Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep362: Episode 362: Lost Towns and Haunted Cities

Episode Date: August 13, 2026

Today’s first terrifying tale of horror is all three parts of ‘The Rocherster Heights’ trilogy, a fabulous original work by Santiago Delmar, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission.https://www.reddit.com/user/Santiagodelmar/Today’s second phenomenal story is both parts of ‘Tales From A Town That Doesn't Exist Anymore’, an original work by Yng Seti, kindly shared with me reddit and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.https://www.reddit.com/user/yungseti/Today’s final terrifying tale of horror is ‘We Were Warned the Land Beneath Our New Home Had Learned to Hate’, a fabulous original work by Santiagodelmar, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission.https://www.reddit.com/user/Santiagodelmar/

Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Bizarre things scare us because they disrupt our sense of order and predictability. Our brains are wired to look for patterns, and when something doesn't fit, when it's familiar but wrong, it triggers uncertainty and loss of control. The bizarre lives in that uncomfortable space between the known and the unknown, where we can't easily explain or categorize what we're seeing. That ambiguity forces our imagination to fill in the gaps, often with worst-case scenarios,

making the fear feel personal, intimate and hard to shake, as we shall see in tonight's three stories. As ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tales may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. If you're near Rochester Heights, I need your help.

The thing in the hallway won't let me leave my room. by Santiago del Mar. Part one. Through my peephole, I saw that it was still there. The flayed skin glistened under the dim glow of the hanging incandescent light bulb. I knew I was watching and came close until the peephole framed only its visage. The conjoined faces of my neighbours stared into me, with mouths that might have been kissing once. And it grinned or tried to.

Their tongues had fused to become fat and forked, and it nowed. now use them to lick at the glass of my peephole. It pulls back without warning, once more I get a good look at it. Two human forms smashed together. A smaller one clinging to the larger one's torso, resembling a gibbon and a young but distorted into something fleshy and vile. I can see the sinew of its exposed muscles, the blood vessels, and the flaps of flesh that hang off of it. I can see the hanging skin testicles of the larger body and can see that the clinging body grinds itself into him where the groins meet. But whether it's in agony or ecstasy, I can't tell.

It runs off into the dark corners of the hallway, but I'm not fooled. I know it's trying to lure me out, and I don't want to find out why. Need your help, please. I'm trapped on the fourth floor of Rochester Heights, in room 405, dilapidated high-rise apartment in East Oakland. Within the last six hours, it must have been dead midnight. something horrible happened. Whether it was an invading force or a corrupting evil, I don't know.

But I can't leave, and my room is the only safety I have. And even then, I don't know how long until it gets in. I have to go back. Recount all that's happened leading up to this, and maybe, just maybe, someone can help me. And all started with that damn fetish. Not the sexual perversion type. No, it was an idol.

It was 4 a.m. and I was about a lot of. about to throw in a load of laundry before I was off to bed and there it was, splayed out smack dab in the middle of our laundromat, still slick with blood. I don't know what I was looking at. Some spindly thing strung up to a wooden crescent frame. With each passing second more of its form registered in my mind, I nearly doubled over and lost my breakfast at the realization that it was a skinned, headless dog crucified. The cops were called, and it was found out. that the new cameras were touted by management and used as a justification for another yet another

outrageous rent hike was nothing more than a deterrent as in there useless and not even hooked up to a power source well they've let my bathtub sink halfway into the room underneath me so while it was infuriating i wasn't surprised later it became known that the dog was mrs lawrence beloved poodle butterball The poor widow was hysterical and demanding a full-scale investigation She might have gotten her way Had nightfall not greeted us with yet another fucked up fighting

Harold, a shut-in who lived on the top floor Was found dead I'm a night owl through and through So I was awake when the discovery was made There was no commotion But hushed whispers and tensed bodies I tend to creep around the stairwell Between the fourth and third floor

since it's scarcely populated and has a small accessible window that I can smoke out of. I was trying to fish for a signal this time since my Wi-Fi was acting up, and my cell signal was dead altogether. That's when I heard them walking down the stairs, talking. Eleanor and Macy from the fourth floor. I could tell from their tone of voice that something was wrong. That and the time, 2 a.m. No one but me was up at this late hour most days.

I strained my ears to listen in. I'd have folded like a freaking pretzel. There was a mess everywhere. He only says he thinks he's been there since he found the hag's dog in the laundromat. I tried calling the cops, but it's not going through. Elena was whispering to Macy. Well, who was it?

Macy asked. That creeped Harold from the second floor. The one that Carter beat up for stalking his girlfriend. What was her name, John? Joanna. Don't be mean. This is serious. What did Tony do about the body? Sorry, I just think she's frumpy and playing way out of Carter's League.

Nothing yet. He told the manager, and he tried calling the police but to know luck. He wants the body out of here as soon as possible, so we sent Tony out to the station in person. It's been like two hours since. He hasn't even texted me once. I'm starting to get worried. Want to go look for him? No, that would be dramatic of me. we're not even dating, just messing around. Still, you know the donut royals open 24-7.

We can get a few and meet Tony halfway there, Eleanor said, and the two started walking down the stairs. I froze, and the thought to try to sneak away came to me too late. The two women didn't even acknowledge me as they walked past me, though. I knew three things then. The Elner, his fucking out-maintenance man, that I'm either invisible or detestable enough to be invisible, and that Harold was dead.

I wouldn't know it then, but I'd learn later that night that this was just the beginning of a nightmare. Finished my cigarette and sulked back upstairs. Still unaware that anything was wrong. I should have paid attention more to my surroundings during my trek because I'm certain by then it had started. I only picked up on the fact that every light was dimmer. Not by much, but enough for it to be noticeable. I went back to my room, bolted the door, I tried getting my laptop to connect to the internet again.

The only two pages it loaded up were once I'd already had open before the Wi-Fi shut out. Reddit and a random porn site that only played a very low-quality section of a video I was trying to get off to. I wasn't cutting it, so I decided to use my imagination, but after 15 minutes in a crammed hand, I decided to try to settle in for an early night. I gave it up after.

to 45 restless minutes and pressed my ear to the wall next door. The couple there, Joanna and Carter, were young and hot-blooded fucking all hours of the night. I'd often got off to the sounds a few times. Sometimes they went at it around the communal building spaces, and they thaw were empty late hours of the night. I caught them a few times, but it was never reciprocated. They'd finish and sheepishly walk away and were none the wiser of my presence. Now they were quiet Except for the natural shifts

And breathing that came with sleep I wondered if they knew Harold was dead I wondered how they react when they found out I wasn't there for the supposed blowout between him and Carter And I'd heard about it Macy and Elena laughed a gossip above my smoking spot I think Harold caught them like I had And the poor fellow trapped within the cage of his delusions

confronted Carter Everyone knew he had a thing for Joanna her, she was too polite or sympathetic to ever be stern with him. So he must have interpreted it as reciprocation, and it ended with him getting stomped out, and the residents being quietly grateful for it. Poor Harold, in his mid-forties and living with his geriatric mother, because he was too messed up in the head to go anywhere else. Mary was a name, I think.

Then I had a horrible tinge of guilt. Did she know of her son's death? Where was she? I hope she had her mind completely. completely slipped away tonight so that she couldn't comprehend what had happened to Harold. I used to fear ending up like him the most, but that was before tonight. Sleepless and frustrated, I felt the ache for another cigarette, so I went for a smoke. I wondered why no one else was freaking out about his death, or why it was being kept secret.

I didn't consider it until then, but if he was dead and he truly died in such an agonizing way, who would done it? Were they still around? Gold sweat trickled down my face at the question, and I felt compelled to turn around and head back to my room. After two more steps, I decided to do just that, but something was off. The hallway was darker now, much more than before, and the air was cold in a way that's hard to describe. His bitter, chilling, piercing straight into nerve and bone. Veredigo threatened to overcome me with each passing moment as the persuasive wrongness intensified. I couldn't define it at first, but as I kept walking it became clear.

The hallway was longer than it should have been. I froze unable to make sense of that fact, and I scrutinized my surroundings a bit more. The ceiling was higher, too, by a few feet. My mouth was dry now, and I tried to swallow, but nothing could bring me back to lucidity. Foot over foot, I forced myself to walk back towards my room. I was halfway there when, once more, my room. my heart stilled in abject fear. At the end of the hallway, from the fifth floor, someone was descending the stairs.

Rational thought should have driven me to head toward them and ask or warn them about what was happening. Some deep instinct knew it was wrong in all the ways a living thing could be. Even the stairs leading up to the upper floors felt wrong, as if they weren't of this world. I'd have to get closer to this approaching thing if I wanted to get to my room. So I turned back around and tried to dash as silently but quickly as possible down the hall, but feared I'd be spotted before I could fling myself down them,

a storage closet to my right that was never locked served as my refuge, and I tried to slink into it as quietly as possible. The closet used a repurposed apartment door, so it had a peephole for me to gaze out on, minutes passed by at an agonizing pace, but it did eventually come into view. From the periphery it emerged, robed in ornate cloth and moving as if it were dancing on air. Upon looking down, as far it was skating across the air, legless and floating.

From its hood a strange blinking light cast out onto the dark hallway. As it was at eye level with me, directly in front of me, I got a side profile of its face, and it held my breath to stifle a gas. It was like TV static, flickering in my face. black and white chaos. I closed my eyes then, fearing that it would turn to face me, and I get an unadulterated look at it. In the still moments, as I waged for it to fling the door open, got back to all the other strange shit I'd heard about leading up to now. Tony had found nearly a dozen dead animals around the apartment perimeter in the last few days.

He didn't want to talk about the state he'd found them in. I wondered if there were anything like butterball, skinned and crucified. I waited and until my body ached, I muster the courage to peer into the hole once more. An empty hallway greeted me. I slowly opened the door and crept my way out. This floor was only occupied by me, Macy, Eleanor Carter and Joanna. I went to that door and caught myself when I went to knock. I hesitated for a moment before I tried the knob.

I winced as it creaked open and made my way in, trying to close the door as quietly as possible. I called out for them in a hushed voice, but as I looked around their empty living room, I felt silly. Before I left, I decided to check their room. Someone needed to know about the wrongness of what was happening, and I still don't know what the fuck is happening. Well, I didn't recognise them at first. I thought it was a pile of blankets, but as the heavy movement and laboured breath caused something to click in my head, I couldn't stifle the yell.

It caused the head, or more aptly, heads, to snap up to face me, and I had no delusions of what it was. Carter and Joanna permanently joined at their groins, chest and mouth. They've been doing missionary when it happened, so Carter had his body draped over Joanna's, and her arms and legs clasped around his torso waist and ass. They'd been flayed at first, but the more I looked, the more it seemed like the flesh had been slothed, off of them. They, it, hoisted itself up on all fours, if you can call it that, let out a breathy moan in both male and female voices.

Conjoined mouth grinned at me as it took a step towards me, and I finally snapped out of it. We both ran at the same time, but it was slowed by its deformed mass. The distance between us was still too close for any comfort as I ran out into the hallway and towards my room. I thank God that I hadn't locked my doors. I threw it open and turned to slam it shut. I screamed the moment I was face to face with the abomination. Without a moment to spare, I bolted and locked it. I tried the knob a few times before it resorted to gentle taps, and then deafening, pounding, and then silent. Now it's just waiting there for me. What I fear most

is that whatever did that to them will come around, lured by its presence, and do the same to me. It's been hours since, but the sun hasn't risen. I tried sleeping in the bathtub. I couldn't stand the proximity of my bed to Joanne's and Carters. When I stepped in, I remembered that half the tub couldn't support my weight as water damage had left it half sunk into the floor. So I went back to the living room,

saw my laptop still sitting there with this webpage open. Please, anyone can help me or has any ideas. Now is the fucking time. I don't know how much longer I have left. Just now I decided to peer out my window and was greeted by Stygian darkness, but what really scares me is a few breaks in it. Occasionally lightning flashes across the sky and illuminates the world below, a lifeless, sand sea.

Lightning cut through in brilliant flashes, stained by black and white patterning, like TV static. But two, what's happened since last time. I haven't slept since, and Joanna and Carter are still prowling the hallway, fucking with me. I can only guess that whatever warped their bodies also twisted their minds. I thought I was screwed, but then I was reminded at the bathtub. I went to it, my pack filled with a few bottles of water on my laptop. The landlord and management have known about it for six months now.

warred seeped into the walls and started to rot away the floor, so much so that the bathtub's far end was noticeably sunk. When I showered, I hug the drain end, fearful that my weight would cause it to fall through the floor. Now I went to that end and stepped in. It sagged and groaned with my weight, but held so I started jumping on it, landing with as much force as I could muster, until on the third try the floor gave way, and I went with it.

I landed badly, cracking my side across the outer rim of the tub, and had the wind knocked out of me, but I'd done it. My tub and some of the floor were in my downstairs neighbour's bathroom. Picking off bits of debris, I struggled to my feet and stepped out into the living room. A single mother named Naomi lived here with two toddlers. I'd never told to her, but I had a brief interaction with her son, who asked me my name of all things. I knew they often spent the night at her baby daddy's house. Once again, Eleanor's and Macy's gossip keying me, and it held true tonight. The living room and bedroom were empty, and I was grateful.

I tried to hurry as my fall down the floor wasn't exactly silent, and if anything else was out there, it surely heard. I rushed down the hallway in long strides, trying not to look. There were details you couldn't help but notice. A section of brick wall, a discoloured monochrome, black and white, back to faded red. I didn't stop to observe. I just kept moving.

Only once, when I came upon several blood-stained doors, did my pace slow, but I didn't stop. I tried not to think about the people who lived there or what had happened to them, but by now the apartment should have been full of the sounds of life, instead of the bleak, oppressive silence I was drowning in. I made it to the stairs and practically leapt down an entire flight of them to the second floor. Blood pumping and confidence high, I was running now. This hallway was warped like the one on the fourth floor, but in much more extreme ways. The walls had not only narrowed, but they were slanted, warping and turning at an angle with every foot until the hallway was nearly spiraled.

I had to slow to a stop to get my bearings as it was all so dizzying. The floor beneath my feet ceased to be shitty faux wood laminers, and was instead a smooth stone that felt almost slippery. The brick walls had melted away To some mottled and stringy maroon cloth Thrown over what looked to be grating Made of the same smooth stone It looked almost organic But at the same time it could have been fabric

The thick dangling strands made me think of sea anemone tendrils I shuddered at the thought of touching them So I forced myself to run once more Passed an open door to a room That had a body perfectly bisected and sprawled out on the floor A pile of intestines between the two halves Riving and rising into the air It freaked me out enough that I ran past the next open door

With my eyes shut tight It was Howl's room I feared seeing what had become of him I thought mercy was on my side As the hallway eventually straightened out And the next half dozen doors were shut As I came up to the last doors that lined the hallway The one to my left flung open with incredible force

I laid hands from a black void reached out to grab at me I pivoted out of the way just before they made contact where I couldn't stop my momentum I went stumbling onto the cold, slippery floor I tried scrambling back up as the door to my right opened

and from it Sarah Palmer emerged and it was her despite her corrupted form flayed and covered in sinewy tumour-like growth the severely obese woman had merged into her mobility scooter and she used it to move forward. Sloughed flesh made it difficult

as it had wrapped around the wheels but still it inched forward. The centre of her abdomen had split open into a gaping hole and with a quiver and a moan it erupted with some vile, bile-like fluid as it vomited a small figure out onto the floor before me.

The newly birthed child got up at the same time I did and followed me in my panicked rush down the rest of the hallway and onto the stairway. A toddler-sized thing made of diseased and partially digested sinew was fast and shrieked like a joyous child as it closed the gap between us with one leap. With my turn to shriek as I tried shaking the thing off. As it scaled up my back towards my shoulder, I took hold of the thing with my hands and pried it off.

The flesh was gelatinous and my fingers sucked into it in ways that made my stomach churned. "'Tag, you're here it,' the thing said in a voice I thought was vaguely familiar. Well disgust drove me to fling it at the wall with all the force I could muster, and his body crunched and splattered on impact with the wall that had reverted back to normal now. Let out a small pain groan as it slid off the wall into the floor. As I ran by it, spoke in an agonized whisper that I couldn't rend from my mind no matter how much I trust. "'Christ, why? I just wanted to play,' said, and I had to stifle a heaving gasp as I cleared the flight of stairs under the first-floor lobby.

The only child who knew my name here was Naomi's son. They weren't supposed to be here, not tonight. It always left on weekends to their father's house. Had Naomi called off the attempts of reconciliation tonight of all nights? or had this begun earlier than I'd thought. I didn't know and wouldn't ponder it until I was out of this nightmare. The lobby was normal by all means except for the lack of lights,

but now the darkness did nothing to determine. The exit was right there, and I ran towards it. The double-glass doors froze me in place, though, because they were bolted but because of what lay beyond. Pitched dark world, where nothing could be seen, except for the momentary brilliance brought out by flashes of lightning, ripping across the sky like whips made of TV status. In those moments I saw them,

a line of things just waiting for me to step out. One was a smooth-skinned, pale humanoid with a hole right through its chest that leaked inky black fluid, but it had no face. Another was a tangle of violet tendrils that appeared to be made of smaller writhing strands. Then there was one, it was a massive looming and serpentine thing, dotted with eyes the size of human heads, each iris alien in shape. One end that assumed to be its head was tusked with mandibles that must have been six feet in length. There were dozens of others, but their forms were too varied, too abstract to ever accurately describe. What drew my attention the most was the many puddles and stains of crimson at their feet and scraps of clothing,

one of them obviously being Macy's distinctive denim jackets. One work boot lay on its side, what I thought might have belonged to a maintenance worker. Well, I wouldn't be leaving, not here. I tried to comfort myself by telling myself that whatever was keeping me here wasn't letting them in, that wasn't reassuring by any measure. I ended up crawling underneath the shitty lobby desk

and curling up into a ball for what felt like hours. It could have been longer for all I know, but nothing mattered in that moment. I was fucked. Only when I heard the sound of a procession shuffling by did I stir. Speaking out from my hiding place, I saw them, the robed figures, six of them now. Upon their shoulders they bore the weight of a marble slab, and upon it a huddled figure. I watched them, backs to me, shuffled down the room and into the hallway that led, to the manager's office. I tried skulking out as silently as possible to bear witness to the ritual

that was about to unfold. The bearers lowered themselves in the slab as light gleamed across it, and I realized who it was. The body was bent back into itself until it formed a circle. The belly was pointed out to the world, the back and spine were contorted and twisted, the eyes empty. God damn it. That mouth. Harold was grinning ear to ear in expression of pure ecstasy. The chanting began then, as the flung back and twisted glare of Harold's body lay upon me. Strange, throaty vocalizations, deep and reverberating and inhuman. The sound of a mountain splitting apart or two worlds coming together.

The vibrational forces of the universe melting away, a border that kept the background machinations of a reality unseen. Somehow I knew this, that we'd been pulled into this nightmare, but by what or who I still didn't know. They continued the humming chance until the space in front of them began to ripple like water. When they ceased, so did the distortion. Half a heartbeat passed before it shattered, like glass, and beyond it a massive eye. I flinched, hoping it didn't see me, but if it did, it must not have cared since it retreated

back into the darkness before it hauled itself out. The spindly, arachnid leg, covered in jagged angles and spines, stepped out, followed by another and another, until a towering pin-wheeled monstrosity of legs and appendages emerging from a central core stood before the cultists. An eye with concentric pupils was at its centre, and the rest of it radiated out like a sea urchin. Every aspect of it Told of the agonies it could inflict It looked like the pain incarnate

With the sheer amount of sharp corners And serrated spines Every inch of its being was meant to cause harm And the longer I looked at it The more detail came to me Hooked and sithed ends Tendrils laden with hungry gnashing mouths The thing that stood out the most though

Was the way it distorted the space around it It was within a confined space as I gazed upon it. They seemed to expand the air around it so that some hidden aspect of itself could be felt. This was a part of a much larger hole, and I got the impression that some massive hands on a cosmic scale held this thing out before us, yet they were one and the same. I looked away, but wanted to gaze upon this abomination, this emanation of pain any longer. Spoke in an alien language then.

It sounds so vile like a rusty nail Being dragged along my eardrums and cornyons But I understood it Unmistakable gratitude Slunk back into my hiding spot And waited for it to be over Waited for them to leave And they did

Moving through the hallway Past the stairs into the basement laundromat And into the community room Well it's been hours since And they've still not emerged It took the time to try to silently rummage around in the manager's office, next to a pile of fine pulp of flesh

that still had Mr. Roderick's weeping face, our landlord. It was an axe. I picked it up. No, it would be of no use to me should I face these cultists or the pain entity. What I did know is that Harold had a role to play in this in some way or another, and that his room was just a floor above.

If there's any chance of escape or answers, it would be there. Well, if you don't hear back from me, I'm dead. I'm certain that there's no way anyone from outside this can help. Even then, I still ask you all to wish me luck. I certainly know I'll need it. Part three. Rochester Heights has always been a hellhole.

I know that now. I mean, I never doubted that some of the people here were assholes. During the time I've had to reflect, I realize how either indebted. indignant or cruel they were to each other. Maybe when people grouped together like that with no goal beyond inhabitants, unpleasant things arise. Well, I lamented once that to them I was nothing but a sulking shadow only half remembered. Once my landlord had forgotten I even lived there and sent Tony to get the place ready for a new tenant.

Now I'm not so sure I mind as much. Being one of the forgotten ones might have saved my life. I was ready for the horrors with the second-floor hallway now, meeting the grasping hands with an overhead axe-wing that nearly severed one hand at the wrist. Pulling back, I used the butt end to smash away another grasping hand until I could slip past them. Sarah Palmer was next,

swiveling around in her mobility scooter to face me, but it was too late. The heel of the axe sunk into flesh soft as putty, as I yanked the axe loose off her face sloughed off. I heard a chuckle as I ran past. Something was burning in me. God, even if I died here, I had to know the what and how of Rochester's descent into madness. Harold's room door was still ajar,

and I made sure to bolt the door the moment I ran in, only then did I slowly turn round. I thought it was a grapheria at first. I'd read about it one late night. a disorder most often associated with schizophrenics, the incoherent ramblings written and spoken. The living room floor and adjacent floor contained countless sharp-edged sigils and glyphs.

They looked occultic in their configurations, but the actual characters themselves were completely foreign. Dead center was free of the scroll, but stained with brownish red blood. I knew it was where Tony had found Harold's body. There was a journal left on the coffee table And flipping through I confirmed that it was his

In the few minutes I had in that room Didn't have much time to really understand its contents No, I still have it And I've spent hours since pouring over it I've only been able to come up With a rudimentary understanding of what Harold was on to I'll summarize here the best I can Harold moved back in with his mother

After an episode that cost him his job a year prior They lift off her social security checks And he deeply resented her for her advanced age Every day she'd wake up with less of her mind intact It was also having issues with extreme sexual frustration And began clinging delusionally to Joanne's politeness As a signal that she wanted him The confrontation with her boyfriend Carter was the breaking point

It wasn't the reason why he did all this But it was the final straw But he had reason to resent everyone here, and he detailed all his grievances big and small. I learned then the difference between being someone pushed to the wayside, but still scrutinized with an eye of assumed threat like Harold, and being forgotten altogether, like me. In his pages upon pages of detailed slights never once did my name come up. My existence failed to register to someone who was uncomfortably similar.

It made me feel bitter. I don't know why. there was talk of what he dubbed the background world. I still don't quite understand what it is in its purpose, but that's a thing that ties this all together. I'll let Harold explain in his own words. I first saw it in a dream, then a vision. Started with a tusked worm taking a bite out of the thin air,

and like a scallet finger, peel back what I thought was real to show me the machinations that ran behind what could be seen. Two places within the same space, but never allowed to touch or interact. As above, so below, and for below to above. Everything is mirrors. If it exists here in our lair, it exists below, within the background world. That was the first rule it told me, the most important for creating an interstice where we can finally meet. The second rule is that for an otok to touch the human domain, something must be.

offered to it, a life or part of one. Most often the offering is someone else. The greater the offering, the more an autark can manipulate the human domain as long as it's within its sphere of influence. The most powerful offerings are oneself, the year of your life, or the greatest joy you'll ever feel. The greatest offer one can make to an otark is your own life. Oh, and there's more. He mentions that the otok he's in contact with is one that operates within the sphere of agony. Pain is its domain, and Harold knew pain better than most. The best I can piece together is that somehow he came into contact with this entity. Maybe it prayed on him for being vulnerable, maybe its influence scrambled his thoughts, or maybe what he learned was too much for any mind to bear without

consequence. I say this because I don't believe that Harold was crazy, ill and in deep need, but there are enough commonalities in the strange, runic language, and his journaling that it feels as if he was truly uncovering something. It wasn't a stark raving madman, at least not until he let himself sink deeper into the influence of what had been encircling him. He spent the week leading up to the fateful night of his death, preparing for Rochester's fall into the background wall. Sixteen fetishes were placed around the apartment

to mark the boundary for where the otark would lift the veil and let our worlds emerge. Six of them were made from parts of his mother, the rest from strays and pets around the apartment. The last of them was Mrs. Lawrence's dog, in the laundromat. Mirrored above and below, even if they were removed, they still created something in the background world

that sanctioned this hell. Howard lamented that he never placed one in the basement below it. And that was my chance. Maybe, just maybe, the building was only partially within the interstice, and if I could make it to the second basement and emerge, it will be into the outside I'd always known. Or maybe I'd stepped right into the background world. Regardless, I had no choice but to try. I scrounged around the apartment and found that Harold was a very heavy drinker with a taste for cheap vodka. A fashioned five mulotops with what he had and started the trek back down to the first floor.

stepping into the hallway, I was greeted by them, the conjoined, endlessly fucking monstrosity that had started this. I greeted them with the sprinters launching bolt and an axe-wing. The side of Carter's and Joanna's faces took the blow, and though the flesh came away in a huge chunk, and I heard the clinking of teeth spluttering across the stone floors, they didn't even flinch. Carter tried lunging at me, arm outstretched, but I have a flinched. flung myself against the wall, I was trying to slip behind them. They pivoted around to try to face me, but the strange distribution of their weight made them cumbersome, and the fear I felt was gone. Another axe swing sunk deep into the

compromised muscle and bone, and cleaved through them far easier than uncorrupted tissues. It was enough to nearly decapitate them, and they let out this horrible wheezing gas. Another lunging grasp was met with an axe, that sent nearly half his fingers skipping across the ground, and one last swing to their neck finished it. Though their head was on the floor before me, they didn't die. What remained of their face was opening and closing its mouth, and I could see that the destroyed cheek was starting to restructure and regenerate. This truly was hell, whirled into existence by resentful heart. The body didn't fall and wasn't still either, jerking and twirking and twirling.

twitching about. It eventually started grasping towards its head. I had the Molotov lit by the time it took hold of its neck and thrown in the moment it lifted it up. They erupted into a ball of fire, and I swore I heard screaming, as if some part of their warp mind registered what had just occurred, and I hope that the fire would be enough to put an end to them. The second Molotov was thrown into the corner where Sarah and the hands tried and failed once more to apprehend me. I was going to burn this place down if I could. Maybe then I'd be able to spare them. The third was thrown atop the lobby desk.

The last two were for the laundromat. I didn't know if the building would actually burn, but I wanted to cause some harm to do anything. The mad dash to the laundry was the fastest I've ever run, I'm sure of it. I was certain that the commotion and the fires would of course the O-Tark and its cultists to emerge from the management's office. But nothing ever impeded my flight down the stairs into the laundry room. I landed on soft floors, and the lights now were dim and blood red.

But even then I saw the horror that lay before me. Oh, a pulsating mass, a conglomerate of flesh formed at the centre of the room, and it stretched out across the floor, walls, and machines. Every inch was living tissue and sinews, nerves, blood vessels. All of it was there. A dozen limbs raked and reached out at open air weekly. I swore that they had some identifying features. A watch that could have belonged to Jose from the seventh floor.

A sleeve of a distinctive neon green sweater from Keanu, a college student. Well, I didn't need another reason. The fourth Molotov was thrown on the fleshy floor behind me, and the final directly at the tumour. The dark was eclipsed by the burning sun. sun that stood behind me. The threshold of the sub-basement, and my hopeful exit was before me now, but I hesitated for a moment. The heat licked at my spine and my eyes watered at the rising smoke. Well, if I was wrong, I'd be fucked. But I'd be fucked, fire or not. I move forward, and the moment

my foot touched the first step, while behind me plunged back into darkness as the fire extinguished. In an instant it all ceased, the smoke, the heat, A curtain of silence fell and a wave of dread rose. I knew I shouldn't have looked back, but I couldn't help myself. With a thundering heart, I threw my gaze back. I saw it. The otach of agony that had caused all of this, goaded and tempted Harold with its promise of pain to all he hated.

The sentry's eye blossomed before me, and grew to encompass all before in its vision. Yes, it was a vision that it showed me. Screams around me rose to a crescendo as the tumour grew to the size of the apartment itself, a living edifice. Yet it still paled in size compared to the otahs who looked down on it. The countless tendrils and their instruments of torture

reached down to the tower of flesh, and it raked and sliced and tore and ate, and it all grew back. who continued so for eternity. That was a dark wish of Harold. The thing began to bulge and split apart, a perfect copy of its spherical form, mitosis. This thing could split itself,

and that's how it planned to fulfill its promise and continue to operate without being bound to it. I screamed, or I think I did, because when I was able to pry my eyes away from it to look around, I saw the shadow of my exit, the descent into the sub-basement. I ran, refusing to look back. I wouldn't, I couldn't look back.

So, into the murky depths I went. I've been in the sub-basement once before. Small and damp, but only had a few fold-up tables and chairs. There were no entries or exits, except a single narrow staircase in a seldom-used door, left over us from a bygone era. It was barred and locked at all times, but the door was old, wooden, and I was certain it would only take a good kick to break it down. But what lay before me was not the basement,

no, some dark plane of reality that could not have been the background world. I'd seen brief glimpses of it just outside my window, but this was different. Morrow and claustrophobic, but at the same time impossibly expansive. Light did not exist here. Even when I tried my lighter, the air around me wicked away illumination. I reached out to touch concrete walls and found that I was in a tunnel. With no other option, I walked and walked until time ceased to have meaning.

I know I must have been there for hours since hunger and exhaustion forced me to rest, but comfort was impossible, so after a few minutes I got back up and pushed forward. When at last I came upon an exit dimly illuminated, it hurt my eyes that had been bathed in darkness for so long, a shallow staircase that led down to the sub-based. Well, I'd always known. The door was there, and with a frenzied kick, it fell away, and I burst out to the world above, with a half-scream of joy and a half-maddened song.

It was midday, and Rochester Heights did not exist anymore. I'd emerged from a sub-basement into an empty, overgrown lot. A homeless man nearby turned to glare at me momentarily before returning to whatever he was doing. Nothing exists of my ordeal And no one even remembers Rochester Heights Well, I've done searches on the residence And it's likely they don't exist Everything and everyone marked by the agony O-Tarck

Have ceased to exist meaningfully Or have been rewritten out of history I found Macy's mother And called to ask about her daughter She swore to me she'd never had children The company that owns the lot told me it's been unoccupied and on the market for half a year.

Well, I've not been the same since my escape from Rochester Heights. There's so much left in this goddamn journal, but every time I look at it, I get this sense of overwhelming doom. There's so many questions. If what exists below is reflected above and vice versa, how is the world changed? Now, as I speak, there's a tower of flesh that rises high above the world below, and it casts its long shadow into the world above.

and a shadow to think at how it will manifest. I know Rochester Heights has cast its shadow over me, darkened my heart one way or another. The people there didn't deserve what happened to them, and Harold deserved better, but in hatred or love their gaze eluded me. Once I resented that, but now I can find solace in it. The nightmares will never end,

and I will never be okay. But at least any that cast its hatred, A beautiful gaze upon our world will see nothing, but a shadow in my place. Tales from a town that doesn't exist anymore. By Young SETI. Part 1. A glance down at the clock on my dashboard. 1002 it read in glowing green numbers amidst the darkness.

Almost 30 minutes on the dots since we'd entered the town. It was a nondescript little place. Short squat grey and brown buildings with signs introducing local businesses lie in the streets. in the areas where small but homey residential houses bunched close together amidst well-kept lawns were not. Nothing too picturesque but a standard Rust Belt town that, although it had clearly seen better days, had kept on chugging until it was a possible, if not at times pleasant, place to live. I knew the type well.

My hometown in central Illinois had been much the same. Beyond that, I was familiar with this very town, having passed through it on the way to the campsite, my friends, Phil and Clay and I had spent the weekend at. It reminded me of days past, the sort of place frozen in time. It was that familiarity that made the place stand out to me on the way to our campsites. The town marked the four-hour point of our drive and had been made something of a landmark as we were determined to stop there for gas and some snacks on the way back.

Yet as we pulled off of the empty highway, the first thing that had begun to grip me was the silent. From the moment we'd entered the town, driving down what seemed to be the main road through the place, we'd been greeted by nothing more than the staggering silence and a smell that seemed to linger faintly. There are a few things that can truly, deeply unnerve a person. One of these things is true and utter silence. I'm not talking about the silence of a quiet home, with neighbours' cars and distant yapping dogs audible from beyond your walls.

No. True silence, especially in a place where they're not. ought to be the opposite. That was what we experienced rolling back through the town that had previously been as busy as any other along the highway. With the exception of my vehicle, and that which carried my friends behind me, there was nothing.

No distant roar of traffic on surrounding streets, the odd squeal of a break, the honk of a horn, and the call of a pedestrian. It was more than just a lack of noise, however. There were no birds, joggers, or people walking dogs and no cars on the road. I felt an uneasy twinge in my gut, like something plucking at a loose fabric,

and found myself turning to my passenger seat to speak to my wife, an act of habit before finding it empty. Of course, I recalled the feeling of reacquainting myself with reality, a bitter one. She's not here. That's the whole reason you're on this trip. The camping trip had been Phil's idea following my divorce as a way to get me out of the funk they'd insisted I'd entered, and he and Clay had battered me with it until I reluctantly gave in. We'd spent a week campground hopping around the state, while making our way back towards our homes in the excerpts of Chicago. We'd passed through the town on our way to one of the state parks much further south, and it had stood out to me.

It had been a relatively quiet place then, but still with plenty of folks out and about on their business. It seemed like the kind of town that still had a local hardware store, not called Ace or Home Depot, and folks had Sunday breakfast at the local diner. When I first passed through, I felt oddly drawn to it in a nostalgic sort of way that made me think of better bygone days. I resolved it would be one of our pit stops on the way back upstate. The plan had been to fill up to fill up the gallery. station, maybe stop for breakfast at the little local watering hole, before continuing on our journey and recharging our batteries in this rockwell painting of a town. Part of me, the part seeking

any logical explanation till the point of logic, thought perhaps it was all an effect of the weather, both the impossibly sudden emptiness at the place and the sort of surreal, almost dreamlike, disquiet that seemed to hang in the air everywhere. It had been staggeringly sunny on our initial pass-through. A rare sort of day in Illinois is the summer allowed an early peak through the spring. Whereas now, it was overcast. Angry grey clouds hung overhead, growing blacker and more foreboding by the minute. With them, there was a feeling of static in the air, and a breeze carried through the empty streets, lone and errant, and on it a chill of winter. A larger part of me knew how ridiculous that thought was.

I'd seen some bad weather in my day, even a few historic blizzards, never seen an entire town utterly empty. Yet the last ten minutes have been spent driving slowly along the main road. My car in the lead as we retraced our previous step through what seemed to be the main plaza of the quiet town. A sign painted on a dull green background,

tucked within a floral display red, Welcome to beautiful Cryers Creek, Illinois. Population 4,673. As far as I looked, I saw neither hide-not-hair of a single one of those almost 5,000 people. Lights remained shining through storefronts with no one to man them. Stop lights turned red, then green, then yellow were all the same, though the road was deserted except for our two vehicles. Cars remained in parking spots lining the streets,

somehow feeling like old ancient fossils. their presence made ominous in the terrible silence. They made my gut tightened like a fist, a pool of anxiety forming a steady drip at the back of my mind. Ring! The sudden chime of my phone shattered the relative silence, making me jump in my seat. For the first time since entering the town,

for the first time in a while, I was glad to be riding alone and no one could see my jumpiness. Bill, the screen read, urging me to answer or deny. the call. I did the former. Hey, I answered, I still squinting as I peered out the window. I still expected, or hope might be a better word for it, to see someone, catch some glimpse of motion passing behind a window, or catch a distant eye watching from a window as if

this were all some trick the whole town was in on. Hey, Bill's voice was unusual, shaky with a tinge of emotion not characteristic of him. I was reluctant to call it fear, but... Hey, listen, like the clay and I are losing our fucking minds. We rounded a corner, onto a street leading to a roundabout centered around what was clearly the town park. The statue of some long dead figure sat atop a horse with a sword drawn and a stern face, which was the only facsimile of life visible. Or there's literally nobody in this town but us.

I felt the blood in my veins go cold at hearing the uneasy realisation spoke aloud, as though the strange reality was made concrete in doing so. Yeah, I said reluctantly. It, um, looks like it. Guys, I'm not going to lie, bro. Clay's voice came over the line, and even through the phone I could hear the palpable disquired heavy in his tone. I'm getting an awful feeling about this.

An icy chill ripple Thrued me at that He wasn't wrong of course Since we'd entered the city limits The air had felt almost charged With an uneasy, surreal sort of energy The sort of feeling you get in a place That has just experienced great tragedy or upheaval

If you've ever walked through the remains of a house burned in a fire Or seen a town rendered unrecognizable by a heavy storm You know the feeling As though every inch was a warning Of how vulnerable we all truly are a stark reminder of our own fleeting nature. And yet, as we move through those streets,

taken by a silence that I could find no logical explanation for, with every bit of daunting unease I felt, it seemed a greater, nagging sort of curiosity. Something about it all bothered me, the suddenness of it. Places don't just up and desert like that. People don't all just leave their homes, the jobs, and the town they've known and loved. No, it felt like there was something more to it,

and for some reason I felt compelled to know what. Feels like I only go backwards. I nearly let from my skin as the radio kicked to life, filling my car with a crew and a sudden unfamiliar voice. I squinted hard at the radio, which had ceased working from the moment I'd entered the town, as though it might somehow explain the sudden interruption, which was over just as soon as it had started.

On the other end, I could hear a similar burst of sound, followed by Phil's cursing in surprise. This town is a goddamn dead song for signals. Radio on the shitter. My data's cutting in and out. Where are we going anyway, man? There was a diner I saw when we passed through the first time. Cute little spot, reminded me of where Jenner and I first... I swallowed the sudden knot in my throat, surprised by the emotion I felt at the memory.

It reminded me of a spot I used to eat at in college. There was a silence from the other end, and I could all but see the looks passed between them at the mention of my ex-wife, a mixture of concern and mild irritation. Well, it doesn't look like there'll be much in the way of service, Clay chimed in. Of course, I knew he was correct, and hid in the moment the idea of turning back somehow filled me with an unusual sort of apprehension, which the feeling one has when forgetting something important.

like a meeting or a gathering, aware only that it slipped their mind, but I don't know what or how. Probably, but I'd still like to check it out. Come on, boys, I offered, trying my best to lighten the mood. Where's your sense of adventure? After a moment of silence, Clay responded. Okay, lead the way. See you there. So I did, navigating the stark emptiness of the streets with them in tow. Only the faint whistle of the wind moving between the buildings and the creek of wavering streetlights, none of which seemed to follow any discernible sort of pattern, only working in seemingly random intervals.

Every so often, the radio would spark to life, only to sputter off just as quickly. I tried to keep my eyes on the road. There was something about the lifelessness of the buildings that seemed to play to one's imagination. If let my eyes linger too long, I could see that. swear there were figures, barely more than shadows, and only there for a moment, darting behind curtains and walls. After a few minutes we arrived, pulling into a parking lot with a few dozen cars scattered throughout, as if from some morning breakfast rush we hadn't seen. After a moment of mustering my confidence, I stepped from the car, making my way across to the door. It was only

the sound of my feet sliding across the pavement and the rumble of the car behind me. The smell filled the air, like that of an old television set. Ozone. The word emerged like a thought whispered from somewhere. Behind me, filling clay pulled into the lot, quickly stepping from the car and following behind me, muttering to themselves. As I arrived at the door, I felt confusion give way to apprehension, and a cold sweat began to bead above my brow.

The doorway had been blocked, doors and chairs all piled in front in some, makeshift excuse for a barricade. The three of us paused for a moment as Clay and Phil caught up, a glance passing between us all that seemed to carry a different meaning in every eye, though all expressed an obvious disquiet. A knot on the door, peering in through the dust-covered window for any sign of who might have piled all of the furniture but found only an empty diner. Half-eaten meals, cell phones, a lone laptop all sat around. The signs of life in motion, yet with none of their owners to be found.

I tried to stifle the chill I felt as the skeletal fingers of dread seemed to run along my spine gently. Yeah, help me push this, I implored, grunting as I positioned my shoulder against the door and began to push with great exertion. The two looked at each other for a moment, before Phil gave a shrug, his eyes met in clays in a look that seemed to say, well he might as well before adding his effort to my own the door gave a hiss as we managed to pray it open almost half a foot sending the chairs piled on the other side clattering to the ground in a cacophony that made my heart lurch such a sudden change from the utter silence I coughed once, then twice, as my throat stung for a moment, that odd ozone smell seeming to grow stronger on the breeze. You think this is a good idea? Clay asked, still standing behind us. His arms were crossed, and there was a look on his face that I didn't like. It made me feel analyzed, like I was back in those marriage counselling sessions, being mentally picked apart by my wife and therapist, both of whom see.

seemed only to exist to point out my every flaw. A bit back a retort, tasting the venom at the back of my throat, swallowing hard despite the irritation, his attitude rising like floodwaters. I think there's a town full of people that just up and disappeared. I think that's something I can't just drive away from. I raised an eyebrow. You're a goddamn biology professor for the love of God.

Shouldn't you have like some sort of scientific curiosity or something? Clay narrowed his eyes in a look of mild irritation, cursing his lips for a moment before muttering a few expletives and adding his strength to ours. The door and the tables piled on the other end groaned in protest as we pushed it open as far as it would go. One by one, we slipped through the opening and into the diner. Fluorescent lights hummed and crackled, seeming to grow brighter as we entered, bathing the sky-blue wallpaper and vomit green tiles on the floor. in a hospital-esque glow. It somehow made the situation feel all the more surreal and unwelcoming, fairing with the silence to turn what otherwise seemed to a common small-town diner

into an utterly unfamiliar and alien place. Outside, the wind seemed to pick up on the serality that seemed to fill the air and made the windows groan in protest against it. Clay made his way towards the counter, ringing the lone bell several times. Enough, man. Christ, Phil chided. There's nobody here. Clay shrugged before climbing onto the counter. Yeah, what are you doing? I demanded as Clay slid over the counter, still bearing half-finished coffees and meals and onto the other side. Making a damn coffee, he grunted, grabbing an untouched sausage from one of the plates and taking a bite. I felt the need to argue, but after a moment, could think of no reason why.

The place was abandoned. It wasn't like anyone was coming. And yet, I couldn't help but feel a need to be silent, as though any overwhelming noise might attract the attention of, well, that didn't feel quite as clear. Coffee boys, anyone? Clay asked, waving his cupboard us and spilling a bit on the linoleum. Bill nodded, and Clay made his way back to the machine.

I muttered, no thanks, continuing around the, diner. A laptop, a few tables away, caught my attention. It was open, a screen still glowing, though it was dim. I made my way closer, eyeing it suspiciously. Beside it sat a set of keys in a wallet. I couldn't help but feel a chill at the sight. All things no one would leave behind unless left without a choice. We shouldn't be here. This thought forced its way through my head, and I tried to dismiss it, curiosity still burning. Still, I found myself sliding into the booth in front of the laptop, celebrating silently that it was still open.

On the screen, I immediately recognized the Facebook messenger, having had to answer plenty of, hey, we're here if you need anything, messages from folks I hadn't heard from in years after my divorce. I've heard a twinge of unease as I realized I was reading someone's messages. This was certainly already an invasion of privacy. to be sure. Now it felt even more so. Still, I continued, pushed on by an almost feverish need to understand what was happening. As I began to read, I felt icicles forming along the walls of my veins, my blood turning to icy slush and my insides to liquid. The account belonged to a Dan Armand,

a slightly older gentleman in his mid-50s, and the messages were between him and another man, Kevin, who was clearly his son. Early ones made it clear the kid was away at college. I love you, kiddo. Your mom loves you. We all love you so much. And I'm so proud of you. The first message sent that day, right?

There's something going on here in town. Can't explain it. Don't seem anyone can't. But I don't think your mama and I are going to be after your graduation, but I'm sorry. Just don't come home. Don't come back to Cryer's Creek. I ain't nothing good here for you anymore. Dad?

You okay? What the hell is going on? I've been getting text and seeing things on Snapchat all day about something flying over the town. Is Mom okay? She's with me, kiddo. We're together. I can't tell you what's going on.

Don't even know myself. I just know we can't go outside. People are disappearing. Straight up into the sky like the rapture. But I don't think this has nothing to do a guard. So Mr. O'Reilly yanked straight off the ground. Heard him scream until he stopped all of a sudden. His son's responses came soon after, frantic and questioning, followed by a call that wasn't answered. Dad, pick up. Who's Mr. O'Reilly? Dad, please pick up the phone. I'm sorry. You got no

idea how much I'd like to hear your voice right now, but we have to be quiet. I'm at the Larry's with your mom. Folks here have got the doors all barricaded up. Can't help but think it won't do much good though. I felt a cold creeping up along my spine. A cold, awful dread sowing itself deep into the fields of my mind. I can hear it now. Over us.

A damn thing sounds like a truck. I love you, kiddo. Never forget it. That was the final text sent from Dan. There were a few more from his son. desperate and pleading for a response, followed by a string of calls that went unanswered, and then nothing. I took a breath, feeling an uneasy tremor developing. The sounds of clinking plates and glasses as clay and fill cooked themselves breakfast

seemed to fade into the background as I found myself reading the conversation again and again. Any doubts I'd had had as to whether or not something awful had happened here faded rapidly. I still can't be certain what drove me to make. the call. Perhaps it was the unease and the hope that somehow the young man would be able to offer some rational explanation. Perhaps even explaining how his father had been mistaken and the town had been evacuated due to a gas leak or some similarly mundane reason. It may not bode well for us, but the longer I sat there, the less I felt anything would, and at least that response might quell the rise in dread I was feeling. It was like being a child again, a fear of something

nebulous and formless, yet dreadfully present all the same. The chime of the call ringing filled the diner, throwing both other sets of eyes towards me, both asking the same silent questions. After a moment, it was finally an answer. Hello? The voice belonged to a man who couldn't have been older than 20-something. Hi, is this Kevin?

There was a pause. Yeah, who's this? I heard a twinge of unease at the tone of his response, questioning but not nearly as worried as I'd expect someone to sound when receiving a call from a stranger on their apparently missing father's Facebook. I'm a friend of Dan, I lied, hoping it hadn't sounded quite as obvious as it felt. There was another silence, longer than before. I could swear there was palpable tension in it. It was as if I could hear the gears turning in it. his head. I don't know any, Dan. Sorry, man, wrong guy. My heart struck hard against the inside of my chest as I tried to swallow the unyielding knot of dread that had formed in my throat

somewhere along the way. Phil's questioning look grew worried, surely seeing the fear on my face. Clay looked irritated and uneasy, as he mouthed a, what, in my direction, clearly wanting to be caught up. Feeling the creep of anxiety. as it began to brim over and unsure of what else to say, I elected for the uneasy truth. Your father, your father, Dan, I found his laptop in a diner in a town called Cryers Creek. I think something may have happened to him, I am. Listen, man, I told you you've got the wrong guy. I never knew either of my parents.

I got no memory of him. Some palpable emotion at the end of his words that I could tell, he was trying to restrain, yet it felt as though he was telling the truth, or at least the truth as he believed it, despite the evidence the previous messages laid out. It made my skin crawl, and my stomach tightened like a fist, an inhuman dread gripping me firmly in its clutches. The wind outside grew heavy, and the windows all seemed to yawn and groan in simultaneous protest, the sounds forming a frightful symphony. appeared outside one of the windows that stretched along the walls on either side

and could see nothing in the empty streets and even less in the skies above. The clouds all seemed to threaten an approaching storm, the sort that transformed streets into rivers and fields into swamps, a force capable of changing the face of the earth beneath it, and yet not a raindrop was to be seen. Just clouds, clouds behind which, if I look for too long, Or I could see shapes moving within, large and darker even than the surrounding grey, but gone as soon as I thought they'd appeared.

Search for something for anything to say that would lead us to a rational answer. It had always been in my nature, a need to be right, that made confusion feel all but unacceptable. I've never seen how it could be a negative, the pursuit of knowledge. Now I wonder if, perhaps, I simply refuse to. and he doesn't remember his father. Thought rang like a question to which I could find no answer. Sorry, man, but I'm going to have to ask you not to contact me again. Please.

Good luck with whatever. Wait, please, I... The laptop chimed with a cheer I didn't feel as the call ended. I tried again, but there was no answer. Before I could go for a third, the account had been blocked. What the fuck was that? that about? Clay asked. His unease apparent. Eyes darting between myself and Phil, who didn't look any better himself. I think of nothing else to do but tell them the truth. When I was through,

there was a silence for a moment that seemed to linger for hours between the three of us. We need to go. Phil finally chimed. Many of that's true, and we need to get out of this place now. Clay nodded, sliding his plate away and making his way over. the counter and towards the door. To my own surprise, I felt a bloom of apprehension, feeling an argument building inside of me. Well, they were right, obviously. Something was going on that I could make no sense of, and yet, still, I wanted to understand. People don't just disappear. None of this was possible. For reasons that still escaped me, I felt driven to prove it. Yet the look on their faces made me uneasy. It was the face you'd expect from the

crew of a ship far too long at sea to the captain who denied them a return home. The entire trip had been for me, and though I may not have called for it, it was certainly my decision to visit this town and my choices that had kept us here. Something told me that disagreement might not be an option at this point. I stood and slid from the booth, casting one last glance at the laptop before nodding my agreement. Play gave a brief knot and had turned to open the door when, There was a sound like a train derailing or a bomb going off, or both, somewhere close by, sent all three of us scattering along the ground.

The window shook and the air itself seemed to vibrate with the sound like nothing I'd ever heard, a strange, all-present sort of hum that seemed to come from everywhere. My eyes darted wildly about the room in my utter panic, searching for the cause. I could swear I caught a glimpse of something outside. It was quick and massive, moving about the sky as if unaffected by gravity. But that awful hum grew. I shut my eyes tight, trying to whirl away the ache in my skull.

That smell from earlier, like burning ozone, grew thick until everyone was coughing uncontrollably. My head spun and my vision shook. Another explosive sound rocked the air, shattering several of the window. As quickly as it began, everything ended. The world going eerily still. Part two. I don't know how long it was before any of us felt comfortable moving. But Clay was the first, shooting to his feet and hissing a string of expletives.

His arms ran with scarlet ribbons of blood, trailing between his fingers as he picked out the glass that had caught him. He'd been nearest to the door that had burst with the first few windows and caught the world. worst of it, the wall of our heads rang and stomachs turned with nausea. What was that? Phil asked. His eyes were wide with a look I'd seen on pictures of war veterans or victims of some disaster, a glassy, faraway stare. There was something in the sky. What was it? His voice shook as though he was close to tears. I don't know, I answered, surprised by the sound of my own voice. We should call the fucking cops or something.

The National Guard, the goddamn Air Force. Clay cried, his voice cracking as fear and panic still overwhelmed him. I nodded, head still throbbing and mind racing as I went for myself up. Feeling like cold water being dumped overhead made the blood freeze in my veins. No signal. I shook my head. There's no service. Clay's face contorted into a look that was a mix of surprise. eyes, denial and terror as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Philip did the same, hands shaking all the while. No one said anything. The two of them staring at their phones with variations of the same expression. They didn't need to say a word. I knew what it meant. Let's just go, I said. I struggled to my feet. The world seemed to spin beneath me for a moment as I gripped a chair for balance.

I helped fill to his feet. his eyes never once leaving the skies beyond the broken windows. Clay led the way, grimacing as his arms continued to run with blood. As we made our way outside, I could tell immediately that something was deeply wrong. That smell hung thick in the air still, but it was more than that. The streets were emptier than before. They were gone. Everything is gone.

Clay spoke the thought aloud just as a cold, awful realization, dawned on me. The cars were now gone. Both the empty vehicles that had previously lined much of the streets and Clay's own truck were all gone. All of the vehicles but one, my own sedan, was left idling in the middle of the street. With all that happened, my memory was spotty. I felt certain that was not where I'd left it. Clay shook his head, moving aimlessly about the street, head on a swivel, searching for his vehicle to no avail. Finally, he let out a scream, long and full of rage that echoed through the empty streets. Phil just kept shaking his head, muttering something to himself.

I hardly had time to react as Clay made his approach, throwing up my hands to partially block the punch he threw. I felt a shock in my jaw, and for a moment I felt heat in my face and the world disappearing behind darkness and flex of light. The commotion seemed to kick Philip from his stupor, and he grabbed clobes. playing him away from me. This was your idea, he cried, accusation heavy in his tone. I ran my hand along my jaw. My lower lip was bleeding slightly, but I was otherwise okay with the exception of the perpetual sting in my face.

I know I ought to have left it alone, but I was scared and angry. Days and months of emotions coming to the surface. You didn't have to come. I didn't make you. Listen, what's wrong with you? I cried, taking a step closer. Clay laughed, but it was a sound without any genuine humor, mocking and belittly. Ahrist, a snide, self-assured asshole, man.

Always happy, he said, his words coated in a palpable venom. But even worse, a sort of confident assuredness that spoke of a conviction behind them, as though he thought these things for quite a while. It's the reason we're the only two people still willing to put up with you. It's the reason for where you are in life with that dead-end job. It's the reason Tracy left. You can't ever consider someone else's right. You'd shied and chide and make stupid comments until they finally give in to you.

I wanted to feel something. Anger, hate, an urge to hit him back even. But I couldn't. Part of me could only sit in the recognition that, in some ways, he was right. Stop, Clay. this isn't the time, Phil said, putting himself between the two of us. We need to go. And he turned to me.

You're going to have to use your car. You okay to drive? I nodded that my thoughts were still on Clay's own words. Right, then let's go. Clay's eyes lingered on me for a moment. I felt I could see his expression softening before he turned and made for the car. I followed, and until we reached the car, the faintly. wind's moving through the building was the only noise to accompany us. My mind raced. Clay's words

said the call from earlier, and whatever had happened in the diner all spinning through my head in a vortex of thought. None of it made sense. In this place, that thing in the sky, the cars, it was impossible. I knew that as we left it behind. It would always bother me like a picture left askew, this blind spot in what I knew to be possible. Oh, Hello, is anyone there? The voice echoed through the empty streets. A woman's by the sound of it, carried from somewhere that seemed both near and distantly behind us. It froze all three of us in place.

The same question passed silently between us as though none of us wanted to be the first to ask whether anyone else had heard it. Hello! That voice again, except this time I felt certain it was somewhere ahead. Phil snapped to face it. the fear that had seemingly dissipated slowly returning to the surface, his eyes darting about nervously. Clay looked at me hard, shaking his head slowly as though he could hear my thoughts. I narrowed my eyes, holding back none of the bitterness I felt. So, some woman is alone wandering this place with whatever the hell that thing is.

You want to leave her? Looking back, I can't account for the sudden defiance I felt. Perhaps my ego had finally caught up with the earlier wounds, or perhaps the idea of leaving someone here felt too much like the failure of my relationship. I can't be certain. Likely, I'd need the help of a therapist over days of work to understand. Days I do not have. Clay looked as though he wanted to spit in my face, shaking his head, eyes filled with something

cold and unrecognising. You're a fool, he said. You'll get one of us killed for it. He's right, Phil stammered, though he looked as though he dreaded the words. It wouldn't be right to leave her. He scoffed, looking between the two of us and shaking his hands. Ah, whatever, he relented, climbing into the back seat and letting the door slam shut behind him. Phil scanned the ground for a moment, sighing for a long moment, before looking back at me.

He's pissed, understandably, but I'm sure again. It's it. Let's just see if we can find whoever that was. He nodded for me to follow as he made his way towards the car, pausing for a moment. He met my eyes. Just promise you won't get out of the car. We'll drive around and look, and if we can't find anyone, we go. I nodded. Yeah, okay, promise. With that, he made his way into the car. I followed, feeling suddenly very claustrophobic in the vehicle as we began to make our way through the streets. And just listen for her, I said, rolling down all four of the windows as we began moving through the streets at random,

listening for any sign of the person we'd heard earlier. At some point I began calling out, much to Clay's dismay, shouting for anyone to respond. It wasn't long before, eventually, someone did. Please, please help me, it's coming. That voice again much more clear this. time, coming from a few streets away within one of the residential areas. I veered left onto the road from where I could hear it coming.

My foot settled on the gas, an unusual determination swelling in me as the course grew louder until we'd arrived outside a house. It was no different than the others, a single-story red brick home with all the windows drawn but one, yet the sight of it sent chills down my spine. The front door sat wide open, yet I could see nothing inside. side. Play was already shaking his head when I turned to face them. But no, no, look at that place. It's, it's not right. He trailed off, unable to put the feeling into words. I knew what he meant. I felt it too. We all could, staring back at the entrance like the moor of some animal.

Yet as that voice echoed from within, I felt stirred by an uncharacteristic sort of boldness. "'It's fine,' I said. "'I'm not going to push it. "'Just wait here, I'll be back.' "'Clay scoffed, and Phil just looked on with sad eyes, "'nodding almost to himself. "'Well, I'm coming.' "'Flay looked ready to explode, staring at Philip as though.

"'He'd groan another head. "'You always go along with his bullshit,' he said. "'Eyes narrowed as he looked at Philip. Whatever. I'm staying here. You two have fun. If you're not back in ten minutes, I'm leaving without you both. I wanted to argue but knew it would accomplish nothing. So instead, I gave a brief nod and exited the car. Phil hurried from the back seat, following behind,

and I could hear the sound of the door's automatic lock as we made some distance. The nearer we came to that front door, the more I could see the house inside, with a standard foyer in living room. nothing unusual but for the utter state of disarray it was left him. Sheldves were toppled and furniture overturned. Various things scattered about the floor as though a tornado had somehow moved through the place. Somehow the opening felt eerie, as though what lay on the other side was more than a mere house,

but some other world in which something awful had happened. Part of me wondered if Clay wasn't right and considered turning back on the spot. but the idea filled my mouth with an awful taste if the satisfaction I knew it would bring him and so I was spurred forth by my own ego stepped inside the smell was immediate like sitting too close to an old television set

just an acrid static that singed at your nose heads as was the feeling of a sort of chill that gripped me and made my stomach turn with nausea my vision buzzing momentarily looks worse than the diner when we left Phil commented, looking over one of the few coffee tables still on its feet. I nodded, the implications of the thought making me feel uneasy. Broken glass crunched beneath my feet as I stepped forward, peering into the kitchen.

On the wall hung a photo of a man, a woman and three children. I felt something shifting me as I wondered where all of the individuals were now and if anyone would ever know. I wondered who it was that we'd heard. There was another question that was clawing at the back of my mind. One I didn't want to acknowledge yet couldn't ignore. Would we join them if we couldn't find her soon? Help me! The cry echoed from somewhere deeper in the house, sudden and shrill,

making me jump as I spun to face it. Bill's reaction was the same, our eyes meeting as we search for the source, settling on a door in the hallway ahead. Even at a distance, I could still see the tremors that took. took him and didn't feel far off myself, but I was there for a reason. Don't have to follow me, I said in earnest as I began to make my way for. Somehow, by the echo from behind the door, I knew there was a basement on the other side.

I didn't have to look to know Philip was behind me, breathing nervously and muttering barely silent breaths. I opened the door and we began to descend into the darkness below, and's feeling along the wall for a light switch. I felt something rushed past my cheek, a string hanging overhead. Upon pulling it, a dim bulb came to life, offering what little light it could manage.

It did little to illuminate what lay in the basement beyond, only really serving to cast eerie shadows along the stairwell, but at least we could see where our feet were to land. Help me! Help! That voice again, but not nearly as loud as before, or as urgent. I felt one of those unearthly chills as though my body were warning me of something I couldn't

yet perceive, and it frightened me. Do you see her? Philip whispered, voice still shaking as he stepped behind me, kneeling slightly as if worried that standing at his full height might attract something's attention. It took me a moment to realize I was doing the same. No, I can't see a damn thing. I breathed back, gritting my teeth at the squeal of the staircase. beneath my feet.

Feeling its weight in my pocket, I remembered my phone. It had been all but useless since we'd been attacked by whatever that thing was. The function of a flashlight was the one thing I knew it could still serve.

Shine the light onto the ground below. Grey cement slab that seemed to extend through the entire room. Help, please, please help. That voice again, this time so small

it was barely more than a whisper from somewhere around the corner. We turned into the basement, the light exposing a small hallway ahead leading to a boiler room. And the hall sat a door, closed, though I could see a light glowing beneath it and hear the woman's voice from within. Glanced back at a film, his eyes never wavering from the door, and he simply nodded. We pushed forth. Help, please. The nearer I grew to the door, the more my skin began to crawl.

There was something off about that voice in a way I could only now process. There was an odd hiss to it, a mechanical crackle that I couldn't place. Hand-shaking, I pushed the door open. Room was dark, with only the glow of an old television set to prevent total blindness. You smell that? Philip asked. I nodded, that same ozone scent hanging heavily in the air. It took a moment to process what I was hearing. as it began to click

Confusion and dread filled me in equal measure The voice echoed from the television That doesn't make any sense Philip said Voice no longer a whisper as a familiar dread filled his words We heard it from blocks away That's impossible The light of the screen seemed to shine with such sudden force

It temporarily blinded us bathing the room in an eerie white light, the old box set glowing like a supernova. The air seemed poised to set a light, the electric stench so strong I could feel my lungs burning. The house shook, threatening to collapse in on us as that awful sound rocked the earth. The screen of the old television burst in a shower of sparks and glass,

scattering across the room. Phil's eyes met mine, a primal sort of terror filling them as his hands clasped over his ears. Something like a shriek, ancient, an animal, but put through a computer filter or something of the sort, pierced the air seeming to come from everywhere at once. All I could do in those moments was cover my ears and pray until the awful cacophony ceased, and the air took on that eerie stillness. It took a moment before either of us moved, myself first, scrambling for the phone I dropped in the commotion,

before hurrying to help Philip to his feet. What was that? What was it? He asked, shock still working its way through him. Come on, I urged, pulling him towards the way we'd come, an answer already in mind. You have to go check on clay, now. That seemed to stir him, and the two of us raced out of the house in worse condition than it had been in before and out into the front yard. The weather had seemingly shifted in the minutes we'd spent inside.

The clouds dark and foreboding. the wind whipping leaves from trees and lashing its tendrils across my face. The car was gone. The space it had occupied was almost mockingly empty. There was no sign of clay and something told me there wouldn't be any longer. Oh, he got him. I hardly realized I was speaking the words as I did, my mind putting two and two together.

That thing tricked us and it got him. The swell of emotion I felt threatened to send me into free fall. He was here because of me. We were on this trip for me. It was my choice that had gotten him into this. And now. God, and now what? I couldn't even be sure of what I was guilty of.

Couldn't even be certain whether I'd gotten my friend killed or simply whisked off for some unknown fate. He was right. Philip breathed, tears streaming openly as he stared at the spot the car had once occupied as if at any second it might return. The wind picked up, sending ominous whispers through the trees, and tracing an icy chill down my back. We should have left. We should have gone when we had the chance. It's going to get us now.

His tone was almost childlike, past the point of fear, almost as though he was stating the dreaded reality. I shook my head, stepping in front of him and gripping him by the shoulders. Bill, we have to go now. We can... We can walk. I spoke, though in hindsight I think even I wasn't convinced by my words. This place isn't that big. It'd take maybe half an hour and 40 minutes. We could just stick to the main road and walk out of here.

Phil laughed. A sound devoid of humor or mocking or any sort of emotion. Cold and harsh. It's not going to let us go. He gave us that chance and we didn't take it. Don't you see? Sky's above. seemed to groan and rumble as a warning of an approaching storm, and yet,

there were no signs of lightning. The wind grew stronger, whipping my jacket about, with such force it almost moved me. Philip just shook his head, staring up at the sky. Too late. The air itself seemed to shake as a sound like the sky tearing open above us threatened to deafen me. The sky above was an ominous grey, every cloud swelling with the threat of torrential. or rain. And at first I could see nothing but the sunlight filtered grey through the mist. And then, there was movement. Brief at first, the flash of something dark enough that the sun

couldn't pierce it as it passed between an area where the cloud cover was just a bit lighter. Everything shook. My very bones seeming to move out of place as the sky seemed to split in half. From the clouds above, I could see something emerge. In that moment, I could see something emerge. In that moment, It cast a circular shadow almost 30 feet ahead, passing over the street like some new celestial body. You've never seen something impossible or witnessed something your mind knows inherently to be wrong, no matter how hard it seems to grapple for some sort of understanding. You can never understand what I felt in that moment. I found myself grasping for answers, a nauseating sense of horror racking my body.

It's a weather-blue, nor... Or, I could find no words, every explanation falling flat in the face of the impossible. Shape was circular, a perfect sphere with nothing resembling wings or flaps or rudders. It was a pale white, so much so that it almost reflected the light like another sun in the sky. The air hung thick with the smell and taste of ozone, so much so I couldn't help but cough violently. Then it was gone again, disappearing into the cold. clouds, moving with such sudden speed I knew it depended on more than the wind. For several moments, we saw no sight of it above, yet the sound of its movement grew until

the ground seemed to shake. It's coming closer. I spoke the realization, voice hoarse as I sputtered another cough, eyes meeting Phil. He smiled sadly, and in that moment I understood that I had to flee. I didn't wait for Phil to follow. my legs pounding as I ran back towards the house and away from that thing. The entire world seemed to shake, the air itself somehow vibrating until I could feel it in my bones. A glance over my shoulder told me why. As I passed the side of the house we'd just exited, I caught sight of the object descending until it was barely 30 feet or so off the ground.

It was bigger than I'd imagined, at least the size of three school buses in length. By the look of it seemed entirely completely. composed of some pale metallic substance, almost like a reflective marble. I lost sight of it as I neared the car, but I knew very well that it was directly overhead. It made a sound like the bellow of some horrid ancient beast had been run through auto-tune as it closed in on him, growing closer and closer until I could feel it, feel the static that seemed to radiate forth from it. I didn't stop, even as the mechanical roar rose to a fever pitch, combining with a human shriek to form a sound so awful, I'm sure it would haunt me for the rest of my life, me if I expected that to be long.

A chance to singular glance over my shoulder before passing behind the house in its backyard, and what I saw, well, I still can't be sure of. It was as though Philip's body was dissolving, coming apart in ribbons of flesh, the air around it visibly warped by some sort of. of energy that seemed to pour forth from that thing, floating like another moon a few feet over his head. I kept running until there was nothing but the sound of my own breath and pounding heart, long after silence had settled over the town. The shock began to take effect, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving me feel bruised, battered, scared and alone. I found my way into the local public library. That's where I've been for the past few hours. Staying off the streets, it's not safe.

That thing could descend on me at any time and do God knows what. I'm writing this because, well, because I've done all I can to try and reach out for help, but to no avail. There's little else in the silence for me to do, but perhaps try and write some account of what happened here, in the off chance that anyone finds themselves wondering about the town of Cryer's Creek, or the even more unlikely scenario, they're wondering. about me. To Clay and Phil's families, if you're seeing this and still remember them, I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen. And to whoever is reading this, be willing to trust the people around you sometimes. Stay away from Cryers Creek. There's something in the skies above,

something that has claimed this place as its own. We were warned that the land beneath our new home had learned to hate. We should have run when we had the chance. By Santiago del Mar. Two weeks. That's how long it took for my life to fall apart. Two weeks for everything I ever loved or cared about to be taken from me in the cruelest way imaginable.

And it all started on that hateful plot of land that was supposed to be my family's new home. We'd bought the house a month earlier and packed our lives up in SoCal a move to northern California. It was unassuming, two-story, three-bedroom, cheaply built, and overpriced in an attempt to cash in on the housing shortage. The whole housing subdivision was like that,

and in the end, the gamble failed. Only about a third of the houses were occupied. We arrived in the early morning. Spring had just reared its head, and showers still peppered the land. This particular morning, a light drizzle had been falling for a few hours. On a front lawn, staring directly at us as we pulled in, was a kid, crying. Even through the rain I could see from the way his shoulders and chest shuddered. There was a woman standing a few feet away, staring at the boy.

Yeah, are you okay? My fiancé Lorry asked, stepping out of the car. The boy who couldn't have been older than 17, nodded slightly and walked away, pausing halfway down the street to look back and shake his head. The woman in her 60s Woke up as she strode out of sight And spoke to us Well, he's

Crying for you, she said Oh, excuse me I asked her He's like an omen Saw him crying a week before my husband Weren't missing All they found of him was the joint to his index finger I'd leave and never look back

If I were you I'm sorry Are you a neighbor "'Lory asked. "' Nah, don't live here. "'Just follow the boy around "'whenever I see him crying. "'Never says anything to the people he's supposed to warn.

"'That's why I'm here. "'I know your kind, though. "'Young, arrogant, and unwilling to listen. "'Well, it's fine. "'Just a crazy old lady, "'but know this land here. "'It knows nothing but tragedy. "'Settlers watered it,

"'with the blood of Indians slaughtered by the hundred, hundreds. Before them, they did it to each other. You see, bound by tragedy, and it'll come to pass again. Um, I think you should be going, I said firmly. Oh, I'm off. Just don't say I didn't warn you, she said, and then hobbled away. What the hell was that about, I asked, facing Lorry. Oh, locals trying to scare us. Yeah, I get it. People like us move here en masse. Raise rents, vote differently, and change their way alive. It's easy to see why they get resentful, she said. She saw the look in my eyes and frowned. Amir, I didn't mean it like that. I'm not trying to sympathize with bigots. Just say my parents think like her. I know what's running through their minds. But honestly, fuck her. She doesn't. She doesn't. doesn't matter, we do. The people around here are probably used to getting everything handed to them. Why can't we take a little something from ourselves? I was comforted by her words then, but in hindsight, she was wrong. Mrs. Norris was eccentric and crotchety, but she'd never had anything handed to her.

She grew up poor and lived poor most of her life, and even now she works as a warm-out greeter. If anyone had been lucky, well, it had been me. My entire life, I only failed upwards. When I fucked off in high school, mum and dad's alumni status and hefty donations to an Ivy Lee school insured my acceptance. When I renounced my parents' faith, they stopped talking to me,

but made sure my classes were paid for and they always kept me in their prayers. At a job lined up for me the moment I graduated at Dad's law firm, even if he scheduled it so we'd never interact. He even left me a trust fund that was enough to afford this house and co-signed when Laurie asked him to.

I didn't know until after all the horrors I've experienced, how good I had it. Yes, you don't know what you have until it's wretched from your hands. Laurie brought Carter out of his seat. My beautiful son, a year and a half now. I wanted to name him after my brother. It was closer to me in skin tone than Laurie, and he even had my father's eyes.

But in Laurie's exact words, you didn't carry him for nine months. You weren't even there for me until the last second. Yeah, it was true. My son was born two months after I graduated. I didn't want to be a father. I had firm to this even when a casual fling ended with a pregnancy, neither her parents nor I wanted. But she was resolute. Laurie was stubborn like that, driven by rebellious impulse. The only reason she'd hooked up with me was that she knew it had piss off her parents, especially her dad. We agreed that she'd have full custody,

and I wouldn't even have to meet the kid. Well, I'd agreed, but when her labor came, she caught me while she was on the way to the hospital. She was afraid, and her parents had all but disowned her. I came. I shouldn't have. Every part of my body was screaming for me just to run, but, well, on impulse, I showed up.

When I held him for the first time in my arms, I knew this was all I'd ever wanted. I cried, of course, and broke into myself that I'd ever even considered cutting my beautiful baby boy from my life. I proposed later that night, and Laurie said yes, almost in shock. I told myself we were fighting against the world that day, against her racist parents, against ourselves. But I'd make this work. I'd fight for us, for Carter. We brought our son inside, did some unpacking and settled in for the night.

I ended up falling asleep on the couch after a few beers and some late-night TV. Laurie put Carter to bed and went to bed alone, later telling me she didn't want to wake me. What roused me that night was a sound, something that pierced the veil of dreams and reeled me back to the real world. My eyes shot open, and I sat up and looked around the living room. Only a few dim beams of streetlight peered in through the window, but their pallid light doing little to render anything visible beyond a blurry silhouette.

I froze, let my heart settle, waited for what felt like an eternity, and then laid back down. I lay there, still and attentive, trying to parse what the sound was and where it was coming from. I tried to rationalise it as Lorry being up and about, but as the sound repeated, I picked up details that cast certainty into doubt. There was a slick wetness to it that couldn't have been Laurie, unless she now took to dragging wet rolls of tarp around in the middle of the night. I waited and listened until the sounds faded. I don't know if they actually did, or if the pull of sleep just overcame my unease. All I know is that I woke up nearly late for work,

and before I could ask Laurie if she'd heard anything, I'd fled the house and sped all the way to my dad's newly opened NorCal office. Later that day, as I returned her, home, I found Laurie out on the front lawn, Carter in hand waiting for me. Her face was contorted into an annoyed scowl. What's wrong? I asked, stepping out of the car. That weird kid was back, around noon. So was the old lady, she said. What did they want? I think they're trying to scare us out of here. Kid was crying again, bawling, actually. The lady was behind him, said that's already started that our clock was ticking down.

When I asked her what she meant by that, she all but threatened me. Well, she said, the earth, it weeps, and it remembers the cruelty is afflicted upon it. You'll see it'll claim it to do is one way or the other. I told them I was going to call the cops, and they left, but they didn't sit right with me. They were harassing some of the other neighbours, too.

It's just weird. Did the real estate agent say anything about this place? Oh, it's an entirely new housing development. There's no history to tell. Why? Did they get to you? No, it's just that last night I heard something, like a dragging sound.

Well, I thought maybe it was you, but... Well, I felt like something was watching me. It didn't feel like you. Hmm, I heard that too. Didn't feel like anyone watching me. Just the noise. said. Maybe we should call someone, a priest or... Lari, don't tell me you buy into that shit after one night of something that's easily explained.

It's not too uncommon for people to have houses cleansed when they move. Maybe it's worth entertaining. Just down the street from us, a nature reserves that used to be native land. Maybe it's them, ever think of that? You said to yourself, they have every reason to try and get rid of us. That's a little convoluted, isn't it? Why would anyone go out of the way like that for us? What about the others they've bothered? Just.

Plenty of people have gone after us for less, Laurie. Having my kid put you at odds with half your family alone. Your dad shuddered me. I'm not surprised by the crazy shit people do anymore. We'll let security know that they're harassing us. Problem solved. Laurie looked at me with weary eyes. Maybe.

She glanced back down at Carter, who giggled, and she smiled. Yeah, you're right, she said, and let her shoulders relax. A few days went by without incident, and I was starting to settle into the flow of things. We got to know some of our neighbours at Laurie's behest, and I was trying to get Carter to say his first words, but the word Dada seemed to evade him. Laurie was still in a bit of a funk. She got it often enough that I talked about therapy, though she was. always evaded the topic. She dropped out of college, was disowned by her parents, and got engaged

to the man responsible for her fall from grace on a whim. I caught her crying half a dozen times since she'd given birth. We hadn't had sex more than a few times since she gave birth, and I could tell she wanted to be more than her housewife, and I know we needed the extra income. When I brought up that I was being groomed for a promotion, her eyes lit up. Oh, I think we'll be able to afford child care. It would be nice to have some time to work, maybe even finish my degree. Well, it's in the realm of possibility. I'm still dreaming of being a nurse, I said, smiling. I could change to accounting, so I can annoy the hell out of you at work, she said with a laugh. All seemed to be right in the world. Nowhere to go but up. We put Carter to bed in his room,

and Laurie and I settled into our bed for the night. I rolled over onto her side, pressed against her and said, Let's make a brother for Carter. Laurie looked at me, stunned at first, before her face slacked into a grin. You think you can decide that? She asked. Well, we can try.

What if I want a girl? We can try for a girl after you give Carter a brother. Think about it. Boys need other boys their age, and our daughter gets two older brothers to protect her. Well, you make a compelling argument, she said, a move to straddle me. We broke out into a wrestling match,

disprobing one another with every hold and shift of motion. Laurie was halfway through pulling my boxes down when the sound of glass shattering froze us both in place. Seconds stick by as my muscles tensed in anticipation. Another explosion of glass made the both of us flinch, and Carter awakened with a snort and then a wail. Go, I said to Laurie. and she launched herself to Carter's room.

I pulled my boxes up as I made my way downstairs. I snagged the bedside bat as another series of glass-shattering staccatoes rang out through the house. What the fuck? Laurie shouted as I ran past. Bat held so tightly in my hands my knuckles paled. In my anger and haste, I sprinted into the kitchen without thinking. As I flicked on the lights, I stepped on a shard of glass. "'Oh, fuck!' I yelled as I bit into my flesh. "'I looked around at the sight before me,

"'blood pooling steadily around my foot. "'Nothing but a cabinet and a half a dozen glass cup "'shadowed across the floor. "'I set the bat down on the counter "'and pried the sizeable glass shard from my foot. "'I didn't have time to dress it. "'A scream ran out from upstairs. "'I'm here, I'm here,' Lorry called,

"'and I sprang up. "'I ran towards them. leaving bloody footprints on the hardwood and carpeted stairs. I was yelling at myself internally. Whatever was doing this had succeeded in separating us. As I reached the hallway, it dawned on me that I'd left the bat on the counter. Though my stomach tied itself into knots at the realization that I'd have to face whatever it was in the room unarmed,

nearly naked and bleeding, I did not slow or relent. I flung myself through the open door, wild-eyed and ready to fight. Laurie was huddled in the furthest corner with our wailing sun held close to her chest A finger outstretched and pointing to the closet that faced her My eyes flicked to where she pointed

In the swirling darkness of the open closet door For the briefest of moments I thought I saw movement Muscles tensed and I raised my fists But the apparition was dispelled the second I focused in on it Already rationalizations formed within me and adrenaline-fueled delusion was the one I clung to. What?

What did you see? I asked Laurie as she tried to soothe Carter. I don't know. But there was something here. He was in the closet. He was staring at us. She said, and gazed down at the blood seeping into the carpet. What happened downstairs?

She asked. A cupboard was open, and glasses fell out. Amir. That doesn't just happen. We can't stay here anymore. What do you propose we do? Go to a hotel, put the house on the market, and hope that we scrounge enough to find somewhere else. Why not? Because this is our only chance, Laurie. Because we have nothing else. We've made it here, and I can't make a gamble like that.

Half the houses here are empty. They haven't sold. If we leave and are worse off than when we started, we have no one to turn to. Not your parents. Not mine. Not a single friend. No one but us. We have to fight, Lorry, for us, for Carter. Carter had quieted, but Lorry had tears carving slow paths down her cheek. I didn't think it'd be this hard. I didn't expect to walk in the park, but fuck, I didn't think it'd feel like this. Every day is a pit I have to crawl out from, and every day it feels deeper, she said. I closed the distance between us,

embraced her and Carter, and with my head on hers, I asked her to fight. And through tears and quiet hiccups, she said, Yeah, I will. We spent the next hour cleaning up the house. Laurie bandaged my foot, and we planned to rent a carpet cleaner for all the blood.

We moved Carter's crib into our bedroom at Laurie's request, so that killed my plans from making Carter a brother. Things settled for the night. We fell into a fretful sleep. The next day, as I was coming home from work, I noticed that strange kid again. Mrs. Norris was far behind on the intersection of my street and another. Like before, he was walking aimlessly but paused in front of our house.

He was crying again, but harder this time. Sobs racked his body as he struggled to hold a steady breath. Look, you're not supposed to be here, I said as I walked by. He nodded and kept walking, but paused for a moment, letting his crying die down until he could speak, and then he said, You're the ones that don't belong. The earth here. It wept and wept, and no one listened to its pleas until now it lashes out. I headed toward him at a brisk pace and grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him close so he could see how deadly serious I was.

Are you threatening me and my family? He met my gaze. There was nothing in his eyes. I mean, no provocation, but he was crying again. A smile spedly his unsettlingly perfect teeth bared. He looked back into my eyes and said, It'll end in screams. He shook his head and laughed, cried,

until I was disturbed enough to let him go. He started walking away from me again, almost limping now, and I regretted not slugging him when I had a time. chance. Now I had to deal with the hobbling hag, Mrs. Norris. Henry, a neighbor I recognized from three doors down, was turning away from her. His walk was tense, and he retreated back to his house. The old woman locked eyes with me, an approach to speak. I let out a sigh as she closed the distance. It censured too much of a fool to heed a warning from those who know better. Let me give you a

word of advice. Offer yourself in their place. Take your blood, slather it on your door, offer your life. You'll spend every waking moment of your life and regret if you don't, she said. What biblical bullshit are you on about? I won't buy into your madness. My husband and I were planning on starting a family before I took him. I haven't moved forward a day since the day I lost him. Now, 17 years ago, and that boy hasn't aged a day since. He knew. Like an angel of death, he knew it would come for me. It took my future, and I spent every moment I can trying to warn others of what happens when the earth learns to hate. But every single last one of you has been so stubborn. I haven't saved a single one. Maybe that's another aspect of its malice.

But God, if I don't try, and this whole neighborhood... will collapse under the weight of its own hubris. Look, please. Look, lady, you're obviously struggling with something. I feel for you, but I won't let you project your delusions onto me and my family. I hope you can get the help you need, but stay the fuck away from us. She looked at me, dejected. She turned away from me and hobbled off and said,

Fine. In such a hoarse, an airy whisper, I almost thought it was a family. phantom. As she rounded a corner and escaped my glare, without a sting of dull pain throbbed through my foot. My wound had reopened, and fresh blood flowed and seeped into my shoes in the earth. How was work? Lorry asked over dinner once we'd settled in. Fine. Bueller's talk of promotions is all but dried up, though. I'm sure it'll come up again. You're a hard worker. Let's hope my dad's not in his ear. What about you? How was your day? I asked.

Fine. Spend it at the park. We went for lunch, and we've just been out and about seeing the town. We're afraid to be here alone. Why wouldn't I be? Something they were staring at me and Carter. It wanted to hurt us. I'm not comfortable here alone. Maybe Mrs. Norris was right.

Set down my fork and looked at her. The face was unreadable, but she wouldn't have said anything unless she was mad at me. Lorry, can we not... I mean, I'm sorry I wasn't around. I would love to spend the day with you and Carter. I'll look into affordable daycare, and you can start looking for a job so you can get some time out of the house. I'm sure things will settle in a bit, and we'll all be better off.

Her hand slid over on top of mine, and she spoke. I'd like that. And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so standoffish. I've been stressed or you've been stressed. It's all been one big ball of stress since we moved in. I'm sure you're right. We're fine in the end. A hand tightened around mine,

and I maneuvered around so that I could interlace her fingers with mine. Wordlessly, we ate dinner, put Carter to sleep, and made love in the next room. When we finished, we lay down to sleep, and in the moments before I faded into dreams, I thought that, despite it all, I truly was a lucky man. My eyes flung open.

as I jolted awake. My heart raced as my eyes darted around the room, scanning for movement. Oh, God, white a night of all nights. I couldn't help but mutter under my breath. Only a pale beam of moonlight streamed in through a parted curtain, a silver sliver cleaving through the dark of the room. Nothing. It had been nothing, I tried to tell myself.

The sound was closer than I'd ever heard it. I even picked up small details, an organic squelch, wetness, a small, raspy moan. It was in the room with us. It was moving closer. I sat up, causing Lorry to stir. My hand reached for the bat by the nightstand, and at the same moment, the desiccated arm reached through from the darkness and planted itself firmly in the beam of the moonline.

night. Its hands rested upon what I now realized was a bloody, pulpy mess. I brought the bat to my chest and watched in horror as it dragged itself into view. A bone white and withered naked woman, her eye sockets empty and void black. She strained and flexed as she scraped her crotch along the floor, leaving bits of skin and sinew all the while making that damned And her hand came down with force. She turned to face me, wiry white hair parting so I could see her lipless grin. She turned away and continued to drag herself across the floor, deepening the gash.

How long had she been at it before I awoke? Lorry jolted awake and gaffed at the sight. A scream caught in her throat. She turned to look wild-eyed at me And the fear in my eyes caused her own to deepen The woman was in the veil of darkness once more But through it we could still see her silhouette And burning grin

I started to get up To confront her when the temperature of the room dived In a split second my heavy breath Was visible in quick bursts of white vapour A crack reverberated through their hands house and the long gash on our floor split open. The dimensions of the floor warped as a giant, pock-marked skull crowned.

It must have been as big as our bed, and it kept pushing and jerking until finally it broke free. A giant head from the neck up was staring at us. Myfi's skin yellowed like ancient papyrus. Its visage was harsh, angular and skeletal. holes and lines rimmed with blackened flesh scarred every inch of its skin slowly and methodically a giant hand slid out from the gash inching towards carter's crib slow lurid movements as the hand snate across the air and into the crib my body was a cage and from it i screamed with all my might and yet it made no sound as the ragged fleshy fingers curled around carter and hoisted him up or he screamed Carter wailed and something clicked into place an ancient instinct a righteous gene

I slid the covers off and held the bat out oh I'd fight I had no other choice the hand paused and the head's attention shifted to me and it blossomed every hole in its skin was now filled with the hateful glare of an eye hundreds of them every line split open and a black tooth smiled, grinned. With its whole being, this thing was grinning at me. I understood it then, the depth of its rage. It all unfurled and wrapped around me and sank its blackened teeth into all the bravado and fatherly instinct within me,

until it shattered. It hated me. Lorry, Carter, us. It hated the whole world and it would consume all it could in its rar. The bat fell from my hands. as my body went limp and it opened its mouth. The black pit of its gullet stared into me, and I was sinking in its pitch. And an ear-splitting shriek dragged me back out into this world, and I watched in agonized slow motion as it brought the hand it held Carter in closer and closer

to its mouth. I wanted to scream, wanted to stop it, wanted to close my eyes, but I only watched as this emanation of hatred brought my son to its lips. and took a bite. Crunches seared into the very core of my being. I'll never forget, no matter how hard I try. A pitiful cry that never truly formed, clicked in my head, and a crimson curtain fell. A thousand tongues, a thousand mouths all opened and clashed against each other

to lap up the blood of my son, the blood of me and Laurie. Our entire history, Our future, gone. The hand pulled back, twisting as it did. The sound of small, frail bones breaking and flesh-tearing echoed throughout my entire being, and still I could not look away. It took two more bites for it to finish, and it made sure to take its time chewing.

When it finally swallowed, it pursed its lips at me, smile stained red, and dove into the gash. It sealed itself and returned to the pulpy stain it had originally been, now with a few more bloodstains. My ears were ringing, my screams, lorries, the whole neighbourhood was shrieking out into the night. In the corner, the naked woman watched us as we shrieked ourselves raw until she too faded into the blackness.

Dawn came a few hours later, but night had been lit by the blues and reds of police cars. I saw that strange kid amongst the crowd of people He wasn't crying anymore His eyes were empty and solemn But the grin he'd flashed me the day before Was still carved into his visage Mrs Norris was at his side

Our eyes locked And an understanding was shared between us She shook her head Wipeed a tear from her eye And turned to leave Everyone had lost someone that night Coraline a widow was never found, only an empty house and a bloodstain.

Joshua, a single father, awoke to his daughter's room empty except for the fading silhouette of a woman hidden within a dark corner. Henry only ever had himself and his dog. All that was left at the chocolate lab was the bisected lower half. There are other tales and loss is too painful to hear, but no one escape the wrath of that angel of death. A resentful plot of land or maybe some unknown Jews finally being paid.

I couldn't answer the police's questions, and they couldn't answer hours. Not even the local news stations would hear out please. Maybe there was some higher power at play, trying to cover up the event, the calamity that shattered the lives of dozens. Maybe the truth will come out one day, or maybe this has happened before,

and they perfected the methods of covering it up. If there's a consequence in store for my account, I'll be dead before I ever face it. That faithful night was three days ago. I haven't gone to work since or even talked to Laurie. Catatonic, my mind regressed into a shell of itself because what else could I have done? Yesterday I walked in on Laurie, lifeless.

She downed all the bottles of medication she could find. I thought I'd had nothing left to lose. But then I saw her, and that shell broke, and I clapped, into myself more than I ever knew I could. I think I'll be following after her and Carter before the day is done. I was never a religious man. That's why my father disowned me. But now I pray that they're out there, in a better place.

They're waiting for me and we won't have to fight anymore. My father once told me that children are your legacy, your future, and so to be fruitful. Think about how much we've taken from the earth and how much we've taken from the earth and how much suffering it's witnessed, how much blood has been spilled on it, how long it must have spent beneath our shadow weeping, praying for it to end. With enough time and tragedy, even the brightest of hearts warp and twist into something else. Maybe you can only take from someone so much before it takes back. Look everything from me. I don't know how far this spreads, where and if it'll strike again. All I know is that the very very very very. The very very

earth we tread and live on can grow to hate us. And maybe for you, it already does. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review

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