Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep360: Episode 360: Extremely Weird Horror Stories

Episode Date: August 6, 2026

Tonight’s opening terrifying tale of the strange and macabre is ‘Green Skin’, written by the legendary Michael Whitehouse, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all; please visit his website:http://www.michael-whitehouse.com//user/Michael_Whitehouse/Today’s next phenomenal story is ‘I'm a Night Janitor for a Haunted Elementary School’, an original story by f4c3m3l73r, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. user/f4c3m3l73r Tonight’s penultimate story is ‘Journey to the Dark Web’ by h3man4694, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Journey_to_the_Dark_Webhttp://www.reddit.com/u/h3man4694Tonight’s final story is ‘The Uncle’, an original work by Fairly7Local, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Unclehttps://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Fairly7Local

Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Weirdness. It's a subjective and multifaceted concept that refers to something that deviates from what is considered normal, typical or expected in a particular context. It involves a sense of peculiarity, oddity, or unconventionality that may provoke surprise, curiosity, or even discomfort in some people, as we will see in tonight's four strange tales. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language,

as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. It started three days before Halloween, an unrelenting torrent of rain, the likes of which I'd never seen in all of my, at the time, 14 years. Of those years I could remember, I'd always spent the October weeks preparing for the 31st.

By the time the word teen was subverting everything, including our outlook, dress sense, age and hopes, my friends and I were almost being ironic by still going trick or treating. Almost, but not quite. In fact, we used a particular excuse that year to justify dressing up and wandering the streets in search of sweets. That excuse was a timid figure of my little brother, Max. He was six years old and needed a chaperone to accompany him. peaking out from a mess of brown curls and a kind smile he was a shy little boy and as a result didn't have many friends

certainly none who lived close enough to accompany him that night he'd replaced the need to be around children of his own age with hero worship following me no matter where i went i often joked that if i were ever lost the police could use him as a sniffer dog i look back now and grow increasingly disappointed at myself for being frustrated at him always in tow. Alongside us that night were my two friends, Zita and Robert. The three of us had grown up on the same street, playing, arguing, and then playing again for most of our lives.

Robert still lived three doors down from my house, and while Zita had moved to another part of our suburb a year earlier, she always returned to the street where she felt most at home. They were both happy to help Max go knocking on doors, especially since it gave them the opportunity to celebrate Halloween without feeling embarrassed. In our neighbourhood at least, a lot of kids our age had already stopped dressing up and would have made fun of us if we'd let them. Zeta, however, was not easy to push around.

With a flick of her tongue or her black hair, she could reduce anyone to half their size in a moment. Robert was no slouch either, and had often been given a hard time for his bright red hair. He'd learned early in life to meet fire with fire. It was only later that I found out he was beaten by his father at home. That explained a lot, and I still regret not knowing about it until my mother told me years later. Someone should have intervened, but, as is the way,

too many people were concerned about causing a stirthin, doing what was right. Of the three of us, I was a quiet one, shying away from confronting anything around me. That trait ran in the family. I was a nervous kid, though. Little Mac seemed more hesitant. If Robert had learned to answer the derision of his peers with his fists, I'd learn to avoid it with submission.

I preferred to keep my head low, absorbing the pain subjected by the bullies in our lives, and then, bravely, making fun of them in return. Of course, this was always done when out of earshot, and so, ultimately, my cutting retorts were a series of meaningless protests. but they did make me feel better. That Halloween, Max dressed up as a gruffalo. The gruffalo was his favorite book,

and he thought all the monsters were big cuddly messes of brown fur who were secretly frightened of the world. I half suspected that this was the reason he liked to keep his own hair a tangle of curls. Max loved monsters, and I think he took comfort in the simple honesty of their appearance and their strength. He was an innocent sort, even for his age. However, we are cursed to have our innocent shattered, and in the torrid rain of that Halloween night, we all earned our scars. My parents made me promise to keep an eye on Max at all times, as if I'd leave him on a street corner waiting to be abducted, and I could feel the curtains twitching from three streets away, as I imagined my dad looking for us to return on time as he had instructed. I think part of his nervousness was the weather.

The rain had battered the city for days, and there had been serious flooding closer to the centre where a river had burst its banks. The previous day, I thought there was little chance of us going out on Halloween, as water cascaded down hills and into drains, many of the latter clogging up with fallen leaves. And a swirling wind made the outside world that more inhospitable, and so, with disappointment, I was sure we would miss out on all those treats hiding behind nameless, weather-beaten. doors. When Halloween night did arrive, our fortunes had turned. While it was still raining, it wasn't nearly as torrential as the previous days. Things had calmed down quite a bit, but our dad told us in no uncertain terms that we had to come home immediately if the weather grew worse. As usual, I thought he was overreacting. Dad offered to come with us, and while Max was keen, I was less so. As I said, teen had subverted everything, including my desire to be around my

parents. I promised to take good care of Max and lift the safety of our home, pulling my little brother behind me by one of his fair claws off into the darkened, wet night. Zeta and Robert were dressed as thing one and thing two from Dr. Seuss's The Cat in the Hat, though even with their bright red and white striped jumpers, the rainy night made them difficult to see if they wanted to I was the eponymous cat in the hat, and wore on top of my head an old top hat my mother and I had found at a charity shop a few weeks earlier. I had also been drawn to an old dark grey sports jacket hanging at the back of the shop. Something about it called to me, but my mother was insistent that we had something at home which would do the job. The outfit, then, was finished off with a long black coat and whiskers drawn on my face over white face paint.

Max observed that Halloween should be scary. You should dress up as a monster like me. I, in return, formed him that the cat in the hat was perhaps the most dangerous monster in all of fiction. Did you see the messy maid of the house when the boy and girl's mom was out? This made him giggle, and while Zeta and Robert were running around us at times playing their characters annoyingly too well. Though Zeta's efforts at speaking in rhymes were a little darker than Roberts, he had the nervous energy of things. too down pat. I occasionally reprimanded him, and I best cat in the hat voice, but as the wind blustered and the rain drizzled, I deeply desired the warmth of a house, rather than being

drenched in the bleakness of my neighbourhood, a neighbourhood which had taken on a more ominous atmosphere as the night wore on. The streets around us were populated by the occasional group of trick-or-treaters, trudging through the increasingly water-logged streets. As the clouds above opened up and the rain fell in greater volume, it became clear that many of the children had given up the ghost and returned to the comfort of their homes. We, on the other hand, were navigating puddles, lots and lots of puddles. The small islands of water rippled in the cold wind, which, well, not quite a gale yet, promised ferocity. If I had my way, we would have visited every door in one or two streets, captured a decent hall of sweets, and then headed back

home out of the rain as quickly as possible. But Max insisted otherwise. Somehow as this looked too scary in the story night, especially those with glow-in-the-dark skulls plastered on the windows or headless skeletons hanging from the doors, swaying in the wind. And I grew frustrated with Max. The rain was now heavier, and the wind had an uncomfortable, icy chill to it. I just wanted to get back home and watch some horror movies with my friends. Not that one. "'Max said, pointing to a house with a bloody hand-sticker on its door. "'Oh, come on, Max. "'I thought you said Halloween should be scary,' I said, sighing.

"'That one,' he said, pointing to another house across the street with no decorations. "'I tried to inform Max that the houses without decorations were less likely to have sweets "'or even owners willing to answer our knocks. "'Yet Max insisted on picking homes which should not impress fear on his mind. He held onto my arm in the growing wind and continued to guide us, more often than not away from houses which clearly reveled in Halloween, this timidity despite his monster obsession. Monsters aren't afraid, I would say,

but Max looked at the night skies, the clouds above swirled, and held on tight to me regardless. We wandered from door to door, and as we did so, I could see that the rain was pooling significantly in places, The flooding was growing. So too was the loot we budding trick-or-treaters had now sex. Twice I suggested to my friends that we should go back home to count everything and watch a great horror film. John Carpenter's The Fog was a particular favourite of mine around that time.

I hope this tactic would work and that collectively we could persuade Max through peer pressure. But it seemed I was alone in that thought. Robert enjoyed winding Max up against me. It seemed to take glee when he started calling me names, and my brother held back a giggle. One of the only times where Max treated me as fallible. Zeta laughed, of course, but we'll quickly put Robert in his place

with some name-calling of our own if he got too big for himself. The strong gust of wind pushed against us. We really need to go back. We promised Dad, I reminded everyone. Just a wee bit longer, please, said Max. His brown-furred, yellow-eyed Gruffalo hood slipping down over his face.

Remembering the Halloween's when I'd been Max's age and the magic of the night once a year, I fixed the hood and laughed at the yellow eyes and smiling Grufflow face now on top of his head. Okay, I'll tell you what. One more street, then home. That's at least a few houses, agreed? Max nodded happily, and that was when we turned on to Greer Street. It was like most of our suburb that night. puddles of rain to be negotiated carefully, dimly lit windows occasionally populated with Halloween decorations,

but there was something that set it apart from the others. As we moved along Greer Street, trying to find a house that was acceptable to Max, I noticed a smell. It was a rotten scent, like leaves that had been left to decay in the damp. Though the rain held the scent back to a degree, it was still a horrible odour. I assume that a drain nearby had blocked and backed up somewhere in the street. With water gathering in many places, there were several candidates for the source. Across the previous three days, blockages like that had happened with regularity,

but this time the smell was different. It was the type of stench that hits you instinctively, where a deep, primal part of you recognizes that, whatever the source, it must be avoided for fear of disease or danger. still i tried to at least keep the mood light did you fart i asked zita she laughed as usual i was the only person she would let talk to her like that you must be smelling yourself she replied seriously what is it guys smells like your mom's cooking zita robert clawed at his nose as if hoping the smell would rub off we stood still for a moment in the street I could feel the hesitancy of us all because of the rotten scent. It's just a drain.

Sewage, probably. Ew, came Max's reply. You want to go home? I asked, hopefully. Max looked up at me, his gruffalo hood slipping over his eyes once again. One more, he said, pulling the hood back so he could see. Then we can go home and see what we got. He held up his bag of goodies and then dashed through a garden, gate to the left. It was the bravest he'd been all night. In fact, it may have been the bravest

he'd ever been in his life. What brought on this change? I do not know. Darker moments. I'd consider that he was being reeled in by something. Robert, Zeta and I gave chase of a straight garden path, our feet clipping concrete slabs that are in bad need of alignment. The house before us was much like most of the houses in our neighbourhoods. They weren't. no mansions, no sprawling estates, just four-in-a-block cottage flats, one after the other, which looked innocuous. Before I could get to Max, I could already see that something was wrong. He was standing at the door at the side of the house which accessed the bottom flat. In shards of dim light from the orange streetlights nearby, I could see that his face was paler than usual.

nearing the front door and grabbing Max, I reprimanded him immediately. Dad said I have to look after you. Do you know what would happen to me if you ran off like that and had an accident? We both knew what would happen. Nothing. Dad was a big softy, and if Max fell over and cracked his arm, he would have given me a stern talking to about responsibility

and looking out for my little brother, but a little more than that. Max did not respond. He looked up at me and his expression was a wary one. I was used to my brother being timid, but this was more than a shyness, more than caution. This was fear. What's wrong? asked Zeta, catching up to us with Robert. Max got carried away, I said. But my brother still said nothing.

Max, said Robert, wiping rain from his eyes. what's got you so spooked? Again, my little brother did not reply. He just looked scared. My patience was wearing thin. When I was about to drag him by the arm out of the garden back home, we all heard it. The door next to us opened,

almost inaudibly against the thick patter of rain on the ground. The chill ran through me, and, as I still held Max's shoulders in front of me, I turned my head to look inside. I expected to see someone at the door waiting to hand out treats to us, but instead all I saw was the blackness of an unlit hallway. Hello? Zeta asked loudly. No reply was given.

Robert stepped forward towards the door and then recoiled instantly holding his nose. Holy crap, that smells bad. It was right. Coming from the darkness within was the same stench we'd encountered when first walking down Greer Street. Zeta pushed past Robert, her hand resting on the doorframe. Oh, it smells like it's coming from in there. Being the bravest of the brave, I offered my usual suggestion when confronted with fear. Let's go home.

Max said nothing in response, but he slipped his hand into mine and cowered under my arm. "'It's just a door, Max,' I said, trying to sound reassuring. "'Nothing to be scared of.' I peered into the darkness. Somebody probably just forgot to lock the door when they went out, and the wind blew it open. "'It smells like Zeta when she doesn't take a bath,' Robert joked, still holding his nose. Zita turned to us. Instead of her usual retort, she looked anxious.

"'Are you okay, Zee? it unnerved me to see her so uncomfortable with the situation. Look, she said, pointing to the doorframe. My blood ran cold. The lock had been smashed open, taking a large chunk of wood out of the frame for good measure. Someone had broken into the house. Let's go home, Max finally said, breaking his silence while tugging at my arm and sounding more like me by the minute. I wanted to, but Zeta, as usual, wanted to do the right thing.

We should call the police or something. Someone might be hurt in there. I don't have any credit on my phone. Robert was always tight with money. You don't need money in your phone to call the police, idiot. Zeta started dialing from her own mobile. Call dad, Max X. I didn't want to call anyone. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there. The darkness of the hallway made me nervous. I couldn't quite see all the way in, and an unsettling feeling of being watched from inside soon pervaded my mind. Zeta was now on the line to an operator. Hello, I think there's been a break in, um, 186, Greer Street. I don't know if someone's hurt inside. Robert White more rain from his forehead. Right, I'm getting soaked. What now?

"'Maybe we should go inside and see if anyone's hurt,' suggested Zeta, hanging up the phone. Robert wore an expression of incredulity. "'No, they said we should walk up the street and wait for the police, but I think we should see if anyone needs their help in there. By the time the police arrive, it might be too late.' "'No, we have Max with us,' I said, forcefully. "'Even if we didn't. We're kids ourselves. Let the police deal with it.'

I thought I heard Max say, let's go, quite. quietly, but another noise took my attention from those words. It was a groan from inside the house. One loud enough to pierce the increasing patter of rain around us. Someone is hurt. See? Zeta almost sounded proud that she was right. It could be whoever broke in. We need to get Max out of here. Just as I said this, we collectively recoiled in horror as something crawled a along the floor of the hall at speed towards us.

Robert let out a gasp of sorts and ran. I fell over, pulling Max down on top of me, and then Zeta was gone. The door slammed shut, but because the lock was broken, the door frame rebuffed the violent bang. The door rattled on its hinges and then shuttered open again. Max was crying,

holding on to me for dear, life. I struggled to my feet, hauling him and his wet fur up with me. Panic throttled through my veins, and I found myself shouting the words, Zeta and Robert, hoping that my braver friends would somehow make it all right, that they would be able to laugh and joke and make me feel better like they always did. The only answer I received, however, was the rain from above, shattering on the ground at my feet and dripping into my eyes with icy precision. Robert was fast and was by that time probably halfway out of the street. Whatever he had seen had caused one of the bravest kids I knew to run for dear life. I didn't blame him. I would have done the same if not for having my little brother with me.

My head was spinning from the fall. As I righted myself, the mouth of the open doorway standing before me, an image of what had crawled along the floor towards us from the darkness entered my mind. A broken shot of memory, almost too horrible to consider. It was of something dark and with arms, yet how many? Returning to my usual, though now magnified, well of caution and fear, I grabbed Max and pulled him down the garden path towards the pavement of Greer Street. The rain clattered around us like thunder, and my gaze darted around me, looking for Robert.

But panic had driven him far away, and far away was a place I too desired to be, more than anything. The fear pushed me up. I almost lifted my brother off his feet by his costume, as I moved quickly against the rain, up the street away from that gaping doorway and whatever lay inside. Just as the corner and end of Greer Street came into view, I heard another sound.

It was like cold, water thrown over me, waking me from my cowardice. I'd never heard Zeta scream before, but on that dreadful Halloween night, cutting sound of her cries stretched out through the wall of rain, across the garden path and up the street towards me. It struck at my heart, and yet I could not face it. Running across the street with Max in tow, I knocked on doors one after the other, desperate to find an adult to relieve me of the burden of action. Yet no one answered. What they probably heard underneath their now deafening rain, if they heard me at all,

were the knocks of simple trick or treaters who they wished to avoid. No one was going to help us. Zeta's cries penetrated the rain once more. My mind was now as torrential as the world around me. My instinct was to leave that place and find safety. but just as I was about to abandon my friend. It was my brother who saved me from that pit of shame. As if sensing my desire to run home, he tugged on my arm, looked up at me with his shy brown eyes and said, Zeta's our friend. Something happened to me in those words, a sense of duty, I suppose.

Perhaps I didn't want to be the coward I truly was, at least in my brother's eyes. He'd always looked up to me, and in that moment I think I knew how important it truly was to feel that love and believe. I wouldn't shatter that. Of course, I wanted to help Zita, but that was the moment that transformed inaction into action. Kneeling down, I looked at Mack's face to face. His gruffalo outfit was soaked through, and the fake brown fur dripped with rain. I pulled back the yellow-eyed hood and wiped his face with my hands, affectionately pinching his cheek.

He squirmed and smiled. Even in the darkest moment, he found time to be a kid. See that tree over there, Max? I said, pointing to a solitary evergreen which had long ago being planted on the corner of the street. Max nodded. I want you to go and stand under it, okay? Get out of the rain and as soon as you see the police,

you go and you tell them what happened at the door. Show them the house. I could see the uncertainty in Max's eyes. He did not want to leave me or for me to leave him. What are you going to do? The shaking scream once more met my ears from the darkness of that house across the street. I'm going back to save our friend. Rushing across the street, I glanced over my shoulder to see Max standing safely beneath the boughs of the tree.

They wouldn't catch all the rain, but at least the thick pines would keep him. partially dry. When I came to the gate of the house, I hesitated momentarily. The rank smell from inside fingered its way down the path towards me, and yet I pushed on. Soon I stood once more in front of the open doorway, its darkness still gaping and hollow. Straining my ears, I hoped to hear what would have been the comforting sound of police sirens coming to save the day. That was not to be. It was not the time for being saved. I opened my mouth to shout Zeta's name, but then realized that I would be revealing my presence to whoever or whatever had taken her.

Instead, I pulled out my phone and switched the flashlight feature on, which at least allowed me to see a few feet ahead, like a lonely candle. As I crossed the threshold into the house, the light made something immediately apparent. The floor was covered in what I can only describe as a pure, muttered black slime. Reminded me of the trails garden slugs sometimes leave behind. In my mind, I imagined the underbelly of whatever had crawled along the whore towards us and snatched Zeta, its festering body smearing the wooden floor with its vile lubricant.

But the glimpse I'd already had of it gave the suggestion of a human-like figure, at least in part, crawling with its hands in front of it. The rain behind me now seemed a comfort compared to the damp interior of the hall. From what I could see with my phone, the house was well kept. I'd half expected to see cobwebs covering furniture and photographs, like a haunted house from an old Vincent Price movie. But though there were photographs on the wall showing a man with a happy smile standing with what looked like his family, the frames were clean. The hall itself was decorated neatly, and yet, Yet it had been corrupted with what was on the floor.

Taking a deep breath and moving forward, the floor dulled the sound of my feet somewhat, even though it was wooden. With each footstep, resistance came. Whatever residue was on the floor, it was peculiarly sticky, and the stench was nearly unbearable, like a drain blocked with something dead.

My mind returned to the police. Again, I thought I could run If I could turn and wait with my little brother outside by the evergreen tree Wait for the flashing lights and the grown-ups to deal with whatever horrors lay in that house As if responding to my uncertainty, I heard something from another room It sounded like someone moving around Whispering, I said my friend's name Zeta?

This was answered by a loud noise like something blindly fumbling around. Beneath the moving sound, I was certain that I heard a momentary gasping breath. Closing my eyes, I thought of Zeta before opening them again and moving forward. Carefully, I approached the doorway at the end of the hall where the noise had come from

and sure of what I was about to encounter. I pushed the door open. It did not creak, and I was glad to come from. of that, though I wished to save my friend from whatever had taken her, I did not want to face whatever had crawled towards us. I was now standing in a bedroom. Outside I could see the orange hue from a street lamp peeking in towards me through a gap in the curtains. At first, I thought there was nothing unusual about the room, seeing only a double bed and some bedroom furniture

around me. But then I noticed what looked like the same slimy residue on the bed sheets. The dark sticky substance covered something on top of the bed. Leaning down, I look closer, not daring to touch it. It was a piece of torn cloth, red cloth to be precise. I didn't need to be a detective to know where it had come from. It had been torn from Zeta's Halloween costume. My heart sank. A bead of rainwater, which had been nestled no doubt in my hair, trickled down my forehead and so I wiped it with my hand. The gasping figure then sat up from behind the other side of the bed, previously hidden on the floor. The thing reached out and grabbed my wrist, squeezing intensely. I was nearly sick at the sight of it. There was no face to speak

off, just black and red ooze which dripped from the head. And on part of the grasping hand, I thought I saw what looked like fingernails, green tinged and digging into the skin of my wrist. The skin was swollen in places and warped at the touch. The figure clambered up on the side of the bed, pushing me onto my back. I fought back, but the thing was too strong. Dark guns dripped from its head into my eyes, and as I felt the weight of its body on top of me, it was then that something struck it violently on the head. The creature led out a horrid gasp, and as it did so, relinquished grip of my wrist. Instinctively, I wriggled out from under it, and fell onto the floor nearest the door. Looking up, I saw another figure leaning over me, covered in dripping

dark ooze. But before I could identify the features, The girl grabbed me by the hand and said, Let's get out of here. I knew then that it was Zeta. Her voice filled with fear. She was covered head to toe in the horrible substance I'd seen on the floor, but she seemed to be unharmed other than this, and so quickly led me out of the room and down the hallway.

Dragging itself behind us, we heard the figure by the bed stumbling out from the room and letting out a horrid gurgling noise. With its hands slamming against the floor, It poured itself towards us at an alarming speed. Just as we made it out into the rain, we slammed the front door shut. The creature grabbed the door handle on the other side and tried to pull it to get at us. All we could do was hold on to the outside handle for dear life.

We yank back with all our minds. With no doorlock, there was nothing else we could do. The door shook and strained and shuddered. Each time it gave slightly, it pulled away from us, beginning to open into the darkness. Before Zeta and I were able to pull it towards us again, it clattered against the doorframe. The rain blinded us, and it was now as torrential as it had ever been in my life. The countless drops of water beat down against my face. I could hardly see, but I didn't let go of that door handle, not even to wipe my eyes,

behind the door or it groans and garbled noises came and then finally nothing Zita and I looked at each other we were breathless the rain had mixed with the viscous slime which covered Zeta's hair and face

revealing some of her to me though her eyes were white and white with terror I was just glad to see her in one piece We waited for a few moments, and then came a loud sound of broken glass. Still holding on to the handle, I turned to my right, only to see a dark, hulking shape leaving the garden on its belly and clambering out into the street. Max! I shouted.

Where is he? Zeta said anxiously. He's out in the street, across the road. We ran. The rain crashed around our ears, the waves of a ferocious sea. I'd never run so fast in my life. My feet pounded the soaked concrete of the street, and as the rain and wind reached a crescendo, I thought I heard another scream, the cry of a helpless six-year-old, reaching where Max had once stood beneath the evergreen, we saw that he was gone. Inches of water lay on the ground, erasing any evidence of what had happened or any hope of tracking the creature.

It must have taken him, Zeta screamed above the torrid roar. At that moment, a greater fear than anything I had previously experienced visited itself upon me, the fear of losing my brother. We looked all over, behind garden fences and hedges, under cars, anywhere we could think of. But the rain had covered the thing's tracks completely. As hope began to abandon me, I saw something at the other end of the streets. It was hard to see through the black sheets of rain, but enough street-light caught its shadows. The rain cascaded along the street towards it.

Something was hunched over a manhole cover, and a body lay next to it. We ran towards a thing, screaming and yelling, trying to get it to chase us and leave Max alone. But our cries were dimmed and sun. suffocated by the storm which now took domain over all. As we drew closer, the glistening hunt shape was pushing itself down through the manhole to the sewer beneath. Its bodies squeezed and writhed as though it were too big to enter the opening. The rainwater cascaded down the street now with increasing force,

reaching over my shoes and above my ankles. As the creature pulled itself down under the street, the water flooded down on top of it. and we were now a few anxious steps away. The water warped the beam of the streetlights, and I saw for the first time that the creature's flesh had a dark green tinge to it, like black mould spread on rotten grass and leaves. As the shape disappeared into the darkness,

its many fingered hand reached back out to grab at Max's body, which was now all but covered by the torrential water. Emotionless, brown-ferred shape, which in the blackness of the night only suggested the outline of my dear sweet brother. I cried out at the thing in the sewer to leave what was left of my brother. As its sludging black-green hands pulled Max down inside the hole, Zeta and I were finally close enough to act. We fell to the ground at the opening and reached in.

The water washed over us, threatening to pull us under. I flailed blindly and then saw one of the yellow eyes of Max. Max's costume in the dim light. I plunged my hand towards it and quickly grabbed hold of it. Then I reached down further and grasped hold of Max's arm. A horrid stench filled the air. His costume! I yelled, the floodwater filling my mouth. Zeta instinctively knew what I meant. She reached down with me, pulling at Max's Halloween costume. The fur was wet and heavy, but as we pulled my brother's head and then shoulders out of the costume, the thing in the darkness must have realised it was losing its grip.

Three long, fingered hands reached up through the flowing water and wrapped around Max's upper body, and then they squeezed. A terrible cackle came from the sewer, and the thing then dug its long fingers into its prey. It was stronger than us, but the slime and water gave us just one. one chance. As I gasped for air and grew certain I would drown, I stuck one of my hands down

between its long, walk-covered fingers. "'Poor!' I screamed through the water. Zeta must have heard me. She grabbed my legs and pulled with all her might. It was enough. We wrenched Max's legs out of his costume. I felt a sharp pain and lurched back as Max slipped upward through the manhole with us, back onto the flooded street. The three of us lay in a crumpled heap for a moment, gasping for air. The road was now obscured by half a foot of water, and I saw a face momentarily emerge from beneath it, up through the manhole cover.

The water warped its appearance, but it now had eyes, and they stared at me. Blue flashing lights came, the sound of sirens water filled my mouth i saw max standing alive and shivering almost naked i felt so relieved to see my brother in one piece yet zita and he looked at me with shock and horror in their eyes i tried to pull myself up but something was wrong the damn thing had cut off my hand you might think that losing a hand would be traumatic enough but there was more but there was more to it than that. It took several weeks and three surgeries to save as much of my shredded wrist and arm as they could, but the hand was gone, taken as food or a memento, or perhaps even just cast aside as meaningless garbage by that creature living down there in the drains and sewers. Zeta and Robert visited me regularly. Max barely left my side. The four of us knew what had happened,

But the police and our parents seemed resistant to the idea that something hideous lived beneath our neighbourhood, despite the evidence. The surgeon who operated on me stated that my wounds were inconsistent. He said my injuries reminded him of a patient years ago who had caught his hand in a threshing machine. Robert apparently ran to our house to get my dad that night. At least he'd not totally abandoned us. I told him not to blame himself of running. fear does strange things to people I don't think he ever fully forgave himself

though in some way I think being around me missing hand and all reminded him too much of in his eyes letting us down and we drifted apart eventually of course Zietra and I are still friends we talk once a month and she comes to visit a few times a year

she either cannot or chooses to not remember what happened to her in that house when she was taken by the creature. I don't press her on this. We all have a right to forget if it saves us from sleepless nights. As for Max, he fully recovered. I guess after that I really was a hero to him. And even now that he's at college and I have kids of my own, he still treats me like I'm something special. We're close and we can talk about everything, well, almost everything. That night is a blind spot which we rarely visit, and though I'm glad that I say it, my brother,

I can never feel worthy of being a hero, because what we encountered in the bedroom of that house was not the creature from the sewers. It was the owner of the house, and he died a brutal death that night. For we had held the door too tightly, blocking his escape. I'm a night janitor for a haunted elementary school.

I'm a night janitor for an elementary school, my work hours are from 3pm throughout midnight. Sometimes I stay until almost 3 a.m. when they're after-school activities. I have to help set them up and then clean when they're over. Leave me to clock out at almost dawn sometimes. My designated section was 24 rooms that I had. have to clean, alone. Lately it's beginning

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

I'm going to leave the name of the school, and my real name, and others real names, and the location out of this one, because, well, I just want to keep my identity and the image of the school safe. So, for this story, I'll be Tim. Since I work nights, I always get that paranoia that I'm being watched. I always chort it up to my mind playing tricks on me,

since I'm all alone in this building for several hours at a time. But it was right after Halloween when something strange began to occur. It was that time of the year when trees lose their leaves and take on a skeletal silhouette. autumn. I started to notice that more and more the students looked as if they were shaken up about something.

I was looking at the floor when walking, quiet, anxious, signifying a sort of retreat. Well, this didn't sit well with me. The students were dismissed at 3.30, so I'm present while they're still in class. I'm a first-time father and cared for these children.

Well, I may just be a janitor, but I'm not some one. weird or a heartless guy who just wants a paycheck. These kids were young and needed to feel safe. So I talked with them when I was given the chance. They call me Mr. Tim the vacuum man. I'm in my twenties, so I'm approachable to a younger crowd, and I felt this brought a sense of comfort to them,

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

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

Yeah, I know. Okay, well, um, whenever I've used this bathroom, I see this tall man, smiling at me. I immediately got the chills. What, um, is it someone in the school? someone you recognize.

He replied. No, I can barely see him. He's all black. It's like a shadow, but I know he's there. I know it. Well, this could just have been the child's imagination. I mean, Halloween had just passed, so maybe he was just scared from that.

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

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

She called the student to her office and asked the child to explain to her what he'd told me. He did, sort of frantically, and this made the principle uneasy. The next day she hired a security guard to patrol the hallways. After about a week, the kids still remained anxious, but never spoke of this figure. No one really pried on the matter anyway. We just expected this to be some sort of scare tactic to make this person flee, if there was anyone there to begin with. It seemed like it worked, so the security guard was dismissed,

and the staff resumed their cheerful outlook on their jobs, instead of being worried about a creep that may have been lurking in the shadows ready to pounce on a helpless child. Well, I'm just glad this wasn't the case. But I remember one particular shift. My calendar read that there was going to be a Cub Scouts meeting in the media centre at 615

and basketball practice at 6.30. So that meant I'd most likely be here before the break of dawn. At around six, I unlocked one of the front doors for the Cub Scouts counsellor and the coach for the basketball team. Moments passed and the Cub Scouts counselor walked through the doors. I greeted him, helped him set up, and went back to my normal duties. I didn't have to help the coach since the gym had everything he needed for sports.

I just had to lock the doors once they were done and refinish the gym floor, for all those shoe marks and any trash on the ground. As far as the Cub Scouts meeting, well, it was the same concept. Just had to vacuum around the used area and disfaint any surfaces used along with throwing any trash left behind away. During my normal shift duties, I couldn't help but feel as if I was being watched. I kept telling myself that it could have been a student or parent watching me from a distance, but I was in a more secluded area of the building away from the after-school activities. This was different.

It felt like someone was nearby. You know how you can hear someone coming from around a corner without hearing their footsteps or physically seeing them? It was just like that, only all around me. Once the after-school activities came to an end at around 8, I made sure every person was out of the building and locked the doors. The front doors had windows on them, and it was pitch black outside. Once I finished engaging the last lock, I couldn't help but notice at all and dark clothes. man behind me in the reflection. When I quickly turn around,

only to see that no one was there. What the hell? I thought to myself. I sighed and continued on with my duties. I started with the gym floor and began buffing the floors. This was the job that took the most time, so I wanted to get this done first. As I finished, I turned the machine off,

and in the distance I could hear muffled scream. It was coming from the building. Okay, something isn't right here, I exclaimed. I got all of the equipment into the receiving room and left the floor to dry, but I could still hear the faint sounds of screaming. It was coming from my section, and I still had rooms to do. Well, I decided to put on some headphones and listen to music so I could ignore these strange occurrences.

I decided to put on classical music, as it helped calm my hands. nerves. I studied with Moonlight Sonata, a piece from Beethoven, and then just let my playlist shuffle. When I clean the rooms, I normally just focus on what's in front of me. But tonight, I couldn't help but look around me, as if I were to see the man in a corner somewhere. I tried my best just to ignore it, but when I got to a part of a room located by a window, I felt compelled to look outside. All I could see was total darkness, pitch, black. Not a streetlight, no, dim and distant lights from my home, just darkness.

And then the power went out. I was absolutely terrified. What I saw outside will haunt me for the rest of my life. It was the most sinister, elongated face I've ever seen in my own. entire life. His eyes sunken in but wide and focused, wrinkled skin with a white complexion, and the most menacing smile I could ever imagine, complete with what seemed to be over a hundred teeth that looked like needles. I wasted no time and ran out of that building without even clocking out or looking back. I ran outside to my vehicle without looking over my shoulder

to see if that thing was following me. And when I studied my car, I drove out of the parking lot. To the left of me in the playground, I could see him watching me, and he was waving. The next day my supervisor was furious, as I just left without clocking out or calling security to lock the doors.

I explained what happened, and he fired me. One day, on my own accord, I went to that school, I wanted to warn the principal about what had happened to me. I met with her and I told her to hire an exorcist or get someone to cleanse that school. Well, because there's something evil in there. She replied,

Tim, I don't understand what happened. I told her everything. How this tall man scared the living daylights out of me. How I heard screams, everything. Her mood changed. She seemed uneasy. She had out of long. long breath and began to say,

There's something I want to show you. She went to a filing cabinet and opened it. Sifting through files, she finally pulled out a book. It was a yearbook from 1986. What's that for? I asked. She then flipped through some pages and finally stopped on a page that had pictures with descriptions under them. She pointed one out and said,

Here, take a look. What I saw was a tall man mopping a floor with a smile I will never forget. It was the man I saw that night. It had to be. Oh my God, I said while shivering. He was the janitor here from 84 to 86. I was told he'd go into the bathroom and spy on the kids, smiling at them. My heart sank and I let out of a while.

whimpering cough, trying to clear my throat, which was now gasping for air. What happened to him? I asked. She closed the book, looked at me and said, aside from the spy, he got fired for constantly scaring the children even after Halloween was over. He'd make them scream in terror. Those were the screams I'd heard. After he got fired, he'd stalk the students, they'd go missing. At first, no one thought anything of it, but a detective brought him in for questioning. He was then arrested, admitted that he kidnapped, raped, and killed 15 students. The detective claimed that he was smiling when he confessed.

He was given the death penalty by lethal injection, and it said that he smiled even as he die. As we all know by now, there are differences between the Deep Web and the Dark Web. The Deep Web was a place that was accessible online by the use of special web browsers such as Torr that contains less than legal things such as drugs, human trafficking, and hitmen for hire. The Dark Web was pretty much everything that was no longer available by conventional means, such as military websites and other sites that have not been incorporated into the current Internet architecture. With that in mind, I introduce you to Journey to the Dark Web by Heeman 4694.

I'd like to convey to you all my story of my accidental journey into the unknown space known as the Dark Web. I'm a computer technician by profession. I work for a company that was contracted by local businesses and private consumers to set up internet connections, install software and repair any sort of computer problems that they come up with. So naturally, I got all the crazy stories and problems that these people could muster, and I swear some of these people just don't know how to work a computer, even in this day and age.

Anyway, one day I got a call from a local business complaining that their internet was acting up and that they must have a virus. So I shook my head, thinking that someone must have unplugged a network cable or downloaded a Trojan horse accidentally. he got up, drove over to the business to address the problem. As soon as I arrived, the man who caught me immediately spotted me and started going on and on about hackers. Now he hated Microsoft Windows and how many viruses it created and all that nonsense that I usually received when addressing business problems. He led me to his computer. I pulled out my laptop and sat down in front of it and began to work.

He told me, good luck. When walked away to do whatever it was, he did in his downtime. I opened up the browser he used, no surprise there, and it opened to about blank. And it didn't even have a homepage. So I tried Googling, 404 error. Well, I know that Google.com definitely existed, so there was a problem with his internet connection. I opened his network and sharing center to see if I could use the built-in troubleshooter to diagnose the problem. And I gave myself a well-deserved face palm when I saw that he wasn't connected to any network.

work at all. So I searched for networks and found a few wireless connections for him to connect to. They were all WEP encrypted, and I was almost positive he didn't know the key, so I broke out my laptop and ran a WEP cracking tool to get his computer up and running again. As I was waiting for my tool to find the WEP key, another network suddenly showed up on my computer. This one unprotected, with an SSID consisting of a random hexadecimal string. Now I was extremely bored waiting for this guy to return, so I decided to connect to it, take a little look around to see where it was coming from.

I connected with no problems and opened my toolkit of cracking tools to see if I could find a source for this connection. As I was having my fun, hacking away at this unprotected network, a computer froze up, albeit only for a second or two. But this didn't happen much, and it caught me by surprise. I shrugged it off as the board,

poor internet speed there and kept going. A couple of minutes later, however, it happened again. And a few minutes after that, once again, each time getting longer and longer. Weird, I thought to myself, what's with this network? It was then that things started getting really interesting. After the long string of pauses, my screen flickered a little bit, and out of nowhere, my browser opened up by itself. Now I was worried that I'd somehow infected my computer with something.

some kind of malware by connecting to this network. And I proceeded to close the browser and began to disconnect from the network before anything worse could happen. But I couldn't disconnect. No matter how many times I clicked the little disconnect button, my computer didn't respond, despite everything else on my screen running fine. Oh, fuck, thought to myself, this is going to be a long day. And just as I was about to hit the power button on my laptop to perform a hard reset,

my browser opened again, and this time with a little chat box opening. Hello, I stared at the screen for a couple of seconds, not quite sure what was going on. I want to talk to you. Now I'd heard about these AI programs that had these program responses to simulate conversation with people, and I wasn't impressed.

This was one nasty virus. You need to leave this network now. this is your last warning. Hmm. Maybe an automated security program designed to keep hackers out. I had to admit, I was impressed with it. I've never seen anything like this before. I'm telling you to leave one last time.

Leave now. I don't know what made me do it, but I responded to the program. Or what? The next response scared me more than anything in this world ever has. The program began listing information about me. My name, address, telephone number, credit card information, my parents' names, their address. My heart sank in my chest and all the colour immediately left my face. Couldn't move.

I just sat there paralysed with fear. What came next was even worse. Don't look at me like that. My webcam was on. You really shouldn't stare, he man, 4694. You might see something you regret. Suddenly the most horrifying images you could ever imagine flashed on my screen. Images of disemboweled humans, human sacrifice, detached limbs, cannibals, eating people,

video clips of mass suicides and firing lines. My heart was racing. My body was shaking and utter fear of the images I was being shown. They're seared into my brain now. Those were things that no one should ever see. I mustered the strength I had left and hit the power button on my computer and slammed it shut. I ran to the bathroom, threw up a couple of times. I was drenched in sweat.

I could barely compose myself. It took me about 20 minutes to go back to my computer and even then I had a hard time getting near it. I looked over at my client's computer and it was connected to the wireless network. I was cracking earlier. He was working fine now. Just then my client returned and thanked me for fixing his internet. I didn't say anything. I just grabbed my laptop and left.

Going down the elevator with my laptop under my shoulder was terrible. I just wanted to leave that place and get my laptop replaced as soon as I could. Fifth floor. Fourth floor. Third floor. Second floor. Bing. Ground floor.

Open up, come on. Just as the doors opened. From behind me, a whisper. You really shouldn't stare, he man, 4694. I immediately left the office building and drove back to my office. I promptly gave my laptop to my boss, telling him that it had become non-functional and that I required a replacement. I told him that someone had accidentally spilled coffee on it during my last trip,

and it had short-circuited. In reality, I'd made a pit stop on my way back to a hardware store and bought the most powerful magnet I could find and ran it over the hard drive several times. I wasn't risking that thing ever turning on again. So after a few short minutes of the Keep better track of your shit speech, he took the laptop and told me that I get my replacement tomorrow.

It's probably the most satisfying thing I could ever hear. For a few days, everything was back to normal. No more AI chat boxes, no more. funky, unprotected internet connections, no more disturbing images popping up on my screen. I was safe, until the nightmare started. I remember the first one I had very vividly, and I shudder when I think about it. But I'll tell you, nevertheless. It began with me walking through a large city.

I remember seeing large buildings and people walking up and down the streets on their way to work or shopping, whatever it is city people do. As I was walking I found myself in front of a very large building much taller than the rest and for some reason I wanted to go inside and take a look around so I walked through the front doors

took a look around It was a fairly normal office building people moving about talking on their cell phones and whatnot, minding their own business I realised that there really wasn't much to see here so I turned around to leave something was wrong the doors to the building were gone.

I walked forward, thinking that there were some new type of door that blended into the wall or something, but nothing was there. I found myself very confused. So I turned back around again to maybe ask the receptionist where the exit was. But she was gone too. Everyone was gone. The lobby was empty. No sounds, no people, no furniture, just an empty white room.

Now I was scared. I began to panic and pace around the room, looking for any way out, but there was nothing, nowhere to go. So I began to run at the walls, trying to break them down, but all my attempts were futile. After about four or five bum rushes against the walls, I sat down, out of breath, looking down at the floor. I felt like I'd been there for hours, just staring at the ground,

and suddenly I heard a small whisper, I looked up to see a black silhouette of a man facing me. He stuck out his hand and whispered ever so slightly. Crying to Lee. For some reason I trusted this figure. Don't ask me why. Dream logic. But I felt like this figure was going to show me the way out somehow.

So I took his hand and got up and said, Yeah, can you show me the way? Of course. Follow closely. He turned around and began to hover away from me. So I followed. I don't know how. but he began to create hallways and staircases out of the room I was trapped in,

leading me all sorts of ways as if through a giant labyrinth. We climbed up and up and up until we finally reached a hallway that had a door at the end of it. It was then that he stopped moving and turned back toward me. I could make out a faint smile on his face as he pointed toward the door. Is this the exit? It is. I was so happy to finally get out of this place. so I grabbed the door handle and began to turn it as he placed his hand on my shoulder.

I turned to look at him, and the words he said make my heart race to this day. But remember, he man, 4694, you should never stare. My eyes widened as his face began to morph into that of a horrible horned creature. His teeth became like razors, and his mouth was filled with fire. I threw him off of me and opened the door. only to find my worst fears behind it. Dead people were hanging from the ceiling and blood covered the room like wallpaper.

I screamed, but nothing came out. I turned away from the room and ran as fast as I could back the way I'd come. But it wasn't long before I realized that I was hopelessly lost in this labyrinth that the demon had led me through. I ran and ran, but couldn't find the way out. There was no way out. I was trapped in this nightmare.

I started hurling myself at the walls in an attempt to leave this evil place, but nothing was working. I thought I was going to die here. And that was when I awoke. I was drenched in sweat. My heart racing and my breathing was heavy. I looked around and it took me a couple of minutes to realize that it was just a nightmare, a horrible, horrible nightmare. I got up out of my bed and walked over to my bathroom to wash myself off all the sweat that I just douse myself in. As I washed my face, I noticed something in the mirror.

It's more like coming from my room. I turned around and I saw it, sitting at the front of my bed. My personal computer, I slowly walked over to examine it, thinking I'd accidentally left it on before going to bed, which I rarely do. So I bent down and picked it up. Command prompt was open, but it was blank. No prompt or anything.

just that little black box with the white cursor flashing at me. It was then that I remembered that I didn't even use my computer before going to bed. In fact, I'd left it in the kitchen. My webcam light turned off. Command prompt began to type. What's the matter, he manned four six nine four? Bad dream. Now immediately after seeing what had appeared on my screen,

I did what anyone else would have done. I removed the battery from the computer, threw it into a safe that I kept in my bedroom, and locked it tight. I didn't sleep the rest of that night. I just sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor, paralyzed with fear.

This was no ordinary nightmare. This was real, but too. For the next few days, I had the same nightmare every night. Each time was as traumatizing as the first. And worst of all, each time after waking up I could hear my laptop fan inside that safe.

I knew what it was doing, but I never looked. I didn't want to see that message again. I didn't want to scar myself even further. After three nights of experiencing that terrible nightmare, I stopped sleeping. I couldn't see those horrible images anymore. I couldn't face that demon anymore. It was too much for me.

Get myself up with caffeine and vitamin B. My motor functions declined, and my cognitive ability deteriorated after the second consecutive night. God, I was so weak, so tired, so afraid. My third day of self-induced insomnia. My boss walked over to my desk and gave it to me straight. You looked like dried up dark shit, man. Go home, get some sleep. I looked up at him.

God, I wanted to tell him so badly, but I knew if I did, he would just tell me to get my shit together and come back tomorrow. So I nodded in my head in agreement, picked up my stuff and walked out. As I was driving home, I turned on the radio to help keep me awake. I hadn't slept in almost 60 hours. But instead of my favourite tunes, all that came out of my car speakers was static. Just a bunch of white noise. I started changing channels, but everything was the same. Static.

So I turned it off and drove home in silence. As I pulled into my driveway. I noticed through my front window that there was a flickering light coming from inside my house. It was my TV. Now I'd left the damn thing on before leaving to work. I wasn't surprised, though, not sleeping for two consecutive nights was definitely taking a toll on me. I put the car in park and started to pull the keys out when my radio turned on again. More static.

God, was I hallucinating? Christ, I'm losing it. No, you're not. I almost shit my pants. Did that come from the radio? Even I'd gone nuts Well, that was extremely coincidental. I'm still here, you know.

Holy fuck. This time I was sure. That deep, static voice just came out of the speakers of my car. I looked at my radio to see what station it was tuned to. The screen was just a bunch of random symbols and letters that didn't make any sense. I started to panic. I immediately turned the car off

and almost ran into my house. No, they couldn't follow me everywhere. I locked the computer in my safe. This couldn't be happening to me. I whipped around to look at my television, which I'd forgotten was still on. I swear I wish that the goddamn teletubbies were on. In fact, I wish that there was anything on.

But there wasn't. It was just static. No sound, no signal, just static. Boom! It almost fell over backward in fear. The television sound came in with a huge bang and the static was very audible. White noise filled the room. I could feel my heart pounding as my hands began to shake.

No, no, please, no! The static began to get louder and louder until I couldn't even hear myself think. I covered my ears and began to begin to. shouting to myself, "'Stop it, stop it now, please.' And... It stopped. I looked up slowly at my television.

Nothing. Black screen. It was off, stood up slowly, still shaking from what had just happened. I walked slowly toward my television, fearing that it may turn on again and blow my eardrums out. I got right up next to the screen, reached behind my TV, unplugged the power cord.

I stared at it for a couple of seconds, helping I'd stop them from gaining access. I backed away slowly, breathing it more evenly now. I had stopped it, and that's when I saw that face on my television screen, that black silhouette from my dreams. It was here. It was real. He smiled at me with the most evil smile you could possibly imagine. I couldn't look away.

I was too afraid to move. suddenly he began to speak in the most frightening voice imaginable. It was deep and booming, somewhat distorted as if he was speaking through a voice mask. It sounded like ten voices in one, all as evil as the other. Do you fear me, E-Man 4694? I couldn't move. I said, do you fear me?

my body was shaking uncontrollably do you know these people the next images i saw were the most traumatizing images in my lifetime i saw pictures of my family my friends people i'd met throughout my life he had them god this couldn't be happening i told you not to stare and probably out of sheer adrenaline I snapped out of my paralysis and picked up a small glass bottle sitting on the table next to me and hurled it as hard as I could at the TV. Sparks went everywhere,

shattered glass covered the floor. I looked up at the TV and it was broken. The screen had cracked and it was no longer functioning. The demon was gone. I mustered what strength I had left and walked up to my room. Oh, and I was so tired. I fell to my knees and began to

to cry when suddenly I heard it. My laptop fat. I slowly raised my head and there it was, sitting on the edge of my bed. Command prompt open, webcam on. The screen read, That wasn't very nice, He-Man, 4694. I screamed as loud as I could. Leave me the fuck alone.

I picked up my laptop and threw it out of the window. as hard as I could. This was going to end today. I walked over to the window I'd throw my computer out of to make sure that it was shattered. I wanted nothing to be left of it. But as I looked out of the window, I didn't see any broken laptop.

I saw him, looking up at me. Smiling, I backed away slowly from my window. I couldn't think, couldn't comprehend. anything at the moment. He was real. He was here. I backed up into my room, slammed the door shut and sat on the floor, trying to formulate some kind of plan to escape from this thing, or, more importantly, how to rid myself of this demon forever. I immediately stood upright. He was knocking

at my front door. Again, I heard it. He wanted in. I heard him knocking over and over again, I was a desistent pounding on my front door, always in threes. I began thinking frantically, what was I going to do? Should I stay in here? Should I get a weapon? Should I call the police? I didn't know.

And the knocking continues. I was pacing my room desperately trying to think of what to do. My heart was racing, my body, purely running on adrenaline at this point. Suddenly, as if perfectly on cue, The knocking stopped. I stopped pacing. Was he gone? Did he just decide to leave?

I had to be sure. Slowly opened my door and looked around. Nothing. Moved out of my room and toward the stairs and peeked down. Still, nothing. Slowly moved down the stairs and saw my broken TV and the shattered glass on the floor. Was it over? As I made my way into the living room, I began to feel cold, very cold.

I looked round to see if I could find my thermostat when something else caught my eye. My front door. It was wide open. I swear I almost had a heart attack. God, was he inside? I had no way of knowing. The first thing that came to mind was that I had to close that door in case he wasn't. So I quickly moved to the door and slammed it.

It wasn't cold anymore. I slum down, back against my front door. God, I was unbearably tired. I needed to sleep. Well, in anything in this world, I just needed to sleep. My eyes began to close. My muscles began to relax. My breathing slowed, and right as my eyes shut

in the shroud of sleep began to cover me, it was his face right in front of me. I snapped open to see his face right up against mine. He was staring at me, smiling. I had no strength left to do anything about it. He slowly stood up and reached out his hand. He said to me, in that evil whisper of his, Get up. I want to show you something.

I shook my head in disagreement. There was no goddamn way that I was. was following him. He was going to force me to live that nightmare. He was going to finish killing my mind before he was going to destroy my body. I said, get up. You have no other choice. All I could do was look at him. I stared into his amorphous face as if looking right through him. You know what I can do. Now get up. He wasn't going to let me die there. He wasn't going to leave me alone. He wanted me for himself.

He was right, I had no other choice. So I raised my hand up and grabbed his arm. Somehow, as if my legs were moving by themselves, I began to follow him up my staircase. God, he's going to torture me. He started walking toward my bedroom. The door was shut. As we were in front of my room,

he pointed at my door handle, looked at me and smiled. I knew there was no way out. I had no strength left to run, no strength left to think, no strength left to feel. So I grabbed the handle and opened the door. When I looked inside, expecting to see dead bodies and burning flesh,

I saw something that caught me by surprise. It was my laptop, the one I'd thrown out of the window earlier. It was sitting on my bed. The demon walked into the room, stood at the front of my bed, looked to me and said, Come, you need to use this device.

So I walked forward once again, as if not by my own will, sat down on my bed and picked up the computer. Nothing was open, just my desktop with the regular icons. Nothing strange. Well, this, now that I think about it, was probably the strangest thing of all. It's been a very long time since I've spoken with a human.

I was too tired to respond I forgot how funny it was to distort your world and watch you break down in fear Well somehow I managed to say What do you want from me I could ask you the same thing You were the one who brought me here in the first place I was so confused, so tired

I just wanted him to kill me I'm not gonna kill you he man, 4694. There's no fun in that. I knew what he was saying. I tried to feel something, but there was no way. I was too depleted, just an empty shell. I'm going to give you two choices now, two very important choices. I looked at him with the most lifeless stare. Listen closely. your first choice is to live the rest of your days with me I could have great fun torturing you the rest of your life I had no response

or you can choose to send me to another because I love a change of scenery all I could do was stare at him then out of nowhere I found the strength to say I hate you he smiled as I said this He leaned down, put his face next to mine and whispered, Make your choice, human.

And suddenly a window opened on my screen. It looked like a sort of VPN client. Some kind of network was being hosted on my computer. For some reason, the SSID was permanently seared into my memory. 4920-14-D. 2050419494D. 4F4E For a few minutes

Nothing happened I was the only one on the network Then out of nowhere Bing A message box appeared that read Someone has joined the network Would you like to welcome them? The demon began to smile

Once again he said Make your choice clicked the okay button. A little chat box opened up. I began to type. Hello. Following that night,

the demon that had been haunting me left my life. He vanished as soon as I sent that message. Along with the computer sitting in my lap, I wanted to feel remorse for what I'd done. Hell, I wanted to feel anything. But all I could do was close my eyes and sleep. When I next awoke,

I looked at the clock. and discovered that I'd slept for 26 hours. It was the first night of sleep I'd gotten in three days. I'd spend several years since my experiences with the demon, and I've been using a public computer to write these stories because I was too afraid to get my own again. It's taken me that long to muster the courage to tell my story to the people of the world,

to warn them of that demon that was likely still out there, torturing people for his own amusement. forcing them to pass him on to more people through their internet connections. So beware. He's out there somewhere. And he gives no mercy. The uncle. I grew up with my mom and younger sister Janet in the city of Birmingham in the west of England.

The city was deprived and had a younger age demographic the most. So from childhood we were often exposed to crime, drugs and violence. However, our unfortunate circumstances, didn't drag our spirits down. My sister graduated last year with a degree in business, and I'm currently working as a journalist who makes a five-figure per annum living. A little more than a decade ago,

we all resided in poverty, and now we can easily afford shiny cars, nice clothes, and fancy wines. Sometimes I drive back to Birmingham alone and watch the crackheads wandering around the parking lot of the supermarket we shopped at years ago. It reminds me of where I could have ended up and emphasizes how far we've come.

My mum was the architect behind our unlikely success. She was a woman with some serious balls who was willing to sacrifice everything for her kids. As a single parent working in a grocery store, my mum slaved day and night to provide for us. The harder you work, the lucky you get. That was her motto. A remarkable woman in many aspects. But I wish I could say she had all the answers. My mum was very reluctant to talk about my dad.

The first time I ever asked about him, her face abruptly turned pale and her expression stiff, unlike I'd ever seen her before. She knelt solemnly down to face six-year-old me at eye-level, instantly transforming from her usual loving self into someone I didn't recognize at all. Henry, she said sternly but quietly, her eyes piercing through me. He was someone I regret having in my life. Do not ask about him again. That fucked me up.

That was more than it should have. but it was the first time I'd ever felt like she was hiding something from me, and things like that get to kids easily. I somehow felt responsible for the fear and anger in her voice as she spoke, so I was shaken and on the edge of tears for the rest of the walk home, and never asked the same question again. My burning curiosity about the identity of my father remained for decades, and as an adult it grew only stronger.

I'd searched for the past five years on social media, asking relatives and strangers I dug up from my mum's past but all to no avail. I thought it would be impossible to ever find him. My mom, my sister and I share the last name, Westfield. We would sometimes receive letters addressed to a Mrs. Cross at our Birmingham address. Mom said they belonged to the previous tenants and probably took them away to keep them in case Mrs. Cross ever came back to get, I presumed. Questions were raised in my mind one day when I saw one of these letters on Mum's desk,

having been opened. I wasn't in my mum's nature to be nosy at all, ever. The memory came flooding back to me when I received a Facebook friend request from a guy named Jamie Cross. His last name instantly caught my attention, and I made the obvious connection. I knew there were a lot of people with the name Cross, but I wasn't ruling out any possibilities.

I looked through his profile, where he'd posted several photos. When he smiled, the corners of his mouth curved inward slightly, in a similar way to mine. For the first time in my life, I thought I might be on to something with this investigation. He lived in Ascot, a decently wealthy area.

Other than being very wealthy, he looked like a normal guy. The pictures of him and his friends posing together at various events. The thoughts were running through my mind, trying to justify that he either was or wasn't the man in question, constantly questioned each other,

back and forth. And the breaking point came, when I finally reached the final photo on his profile. A young Jamie Cross stood next to my mother. She was much younger, but there was no mistake. It was definitely her. A lady in the picture had the same curly blonde hair she'd had in her youth. Jamie was tall and well-built, more so than myself,

but his younger self and I looked very similar, almost as if he could have been my fitter twin brother. A thick brown hair and a long straight nose just like mine. As I looked into his eyes, I felt as if I was looking into a mirror. They both stood in a dimly lit room in front of a piano, his arm around her waist. They were both smiling,

although my mum to a lesser degree than him. It was natural as she always held a stern expression and didn't smile very widely. The caption read, I miss you. I checked the upload date. The picture had been posted around ten years ago, much longer after they'd separated.

My mother had no social media profile, I knew of, she contacted everyone she knew by text, so there wasn't a tag in the picture. Now there was no mistaking that this guy was one of my mum's past lovers and very possibly my real father. The fact that he'd been thinking about her, years after she'd completely removed all traces of him from her life, moved me a little. Then that I began to unwillingly suspect that my mother might have been in the wrong. After scrolling back and forth through the profile in shock and disbelief for around five minutes, not the fact that he just decided to friend request on a whim. I decided to reach out to find out the truth.

Seeing his profile had disproved every misconception I'd ever had about him. So there was no fear or hesitation as I typed. Hi there. I noticed a picture on your profile which seems to contain my mother, whose name is Sarah Gillian Wersfield. I never knew my real father when I'd been looking for him for some time, even suspecting that he might be you. I'd be very grateful if you could give me any details about his identity. The message was read almost instantly.

And I could see he was beginning to type. My heart raised uncontrollably, trying to imagine what his reply would look like. What if he didn't want to talk to me? Or if somehow he actually had nothing to do with me. My wife Sarah was pregnant with my son when she left me for good in the 90s. I've always thought about where he could have gone.

I think there's a real possibility. you might be my son. Thank you for contacting me. His reply excited me greatly. He could really be the one, I thought. It had to be him. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I felt it would be in plight to suddenly bombard him

with them now over text. Wow, that's amazing. If you're not too busy, would you be willing to arrange a time and place to meet up? Come and visit me in Ascot. I'm free all week, the reply came. Sure, that'd be fantastic. He proceeded to give me his address,

and I hurriedly packed some overnight essentials into a suitcase and hopped in my car, pausing to allow the adrenaline to dissipate through my veins a little more before I began driving. Ascot is famous for its horse races, and is commonly visited by members of the royal family. I've been a few times before, but the sights of this posh little town never failed to amuse me. There was a disproportionately large number of people, People dressed in formal suits and ladies in flowery hats. The whole town seemed to be like one massive and very expensive wedding reception.

I drove through the town, led by my phone GPS, until I eventually pulled up in disbelief in the late afternoon, right next to a shiny black Mercedes at an enormous mansion house. I got out of the car and stood back to admire the view for a minute. The sunset made a picturesque background behind this imposing building. The door was guarded by two weird gargoyles on board. both sides, and I took a second to examine them before I knocked. I was greeted by Jamie Cross. He had thinning grey hair and a layer of rough grey stubble lined the lower third of his face. It was about my height, still over six foot and quite muscular, very tall and well built for

his age. His mouth was agape, and he seemed at a loss for words. It took him a few seconds to collect himself. Ah, Henry, do come in, he stuttered. Did you bring any luggage? There was a hint of an Irish accent. Yeah, I did, thanks. I quickly grabbed my suitcase from my car boot

and entered the magnificent mansion that was the abode of Jamie Cross. Come, take a seat. You want a cup of tea or something? I'm fine. Alrighty then. He sat down. We made a bit of small talk at first,

around topics like my trip from London, and just how life was good. going for the both of us in general. I found out that he wasn't married, but he had an abundance of friends and relatives. He said that he owned his own brand of clothing and received a whopping six-figure income every year, despite being retired. He enjoyed travelling, shopping and playing golf, as I did too. By the end of it, I had no doubt that this guy was my real dad. We seemed to have a lot in common. It was friendly and easy to talk to, and the figures added up. He knew details about my mum's past, such as the year she first got pregnant, which was the year before I was born.

It didn't require a paternity test to put two and two together. For most of the conversation, he asked a lot about my mother. I told him how she was, and I was touched by how much he remembered, and how much he missed her. He said that his life had been empty without her. Despite asking about her frequently, he never voluntarily gave me any details regarding their separation. We talked in his living room until midnight. He seemed enthralled by my past.

For much of the conversation, I tried to think of a route into the topic I come to discuss. Finally, after a brief pause as he watched the dark clouds gather in the sky through the balcony window, I took my opportunity. What happened? Between you and mum before I was born, if you don't mind me asking. She hasn't told me anything about you at all. His expression darkened as he sighed, the moonlight creating new shadows upon his face,

making no attempt to hide the memories of anger and disappointment the question had conjured up. You have a sister, don't you? he asked, his voice a few tones deeper. Yeah, she grew up without a father as well. Mum raised us all on her own. He sighed again and buried his face in his palms, rubbing it with exasperation. We were married at 20.

It was a happy marriage. At the end of this story breaks my heart, he said. But you can't hide from the past forever. It's got to be said. Your mother left me for another man. Out of the blue, Henry. That's the ugly truth behind it. I shook my head and disappointment.

I knew it. I never asked her about it. I'd done anything about her love life, but she didn't invite friends around to our flats. The man she left me for Probably had been the father of your sister Yeah, I suspected that for some time as well And he left her in the end

Despicable man The guy was a retard He spat Ah, she was beautiful A kind young lass, but also impulsive I'm always thinking straight She got off all contact with me, her family And everyone from her past

Didn't even give me a chance To take a look at you I haven't been with another woman since, you know. It hurts me to think about it. It felt wrong to judge my mother's decisions, especially after all the hardship she'd been through for us. However, I couldn't help but feel regrets on her behalf. My dad seemed like a sincere guy.

He was successful, and he cared a lot about her. If he just stayed faithful, she would have saved herself and her family a whole lot of misery. Anyway, he coughed. You're probably tired as heck by now. You got work tomorrow? I looked up at the clock. My vision already blurry.

2.42 a.m. We've been talking for over seven hours. Yeah, but I'll manage. I've been through some serious jet lag. I paused. He chuckled loudly. I'll give you a tour of the house. Feel free to come back and visit any time.

Your pups need some more company these days. I followed him around the house, stopping once in a while to admire the impeccably polished furniture. Even the basement was neat and sparkling, as dark contrast to my own. He kept some old photographs down there, and a few other things from his past, like a small digital camera,

old leather bags and some dusty textbooks, all organised like in a study. Upstairs there were five large bedrooms and two bathrooms. The walls adorned with paintings and prints, mostly of countryside scenery. He asked me to choose a bedroom, him to stay in, and I picked one with a huge balcony window. It overlooked a large green space, and I could spot some other houses in the distance,

some of which still had their lights on. Good night, Sonny, smiled my dad. Thanks for letting me stay over. Spare your old man the courtesy. I looked at him and smiled back. You know how glad I am to finally meet you, Dad? I've been looking for answers for the past decade. This is honestly a better ending than I ever would have imagined.

I can say the same thing, son. I'm proud of you. Real proud of you. He paused. You and your sister and your mother. You all live together. I bought Mama house in London. My sister and I both have our own flats.

We live nearby. Right. Well, I don't suppose you'd be telling her about our little meetup. I don't think she'd want to hear about it, especially considering what she did. I'll be keeping it between us if that's all right. Yeah, of course. Probably the last thing she ever wants to see again.

He smirked then. I said nothing, and he stood in silence for a few seconds, as if waiting for an emphatic reply. But that odd smirk somehow made me feel uneasy. It seemed a bit spiteful, and seemed slightly out of character of him. Well, you have a good sleep, he continued. Call me if you need anything.

night he closed the door and i unpacked my suitcase there was a sink in the room right next to the huge balcony window which was rather convenient for my night routine i closed the curtains brush my teeth and got changed ready to sleep until midday part two sometime after i'd fallen asleep a loud thud woke me up looked around and saw nothing unusual and all i heard was the faint whistling of the wind i turned on the lamp beside a little bit of the wind i turned on the lamp beside a loud thud woke me up looked around and saw nothing unusual and all i heard was the faint whistling of the wind I turned on the lamp beside my bed. Three, fifty a.m. Rubbing my forehead, I lay back down, began trying to fall asleep again, when I heard a faint knocking sound coming from the direction of the balcony window. I paused to listen, thinking it was just a bird or some miscellaneous object outside being thrashed out by the wind. It was a very faint scraping noise that I heard in short bursts. As I looked around, I noticed that my phone wasn't plugged into its charger,

and was lying on my pillow right next to my face. Well, this was strange because I had a habit of plugging my phone in every night before I slept. Never in my life had I fallen asleep with my phone so close to my face. I continued to listen, even though I didn't think the sounds were anything to be too concerned about for a while. That changed when I heard the distinct sound of breathing outside the window. Heavy, croaky pants like a death rattle that could be heard even through. the double-glazed glass. Chills ran down my spine like someone had poured ice down the back of my shirt. I froze for a few seconds, hearted in my mouth, then leapt out of bed like it was a trampoline.

I looked back at the window. There was a small gap between the curtains, and I could see half of a hand pressed against the other side of the glass. I jumped back again in terror when I saw an eye suddenly appear on the other side, a huge bloodshot eye almost bulging out of its socket. Some features of this thing's face were visible, only illuminated by the light coming from the inside. The skin on its face was wrinkled and grey, and the left side of its head,

the only side I could see through the gap, was bald apart from a few tufts of hair that looked like bits of stiff grey wire. The humanoid figure had a large, crooked nose, and not a flap of skin where its lips should have been. leaving all of its bare teeth exposed. From its shadow through the curtains, I could see it had an asymmetrical hunched posture.

It bobbed up and down as it looked into the room with one eye through the gap between my curtains. I saw the outline of a sharp object in its other hand, casting a shadow behind the curtain. I ran out of the room and screamed for my dad, who was still asleep. Dad, get up. What is it?

He sat up in alarm and rubbed his eyes. Get out of the house and call the police. There's his fucking mental dude on the balcony outside my room. No idea how he got there, but I think he's got a knife. He's going to break into your house. His expression slowly turned from pure shock into grave concern. What did he look like? Like a bloody serial killer, for fuck's sake.

I'll tell you later, we need to get out of here. Tell me, what? what he looked like. I paused for a second. There was a sternness in his voice. I didn't see much of him. He was partly bald, skinny, but hunchback, really lumpy and saggy skin on one side of his face.

He opened the wardrobe as I talked and fished out a baseball bat. Call the police and get a knife from the kitchen. Go out the back door. If you see that motherfucker, stab him till he's dead. Don't hesitate. "'You'll chew your fucking face off like some wild chimpanzee, got it?'

"'You know him?' "'I'll explain later. "'Now go.' I started walking towards my bedroom, back gripped tightly in his right hand. "'For God's sake, don't go in there. "'What are you doing? "'Let the police deal with it, Dad.'

"'Shut up. "'Get out the damn house,' he yelled. "'It continued edging closer to the room, "'looking around every second. I sprinted down to the kitchen and grabbed the largest knife I could find as I called the police. Come back here, you're a retarded, cunt. I'll skin you like a chicken. Don't you dare come back on my property. I heard my dad screaming at the freak as I ran back up the stairs to join him on the balcony. The guy was nowhere to be seen. Where did he go?

Climmed down the side of the house like a fucking spider and made a run for it. Spat my dad. We made our way downstairs at the police. sirens grew louder from the distance. They came and checked the house, wrote a report, then suggested we booked a hotel in case the guy came back. But my dad insisted he was fine. What the hell was that?

I asked after the police had left in the early hours of the morning. I hate to break it to you, but that's your uncle. He was born a retarded kid, severely deformed and disabled. He got institutionalized, been in a mental hospital since his twenties. The fucker escaped a while back. Before he got shoved in there, he taught me he'd come back to end me someday. I told him I'd be ready for it. But I wouldn't.

He didn't think about telling me there was a possibility that my crazy uncle would be coming back just to pop in and say hi. Chill, man. He rolled his eyes. He's really fucked up in the head. He'd probably forget which way round to hold a bloody knife if he had to stab you with it. It'll take a few hours from to catch you. him fumbling down the high street at worst. How did he climb all the way up the side of the house then?

Well, he didn't really climb down it, to be honest. He plunged off the balcony, slid down the drainage pipe, and landed on his ass with a plonk on the pavement. As for how he got up there, I have no freaking clue. But he did a good hour after he went to sleep. I was certainly a no move for sleep for the rest of the night. We stayed up on what shitty night TV shows in the living room until sunrise. Throughout the night I jumped at every tiny noise in the house, which made my dad go for like a madman.

We had breakfast, and I packed my things, weary and disorientated from an hour of sleep. Henry, he said as I met him in the reception. Would it be all right if I came and stayed at you? Just a few nights in London. This question caught me by surprise. I almost laughed, remembering all his big talk about not being afraid last night. But the suggestion was really. reasonable, and one I should have thought of first. I knew I wouldn't forgive myself if anything

happened to him after I'd left. Sure, no problem. I'm not too busy during this period. Don't worry, I won't be too much of a burden. This old man don't make much noise. A bed, food and water's all I need. I agreed and helped him pack some toiletries. We sped back to London and tried to catch some more sleep for the rest of the day in the apartment. He stayed for the next few days, and we watched movies after I came home from work. I took him out to some London restaurants, and we had a good time. Sometimes he'd go for walks around the place on his own, around the city.

He said he actually liked how busy it was, in contrast to Ascot, despite everything being polluted as hell. I kept listening out for any news about my crazy uncle, but for three days all I heard was that they were still searching for him, which meant that lunatic was still out there somewhere, probably fucking around in the alleyways at night and scaring the shit out of innocent people. I began hearing noises around my house, footsteps.

I'd scare myself silly, sometimes having nightmares about what I'd seen that night. I even remember waking up to the same thud I'd heard in my dad's house. Yes, paranoia was settling in hard, and it didn't help that we weren't able to catch the fucker yet. But I still began to get very anxious, even going so far as to keep a knife within arm's reach while I slept. I once had a nightmare that while I was in the shower, naked and vulnerable, with the water running down my eyes and obscuring my vision, the bathroom door opened and a blurry figure stood crooked and motionless in the doorway.

I'm a grown man and this is not real, I told myself there and then, over and over. My heart began to race as it suddenly came closer, lumbering across the bathroom towards a shower cubicle at the end, getting faster with each step. I wiped the glass, and suddenly my uncle's disfigured face with those two rows of crooked yellow teeth who was pressed against the glass, a pupil missing in one of his eyes. The other was the same piercing bloodshot eye I see on that night. He looked like a decomposed zombie, ready to tear the flesh out of my neck. That night I woke up in a large, soggy patch of my own sweat. After checking on my dad, who was sleeping soundly in the guest room next to mine,

I made myself some coffee to help. me survive the rest of that night. Then there finally came a day when I would question everything I knew to be true. That afternoon I was in my office. I decided to take a photo of a ridiculous email a viewer had sent me so I could have a laugh about it with a colleague later. I hadn't used my phone camera in a while, so when I opened my gallery to take a look at the picture I had just taken, I was surprised to see what appeared to be a screenshot that I didn't remember taking. I zoomed in to take a closer look. The images looked eerily familiar. The search results had been generated by a search for a specific brand of digital camera.

Many of them were for sale on various e-shopping websites. I tried to remember when on earth I've been searching for images of digital cameras, until I realized the brand was identical to that of the camera I'd seen in my dad's basement. Then I spotted the contents of the Google search bar. Me. My heart jumped out of my chest. chest. For a few seconds, I stayed motionless in utter confusion. Then I opened the image details menu. The screenshot had been taken at 3.45 a.m. on the day I'd stayed over at my dad's

house. That night, I'd woken up at 3.50 a.m. That night, someone had touched my phone while I was asleep. Suddenly, I dreaded the worst. I had to find that digital camera, and you could give me some closure of some sort. I had the feeling it was a clue with a very dark secret. After making up a story for my boss about some family emergency, I promptly excused myself from work and drove back to my apartment. I unlocked my apartment door and called out for my dad, but he wasn't home. He'd probably gone on one of his walks again. For some inexplicable reason, I was very relieved he wasn't home. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about him didn't add up. Aubble. I was a little bit. A I went to my dad's room as quietly as possible and started looking through his drawers,

trouser and coat pockets and his suitcase. It took me a while, but I managed to find his house keys in the front compartment of the suitcase. I shoved the keys in my pocket and prepared to leave when I heard footsteps coming closer and someone came in. The bedroom door opened without warning. My dad looked at me with a puzzled expression and I let go of the suitcase. I was looking for my laptop charger. I forgot it before I left work. You frowned quizzically. You won't find no charger in there. I had to look under the bed. Stuff gets stuck down there sometimes. I then laughed nervously as I scrambled around a bit,

poking my head under the bed. I suddenly felt very afraid. I didn't know why I couldn't tell him the truth. Yeah, did you find it? I took a deep breath. No, looks like I'm going to have to borrow one from someone else. I'm going back to work now. I'll see you later, Pops.

I stood up to leave, but he didn't move from the doorway. He just stood there watching me, trying to figure out what I was doing. For a second, I thought he wasn't going to let me go. A moment of silence followed. But then he finally moved, and I shifted my wife. way out. You well, take care, Dad. I smiled as I left, but he didn't reply. I ran down the few flights of stairs and jumped into my car again, ready for the hour-long drive back to Ascot.

As my apartment window gradually shifted out of my field of vision, spotted my dad in the corner, unzipping the front compartment of his suitcase. All I could think was, shit, as my stomach sank. Part 3. Upon my arrival, I received a call from my mum. I sat in my car and took it, hoping it would calm me down a little, until I remember that my mum never called me during work hours unless she thought it was an emergency. Hi, Mum, how I... Henry, she interrupted, a voice cold and tense. I remembered her using that same tone almost three decades ago.

I need you to be honest with me. Have you had any contact whatsoever? with a man named Daniel Cross. Does the name ring any bells at all? Um, no. Why? I gulped. All right.

Sorry to bother you at work. Wait, what happened? I'll call you back after work. No, Mum. Tell me now. I'm not at work. Well, where the hell are you now? Just tell me what's going on.

I heard a voice shudder a little. After much hesitation and question dodging, she finally spilled the beans. I was a victim of stalking. My stalker was a man named Daniel Cross. He's your uncle. You tried to get in touch with me countless times after I moved away from your father, Jamie. I... She began to sob as she spoke, making an effort to control herself.

I'm sorry, Henry. I'm scared. I started getting text from him again a few days ago. I don't know how the fuck he got my number. God, I'd changed it countless times. He said I was a whore, and he'd be coming to get me. He said he'd kill me. I saw him in the streets yesterday while you were at work.

I ran back home before he could see me and lock the doors. But he keeps messaging me, Henry. I can't take this anymore. God, it's been how many years, and you decide to tell me this now? I didn't want you to be a part of this. None of you. Well, let me tell you something, Mom. I already am a part of this.

I found Dad and I spoke to him. I know the truth. He told me what you did. Forgive me if I'm sounding harsh, but no wonder you didn't have the guts to face it and tell us the truth. I would have at least appreciated it if you put the blame on him and told me you regretted him being a part of your life as if it was all his fault. You spoke to your father.

Her voice was dead serious. She spoke with a flat tone. Yeah, I did. You said his name was Jamie, right? What did he say to you? I met him a few days ago. We had a chat about our lives and about you. He lives in Ascot in a freaking mansion house and owns a Mercedes.

He's a decent guy who hasn't been with another woman since you left him. Didn't even give him a chance to see his own son. But he wanted to visit so I let him stay away. over a while at my apartment. No, no. God, no. Her voice trembled, as if she just had a wave of realization. Mom? You... If what you're telling me is true, she choked.

You didn't torture your father that day. He's been lying to you. What? Your father had a learning disability. On top of that, he was in an accident that burned off near all the skin on his body. I don't even know if he's alive or dead. Even if he was still alive,

there's no way he could hold a conversation. Never mind tell you about his life history. It just wouldn't be possible. I shook my head in a mixed state of confusion and terror as I tried to put things together. Are you being fucking serious? I am being really fucking serious. An unreal sense of dread overwhelm me

and quickly grew into a terror unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. I took my phone away from my ear and opened the tabs menu. My heart sank when I found my contacts list open. I knew everyone's numbers well and usually dialed them straight into the keypad to save time, meaning I rarely used the contacts list unless I had to check birthdays. More addresses. Oh, sleep. It made people so vulnerable and so ignorant with such little effort.

"'Henry?' "'I held the receiver close to my ear again. "'What is it, Mum?' "'God. Someone's knocking on my door. "'Henry! "'Get out of the house. "'Go through the back. "'Call Janet and ask her to meet you in a public place,

"'then get out of London. "'Just go somewhere far. "'I'll call you back later "'and meet you wherever you're going. "'Where are you, Henry?' "'Ah, she was almost hysterical. "'Just do what I say,' I yelled. "'Are you outside?'

I heard her running, and she sobbed quietly. "'I'm out now, in the road behind our house.' "'Run. "'Run as fast as you can in the opposite direction and don't look back. "'Call the police and don't stop running.' "'Oh, God, you really met with him? "'Oh, please, no,' she asked. "'I'll be with you soon, Mum.

just call the police. I hung up with tears in my eyes, knowing there was a chance those words could be the last I ever said to her. I wanted to help her badly, but I'd made my decision, and there was little difference I could immediately make, being an hour's drive-away.

I had to find that camera, guarding out of my car and entering the house with the key, almost breaking down the door the second after it was unlocked, sprinted down to the basement. I looked around trying to remember where I'd seen it before and after a minute I finally spotted it on the shelf. Then I grabbed it, ran straight back into my car and slammed the door shut. It was a battery-powered camera, and the batteries were still inside, but I wasn't encouraged.

Shit, I thought. There's no way it still has power. I pressed and held the on button, and to my surprise, it actually started up. I began looking through the pictures that had been taken. At first they were just images of people playing golf and random scenic shots. Then I spotted a 20-second long video with a terrifying thumbnail. There was a man gagged and bound to a chair, his face bloodied. He'd been beaten beyond recognition. I recognised the background as one of the corners of the basement I just found the camera in.

Preparing myself for the worst, I pressed the play button. The man tied to the chair mummer. He stumbled like he was on drugs, as his head drooped to one side. "'Don't hurt,' I thought I heard him say. His speech was incredibly slurred. Even though his hair hung low down the front of his face, I could see that his eyes were very swollen and barely open. Don't you worry about that, retard.

Oh, fuck her brains out after I'm done with you. The man in the chair began to cry as the camera panned away. A hand came into view, grabbing a familiar-looking baseball bat. The abuser struck the man in the head with unforgiving force, and the man screamed like an animal being slaughtered. They proceeded to apply the blunt force trauma to his ribs, legs and arms, and I winced as the screams erupted repeatedly, tears dropping onto my lap like rain.

Whoever was behind the camera kept beating the man, experiencing pain beyond my imagination. "'Stop!' I yelled out. "'Stop it!' A chairleg snapped and the man-chair hybrid toppled over, causing him to hit his head again on the hard stone floor with a crunch. The violence stopped for a second as the camera zoomed into his face, pressed against the ground, drenched in blood and sweat.

He whimpered quietly. Suddenly I heard a loud splash, drowned out by static, as a semi-viscous fluid poured over his body. No, no, no, no, I whispered, no. I heard the sound of a match being struck, followed by the distinct crackle of a flame. Fuck you, spat the voice behind the camera. I didn't even see the match being thrown.

Without warning, the man in the chair burst into flames and his new screams tied my stomach in knots. I threw up right onto my steering wheel. I felt like I could smell the charring of human flesh. The flames roared and I felt the intense heat on my own face, tearing away at my skin. The video ended, and I lay with my head against the back rest of my seat, shaking uncontrollably with shock at what I just witnessed. Arms weak and hands trembling.

I pressed the next button. An image flashed up. I instantly recognized the young woman in it. She had curly blonde hair, with stripped naked and tied up. up in the back seat of a car. I shook my head in horror. This wasn't happening. Before I could play the video,

a low battery warning popped up on the screen for half a second, and it all went black. Your rage and disgust replaced my fear in an instant. I cleaned my steering wheel with my shirt sleeve and started my engine. God, it all made sense now. I finally knew the truth,

and the police would too. Just then my phone buzzed. Meet us at Hammersmith Station. Cops coming. We're safe. I exhaled with relief. Stay vigilant. I'll be there ASAP.

I texted back. This fucking mess. It was all my fault. I'm so sorry. My mom shook her head. I owe you the truth, Henry. You don't owe me anything. I completely understand why you don't want to talk about it.

I saw the video. Saw tears well up in her eyes, but she kept talking. When you were just a baby, your uncle asked to meet me in the town centre. I hadn't seen or heard from him in a few years. He'd gotten my number again somehow, like he always did. He said he was sorry, and he wanted to put things right. It was a bar in town we both knew, and so I agreed. God, I was stupid.

That night he drugged and read. me in the back seat of his car. While he tried to fill me, I suddenly hit him. I fought with everything I had, and by some miracle I managed to escape. You might remember me coming home a little later than usual that night. She tried hard to hold back her tears. I blamed your father of what happened for a while, but I've let bygones go.

None of it was his fault. He had meningitis as a kid, which gave him brain damage in certain parts, so he couldn't speak or hear very well. and he couldn't control the right side of his face, so it looked like he was having a permanent stroke. He did badly in exams and found it hard to learn new things. But other than that, he was a normal kid who enjoyed music, games, and having fun just like the rest of us.

The other kids at school called him a retard and a bird brain and never once spoke back. When he grew into a tall and handsome young man, just like his older brother, but they were very different. He was very shy, couldn't help but feel sorry for him. I'd never talked to him much in high school, but I recognised him on my first day at work. He was bagging groceries in the aisle next to mine, so I managed to wink at me with his right eye, which I thought was quite an achievement.

She smiled, and she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. We saw each other every day. It was always nice to me, unlike the boyfriends I'd had in the past, and I liked spending time with him. He didn't talk much, but we played a lot of games together and watched TV. He wasn't clever at school But could be clever sometimes When we play board games Or card games

And I'd even lose We started dating for about a year and a half When he asked me to marry him one day I accepted I changed my name to Mrs Cross On my bills and stuff But we didn't have enough money for a ceremony My parents didn't like him

Told me to stop seeing him I got fed up and stopped seeing them instead We lived at my place I could tell he was afraid of his brother there might have been some abuse going on, but he never talked about it. They would have been hopeless financially if it weren't for the fact they'd inherited a huge mansion house and a lump sum from their rich grandmother who'd passed away when they were both teenagers. His brother Daniel kicked him out after she died, and Jamie couldn't do anything about it.

He was confused and scared. There was no way he could stand up to his brother. He slept on the streets for a while, until I brought him over to stay at mine. Daniel saw us together outside the store once and approached us. I could tell that as soon as he laid eyes on me, he was obsessed. Kept asked me to go over to his house and take pictures with him. He was in disbelief that his weakling of a brother could get laid before him. I was nice to him at first, but he tried to get me to sleep with him.

When I refused, that's when the stalking began. He'd somehow found my number and text me threatening messages, asking why I didn't like him, asking why I chose a retard instead of him. I completely blocked his numbers. I was five months pregnant when Jamie disappeared. Daniel texted me and told me he died in an accident that burned almost all his skin off. I almost believed him

until he sent me some gruesome pictures and told me that I'd be next if I didn't get with him. I knew he'd done it. I'd had enough. I ran away to the only place where I could afford rent and be far away from him. I didn't report it to the police Because I was scared he'd kill me

I was young with a baby on the way I just wanted to get away from it all I sighed patting her gently on the back I know how sly that motherfucker is He made me fear my own dad more than anything I've ever feared before And he used me to get to you

Now I think about some of the shit he told me Oh God It was so fake and delusional Believing he'd lived a life he never had But don't worry, he's behind bars now. It's all over for Daniel Cross. Oh, God. She buried her face in her hands.

It's been a hell of a long time. Well, sure has. You're ready. I put my left hand on her shoulder while I grasped the blue war curtain with my rights. The nurse flashed an encouraging smile. Various machines beep quietly in the distance. She closed her eyes and nodded.

I pulled the curtain open, revealing a skeletal man who lay motionless on the bed. There were bandages across his face, exposing only his left eye, which flickered open as we approached him. My mom couldn't hold in her tears, and she started bawling. How did they find him? I asked the nurse. Oh, in a poor, but stable condition. They found him at a bus station, severely dehydrated, slumped on the ground. He began to experience the early stages of hypothermia. From his previous hospital records,

it was quite a bit of brain damage from various causes. Although we can't read and understand basic sentences, he still remembers things like the year and his own birthday. He still recognise his faces. I knelt down beside my father and took a second to admire his single functioning eye, wide open and staring into mind. I could see my reflection in his iris.

no longer threatening, just helpless. His frail, broken body bore the scars of suffering beyond my imagination and told the story of a sacrifice that was beyond my comprehension. I smiled gently, and mouth the words, I love you.

And he replied with a nod. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words

and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.