origami claws of my use. One of its hands covered its eyes to block the sunlight. I let out a trembling breath, hoping, praying to every single deity I could imagine. Odin, Ra, God, even the driving force beyond cosmology, that whatever was near to my tent would retreat back to the shadowy tree line. It put down its hand, and I gave a single, high-pitched scream at what I saw. The dark silhouette of the head and body was blocking the lights, but the eyes were non-existent.

Two golden circles in the mask which let the night through. Its head cocked to one side, and then, as if I were dreaming, it repeated the sound. It was like I'd heard a recording played back to me underwater. As it repeated my terrified grasp, the eyes flickered, as if they suddenly. suddenly filled with smoke. From far away there came footsteps. The creature turned its head towards my father, then got up. The shadow of mangy fur surrounding its lower legs came into view, then it stalked off towards the trees. No less than a minute later, someone else was outside my tent. My dad unzipped the tent flap and peered inside. Dark shadow supported his eyes,

which looked concerned. You're okay? Thought I heard screaming. I'm fine. Just a nightmare is all. His face turned from concern to empathy. If you want to sleep in my tent, I guess I can spare some space.

No, it's fine. I just want to sleep. My dad ran a hand through his beard, then closed the tent flap. I shut off my flashlight and squirm down into my sleeping bag. I was re-enveloped in the tendrils of sleep before 245. I woke up to the scent of campfire cooked pancakes,

and the voices of two men, as well as my father engaged in conversation. I yawned and rubbed my eyes. I strayed my hair using my pillow and pulled on a pair of pajama pants as well as a tank top. I slipped my feet into my flip-flops and crawled out of the tent. My dad was speaking to two park rangers. One of them said something, and my dad motioned to the rifle, making another unintelligible comment. The ranger looked at it, then looked to the other ranger who shook his head. The first ranger said something to my dad and asked a question in turn.

Nobody had noticed yet that I was here. I caught only a few lines of the conversation. So, you're sure you saw nothing? The first ranger asked. Yeah, maybe a deer in a few campers, but nobody else. My dad said, any nighttime occurrences, nightmares, strange visions, sudden blackouts. The second ranger responded. Well, my daughter had one last night.

She had her flashlight on and everything. She seemed freaked out. Face was pale. When did this happen? the first ranger questioned, apprehensive. They each had one hand hovering over their service pistols. Um, I don't know. 2.30 maybe?

Hey, Dad. I smelled pancakes. The Rangers were at ease after this comment, and my dad looked over, startled. Good morning, eh. These Rangers wanted to know if you saw anything last night. Well, there was the nightmare. Other than that, just you. Hey, did we bring syrup this time? I neglected to mention the thing which I had nicknamed the Moose Man, out of fear for the Park Ranger's actions.

And if the Moose Man had some way to hear everything I said. I poured syrup over the yellow cakes, took a bite with my plastic fork. The Rangers smiled and said their goodbyes to me and my dad. one of them muttered something to my dad his face fell he placed another log on the fire and then told me to watch it while he relieved himself i looked down to the fire poking at it with a stick i'd used to cook the sausage last night i figured it would make an effective spear if the moose man return then i remembered our rifle i turned around to run a finger down the cool wooden body but It wasn't there. I looked up to my dad, and my suspicions were confirmed.

My dad had walked into the tree line, slung over his shoulder, was the rifle. My dad returned a few minutes later, rifle still on his shoulder. I'd asked him why he'd taken it with him. Well, there were some giant tracks outside of your tent when I woke up this morning. Looked like they'd come from a wolf this size of a bear. didn't want to get jumped so I brought the gun hope I didn't scare you when people lie

they always do something they talk animatedly with their hands they look down they use oh and um more often for my dad well he runs his hand through his beard he did this as he gave his answer and then quickly set the rifle back down on the table

he poured more batter into the pan and I looked at the rifle. The safety was off. The world was normal up until that night. We had ham and barbecue sauce sandwiches for lunch. The wonders of camping food. And campfire cooked hot dogs for dinner. Yes, again.

The key difference was that this time, my dad and I brought out an old Dutch oven. Dutchy peach pie was a camping tradition in our family. One can of peaches with syrup. Sandwiched between the layers of flaky crust and topped with powdered sugar. It was delicious if done right, but doing it right took almost three hours. At the time we were finished, it was almost midnight. My dad had just lifted the top of the Dutch oven off to check the pie

when we heard something that chilled us to the bowl. Imagine a wooden creak sound, but almost twice as high, pitched and ten times as loud. The birds in the trees flew to the sky, cawing, hooting, and twittering as they flapped away. The crickets and frogs were silent. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole campsite was awoken by the loud, screeching rumble. I looked at my dad, who was watching me. What the hell? I asked, dumbfounded. My dad's head snapped around. Coming from the thin layer of trees that separated us from the rest of the campsite was the unmistakable sound of twigs and leaves crunching beneath feet. I grabbed my knife and my dad pointed

the rifle towards the shrubbery which was violently gyrating back and forth. My dad's finger was curled around the trigger, ready to send a shot into whatever was going to burst forth at any moment. A, stay behind me. A park ranger, who wasn't one of the first two, came forth from the trees. My dad lowered the rifle, and I placed my knife back on the table. The rangers stumbled over a tree route and looked around. In one hand he held a flashlight which was off. In the other, a giant silver revolver. You guys are the only ones here? You guys are the only ones here? he yelled out. Ah, yeah, just me and my daughter.

The ranger stepped forward. He didn't put his gun away. You see anything strange? Any bones? Antless, large creatures. No, nothing since. The bushline twitched near my tent. It was a small movement.

The ranger pointed the gun and flashlight at it and turned the light on. It was a raccoon. The creature poured around at the ground, picking up and eating small items we couldn't see. It zigzagged back and forth, sometimes returning whatever he picked up to the dirt. Station, this is 17.

Raccoon near one tent. No sign of two or beta. I'll call in with any update. The range has shown his light back to the raccoon. It was gone. But there was something on the ground in front of my tent. The Ranger walked forward to it and lifted it up. I could barely make out what it was,

but it was curvy and human-shaped. The Ranger looked at it for a few seconds, then turned around and looked toward me. He looked at the things back. His eyes widened. He yelled into his radio and then ran back towards me. His gun trained on the trees. He got back to us and turned towards me.

Ma'am, did you see anyone other than your father tonight? No, what? Sir, the ranger said, turning towards my dad. If you or your daughter have seen anything, and I mean anything, then you have to let me know, okay? The solemn look on his face said it all. I said nothing. That night, despite the pie, a slice of which the Ranger politely declined, was the single, unequivocally worst night of my life. It started around 1.30 a.m., the series of long, heavy footballs, like snow crunching beneath the ground.

Then I heard the breathing. When I was five years old, we'd lived in a house which had one of those old furnaces. the ones which could roar like a strange tone with the occasional click. That furnace terrified me. The breathing I heard reminded me of this furnace. I heard the unmistakable creak of wood, followed by the soft thumb of something hitting leaves and twigs outside my tent. The breathing slowed.

Then I heard the soft clink of metal on metals. My hand shot out, grabbing my flashlight from the bag, then shifting my shirt to the side, drawing my knife. It flipped open with a click that was music to my ears. I leaned forward, preparing to launch myself. If it was who I think it was, I would drive the blade into one of the long-nosed slits of that horrible mass. The tent flap. slowly unzipped. With a blood-curdling scream,

High flew forward, but the moose man was ready for me. He folded to one side, and I dropped into the dirt. I whirled around, but the moose man was on top of me. He was surprisingly heavy. The mask was even larger up close.

I could have reached out and not even got my fingers around the tip of the antlers. He let out another one of those ribbons, screams we'd heard from earlier that night. I was overcome with terror. Then I remembered my knife. I looked to one side. The handle was a few inches away from my fingers. I struggled to reach it, but the moose man was keeping me in place. It placed a hand on my right shoulder. The claws acted as a cage from my arm. It reached its other hand.

up, ready to strike. I lunged sideways, wrapping my hand around my knife. I thrust it forward straight into where the eye should have been. The blade hit what felt like stone. The beast cried out and slammed its hand down to where my head had been a second earlier. I slipped downward. I slammed my elbow into the knee of the thing. It stumbled down, then reared up to its full height. I made a dash from my drop knife. The beast reached up to his mask and pulled. I only caught a glimpse of what was under its mask. I was overcome with an extreme wave of nausea.

I closed my eyes and looked away. From somewhere else, someone, my father, yelled. Two gunshots cracked the night. I heard a second voice. one who I presume to be a park ranger, yelling something out. Another volley of gunshots rang through the air. The beast roared its furnace-like roar. There were three heavy footballs,

then the unmistakable sound of someone dropping. At least six rushed footsteps approached. More gunfire. The beast roared and scampered away. The trees returned to normal, and the gunshots stopped. Someone grabbed me by the shoulders. I shrieked and kicked my dad in the shin.

He gave a heaving groan. Someone else grabbed my legs and a second man took my arms. I looked at the two rangers' faces, both plastered with fear. My breathing slowed. My tears stopped and the rangers relaxed. It took almost too much too. hours for me to tell my story. Another one and a half for my dad to tell his. We were both held in the Rangers station jail under guard by a huge man with a gun to match. By the time

everything was figured out, the other campers were cooking on the fire, talking about all the sounds that they'd heard. Site too was empty. A great plastic wall had been erected around it, but it didn't do much to hide. it from you. I saw the silhouette of a great statue, like the one the ranger had found near my tent. This one was almost as tall as the moose man himself, and there was the shredded shadow of the tent behind it. Before I could even inquire about it, a ranger saw me staring and escorted us back to our sight. We were back home by lunchtime. We were told to tell our acquaintances that the campsite had been closed early due to a small fire nearby.

It would not likely do any damage, but, hey, better safe than sorry. As far as I can tell, nobody knows about the Moose Man. I've tried to forget the whole thing, and hope that writing this story helps with that. Because every few weeks, I have this nightmare. I'm running through the woods, and I can hear something behind me. It is large and fast. I trip over the wall and I turn around to see the moose man thundering towards me. It stops when I can see his mask.

I wake up and I see the shape burned into my vision. I love the Colorado Rockies. The Dismal Moor by Michael Paye. Fuck you! Nathan Keen screamed at his grandmother. Her quivering lips stiffened and sucked in her gas. The widening sclera of her aged vision looked as though they'd pop out of her skull. With all the strength his little hands could summon, Nathan slammed the door behind him.

He could hear Nana calling his name, as Gramps returned to his study with mumbled curses. The seething ten-year-old cut through the neighbor's backyard. He stomped over to their vegetable garden and hopped over the small chain-link fence to the street. One of the diamond-shaped wires slipped across his palm and opened a bleeding slit. The sting that followed was fierce, but otherwise ignored by his screaming thoughts. He made his way past Oak Road and crossed the street with his eyes to the asphalt. Gramps's words rattled inside of him, acting as crazy as his father. An orange Camry deafened him with its blaring horn,

followed by an angry woman shouting, Use both eyes, punk! Nathan raised a miniature yet powerful middle finger to the driver's bumper. Screw everyone, he thought. Screw everyone in the world. This is where his mother left him with his grandparents, shoved in Leon County's fat rolls, Tallahassee.

Nana said she needed a mommy break from it all. Of course, after all the shouting, all the sleepless nights, she needed a mommy break. So, here he was, pawned off like the forgotten luggage

from an airport's baggage carousel. She was out there enjoying the vintage of life. She was out there soaking in the laughing sun. She was out there, happier without him, happier without dad. Bitter tears pulled within the purple ring that encircled his bruised eye. A memento he received last week. The Shiner was given to him by Marcus Myhol, an eighth grader in his neighbourhood with the athletic build and looks of Popeye's blue toe. Marcus spent his afternoons waiting for the school bus to round the corner

alongside a misfit posse of skinny jeans and sagging asses Once that yellow hinged door folded open He was a lion Deciding which prey had the weakest windpipe It made him feel alive As though the bus were an enormous capsule filled with a limitless antidepressant But on the day he mistook Nathan Keane for a wounded gazelle The dosage fought back.

Sidewalks led Nathan to the gated entrance to Hollow Park, a mature chunk of caustic land amidst many homes in the community. Beneath its underlain layer of soft rock were subterranean drainage systems that formed caves. The landscape was pockmarked with sinkholes dry and wet, shallow and deep. His shoes scuffed the grit that permeated the sloping. path. He felt happier here, hidden beneath the groves that kept the may heat from beating on him. Time felt elusive, and life felt fair. Nobody could hurt him here. He crossed a small bridge dad once tripped over and peered into the soft stream. This was once there park. Every other spring,

they'd always come back here while visiting his grandparents. The memories felt pleasant at first, but soon started to sting again. Those were the nights when he could sleep, before the dreams became clots of empty spaces. Every night, accelerating and expanding into a gash of dark energy like a galaxy without stars. No oxygen, no solid ground to tread. Only the titanic darkness. hungry darkness that fed on his house, his room, his father, until everything inevitably disappeared. Yes, the park was where he'd disappear as well.

Temporarily, of course. It wouldn't be difficult for everyone to guess where he'd run off to. Soon enough, they'd all come running. Sorry for what they'd put him through. Gramps would apologize of being an asshole. Nana would make her ambrosia pudding. Mom would see that her son wasn't baggage. Dad would come back home.

His plan was flawless. Just to the right of him, near the restrooms. The pathway he was on led guests to the park's main loop. The sinkhole trail. Any visitor could look straight, down the throat-like shoots and see an array of colored pools. You could watch rushing water disappear and then pop up again in a river rise. Wooden posts announced your arrival at each sink as well as its given name. The surrounding trees were marked with green blazes that guided

hikers to each site. Nathan scratched his head and pondered. Hmm, where could he wait it out? The painted blazes would lead him down a flight of stairs towards shrivelled sink. Just beyond there, the trail rose up to an overlook of spinner sink. He could then slide down the path and circle left to Virtue Springs. Then an idea struck him like a freight train. With the luscious green organs of Hollow Park was a body of water separated from the collective path. A gaping sinkhole called the Dismolet. more. Hidden beneath its dirty black water is a pit that plummets deep into the earth. Deep and

lightless catacombs branch out for miles and also connect to Virtue Springs. There was his answer. The pay dirt he needed. He knew exactly where to find it too. On occasions when his mother didn't join them, he and his father wandered off the trail to see the sinkhole for themselves. They weren't overly impressed by the wide drink of water, but his father enjoyed humouring the title. Mom disagreed with him. Nathan recalled all the times Nana warned you to steer clear of the dismal moor. The path leads you away from that sink-hot because it isn't safe. Children, especially you, should never play near there.

The soil is very loose and may collapse beneath your feet. it is not a good place for kids to be. This was the only way he could make his mother understand. Really understand. He wanted the weight of his world to compress her shoulders. He wanted the hot glowing embers that burnt his heart to singe hers. He wanted her to watch the swelling crevasse of empty space to gouge her dreams every night.

Nathan brushed away an escaping tear with his knuckles. He discreetly followed the green blazes to the set of steps. They lowered into a depression with a wooden post that read in large white letters. Shriveled sink. He crossed the observation deck that provided a clear vertical view down a slender chimney of sloshing brown water. He idly wondered if tossing in a coin would earn him a wish.

The trail climbed out of the crater and began its curvature towards spinner sink. His brown eyes traced along the sides until he found the cutaway that his father had discovered. He paced his sneakers over the brushes of wiregrass that tickled his legs. The head of him was the oval rock they both pissed on once. Not too much farther past that were the magnolia trees that resemble. his teacher's hair do. Before long, he arrived. The sinkhole stretched 40 metres, with a cascade of plants growing along its bowl-shaped walls. A bent cypress tree loomed over the edge he stood on. Its branches curled like puppet fingers over the black water. Dead leaves

voyaged across the surface. Nathan wrapped his fingers around the brown, grey bark, and slid cautiously down the shallow slope. Dirt caked into his rubber soles and smeared over the white laces. A few rocks were dislodged and sent bouncing into the pond, falling forever beneath the dark. He stopped himself just a few inches from the moor's stilled blackness and sat into the soil. Crazy! Gramps had shouted, acting as crazy as his fire. The thoughts bounced, bent, and shattered, as though his brain were a small blender. Then he could just unplug it for a while.

That would be nice. Almost too nice. He clasped a handful of wet pebbles encrusted with dirt and skidded them across the water. White ripples pulsed over one another in seams. Who are you? A voice asked. Abruptly, Nathan sprung up and nearly slipped feet first into the sinkhole. The question wasn't demandingly spit out by an adult.

It was calm and spoken with childlike curiosity. His brown eyes combed the pit's soil-lined walls to the surrounding rim. Was he followed here? No. Nobody was there. Until he looked down. A face stared up at him, bobbing out of the black water. Nathan froze.

It looked like a boy's face. His skin was moon-white with grime caked around the chin and ear-tips. Strands of his short blonde hair swayed and danced beneath the surface. The water was too shady to spy any white neck or flowing clothes below him. He looked like a pale island With closed lips carved in the dry land The face then blinked And slid its blue bell eyes to their corners

Facing him Are you crying Nathan wiped his eyes And picked up his nerves into an unmoved bravado No He scoffed You aren't supposed to swim in there The boy's soaked eyebrows perked

but I swim here all the time. Isn't so bad to me. His eyelids wilted like partially closed curtains, as though we were about to suck in a heavy yawn. Why are your cheeks red and your eyes puffy? One of them's black too. Nathan grinded his teeth and now felt self-conscious. This kid had some nerve showing up uninvited and now examining him.

Was he on trial or something? I wasn't crying. What do you care? I do care. Why? We've never met before. Nathan's stare became slits. Good point.

I'm James. The face winded its lips into a miss-shape and smile. Waiting for someone? Nathan scowled inwardly. The boy named James was strange. Weird looking and very nosy. Yet behind that oddball persona was a pleasant voice, which baffled him the most.

My mum left me here. I don't know for how long, maybe forever. The thoughts carried air pockets through him that threatened to rupture with anger. Oh, James' inquisitive look melted. My parents left me here too. A new weight carried his voice. Curiosity veered Nathan back to those blue eyes.

Why? he asked. They went away without me. I thought we were happy. But things always change. James heaved a gloomy breath. The world ends with change, doesn't it? In that instance, Nathan didn't feel alone, in the most ironic of all places.

His inner wrath simmered to a mild boil. Yes, the oddball was right. Change meant the finale of everything. Adults did it all the time, because they can't hear it. The cries tugging at their pants from the floor. All that matters is them and only them. He couldn't peg a word for what he was feeling, but an adult would have called it empathy.

I'm Nathan. James's sinking expression was reanimated. It's a pleasure to meet you, Nathan. Parents treat us all the same, don't they? Nathan nodded. Then we lost boys should stick together, right? Nathan nodded. Pallet hand rose to the surface with wrinkled fingertips that presented themselves. What do you say? We shake on it. he offered. Nathan leaned over the pond and extended his arm to reach. The hand

snapped forward and seized him. James' smile withered. Thick pain whirled from his wrist and twisted like an Indian burn. The grip plunged his hand into the black water. A paralyzing chill

kissed his cut palm as though his veins were becoming icicles. In his mind he yelled, Let me go. But his voice box shriveled. His free hands snatched wildly in the air for anything solid enough to cling to. Freezing pain was prodding his submerged arm

and climbing higher. This had to be a prank, a sick prank that a weird boy played on all strangers. His roaming fingers, caught something coarse and flaky. The drooping tree. He bent and dug his nails into the bark. With a good yank he managed to wretch his arm out of the murk.

Then he saw what had hold of him and felt his mind derail. What followed out was a cluster of branch-like tentacles noosed around his arm. They resembled vines that were dripping and dead. The rotten smell from their smooth, gluey membranes induced vomit. Mental paralysis set in. His sanity untethered and drifted to freedom, somewhere far away from this.

The face that judded from the abyssal water was no long. James. Its milky skin sank to bluish green with prominent flabby bruises. Both bluebell irises were engulfed by pupils that were dilating like spilled ink. What's the matter, Nathan? It crooned from receding lips and deformed teeth. I thought you were a lost boy. No, it wasn't a voice at all. Just sputters and girls. from water-logged lungs. Nathan's fingers slipped from the calloused grooves. The raw tentacles dragged him towards the watery fissure.

His sneakers dug into the earth to cement himself from the sticky knots, unrelenting pull. The black jelly that had once been its eyes drained into their sockets. The bruised bags of flesh slumped and split apart, releasing putrid bile, green icore infused with the black water and floated atop its surface like oil streaks. The weak skin further dissolved into greenish foam that reached the sinkhole's rims. Its ears, nose, cheeks and lips all became liquefied mass to feed the cesspool.

But the voice did not melt away. It rang like a siren from the discoloured skull's splintered fibres. Come inside. The loneliness is over and never coming back. I'm calling for you. We're all calling for you. Nathan. Nathan.

Nathan. Nathan. Nathan. A pain was. being ignited in Nathan's shoulder. With every violent jerk and tug the internal fire outspread. It couldn't be contained. Bone started to talk. His threshold of pain erupted from a churning pop from the sockets. He hoisted his neck and bawled mindlessly to the treetops. The world became fuzzy red grains. His mind

short-circuited. In a gasping, broken voice, he cried for help. He cried for his mother and father. He cried for his grandparents. Somewhere within the collapsing hauls of his consciousness, a speck of solidity knew that he was yelling, but couldn't hear anything. It was being drowned out by an amalgam of screams, child screams. They wafted from the dismal moor in a choir of mindless pleas and indiscernible moans. Come inside. Meet the family. We're all lost boys and girls here. Ah, it hurts to fight, doesn't it?

Just let go. Why fight it? It jerked him ever closer to the dark green throft. Every sense of feeling left his dislocated shoulder in a numb veil. Howls of wailing children invaded his eardrums. He could gaze straight down into the moors' gullet now. No reflection stepped back. Only empty space.

Yes, the infinite empty space that waited for him. The darkness was coming closer. Hungry darkness. Horrific reality pitied his fleeting world. He was all alone, isolated from everyone. His parents' silhouettes waned on the horizon. Ah, you're slipping. I can feel it. The pain will stop, I promise.

Aren't you tired of them hurting you? Leave your parents behind. Just like they did, you. Nathan's strength abandoned him. His body glided over the rim and dropped head first into the tainted fluid. Sharp chills stabbed every nerve they could reach. The water shot into his ears and nostrils. Invisible ripcourns sucked him further into the void.

His lungs contracted and felt like they were tearing open. screams bubbled out of his throat. Wake up, he begged. Wake me up, please, please. The tide drew him lower into the moors' suffocating trenches. Deeper he sank from the oval-shaped twilight that shrank above him. Inevitably, everything disappeared for Nathan Keane until all that remained was the bottom.

that he would never reach. The countdown commenced in Hollow Park. A group of kids, ranging from ten to twelve, scattered. Cindy frantically separated from the bottom. Their hysterical giggles and hushes would surely get her caught. The grey sky looked like bundles of fine lint. She formed a mental map of all the dead giveaway spots. Be it seeking or hiding, she was the best.

But this time Jeremy Breyer was it, and Jeremy Breyer is a cheater. Of course, he thought the opposite was true. Every cheater always did. Mum told her so. Squinty eyes is peeking while she counts. He whined every time it was hurt her to find everyone. That was his favourite nickname for her. It used to make her cry, but has since diluted into a faint annoyance.

A close second was the obnoxious reminder of what his father called her mom, Mrs. Nip. She hated every atom that boy was made of. But this time would be different. She'd wipe the floor with him. She crossed an old Jeep road and circled right around three deep, dark throats of sable sink. The water used to look clear and blue, before groundwater, contaminated by nitrate, seeped its way through, Tallahassee's loins over the years. Thirty, her instincts warned. Definitely reached thirty by now.

Out of time. She leapt over a family of wildflowers and abandoned the trail. There was no doubt he'd try and seek her out first. The first one caught was branded the worst hider of the bunch. That was the glowing red iron Jeremy Breyer reserved with her name on it. Cheaters are the scum of the earth. None deserved even a thread of sympathy in this world. That was why her father left for Azaka when she was three. Mom told her son.

She stopped. There were bands of bright yellow in between the trees that tangled around their trunks. Police line, do not cross, was scribed in pitch capital letters. caution tape. She'd seen it before, mostly downtown for strayed voltage warnings. Hmm, why Hollow Park though? Curiosity overwhelmed her as she maneuvered past the barricade. The earth in front of her dipped into a round crevice. A pool that resembled tar gathered at the bottom.

It was a sinkhole, but not just any run-of-the-mill sink for tourists to Gorkat. no, this was the dismal moor. She and the others used to play here a lot, before the accident two years ago. The body of a ten-year-old was discovered by a hiker named Barry Moss, who'd heard that toddler's screams. By the time he arrived, the boy had reportedly fallen in and drowned. Ever since then, parents and authorities have cracked down even harder with hollow park safety. Mom didn't have to know though. Everyone else would be too chicken, especially the cheater, Briar. How could she throw away this trump card? She mindfully slid down the incline towards

the dark water. Cindy knew all the stories that swashed around the moor's lips. Lauren Hudson said it was caused by a meteorite and that their city was built around it. Billy Bracken says A witch's house once stood here Before she cast the wrong spell And caused the earth to swallow her The fattest grape on the vine Was that the sinkhole is haunted

Riddled with human bones Inside its limestone cavities Remains from an old graveyard That was built over the train Before sinking into the earth And being swallowed whole Souls and all The pit plunged so deep into the light

the shaft that no ghost could ever swim out of it. But Cindy knew they were all just flim-flam stories. She waited in the dirt and traced white creases in the still water. Are you hiding? Someone asked. Cindy panicked, expecting to find someone to leech her for the spot. Her monolid eyes met a small face that plopped out of the black. It was a boy that looked like a glistening sheet of white. Groblets of water sailed down his black brows and pasty cheeks to rejoin their kin. She'd never seen him in the park before. Are you hiding?

Yes, I'm hiding. Are you going to rat on me? She groused at him. What are you mean? The boy looked confused, as though an invisible hand scratched his drowning hair. Cindy blew a finger against her lips. Haven't you ever heard of hide and seek before? I'm hiding.

Someone else is looking. Get it? His puzzle stare lit up. Oh, I love that game. Can I play too? Cindy crossed her arms. As long as you don't cost me this spot, I don't care. But you have to be quiet.

I can do that. She smiled. Her voice dimmed in a whisper. My name's Cindy. What's yours? She watched the corners of his mouth turn up in an asymmetric smile. It's nice to meet you. He quietly trilled. His blue bell eyes broadened with excitement. A grim black and blue ring encasing one of them. I'm Nathan.

I used to work as a cook in a barbecue joint until I saw where the meat was coming from by corpse child You know, you still laugh at the idea of being a vegetarian The idea of purposefully not eating meat Used to sound so dumb to me I mean, yeah, healthy lifestyle and all And yes, I am aware that some people

Actually can't eat meat because of an inability to digest it But come on How could you say no to a nice full rack of a base beef back ribs or a quarter pound of New York style steak right well guess the joke's on me now After what happened I can't think of any of that without wanting to puk I'm gonna put this out there now if you're a feigned of heart or weak of stomach Do not read this let me also go ahead and say that no I'm not talking about Mickey D's either Say what you're on about their food not being actual meat or whatever

I can guarantee you whatever it is made of, it's far less horrific than what I saw at a place I used to work at. Mr. Pigsley's diner, home of delicious meat, happy bellies and having a snort and good time. Those words, the big, bold red words plastered next to that smiling fat-ass pig with a 50-style football jacket and haircut will always haunt my nightmares. The place itself was one of those that was made to resemble an old-timey diner from the 50s and 60s, black and white-tiled floor, vintage photos from car shows, old stuntmen or shots of Elvis Presley as well as different antiques on display. The place even had an actual jukebox, coin operated with actual CDs instead of the touchscreen ones you see nowadays. In the middle of the dining area was where the bar was. During the day, until about six or so, it was an ice cream bar, with the barley sodas being brought out later on in the evenings.

Remember how you could bring your kid up to the bar on a Friday afternoon for a little oinkers hour, where the ice cream was handmade right in front of them, and they got whatever flavor and toppings they wanted, and however much of it they wanted for free. Aside from this, they also had the piglet wall of fame, where the Rugrats would have pictures taken of them in little, pig masks with the mascot, Mr. Pigsley, standing beside them as they scoffed down a three-ounce plate of Paul pork. Well, of course, the kids loved it. And the parents loved it too for how dirt cheap the food was. We're talking $15 tops for a large-sized barbecue plate with two large sides with a drink. A sale of this to say that the place was very family-oriented,

or particularly when it came to bringing the kids. My family actually, I'm going to bring in the kids. my family actually used to take me and my brother Andrei when we were little kids and like I said with all the other kids we too had more than our fair share of our little oinker hours on Fridays to kick off the weekend and had our pictures added to the Wall of Fame which were all gone now after what happened now take that and fast forward almost a year ago I'm 21 and haven't just moved out of my parents house with no degree or any other job experience and I didn't needed to have a way to make rent for my apartment. You can imagine how difficult a decision it was for me to choose Mr. Pigsley's diner as my go-to. I was hired almost on the spot after I put in

application to be a cook. Well, the pay for a job I'd be doing admittedly wasn't quite as bad as I was expecting, $11 an hour, 40 hours a week. Of course, being that it was strictly second shift, this meant long, exhausting night slaving in the kitchen, and then closed. in the kitchen. It was rough, but I had to do it. After about a month or two, I'd just about gotten used to it. Actually, it wasn't long after that that I was getting my first raise to 1175. I'd also managed to get to a point, usually because the other kitchen staff were out back taking a smoke, and I was actually able to handle work in most areas of the kitchen alone. In other words, I'd gotten pretty good at my job pretty quickly. One of my duties,

unfortunately, was washing any remaining dishes at night when we closed. It sucked, mostly because of the fact that it was always the grill utensils and shit that I got stuck washing. You know, the shit that it would be the dirtiest. And we had to wait until we were closed for the night to wash them. Because of this, and because the shift manager, Trish, usually dragged her feet with her part, making sure everything is darn right. As well as the fact that closing shifts only had two people around to shut the place down the night. We aren't usually getting out of there until about one or one-thirty in the morning every

night. Well, it's because of this that things would take a weird turn. Funny enough, I almost didn't even notice it. It was a Friday night, which of course meant we'd been slammed all day with business, and I was beyond tired and ready to be done with the place for the night. I was in the sink room, located a little ways behind the kitchen and grill area, next to the freezer and drystock, washing the dishes, as best I could anyway, while Trish finished up with the money. Since my phone was dead, I couldn't listen to music or podcasts while I washed the dishes like I usually did.

And that's when I heard it. It was very faint, and again I almost didn't hear it. It almost sounded like a faint groaning noise. But being exhausted and figuring that it was just the electrical hum of the freezer, I shook it off and continued. It was when I was just about finished. with the dishes, though, and I heard it again, louder this time. Listening a little harder, I noticed that it was indeed coming from the freezer.

I pressed my ear to the door, and I could hear it much louder now. Concentrating, I thought I could hear the sounds of muffled sobbing from inside. I tried pulling the handle to open the freezer door, only to find it locked. Hmm, weird, I thought. Why is the freezer locked? I was never told before that the freezer was supposed to be locked at night. Maybe it's to keep the meat fresh, keep everything cold. This didn't make much sense to me, but I ended up having to just go with it when I heard Trish calling for me,

telling me she was ready to go home. I pretty much immediately forgot all about it until the next night, closing the kitchen when I heard it again. Like last time, the freezer door was locked and inside I could hear a very faint sound like someone grossed. Well, it was louder this time, a lot louder. I also noticed this time that it seemed like it would randomly let out sharp bursts of crying or wailing. At one point I thought I could hear a shrill sort of screaming noise as well.

What the? Started knocking on the freezer door. Hello, hey, there's someone in there? Nothing. The only response was the continued groaning noises from the other side. I tried knocking again. Hey, what's going on? I spun around to see Trish standing behind me, looking confused.

What the hell are you doing? Have you finished yet? Oh, yeah. I looked at the freezer. Hey, um, is there any particular reason the freezer's locked? She cocked her eyebrow. What do you mean? I pulled the handle to demonstrate. Her eyes continued,

looking confused, is she then tried to open it herself with the same result? Huh, she said, resigning. That is weird. No, I don't know why the heck they'd have it like this. What's got you so worried about it, though? Well, um, I thought I could hear something or somebody in there. What do you mean? She asked, looking even more confused now.

I shrugged and chuckled nervously. I don't know. I just kept hearing these weird noises coming from in there. I pressed my ear to the door again, still hearing that faint groaning sound. Hey, do you hear it? Well, still looking skeptical, she then pressed her ear to the door.

She stayed like this for a moment before shaking her head. That sounds the same it always has. At least, same as it has since I've been here. Well, this is an old place, though. The wiring in there must be on the fritz. You sure? I asked, cocking my own eyebrows in confusion. Because it sounds like someone's in there.

Oh yeah, besides which, we can't get in anyways. I don't know about you, but I'm kind of like to get out of here and go home before it's time to open the place back up. She held up her phone, reading almost 1.45 a.m. With that, I gave one last look at the freezer before turning and following Tritch. But that night, I couldn't shrug it off like I'd done before. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop imagining something or someone in the freezer. Moreover, I couldn't stop wondering about what that sound was.

Obviously, I wasn't buying the whole, just the old 40 wiring crap. What the hell were they doing in there? As it happened, the next day was when the owner, Mr. Pigsley, will be in for one of his little routine visits. He'd usually come around once or twice a month, unannounced, and just sort of check in. you know, make sure everyone's doing everything that needs to get done. Basically a sort of general inspection, you know. One thing I noticed too was that one of the first things he always did was to check out the freezer. Naturally, I figured if anything was going on in there, he'd know, right?

As well as this, we were actually slow, for the first time that week, by the way, which made it relatively easy for me to ask him about it first thing when he came in. What do you mean? He asked me, cooking his eyebrow like Trish did. The past two nights, sir, I've been hearing these weird noises coming from the freezer.

Whenever I try to go check it out, though, it's always locked. Is it supposed to be? He frowned. What sort of noises? I don't really know, sir. I replied, admittedly feeling a bit awkward.

That sounds like someone's in there. and he stared, frowning at me for a moment before opening the freezer and walking inside. I followed him. Inside, of course, I heard the droning over the refrigeration systems. In other words, the normal sounds it should have been making in there, and there were boxes labelled, fresh meat, stacked against the walls. Everything was there just the way it was supposed to be. No weird sounds, nobody else in the freezer, aside from me and Mr. Pigsley.

Well, he said, turning back to the room. me. I don't hear nothing. Well, uh, you look back inside for a moment before saying, Okay, nothing except for the fridge wires on their last legs. I reckon I'll have to get that looked at, won't I? He chuckled when he said this before then saying, Thanks for letting me know. I stood for a moment, confused, before stammering. Yes, sir, sure thing. I then felt the hand of anger. I then felt the hand of Andy, one of the other grill hands tapped me on the shoulder, telling me I was needed back in the kitchen. Mr. Pigsley waved his hand dismissively before turning and going back into the freezer.

Fridge wires on their last legs. I couldn't take my mind off of how wrong that sounded to me. For one thing, the fridge actually sounded normal. Plus, after taking a peek at the thermostat outside, I saw that, well, at least according to the reading at the time, was working just fine. Secondly, this didn't make sense to me because, if they really were on their last legs, shouldn't even know that and done something long before now. On top of all that, though, was the fact that the big question wasn't even answered. Why the hell was the freezer door locked?

Not only this, how was it locked? There were no bolts or anything on the handle, inside or out. As much as I wanted to shove all of this at Mr. Pigsley until I got an answer, I wouldn't get the opportunity again before he left. That night I wasn't the one to close the kitchen, having agreed to switch shifts with Andy's so he could get a few more hours in. For some reason, he was only scheduled two days that week for five hours each. So this meant I was getting off that night at around 10pm.

Because I was still sceptical, or should I say suspicious, about the whole freezer thing, I asked him, as part of the agreement, if he'd keep an eye on the freezer and tell me if he noticed anything off about it. He agreed. I could tell he thought I was nuts. So ten o'clock rolled around. I was punching the clock, but not before checking the freezer one last time.

It was unlocked, and full of nothing but frozen food. I was heading out back to my car when I heard a rustling sound coming from the dumpster. Looking over, I could see the lid pushing up, like something was trying to get out. I was about to brush it off as probably just raccoons, or maybe a couple of stray cats.

when I heard what sounded like snorting. What the f? I was cut off when I then heard a high-pitched squealing noise that almost seemed to echo in the empty parking lots. This caused my heart to skip about three or four beats, and I had to close my eyes and cover my ears tight. This was followed by several loud banging noises coming from inside the dumpster. I watch this continue, jaw slacked, frozen in shock,

until the lid of the dumpster suddenly flew open. For a brief moment, I saw what looked like two pig ears slowly emerged from the dumpster, followed by two dark, empty, marble-looking eyes glinting into the streetlights. That was when I took off like a bat out of hell and bolted back around to the front of the diner and ran inside. "'Hey!' I shouted, crashing through the front doors.

They immediately looked at me, wide-eyed and startled. I struggled to speak, being out of breath. There's something out there. Where? Andy asked. I pointed to the back and said, breathless, and at the dumpster. His face immediately fell into one that said, Oh, you're shitting me here right. I caught my breath as Trish asked what it was exactly that I'd seen.

I think I'm... I began, remembering those two black, beady, eyes glaring at me. I think he was a pig. A pig? Trish asked. Her voice completely bewildered now. Andy stared at me for a second before scoffing. Dude, he said, sounding like he was two seconds from busting his gut laughing in my face. Whatever shit you're on. I'm serious, I shouted, cutting him off. He just kept looking at me like I was crazy while Trish looked lost. I saw two pig eyes staring at me from the dumpster. I heard it squealing too.

Where the hell could it have come from? Trish asked. I mean, there's no farm around here. Andy snickered and remarked. Oh, maybe the last truck had one that wasn't quite ready yet. Oh, Trish snickered at this too. I was the only one, though, who wasn't finding this funny. Oh, damn it, Andy.

I'm not screwing around here. I saw a giant pig stared at me in the dumpster but he'd just snick it again I was a giant pig he then made a surprise face and turned to Trish saying hear that Trish

A mean old monster pig is going to get us Hey oh I carved my hand into a fist clenching my teeth I was getting really agitated really quickly Before I could do or say anything though I heard something coming

from the back behind the kitchen near the freezer. What? Trish asked, noticing my attention towards the back of the diner. I shushed her before starting towards the freezer. Listen, I whispered. It sounded like something big was dragging its feet across the floor. You hear that?

I watched Trish and Andy cut their ears. Listening closer, I could also hear the sound of someone's muffled bawling in the distance. sounding like their mouth was covered or taped over. I watched as Trish seemed to take notice. What the hell is that? she asked, turning out and looked towards the back like I was. And he just looked at the both of us confused. Now you two, Trish, what are you guys going on?

He stopped when he heard the sound of the freezer door opening. Now his eyes were wide. What the fuck? "'Who's back there?' We heard the freezer door shut, still hearing the muffled screaming from behind. And he started towards the back when I shut out my hand, stopping him.

"'Wait, what if it's a maniac with a gun or something?' And he just pushed past me towards the back. I followed after him, with Trish joining behind me. The sounds from the freezer were louder now, shrill, like someone was being tortured. I could hear what sounded like a young girl, high school age, screaming. No, please don't, let me go. These were followed by sharp cries of pain that caused the three of us to have to cover our ears.

As we were doing this, the sounds both of screaming and the weird squealing were getting louder and louder. I began imagining the thing on the other side to be a sort of mutant behemoth pig monster like Andy had said, with huge muscular arms and gigantic tusks that impale me like a kebab. Finally, Andy ran and got the emergency fire extinguisher and used it to batter the door until we heard something full to the ground, crashing on the other side before shoving the door open. In front of the door was a bunch of the fresh meatboxes that had apparently been propped against the door to keep it shut.

Now knocked over onto the floor of the freezer, I saw a few of them had broken open, scattering red, meaty, bloody chunks all across the floor of the freezer. Just for a brief second, I looked closely at a pile of the stuff, and that was all it took to make me start to wretch.

There, spilling out of the box was what looked to be a large intestine, coiling out from the severed legs of what looked to be a small child, possibly even an infant. almost on cue the smell of a dead body flooded my nose instantly further causing my stomach to turn over on itself i wasn't the only one struggling to keep from spilling their stomach either after seeing this and he had to cover his mouth and turn away to her credits funnily enough given how she always claimed to hate scary movies in the past when i talked about them trish was the only one who wasn't affected by this at least not as much as much as much as she always claimed to hate scary movies in the past when i talked about them trish was the only one who wasn't affected by this at least not as much as me and Andy. She took the lead and went inside. It took another second of pulling ourselves together before me and Andy could follow her though. Inside we could all hear the sounds of

screaming and pigs squealing from the far end of the freezer. Slowly the three of us made her way towards the back, towards this sound. Despite what I said earlier about Trish being the most strong stomach out of the three of us, what she saw next made her vomit right there in the freezer where she stood. There in the middle of the floor was a young girl. Couldn't have been a day over 17. Pinned to the floor naked and on top of her was a giant, hairy, overweight griller of a man wearing what looked like one of those pig's masks you'd see from Party City on Halloween. The pig man stopped as he must have heard Trish and reared up from the girl before turning to look at us. for a second we all just stood there

me and Trish both speechless with horror while Andy was the first to speak Who are you What the fuck are you doing He, it, whatever Just stood snorting angrily Like he was rearing up to charge at Andy Trish ran over to try and help the girl

When she was snatched by the throat and hurled Into a stack of meatboxes behind her I ran to her help her up while Andy charged towards the pig man. Just like Trish, Andy was caught by the throat before being forced to the ground. After helping Trish up, she ran over to help the girl while I tried to help Andy. Pigman had him on the ground, crushing his throat and pressing one knee on his chest, crushing his ribs. And without thinking, I heard myself at him, shoving him off of Andy and into the wall to the right of us. Andy was wheezing and gasping for air. And he was wheezing, gasping for air,

as I helped into his feet while Trish rushed her and the girl out of the freezer. Call the police, I shouted to her as she ran out. When I looked to where the pigman had landed, I saw that the mask had fallen off. Now, against the wall, buck-ass naked, was Mr. Pigsley. What the... Before I could even finish that thought, he looked up at me, glaring. before letting out a deafening squeal and charging at me. In less than a few seconds he was on top of me,

ravenously trying to bite at my face like a rabid dog. I tried pushing his face away, which resulted in three of my fingers getting bitten, hard enough to start bleeding and go numb. And he tried wrestling him off of me by getting him in a chokehold, only to be met by a back hand that sent him into the wall again. Now he was crushing my throat like,

he had been with Andy. My vision started blurring when the next thing I knew, I felt Mr. Pigsley's hand released my throat, causing me to grasp for air. Mr. Pigsley was on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, dazed, with Andy holding one of the boxes that he'd used to bash him over the head with. "'Hey, you're okay?' he asked. "'Yeah, yeah,' I groaned, pain still shooting through my hand. I could hear him. I could Here Mr. Pigsley groaned as he stirred on the floor. I told Andy to stay there and make sure he didn't go anywhere while I went to check up on Trish. Sure enough, Trish and the girl were out front, talking to a couple of police officers.

I joined them and they asked me where he was. I led them back to the freezer where Mr. Pigsley was still writhing on the floor. The officers then took over, leading us back out to the front. By that time, the parking lot was filled with police cars. and an ambulance. After having them checked out by the ambulance, the other officers escorted Andy, Trish and the girl home while I was checked out for my hand. I actually had to be taken to the hospital for it to get stitches. I read a few days after that. Upon looking into the contents of the freezer, the mutilated remains of infants, as well as several teenagers had been found with evidence

that they were being ground up and processed using the meat grinder next to the dry stock area in the back. Mr. Pigsley was arrested and tried for kidnapping, as they were unable to link him to any of the human remains at the time. He claimed, though, that he had absolutely no idea what was going on, that apparently he was at his house one moment and then lying naked in the freezer the next. In the end, he was sentenced to three and a half years in a psychiatric facility. The diner was closed down and condemned after that, and a month later, it was cleared out and bulldozed, It's now serving as a vacant parking lot. I lost all contact with Trish and Andy,

as well as anyone else from Mr. Pigsley's diner. Soon after that night, I've got a new job as a sales associate at a thrift store, where I work nowadays. Oh, the pay isn't as much, and the hours are long, sure, but my co-workers are pretty cool. Plus, at least I don't have to work around food anymore. Well, it was sometime last week that I was scrolling around online,

just screwing around on my break at work, when I found old articles about local sightings of the pig man. I clicked on them and read about multiple reports of people, namely teens and or small children, going missing in the dead of night in the town located just next to mine. Each time a few witnesses would claim to see a giant creature with the head of a pig and the body of a man lurking around. Of course, these were usually the tinfoil hat types,

making these claims, so it didn't surprise me that these claims weren't exactly taken seriously by authorities at the time. That said, they never found any suspects, nor were the missing persons ever found. But the worst part, the thing that's driven me now to have constant nightmares was when I looked at the dates of the reports. They were all dated in the early 50s, right around the time that the diner had first opened its doors. All that time, I, as a year, as, and I was, and as well as God knows how many others had been eating children. What's even worse is that

for almost a year, I was the one that cooked it and served it to people. This is why I've decided two things. First, I will never work in another food establishment again. No exceptions. The second is that I'm strictly a vegetarian. It was admittedly a bit hard at first. Like I said, how could you pass up a nice, juicy prime rip?

But any time I thought about meat of any kind, I can't help but remember what I saw in the freezer that night. Stuck in night shift. My corpse child. Terrace County, born and raised. Proudly. Nice home up in the mountains where you could look down upon the world, not giving much of a single care.

Well, with this sort of description like that, you'd think there'd be nothing to really complain about, would there? For the most part, you'd be right, of course. My life was a nice and happy one through and up to that point. But, happy life or not, no one's without at least one ghost story or one traumatic event that ends up sticking with them for the rest of the lives, right? For me, it was when I was well into young adulthood.

I hadn't moved out of my house yet, given that I was working part-time as a grocer while also going to community college. Well, it, believe it or not, wasn't a bad job for what it was, and it allowed me to kick enough each month to Mar and Dad for a rent to keep them off my back while not putting me in the hole. People had a lick of damn sense, and for the most part, people seemed to like me. One night, though, I found the case to be very different. One night I was just trying to work as usual.

It was about two and a half hours from closing time. I found that this one guy kept coming in the store. It wasn't entirely uncommon for this kind of thing to happen. It's no exaggeration to say that, for the most part, the place was basically dependent on repeat customers. The thing was, I at least knew said repeat customers. This guy, however, I didn't know. The second thing out of sorts here

was the fact that this guy also didn't actually buy anything. Well, finally, the biggest mark of all, though, was the fact that I couldn't see the guy's face. He wore a hood and hat, with shades that pretty much concealed the majority of his face from view. Well, that alone was enough to get him looked at suspiciously, not to mention being approached by employees and told her please remove the hood. But everything else, all two other people there with me that night. I guess they were too busy to notice or say anything to him about it. fortunately at the front counter where I was there was little to no business so I decided to go and say something to the guy

I approached him in the electronics aisle and asked hey there sir there's anything I can help you with he snapped his head to look at me like a deer in headlights I glared my throat and repeated my question he exchanged a glance back and forth between me and the shelf in front of him he then lowered his head and walked away "'Hey, wait,' I exclaimed, running to catch up with him. "'We get walking.

"'I was about to radio to one of the others "'that he was heading toward the pet aisle "'when I found that he wasn't there anymore. "'I looked to my right and left down the chemical and pharmaceutical aisles "'to see if he was in either of those and I'd just missed him. "'He wasn't. "'I then ran to see if he'd beat me to the pet aisle. "' Nope, nothing.

"'He just wasn't there. What the? Where did he go? I started throwing my head around frantically. Where was he? He was right there, wasn't he? What the hell happened? Well, I was snapped back to attention when I felt a hand on my shoulder, causing me to whirl around and almost backhand my co-worker in the face. Whoa, Christy. Switch to decaf, please. I let out a sigh.

Oh, geez, Frank. I'm sorry, how to you. I just... He hurled up his hand. Look, forget about that. Who the hell is watching the register? Oh shit, yeah, yeah, I'm on it. I turned then and hurried back to the front counter. When I got back to the front, I did my best to try and forget about the whole thing.

It was nothing. Just a one-in-a-million fluke that some guy kept coming in and out, and that... Well, he was then gone in an instant. Well, that is until I saw him again. I was walking through the front door, like he had the past several times that day. He walked again towards electronics, where I'd followed him. Sir? I called out.

Just like last time he looked at me and bolted for the pet aisle. I followed him again. I needed to again lose him in chemicals and pharmaceuticals. This time I spent a good ten or so minutes trying to search for him before I was once again approached from behind by Frank. This time, though, I noticed something else. Frank asked me who was watching the front of the store again, like he had the first time. I was about to turn and head back again when I noticed this.

He, um, didn't you say that last time? I asked him. He caught his eyebrows at me. Last time, he asked. What are you talking about? Just a moment ago, didn't you tell me to head back to the front? He looked down for a moment before shaking his head. at me. Okay, well, what about the guy in the hoodie? Did you see him? He shook his head again. Christy, I seriously think you need to switch to. Decaf? I asked, cutting him off. His eyebrow raised further. Um, yeah. Hey, how do you... Well, you said that too. For a moment the two of us just looked

unfounded at each other, before he turned and walked away. I stood for a moment, confused as all hell. The way my head spun, I'm all surprised it didn't detach itself from my head and start flying around like a helicopter. Hmm, I did see that right. That guy was there, both before and now, wasn't he? Why did Frank repeat himself? Does he know he did? How come he didn't see the guy?

I turned and was about to head back for a third time, what a thought occurred to me. I realised that the emergency back door was located just past the pet food aisle. I realised he must have been using that to run out, circle around and then come back in. I figured he must be using that door to sneak out however much of the stores merchandise by that point, and then coming back in to grab more. And with this in mind, I ran through and looked out the door. On the parking lot, it was empty back there. I looked around, using my phone as a flashlight to see if he was lingering around.

Yes, and before you say anything, yes, I realised that what I was doing was dangerous, checking out the back area alone in the middle of the night. Again, though, it was normally a safe area to be in, where stuff like this wasn't usually a huge concern. Plus, I did always carry my butterfly knife on me in case I needed to use a blade to open packaging on one of the products. They don't supply us with box cutters for some reason. In any event, neither he nor anybody else was any way.

around figuring I'd already missed him and that he'd likely already made it back to the front I turned and ran back to the register sure enough I was right I made it back in time to catch him in the electronics department again I was about to confront him again when I stopped opting instead to observe him first I figured I could catch him in the act you know well I watched him for at least ten minutes and didn't see him stealing anything In fact, I didn't see him doing anything either. Just standing there, shaking and looking around like an idiot. Finally, I decided to walk up.

As I did so, I quietly radioed to Frank for backup. Be right there, said Frank's voice over the radio, a little too loud. Unfortunately, this ended up giving my position away. They looked over to me again, spooked before turning and booking it. Oh no, you don't Well, in an instant I watched him dart past the chemical and pharmacy aisles again Before losing sight of him

Maybe losing sight of him isn't the right word here It might be more accurate to say that he upped and freaking vanished As in one instant, not even a second An instant He was right there in front of me Maybe just a foot or two ahead of me And the next He's not anymore

and keep in mind that he had at least another three feet to go before he could even reach the door how the hell then did he keep getting outside not only that why did he keep running away from me every time he saw me if he wasn't stealing anything was he some sort of wanted man well okay yeah that might explain his apparent need to cover his freaking face but still didn't explain why he kept coming into the store or how he was doing it either I mean, we had cameras. He didn't know that right. If he was on the run, he was essentially shooting himself in the foot

by continuing to come into the store, wasn't he? Face covering or no, he was still there. At least I thought he was. And he was still continuing to come in and run out, even using the same exact route through the store each time. Who is this guy? What's his deal? I was broken from my thoughts again by Frank, placing his hand on my shoulder

while I whirled around and reared back again Oh, Christ, switch to Deca The words honestly jumped from my mouth

Before I even realized it A sort of knee-jerk reaction almost Frank stared back at me shot Um Yeah, I guess Hey, wait who's um Watch in the front his eyes widened and that's when I realized something was very wrong here

I was dead on the money again for the third time in a row I just accurately predicted what he was going to say and when not only that it was in the same exact spot as the last two freaking times what the hell is this frank was turning to head back into the office when I stopped him hey wait huh he asked turning back around. Listen, have you noticed anything, I don't know, off lately?

His eyes glanced around for a moment before, pursing his lips and shaking his head. Not really, he replied. Well, outside of you abandoning the register when we still have another... He paused and looked at his watch two hours before we close up for the night. Oh, I'm sorry, I've been having to... Stop, then. Realisation washing over me. Hold on a second. Did you say we still had another two hours before closing? Yeah, why? His eyes were bugging out at me with his eyebrows raised.

Show me. Hesitently he rotated his wrist to show me his watch. Sure enough, he was right. It was only 8.15. The same time it was when I first started to chase that guy. well now I was alarmed I had no time passed for three times alone I wasted trying to catch this idiot

should have at least burned through another 30 or maybe even 45 minutes yet not a single minute had passed apparently I was speechless staring doll-eyed in horror at Frank's watch Frank must have seen the colour draining from my face

because the next thing he asked me was if I was feeling ill I almost said yes truth be told Instead, I looked up at him and replied that I was fine. Listen, I'm... You think I could take a look at the cameras? He stared quizzically at me.

I'll explain in the office. Just please. Sure, yeah, I guess. He tapped the button on his walkie and asked the other associate there, Harold, if he'd come up to the register while he and I were in the office. Howard replied, or be it not too enthusiastic. that he would. So I followed Frank into the office.

Frank closed the door behind us and began pulling up the CCTV footage. For about 15 minutes, Frank scrolled through the hours of footage until I stopped him where I'd seen the guy walking in. There! I exclaimed, pointing at the screen. Frank froze the footage where the guy walked in. Well, that guy's been in and out of here several times now. I had him rewind the footage to prove my point. "'Ah?' he said.

"'You see it too right.' "'Yeah. What the hell? "'Hey, how come you didn't say anything to him, "'especially with the hood on?' "'I did, Frank, three times, "'and every time he took off and vanished. "'Watch.' "'I took the keyboard,

"'something I'm admittedly not supposed to do, "'and forwarded the footage up to the time I confronted him. "'The footage played, "'and we watched where I confronted the guy, "'and he took off. I then switched the cameras to the chemical and pharmacy aisles where I kept losing him. This, however, is where things somehow got even weirder. Not only did the guy just basically out of existence on camera,

but that was also where the footage across all feeds ended at 8.13pm. I tried forwarding further to show the fact that I've been trying to chase him three times now, But that was it. Everything stopped at 8.13 p.m. But, but, I stammered, staring slack-jawed at the CCTV screen. What? asked Frank. Why won't he go further? I mean, I chased that guy like three times.

Chris D. Hon, he began sighing. I think you've been working too many night shifts here. Don't patronise me, Frank. I know what I saw. He held his hands up defensively. I kept mashing the forward button like a madman before I felt Frank's hand on my shoulders stopping me. Christy, honey, why did you have an early night?

I looked at him. He looked confused, though obviously not as much as me. I exchanged glances between him and the monitor. But I'm telling you, I... Christy, he said, cutting me off, giving me a look that told me I wasn't going to make my case any more believable by continuing to push it.

I sighed then, slumping my shoulders and stepping away from the panel. Oh, Christy. Seriously, you've been working too hard. I nodded, grabbing up my purse and jacket. I'll tell Jimmy you got sick or had a family emergency or something.

Me and Harold will finish out the night. I nodded my head sullenly. Well, I'm going to be perfectly honest. I likely wouldn't have minded the early pass to go home. He had a point for one thing about me working a lot of night shifts. He and I both knew Jimmy, the manager, himself, probably would have told me the exact same thing in this instance. Another thing was that part of me wondered if Frank was right,

that maybe I really was just suffering from over-exhaustion. But of course, at the same time, I knew damn well that I wasn't. something funky was going on here and for some reason it wasn't being picked up by Frank or even the cameras unfortunately with no way of actually being able to prove this I had no choice but to do as Frank said and punch the clock for the night Frank and I walked out of the office and he split off to the right where he'd met me before toward the pet aisle

while I went back toward the front as I was trudging dejectedly to the counter to the time clock I saw something that made me freeze into a double take. Harold wasn't at the counter. I ran over to look for him, thinking maybe he'd ducked down behind it or something. Nope. Nothing. Harold, I called out. Nothing.

I buzzed my radio. I, Harold, where are you? Nothing. Harold, where are you? You're supposed to be watching... I stopped. Oh, I... almost didn't catch it. It was almost a split second thing that, had I not looked up right when I had, frantically looking for Harold, I'd have missed it.

It was the guy again, walking hurriedly past the counter towards electronics. He hadn't made it further than maybe the other end of the front counter before I zipped out from around and ran for him. Hey, you, I called. He didn't stop. He was about to keep walking when I darted for him, roughly grabbing his shoulder. Hey, I'm talking to you, gutter. I got no further, though, when I started to feel something tingling in my body. A strange, almost synthetic sort of supersonic vibration shooting from my hand that traveled all the way up my arm. This vibration then quickly became a sort of stinging sensation that screamed all throughout my body inside and out. My entire body, skin, muscles, organs and all, all felt like it was being liquefied. The process was excruciatingly painful, yet when I tried to scream, it felt that much more like my body was a piece of freaking paper that was being torn in half.

I did scream, though, and it seemed to echo as if I were in a tunnel or something. Well, sort of. It's confusing, and believe me, my freaking head hurts even now, writing about it here. But I guess the best way to describe it is to imagine screaming into a tunnel, like I mentioned, before, but that tunnel then somehow splits itself in every direction, both possible and impossible, with the sound still travelling through each of them endlessly as they do. And then imagine that not only do the tunnels not stop dividing in all directions, but the sounds within them start to then distort in every way, both imaginable and unimaginable,

all at the same time. And you hear them all at the same time. I started then to see these sorts of tunnels, I guess you could call them. There were these clear, almost jelly-looking funnels that twisted and wriggled as they constantly split apart within this dark expanse. I looked around, heart-frozen in my chest. What the fuck was any of this? Where would it come from? How did it come from that, well, the questions I couldn't begin to muster any kind of willpower to try asking even myself.

I watched as more of the tunnels diverged, each one making my scream sound less and less like me, less and less human, in fact. I then looked down at my body. I was unharmed. Despite being damn near certain, I'd taken at least a thousand fire-pokes simultaneously all over my body multiple times. When I went to move my hand, however, something even weirder happened. Similar to the way my screaming produced all these different tunnels, the movement of my hand produced tunnels as well. This time, though, I saw me inside them. Each new, diverting tunnel had a version of me,

bringing my hands up to my face and widening my eyes in pure shock. And just like the ones with the screams, these two appear to have these images of me distort more and more with each new division. Holy mother of hell! My frantic train of thoughts was further derailed when I began to hear that very same thought yes i said it i heard my thought the same way i heard the scream and saw the actions with my hands the same effect exact effect happened with my thoughts too and then from well somewhere in the vast mix of nothing and everything around me i could hear this deep baritone voice blast out cutting through somehow all of the other noises from the tunnels around me concentrate the voice said "'Concentrate!' I cried out, hysterical by this point.

"'Like the scream this too was painful to do, causing me to scream again. "'Both sounds then joined the never-ending, ever-reaching junction of tunnels around me.' "'Concentrate, Christy,' it replied. "'What the fuck? How do they know my name? Who is this?' More tunnels formed, each one distorting the internal questions, some morphing them into different languages and others into not even languages at all, rather just mumbles and grunts. Concentrate on what? I cried out painfully again. What is this? Where am I? Concentrate, it bellowed. As long as you continue to panic, you will only create more divisions.

Divisions? What are you talking about? Look in front of you. I did. What are you seeing at the moment? microscopic divisions in time itself. With each movement, action, or thought you make, more divisions will occur, allowing for every possible way for said action, movement, or thought to be perceived. Well, this was obviously the point where I learned the most unabridged, rorous definition of words like confused, lost, flabbergasted, and baffled. Being honest, after this experience, I actually spent time trying to invent a new word for such a thought or feeling. The thing is, and I kind of knew it then, too. Such would never exactly capture what

it was like I felt in that very moment, lost in whatever bizarrely limbo or dimension I was in. What the hell am I supposed to concentrate on? Where were you before all of this? Belowed the voice, probably having heard my thoughts as another tunnel, or I guess division that was created from them. What? You mean like in the store? If that was where you were before you breached, yes. Breached, I asked, feeling no more knowledgeable than I had last time. I don't...

Just concentrate, and you can re-enter your normal plane. I stood there. I didn't know how I could concentrate on anything. For one thing, I'd had a hard enough time doing that without whatever the hell was going on here. and another thing I couldn't even think without literally hearing my own thoughts get jumbled up until they were not even recognizable. And then there's the fact that I just didn't freaking understand what was going on. You are not concentrating, just eyes the voice.

I can't. I close my eyes and cover my ears. I just, I can't. There's too much. You can do it, Christy. You must, else you'll continue to divide within. here until you've atrophied into nothing. What? I cried.

That one, I believe, rang out the loudest and created more divisions than most, or all of the others before it. This, of course, meant that it was much more impossible to focus or concentrate on a damn thing. You must clear your mind, concentrating on where you were before what led you to this moment. My breathing was panicked my heart on the brink of just giving the fuck out. by that point. Not only did I not know who the hell was talking to me or what the hell was going on,

how the hell did I know that what they were talking about would even work? They said if I didn't know, that I'd be done for. I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. Focus on where I was before, they said, what I was doing before. God, where was I before? I strained to remember. It was then I began to feel a draining sensation spreading throughout my body. It wasn't painful per se, but rather, I felt as though something was being taken out of me. A feeling of fading away.

Atrophying. God, I was being erased. Concentrate, you panic now and you're fucked. Focus on where I was before. Where was I before? The store. I was in the store. God, what was I doing there, though?

My mind felt overheated, like a computer chip about to fry. Still, though, I kept my eyes shut tight. I tried to think about what exactly it was I was doing in the store. I remembered I was... God, what was I doing? The time clock. I was about to check out for the night. But why, though?

Because Frank said I needed to. said I've been working too hard. Yeah, but what led to that, though? Oh, you really are to switch to decaf, I said out unwittingly. I opened my eyes to see the division cease moving around in the black void. I can hear the sound of my voice trying to distort itself the way the others before it had, but seemingly was stuck or caught by something. From there, my memory of moments before flooded back to me,

seemingly causing the distortions to go abruptly silent. the divisions twisted and knotted together before forming this bright ball in the centre of the void you almost done it concentrate on the very moment that led you to hear Frank said switched to decaf why did he feel the need to say that oh I kept running into him in the front office yeah but what kept bringing me there because I kept chasing the

and then it hit me The guy in the black hoodie, I kept running into Frank because I was chasing the guy in the hoodie who kept coming into the store and disappearing. My eyes opened then to see a glowing white sphere. The light from it wasn't so much bright, though, as it was spectral. It was glowing, yet I could look directly at it without hurting my eyes at all. Everything was quiet. Everything was still. I brought my hands to my face again. I screamed and shouted again, and nothing happened.

happened. Hey, I called out. While I could see no one else was around me in the void I was in, I still kind of half-expected the voice from before to reply somehow. Ironically enough, still caught me a bit off guard when it actually did. The breach is being sealed, it thundered. Okay, I stuttered. I shook my head. So, okay, can you tell me what the fuck's going on? I mean, I was just about to get off work when. Calm yourself, it interjected. I took a deep breath while it continued. We stumbled into what is known to very, very few as a breach, a shift in the tapestry of time and dimension. This was the point in which both my mind and heart seemed to freeze at the

same time. I still managed to remember what he'd actually said to me, but I'd be damned if I'd made a lick of sense, either back then or even now. Time, you may or may not know, is a straight line. What most won't realize is that it, too, has dimensions to it. It's as three-dimensional as the Earth itself. This, however, is something that's not typically seen by the ordinary eye. Also, like with the Earth's own crust, time itself occasionally undergoes its own seismic shifts.

When this happens, cracks will form, and on occasions, individuals like yourself end up slipping through these cracks and causing a breach to form. Oh, okay, I replied hesitantly. So then, how was this shift or whatever caused? I mean, there's a way to prevent them or predict them right. Well, let me answer that with my own question. Can you prevent or determine the cause of an earthquake? No, I guess not, other than when something big causes that take time.

place to shift, like construction equipment or something, and we have seismographs to at least tell us when it happens. Oh, this is true, but now take that and apply it to this. Time is as natural of force as the elements, therefore it too undergoes its own processes that are beyond the abilities of mortal beings to control. God, I began to feel dizzy again, my vision on the ore blurred a bit. That, he continued not noticing me, or at least not seeming to, is why when you moved, made sounds or thought, the divisions were created, further rips in the fabric of reality. It has that effect on those that cause a breach. It also took you, too, as it has many others. Others? My tongue began to go numb. Yes, others who didn't make it out of the breach, much like the soul you were chasing earlier. And it would seem that it's made its mark on you as well. What? Don't.

You need to conserve what you have. The more energy you expand, the more of yourself you lose here in the breach. You've managed to calm it, but the shift is still in effect. Unfortunately, the effects it's already had on you are irreversible, but you can still come out of this with the rest of yourself intact. What do I have to do? with each passing second I felt my body was having all of its innards

sucked out through a straw or something Come forward step into the orb The sealed time breach You'll be returned to the point You were when you slip through the shift I wanted to ask more questions obviously But I knew at the same time

It was right Who or whatever the hell it was God Well the longer I lingered in the void The more of myself I continued to lose with no other alternative I went forward into the orb. As soon as my hand broke through, I saw for a split second the front of the store before a flash of white light splashed across my eyes.

This time I did actually end up having to shield my eyes. In fact, this time it actually felt like my eyes was still burning even after they were closed as tightly as possible. Luckily, this lasted only about two or three seconds before I was able to open my eyes again to see that I was in front of, of the electronics aisle again. I looked around, and the store looked normal enough. I reached out and felt along the countertop to my register.

It was solid, metallic, just like usual. I began to walk around. Everything was quiet, as quiet as it had been before, save for the god-awful music that was playing over the radio. My legs were wobbly, I almost fell, managing to catch myself on the countertop. I stumbled then between the pharmacy and chemical aisles. Everything looked fine.

Everything was quiet. Everything was normal. I was back. I was startled again when I felt a hand rest on my shoulder from behind me. I snapped around to find Frank. This time when I reared back, it was a bit delayed. Hey, Christy, it's just me. It's time to close up.

My face went from one of exhausted a life, arm to one of confusion. I was seeing this, Frank had up his watch. It read 10.05. Harold came down from the pet aisle and walked past us to the office. Closing time, I slurred. He raised his eyebrows at me.

Yeah, he said nervously. You're okay. You look pale. I didn't respond. Apparently whatever look I had on my face spoke enough for me because the next thing I knew, he was telling me to take a couple of days off like he had before. This time I accepted that invitation with no rebuttal,

nor would I ever challenge it if I did have the energy to speak. It was during this little vacation from work that I was taken by my folks to see a neurologist. There ran several tests on me, extensively too, but in a few weeks still came back with the results that there was nothing wrong. When asked about my sudden lapse in energy or my difficulty in being able to speak,

they suggested sudden onset of narcolepsy, They told me the best thing to do was to have a healthy diet, plenty of rest, and not to over-exert myself. As you can imagine, none of that ever helped, then or now. I know, of course, why they don't as well. Whatever happened in that time shift or whatever, the breach, it's irreversible. It's all parts of my being that were distorted and erased. In spite of all this, my story does get a little better. I went back to work a few weeks later, with my time with the neurologist even allowing for paid medical leave,

where I was assigned limited register duty, basically meaning all I'd have to do is stand at the register and look pretty. As well as this, I was granted extra break periods to not overexhorsed myself. Well, my studies had become a challenge from me, but I still managed to pass the semester with a decent enough average. This was last year. I still have trouble trying to do a whole lot physically. At times it feels like I've aged a whole lot more than I should have, possibly literally. A few months after, I started noticing wrinkles and liver spots

in certain places when I looked in the mirror. Over time I noticed more and more of them progressively. Well, let's say this. When this incident happened, I was 27, looking more like 19 or 20. And now I'm 28, looking closer to 38. My folks, yes, I'm still with them. I think it may be some sort of stress. The thing is, I'm not stressed.

Things are easier for me now than they'd ever been, both at work as well as with classes. No, it's not stress. It was one shift. The one night shift that almost wouldn't end. The one that almost ended me. And so once again, reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks has always always.

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

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