Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Scary Stories For Sleep, Relaxing, or When You're Stuck at Home | Scary Reddit Horror Stories Told In The Rain

Episode Date: July 14, 2023

These are 2 Scary Stories For Sleep, Relaxing, or When You're Stuck at Home | Scary Reddit Horror Stories Told In The Rain Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/JLGoodwin1990/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/JLGoodwin1990/ Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #redditstories #relaxing #asmr #rain 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

What they did to your family, you're lucky to make it out alive. Streaming on Peacock. These men are going to come after me. Taking them out. It's my only chance. Put a bullet in her head. From the co-creator of Ozark. Looks like a family was running drugs.

Execution style killing. It's rare for the keys. And it leads on who they might have been running for. The cartel killed my family. I'm going to kill them. All of them. MIA. Streaming now.

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Don't pass go and own it all, only at Yamava, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You win? Details at yamava.com must be 21-20. Please gamble responsibly. Monopoly is a trademark of Hasbro. Hasbro is not a sponsor of this promotion. No. I wrenched the steering wheel over to the right, causing the tires to scream in protest.

A deep horn blared loudly, almost rupturing my eardrums, and the interior was momentarily illuminated by harsh white headlights. For a split second, my life flashed in front of my eyes, and then I felt the bumpiness of the grassy edge of the road jostle me around. The 18-wheeler which had veered into my lane missed me by less than a foot, blasting by in a blur at what had to be 70 miles an hour or more. After a split second of catching my breath, I jabbed the driver's window switch down and stuck my head out into the pouring rain. Jerk! I screamed at the retreating logging truck, though I knew the driver wouldn't be able to hear me.

A moment later, an outraged woman's voice tumbled from the speakers of my rented Chrysler 300. I beg your damn pardon? Regaining my senses and remembering I'd been in the middle of a phone call, I sat back down in the seat. Not you, Aaron, I said apologetically. If you didn't hear the commotion on my end of the line, I almost got splattered all over the front end of some morons Peterbilt who wandered over to my side of the road. There was a moment of silence from the speakers,

and then my agent let out a small snort. Well, isn't that just grand? You've got to love idiots on the roads these days. It took a softer tone. I'm glad you didn't get into an accident, Al. I don't feel like losing my best client and close friend in one. go. I laughed. Helps me relax to know you care, I admitted. Then, after a moment getting the tension out of my muscles, I pulled the car back on the road and continued on. It was the winter of 2022,

and I was on my way to a book signing in Seattle from where I lived in Gold Beach, Oregon. I was a writer who'd just broken the New York Times bestseller list with my debut novel, and as such, I was on the start of my book signing tour which would take me around the country. Obviously, as many people would quickly realize who I am if I used my real name, I have changed it, along with others. Aaron, my literary agent, had suggested I fly to Seattle from the airport in North Bend, but I'm someone who's had a major anxiety over flying ever since the September 11th attacks in 2001. So instead, knowing I hadn't purchased a new car to replace my rather shabby and broken down one yet, she'd arranged me a rental, and I'd begun the almost seven-and-a-half-hour drive north.

I wouldn't have had to deal with those dingbats if Interstate 5 hadn't jammed up with that accident, I muttered. Well, you were the one who wanted to drive, Al. Aaron's chiding voice came through the speakers. Do you have any idea where you are? I glanced at the GPS map for what had to be the hundredth time. The screen almost seemed to glitch, jumping as the antenna on top of the car attempted to communicate with an orbiting satellite above. Piece of crap. No, this stupid navigation. system is apparently on the fritz, I snorted. So much for Enterprise being a good car rental company. I looked back up just in time to see a sign with the gas symbol flashed past. Thank you God for small favors, I thought. Hey, there's a gas station coming up soon. I'm a bit low anyways. I'll stop

there, get directions, and then call you when I'm on my way, okay? There was a sigh on the speakers. Okay, just please, try not to be too long. The publishing house won't like it if you show up to your very first book signing late tomorrow, she said. I'll be as quick as I can, I said reassuringly, then pressed the red disconnect button on the steering wheel, ending the call. I let out a sigh of relief. Aaron was my saving grace and had been the one to orchestrate my contract, including a very nice advance, but after a while, it became exhausting to deal with her. I stared out the windshield at the two-lane road in front of me, relishing the silence, save for the rain, and the rain, pelting the car's windshield, the windshield wipers flicking it off, and the tires on the wet pavement.

For a few more minutes, all I saw was nothing but endless trees pushing in close to the road, almost seeming as if they were jostling to see who drove up and down past them. Then, almost as if my thoughts had summoned it, I saw the bright lights appear ahead on the right, like a lighthouse beacon. It was clearly one which had been here a very long time. The overall appearance gave the impression it had been around, since at least the 1950s, if not earlier. I grunted with surprise as I saw the lit-up station logo swinging around in a lazy circle on its pole. The faded green outline of a bronosaurus and similarly weathered red letters spelling out Sinclair were ones I thought I would never see in person,

seeing as how the company had gone defunct back in March. Guess nobody told the owner of this one that. I pulled into the station, my tires driving over a small black wire which caused a classic bell to ding loudly twice, somewhere out of sight. Pulling up next to the green pump, I shut the engine off and relaxed back into the comfortable leather, listening to the tick of the engine cooling down. As I closed my eyes, I could only hear the loud buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead, and the rain pelting the metal awning over the pumps. I opened my eyes as I heard the rain peter out and looked around, glancing at the analog clock on the dash, illuminated by the overhead lights. 7.30 p.m. 10 minutes had passed. I sighed. Come on, man, I muttered, then quickly

tapped the horn. The blaring sound of it almost seemed to shatter the stillness like a baseball through a plate glass window. Still nobody. Damn it, I whispered, then unbuckled my seatbelt and pulled on the handle, using my foot to kick open the door. A bitingly cold wind smashed into my face as I stepped out onto the cracked concrete, causing me to flip up the collar of my coat in response. I glanced around, only hearing the sounds of the wind whipping through the trees, crickets chirping, and what had to be the hoots of an owl somewhere off in the forest beyond. The garage bays were open, and in the faded yellowed light of what had to be old incandescent bulbs, I could see what looked like a 50s Cadillac and a 70s international scout up on the lifts,

but no mechanic in sight. Leaning back into the car, I leaned on the horn, longer this time. Again, the sound reverberated off the trees and station. For some reason, I shivered at the noise. It almost feels sacrilegious to disturb the silence out here. I shook my head. Where the hell had that thought come from? I shook it away and waited another minute or so. There was still no sign of life.

Maybe the station is actually closed. The thought was worrying. I hadn't seen another sign of civilization, aside from the idiot logging truck, in two and a half hours. I didn't know how far it was until the next town or gas station, and as good as the Chrysler had been on gas, I didn't want to try driving further on only a quarter tank. I decided to find out for myself, slamming the driver's door closed with a loud thunk. Stepping around the front of the car, I walked across to the open bays, the sound of my footfalls echoing back at me. I glanced around noticing the spilled oil on the ground and mismatched tools, bottles, and hoses heaved unceremoniously on the bench.

in the back, but still saw no one. Great, I thought, looking up to see the bright moon begin to appear from behind the clouds. I had begun to turn in stride towards what had to be an office or convenience door, when the figure burst out of the door, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. Gah! I involuntarily let out, receiving a good-natured laugh in return. Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to startle you, let alone make you wait so long. I caught my breath, then let out a strained chuckle and looked up at the man. He appeared to be in his late 40s or early 50s, dressed in a green Sinclair jumpsuit adorned with the same green dinosaur on the front patch. The patch on the other side proclaimed the man's name to be Harold. The remaining hair on his

head was slicked back and he flashed me a smile with surprisingly bright white teeth. I held up my hand giving it a little wobble and gave a laugh of relief. Don't worry about it, man. For a second I thought this place was permanently closed or something, I said, the steadiness returning to my voice. No, sir, just the fact it's only little old me working the night shifts, he declared, jokingly wiping his brow. I snorted and smiled. The man clearly had a decent sense of humor. I'm guessing you need gas, he asked, changing the subject to business and gesturing to my car. I nodded. Yes, please, if you could fill her up with regular? He nodded, then began towards it, as I jogged back around, opening the driver's door and

the button to pop the gas cap. Harold let out a low whistle as he pulled the pump from its cradle. Very nice car, sir, he exclaimed, looking it over. It looks expensive. I shrugged my shoulders. It is a nice car, a Chrysler 300S, but unfortunately it's not mine. He looked up at me and cocked an eyebrow as he slid the nozzle in and pulled on the handle. It's a rental, I added quickly, realizing it sounded like I jacked it or something. He seemed to relax. Ah, that makes sense. That makes sense. he said jovially. It's nicer and newer than anything we normally see out here usually. I jerked my thumb at the open bays. I'd say you have people with good taste around here, seeing as how that's a 55 coupe de ville back there, I said. He laughed, nodding approvingly. I see you know your cars, he said

with an impressed tone, glancing at the readout on the pump. I do love him, I replied. He looked back up at me. So, are you some kind of auto collector or race car driver then? He asked. I shook my head. No, afraid not. I'm a writer. He jerked his head up, his green eyes seeming to twinkle in the fluorescent lights. A writer? Well, blow me down. I never thought I'd get a God to honest writer in my station, he exclaimed, smiling. I nodded, feeling a slight sense of uncomfortableness wash over me. I still hadn't gotten used to the reaction people had when they learned of my profession. He pressed forward. What kind of books do you write?

He asked excitedly. I write in the horror genre honestly, I admitted, causing him to smile widely at the news. Horror is my favorite style of books to read, he said. I love everything from the old classics to Stephen King. He looked at me quizzically. How many have you written so far? I held up a single finger.

Just one published. I'm actually on the way up to a publicity signing right now. He nodded approvingly, then looked back at the pump before speaking again. So, have you ever seen anything truly scary? I raised an eyebrow at his question. That came completely out of left field. What do you mean by that? I asked in return.

He still watched the pumps, but replied, so many horror writers I've heard about talk about how they've had their own frightening experience, whether it's a plain old scare or even a supernatural experience. It's what helps them write truly horrifying tales. Now, he looked back at me. His face held a smile which caused me to inwardly shudder a little bit. It almost seemed far too wide for a moment. Then, blinking, I realized it was just a regular grin, if not just a bit of an odd one. The lights must have caused you to see things. He finished. So, I was just asking if you'd ever had a scary experience which got you into writing horror.

For a moment there was silence between us as I pondered his question, only broken by an owl's screech somewhere in the gathering darkness. Then I shrugged. Honestly, I hate to disappoint you, but no, I admitted. He gave me a slightly surprised expression. Really? I nodded, deciding to be honest with him. Really? To be completely truthful with you, Harold. As much as I love horror, both writing it and reading and watching it,

I've stopped being scared of it a while ago. The surprised expression seemed to grow on his face. Really? He repeated. then looked down at the pump again. That's a shame, he said, his voice almost holding a trace of sadness in it. I nodded, having to agree with him. It is.

I used to love getting scared by a good horror film or book, but as I got older, it just seemed to, you know, drift away. Now I just write what I know others are afraid of, like I did with my first book here. But honestly, when I write, I don't feel that fear in me at all. I hated admitting it.

even when I'd given my first online interview with a magazine about my novel, I'd lied about it, saying that my own work could scare the hell out of me. But in a way, it felt good to finally admit the truth to someone, even just a stranger I'd likely never see again. I looked up to find him giving me a rather intense, and honestly, extremely creepy stare. His green eyes almost seemed to glow in the lights, and his smile had completely disappeared. I took a step back at the abrupt change in his demeanor, but just as quickly, it too, was wiped away, replaced by the smile I'd known since he appeared. Well, I'm sure if you search hard enough, you'll find that feeling again, he said. His voice filled with what sounded like genuine empathy. I nodded,

looking out at the woods. I hope, I truthfully admitted, then heard the sound of the pump finally clicking off. Ah, all done, Harold said happily, pulling the pump out of the car and replacing it back in its cradle. He looked at the readout. That'll be 23.17, I started slightly. Under 24 bucks for three quarters of a tank. I hadn't heard of gas this cheap since I was at least a teenager, but at the same time, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I reached into my back pocket, pulling out my wallet, and from it my credit card. Do, you happen to accept credit, I asked, half afraid he'd tell me he didn't, but he plucked the card happily out of my hand. Of course we do, Mr. He looked down at the name on my card. Mr. Damascus. The credit card reader,

however, is back inside the main building. He gestured back towards the door he'd exited from. Would you mind if I took it back there and ran it? I shook my head. No, by all means, go right ahead, I said, and he turned away and strode back across towards the building. I'll be back out with your receipt quicker than you can say. Bob's your uncle, he called. I let out another laugh at the phrase I hadn't heard in years when I noticed something. I hadn't seen the man's back since he'd appeared, and this was my first time. The back of his jumpsuit was the same stained green as the front, with a red oil rag peeking out of the back pocket. But my eyes were drawn to one thing. What looked like a large tear in it, just below the large logo patch adorning the back, almost as if

he'd been slashed. I could see an equally stained white shirt underneath it. Uh, hey, I called out to him. He stopped and turned back to me, still smiling. Yes, he asked. I pointed to my own back. Your, uh, your jumpsuit has a huge tear in the back of it. Just wanted to tell you in case you didn't know. For a moment, the same funny look came over his face, and then he waved his hand dismissively. Oh, I know, I haven't had a chance to mend it yet, he said, then holding up a finger pulled open the door, causing a bell hung from the inside handle to jingle, and stepped inside. I was left alone again, with only the buzzing sound of the lights, almost causing my ears to ring in the sudden silence. Not wanting to seem rude by waiting

back in the car, I instead walked to the front and leaned against the hood, staring out into the night. My eyes absent-mindedly drifted off into the gloom as I waited for Harold to return. That's when my eyes finally glanced over at the large sign directly ahead of me. It was the one which advertised the price for gas by the gallon, and as I'd pulled in from the other way, not to mention getting too caught up talking, I hadn't even looked at it. You could easily tell it had fallen into a bit of disrepair, as the light inside which allowed you to see the prices at night flickered on and off, precariously seeming as though it would burn out at any second. You could even hear it flickering loudly in the silence. That wasn't what drew my eye, though.

No, what drew my eye was the prices displayed on that flickering sign. There's absolutely no freaking way, I whispered to myself. I scanned down, but kept looking at the top two figures. 88 cents a gallon for regular? I felt a small wave of confusion fall over me. No matter how out in the middle of nowhere this station was, there was no way that it would charge that little for gas. Not to mention, it showed prices for both unleaded and leaded gasoline, something that had been banned since at least the mid-90s. As my mind attempted to process this, something else finally sunk in. The entire forest around the station had fallen silent, and I'm not talking a normal silence either. The crickets, the owl, and the rustling of what I'd thought were deer or elk in the

trees had vanished. Even the wind had seemed to stop. It was an almost unearthly stillness, as if the entire forest were holding its breath. It was beyond unnerving and eerie, to say the least, and it caused a shiver to shoot up my spine. The only sound I could hear was the almost maddeningly loud buzz of the overhead lights, which seemed to drone like that of a growling creature. I realized every muscle in my body had tensed up, though I couldn't understand why. Sure, the silence is eerie, but it's nothing to be truly afraid of, I thought. As much as I repeated that thought to myself, I couldn't help but feel increasingly on edge in the stillness. Okay, screw this, I said finally, the sound of even my own echoing voice sounding just

off to me, pushing myself off my hood and beginning for the door Harold had gone through. As I walked, I looked at the watch on my wrist, seeing another 15 minutes had passed since he'd left. Where the hell is he? letting out a sigh, both out of frustration, and to try and relieve some of the odd sensation forming in my gut, I finally reached the door and reached out, gripping the handle. It felt almost shockingly cold in my hand, and I quickly twisted it, opening the door and causing the bell to jingle, sounding too loud in the quiet. I stepped inside and allowed it to swing shut behind me, the bell giving another jingle, this time muted in the building's interior. I looked around.

Aside from an old Coca-Cola machine in one corner of the room, there were no food or drinks in here. Instead, the two or three aisles taking up most of the space were filled with what looked like older-style cans of motor oil and other assorted automotive bits and bobs, all adorned with the dinosaur logo. I drew in a breath, then coughed a little. It felt more than a little musty in here, as if it hadn't been aired out in a long time. Looking directly ahead, I saw the counter that Harold must usually be stationed. at. An older-style cash register sat atop it, and behind it lay an open door marked, employees only. Beyond was a long-tiled hallway which stretched out for a while before disappearing around a corner. I stared at the cash register. Haven't seen one of these old jobs

since I was a kid in the 90s, I thought, a few nostalgic emotions breaking through my other emotions and tugging at my heartstrings. But it was just as quickly shooed away by the uneasy feeling that was settling over me like a cloud of dust. This whole thing, this whole place just seemed wrong. I couldn't tell why, but it was making my arms and legs feel as though insects were inching along under my skin. After a moment's hesitation, I opened my mouth. Uh, hey Harold, I called. My voice seeming muted, just like the bell had. I waited. No answer. Hey, Harold, are you back there? I called again. Still nothing. Feeling increasingly on edge. as the fluorescent lights in here sounded like they were also buzzing too loud.

I craned my neck to look down the corridor. Just barely at the corner, I saw the bright blue sign indicating a restroom. I made my decision, calling out again. Look, if you can hear me, Harold, I'm coming over the counter to use the restroom, okay? I can't hold it until I get to the next town. It was a lie. I hadn't eaten or drank anything in the last two hours to make me have to go, but just in case he came around the corner,

I didn't want to get into trouble, as odd as I felt. I still didn't want to tick the man off. Taking a deep breath, I hopped the counter and stepped into the corridor. Unlike the main room, this was lit by three or four incandescent light bulbs, dangling down from the ceiling. It gave the hall a slightly dimmer look than behind me, and I hesitated for a moment before starting down it, taking care not to have my footsteps echo too much.

The hall seemed to go on forever, but eventually I reached the corner. Wanting to keep up appearances, I turned the knob for the bathroom and opened it. After looking into it for a split second, I shut it quickly, suppressing a cough and a gag. It had looked disgusting, as though it hadn't been cleaned in years, if not decades. Turning back, I noticed a brighter light down at the end of the next stretch of hallway. I debated for a moment, then began down it. All I wanted was to be out of here.

I passed another open door. Glancing through it, I saw the two garage bays and the view outside. The blast of cold, fresh air relieved me somewhat, and I continued on. As I reached the doorway, I looked around, seeing that it was an office. Two desks stood inside, each with nameplates on the edge of them. I spied Harold's name on the far one. I also saw my credit card sitting in the middle of the table. The bright blue stood out among the dark wood and white papers. Letting out a relieved sigh, I crossed to it quickly and picked it up. I decided I'd just leave a 20 and a 10 in cash on the desk instead, and get the hell out of here. I didn't know where the man had gone to, and every fiber of my being was telling me to leave. As I reached for my wallet, my eyes caught a plaque on the wall behind the desk, the faux gold glinting in the low light. I stared at it. The photograph was clearly heralds, looking almost the same as I'd seen him, just a lot cleaner. below that was a declaration etched into the fake gold employee of the month harold jankowski i couldn't help but smile a little at how hard he must have worked for it less than a second later though the smile dropped from my face as i read the inscription underneath it

august nineteen seventy six i shook my head hoping that i was just seeing things in the low light hoping that it would change to two thousand six or hell even nineteen ninety six but no it remained the same what that i was just seeing things in the low light hoping that it would change to two thousand six or hell even nineteen ninety six but no it remained the same what that hell? I breathed out, feeling another shiver go down my spine. There was absolutely no way that, if he'd look to be in his 40s or 50s in the mid-70s, that he would still look the same 46 years later. He'd at least be in his 80s or 90s now, and would very much not still be working here. What the hell is going on? I whispered again. Feeling like tendrils of dread were reaching out of the gloom and jamming themselves in me, I turned to book it out of the room and out of the station entirely, but I froze as I saw Harold. He sat in an old-style black swivel chair, his back to me in the next room. I couldn't tell what the room was, as it was lit only by a single,

very dim bulb directly over him, but the room was giving me off truly creepy vibes. For the first time in years, I felt the first inklings of fear. Before I had a chance to move or say anything, he spoke. Well, Mr. Damascus, he said, his voice almost inflectionless. I began to speak. Look, I'm sorry I barged back in here. It's just I was cut off as he continued. Well, Mr. Damascus, how do you feel? My shoulders slumped as I felt a wave of confusion envelop me.

X, excuse me? I managed out. How do you feel? he repeated. Then continued, his voice finally seeming to gain some cadence to it. Do you feel afraid? Do you feel fear? He let out a low chuckle, one that almost seemed different from the happy one I'd heard outside. I didn't know how to respond. Finally, he spoke again.

It's okay. You don't have to tell me. I know I can feel it. He let out another chuckle, and I felt multiple shivers shoot up my spine. And frankly, Mr. Damascus, I'm happy about that, he said, standing up, but still keeping his back to me, because you all taste so much better when you're afraid.

This time I did manage to say something. The hell. It wasn't the most eloquent response, but apparently Harold found it funny. as he let out another low, creepy chuckle. He finally turned towards me, and I jumped backward, slamming into his desk and causing his nameplate to fall to the ground. The man still smiled at me,

his smile now holding a very definite wideness to it, holding an almost pants-wetting wickedness in it. But he didn't seem alive. His previously sparkling green eyes now seemed glassy and unseeing. To put it bluntly, he almost more resembled a ventriloquist's dummy, a puppet than anything. He almost seemed to lean towards me, and finally he spoke. I'll make it sporting, though. You have 20 seconds to run, he said. Swallowing hard, I looked around and saw a tire iron on his desk. I snatched it up, ready to club the man over the head if he made a move toward me.

That's when he simply dropped forward onto his face. He fell halfway forward into the room and didn't move. I looked down at him and gasped as I realized what I was seeing. The man looked nothing more than like a deflated beach ball, as though all the organs and blood in him had been sucked out. I saw the tear in the back of his jumpsuit again, this time much more pronounced. Behind it, his dirty white shirt had been torn as well, and it revealed, oh, to hell with me sideways, a hole in his actual back. I could see the white of his spine clearly visible in the yellow light. As I stared down at him, I heard a voice. This one, though, was not Harold's. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, much lower than I'd ever heard a human voice speak,

and, it alone almost caused me to piss myself, because it held a truly evil, sadistic tone to it. 20, 19, 18, 17. I looked up and into the darkened room Harold had fallen out of, and finally, for the first time in years, I screamed. Hovering just in the darkness beyond the edge of the dim light's gaze were two enormous, glowing green eyes. They were larger than a human's eyes ever could be, and in a very inhuman shape, looking like crescent moons. They held the most evil, sadistic glee I had ever seen in my life. At my scream, the voice stopped counting down, and it freaking laughed, a great booming laugh that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. And then it began counting down again, the malicious excitement in it audible. Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen. I didn't wait at it,

any longer. I didn't want to see what those eyes belonged to. I turned and I sprinted out of the office, running down the corridor, my footfalls and panicked breathing echoing back to me like a gunshot. The corridor seemed to go on forever, and I couldn't understand why it was taking so long to reach the corner. Finally, though, I reached it and froze. I was back at the entrance to the office. What the hell? Behind me, I heard the voice reach ten, and I began sprinting again down the hallway. It seemed to take even longer to reach the corner, and this time I reached out to grab the corner edge with my hand, only to grab the wooden edge of the office door. My eyes widened, and I felt tears began to fall from my eyes as I ran again.

The voice continued as I dashed for down the ever-increasing corridor. Seven, six, five. I let out a strangled sob as I grabbed for the tiled corner, pushing off the edge of the corridor to snatch at it. Instead I smashed into the wall, next to the office door. I fell in a heap trying to force myself up when I heard it finish. Three, two, one, ready or not, Mr. Damascus. Here, I, come.

As it finished uttering the last word, the voice dropped even lower, as if I were hearing the voice of the devil himself speak to me. I realized if I looked behind me now, I'd see it, standing in the middle of the office over its human puppet. I refused to look back. I knew it wanted me to. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, mixing with the blood from my head where I'd slammed into the wall. Every horror movie death in movies and books flashed through my mind, and I knew all of them weren't even remotely as horrible as what that thing had planned for me. That's when a thought, just a tiny glimmer of hope flashed through my mind, something I'd seen as I'd walk down the hall to the office.

I felt adrenaline course through me. I might die trying to be. to do this, but I have to try, I thought. I heard the floor behind me rattle and felt hot, stinking breath fall across the back of my neck. For a microsecond I felt paralyzed with fear, and then I let out a strangled cry, exploding into motion. I heard a bellow of frustration behind me, followed by a laugh. It knew once I reached the end of the corridor, it had used whatever power it had to bring me right back to it. It had power over this corridor. But it doesn't realize it left a weak spot open. The thought still echoing in my mind, I ran, unable to keep myself from screaming this time as I dashed down the corridor. It seemed even longer than before, but as I reached

the halfway point, I saw what I'd been hoping to spy. The door into the garages stood open, almost hidden out of sight behind a shelf of oil. I let out another cry, this one of determination. Behind me I heard the creature stop laughing. Now it let out a bellowing cry of rage, realizing what I intended to do. I felt it began to thunder up the corridor after me, to snatch me up. The feeling of something sharp sliced across my back, and then I was leaping for the doorway,

and through it. I landed in a puddle of still sticky oil underneath the Cadillac. What I saw now was rusting away with decades of disrepair. Not wasting a second, I jumped to my feet and ran for the open bay doors. Behind me, I heard a louder bellow, but I didn't look back. I burst out from inside the doors into the night, now laden with the sounds of the forest again.

I dashed from my car, almost flying over the hood, and ripped open the driver's door. Crashing into the seat, I stabbed at the start button, for a moment terrified that, like the typical horror cliche, it wouldn't start. But to my surprise and gratitude, it did, the roar of the V-6 thundering out. As I grabbed the knob to jam into drive, I risked one glance up. And I couldn't help but scream out again. The entire gas station had gone dark. The inside.

The overhead lights. Everything. I could see the outline of the building, but that was it. And the eyes. The eyes glowered at me from inside the bays with absolute rage and hatred. Still screaming and staring at them, I slammed my foot down onto the accelerator. The tires screamed, and the car shot forward like a rocket, tearing out from under the awning and out onto the road.

I refused to look in the rearview mirror. I knew I'd see those eyes one final time in them, and I didn't want to. I just kept my eyes on the road in front of me, as far as my headlights reached, my knuckles white as I gripped the wheel and roared away from the hell behind me. I just about never let up my foot from that gas pedal, taking the corners far too fast. Not until the warm lights of the next town finally came into view, one I can't recall the name of. I felt myself beginning to cry, this time tears of happiness and relief. I drove straight through to the police station.

I knew I could never tell them what had actually happened to me. They'd think I was utterly insane or on something. But I could tell them I'd been attacked by a crazed lunatic at an old gas station. And that's exactly what I did. I burst in, begging to speak to someone. The officers at the desk calmed me down and took my statement, taking it all very seriously when I showed them my back, which, as it turned out, had three deep slashes in it.

But when I told them where it happened, confused looks came over both their faces. As a paramedic rushed in from outside to check my wounds, one of the officers walked into the back, returning with the sergeant on duty, an older gentleman in his 60s. Please tell me again what happened to you, he asked gently. I did, and when I finished, he shook his head. Son, it couldn't possibly have happened at the Sinclair Station 10 or 12 miles back, he said softly. I stammered. Why not? I demanded, struggling for my words. Because he began, it closed in 1979, after a huge fire gutted it, getting everyone inside. It's been almost half a year since that incident now.

I never made my book signing, which earned me a furious phone call from Aaron. Her fury disappeared when she heard I'd been attacked. I told her it had been from someone I'd pulled over attempting to help on the side of the road. I didn't want to repeat the same conversation I had with the police. They said they'd try and find whoever attacked me, but I know they never will. Not after they showed me a newspaper article, yellowed with age, showing the burned-out Hulk of the gas station I'd been to, along with a very familiar photograph of a smiling man next to it. I still am a horror writer. The horror I saw that night didn't stop me from writing. My second novel is due out this year, but now whenever I sit down at my computer and begin to write a truly scary scene,

I feel the chills of fear from my own creation jolt up my spine, because I know true horrors lie in this world, and I hope I never come across them again. I'm posting this here, not only to tell the truth finally about what I experienced, but also as a warning, to anyone who will listen. If you're ever in the Pacific Northwest,

on a lonely two-lane road in the middle of nowhere, and you happen to come across an old-looking gas station, lit up with a faded green Bronosaurus logo spinning in the night, Just keep your foot hard down and keep going, because you may not be as lucky as I was. You said this place was steps from the water. We just haven't found the steps yet. How much did we save? Enough.

Enough to get lost. Or you could book a stay with Hilton. Welcome to your ocean front room. Just steps from the water. The Hilton sale is on now. Book on Hilton.com or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to get the stay you expected. When you want savings, not surprises. It matters where you stay.

Hilton, for the stay. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right. So I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong. Bro, Skycoin, way better than points. Never fly during a Scorpio full moon. Just tell the manager you'll sue. Instant room upgrade. Stop taking bad travel advice.

Start comparing hundreds of sites with kayak and get your trip right. Kayak. Got that right. Have you ever had the experience of swearing you saw something at the edge of your vision? Peering at you from around a corner before? I'm fairly sure a good chunk of people have, maybe even you, reading this right now. Regardless of whether you're in a crowded area such as a mall or school, or home by yourself, you've more than likely had that strange sensation of being watched,

usually accompanied by a slight shiver down your spine. You'll snap your head up from whatever it is you're doing. or whoever you're talking to, and nothing will be there. But you always swear that at the very edge of your vision, you saw something, a slight blur, as if something was there, but seemed to anticipate your move and pulled back out of sight. I'm fairly certain most of you just end up shaking it off. You shake your head telling yourself that nothing was there and go back to what you were doing. That's a good thing, because it's what keeps you safe.

It's what keeps you alive. Like many of you for years, I always wrote seeing the slight blur at the edge of my sight off as a trick of my eyes. Being so focused on one particular area that the rest of your vision goes fuzzy. As my mother once told me when I, as a child, told her I'd seen something

at the doorway to my bedroom. And as I grew older, I simply took it as fact, the way every child takes their parents' wisdom to heart. And once I became an adult, I simply waved it away completely. That was, until one night. You see, as a 30-something-year-old bachelor who makes just above the line of adequate pay, I live by myself in a small one-bedroom apartment. It means having to live farther out from the city where I work, but I prefer living alone

over not having to make the rather long drive to and from work every day. And because my free time during the day is close to zero, I also am a bit of a night owl. This particular night, about three and a half weeks ago, I was up late, sitting at my kitchen table with my laptop out in front of me. I was surfing the net, looking for good deals on eBay for a new DVD VCR combo since my old one broke when the feeling came over me. The small but noticeable shiver shot up my spine, and at the upper edge of my vision, just below where my hair began to drift into my eyes, I saw it. It was a black and silver blur. At least that's what it looked like to me. I lifted my head, quickly, looking towards the corner I'd seen it. My kitchen is in the back of the apartment, and where the table is set up, I was looking back out into the living room. The bedroom also

sits next to the kitchen, and the wall separating the two stretches out a bit, causing a rather large blind spot from where I sat. Of course, when I looked up, there was nothing there. For a few more seconds I simply sat, staring at the corner. Nothing moved. There was no sound except for the quiet wine of my laptop's fan and the hum of the fridge. I snorted. Really, Eddie? You're jumping at shadowy blurs now? What are you, eight years old again? And with a shake of my head, I went back to the computer screen. The hours seemed to pass by at an accelerated pace. And to my surprise, when I checked the clock at the bottom right of my laptop screen, the time said quarter to three in the morning. Holy crap, I stayed up too friggin' late, I whispered to myself. I'd barely be getting four or

five hours of sleep. And so, with a yawn, I shut my computer down and put it back into its carrying bag. As I stood up, though, a slight feeling of apprehension wiggled its way to the forefront of my mind. I lifted my head from zipping up the bag and again stared at the corner. This time there was nothing there, no blur at all. Recalling what my mother had told me years ago, I stood up and slowly stepped into the center of the kitchen, where I could see around the corner. I felt a small pang of embarrassment at the relief that washed over me as I saw nothing was there. What next? You're going to start believing in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus again? I muttered to myself. And with that, I entered my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and climbing into bed. For a moment, the image of the blur

danced behind my eyelids. And then the sandman overtook me, plunging me into a deep and dreamless sleep. The next day passed by like I was waiting through quicksand. Of course, it likely had to do with how tired I was, but I got through the day, and soon enough, I was back home. This time I resolved to get to bed before midnight, 1 a.m. at the latest. So I didn't go on my computer. Instead, I watched some TV, and indulged myself in a few online matches in Battlefield 1. Soon enough, the clock sitting next to the TV displayed 1235 in big red numbers. All right, time for bed, I thought, and stood up, shutting off the TV and Xbox. I decided that I would get myself a drink before bed and moved to the fridge. Opening it, I pulled a pitcher of juice out, and grabbing a glass from a nearby cabinet,

poured myself some. The cold liquid felt good sliding down my throat, and I let out a relieved sigh. For a moment I closed my eyes, apart from the sound of a diesel truck passing by outside, and the ticking of the clock over the sink, all was silent, and I loved it. I placed the glass in the sink to wash tomorrow and turned to take the pitcher back to the fridge, and nearly dropped it at what I saw. As I turned around, I had a clear view across the kitchen and living room toward the small alcove where my front door sat, and for just a second I saw the same black and silver blur,

pulling back out of sight from the edge of my vision. Except this time, I know it wasn't just a trick of my vision, or a strand of hair flashing in front of my face. Hey, I reflexively yelled out. I didn't expect any response, and I didn't get any, but now I knew for certain. There was something, or someone there. I felt my pulse rapidly quicken, and my heart began to beat like a drum against my chest. Freaking great.

Did someone decide to break in and try to burgle my apartment of all places tonight? I looked around quickly for something to defend myself. My eyes fell upon the block holding all my kitchen knives, and moving quickly I pulled the largest one out and turned back. towards the entryway. There was no movement now, but I noticed a change in the atmosphere. Gone was the simple vacant air the apartment always held. Now, it seemed to contain a charge to it, as if seeing the figure had been something they hadn't planned on, as if I weren't supposed to have seen it, probably figured I'd already be in bed. Well, they have a massive surprise coming their way.

I cleared my throat. You back there, I called out simply. Again there was no reply. I spoke again. Look, I saw you there peeking around the corner of the entryway. The jig is up. I don't want to fight right now, so I'll make you a deal. If you turn around right now and leave, I won't call the cops on you, and I won't come at you with this knife. Just go find someone else to rob, okay? Still, there was silence, but the tension in the room seemed to have racked up more than a few notches at my words. I waited for a minute, feeling my temper begin to flare. Does the idiot seriously believe that if he stays quiet. I'll believe he's not there and go to bed or something. It wouldn't be a surprise. The people who usually broke into houses and apartments in my neighborhood were usually strung out

on the drug of choice for the week, or, in all truthfulness, simply not that bright. I let out an annoyed growl. If I have to come over there to get, it's not going to end well for you, I said. At six feet even, and in good shape, I could easily take on whoever it was. The silence was almost deafening. Okay the hell with this man. I strode quickly across the room. The knife held out in front of me in a vice-like grip. I stopped for a moment, drawing in all my strength and reflexes. For a moment, though, an odd sensation seemed to wash over me like a wave. To my surprise, it was a bolt of fear, but fear of what? Yes, it was a bit dangerous to about to confront a cornered intruder, but fear shouldn't be one of the experienced emotions. Shaking it away, I put all the muscle into my

legs and leapt around the corner. There was nobody there. For a moment I simply stood there, feeling dumbfounded. Uh, what? I blurted out. I knew for a fact I'd seen someone there. It hadn't been a trick of my eyes, and I hadn't heard the front door open. In fact, looking down at it now, I saw the little knob on the door handle was, in fact, twisted into the locked position. As I stared down at it, a sudden, huge shiver rushed up my spine, combined with the feeling of being stared at intensely. In fact, it almost felt as though whoever were doing the staring were almost directly behind me. On instinct, I whirled around, slashing out with the knife as hard as I could. But again there was nothing. No one stood behind me. The oddest thing, though,

was that as soon as I spun around, the feeling of eyes boring into the back of my skull ceased, as if the watcher had simply blinked out of existence the moment I turned. But the tension in the apartment didn't go away. In fact, it almost seemed to intensify, and it kept me on edge. Enough to the point that I searched the entire apartment. I went into the bathroom, drawing back the shower curtain. I went into my bedroom and opened up the sliding doors to the closet. I even opened up both closets in the living room, pulling out all the coats and boxes someone could hide behind, but I found nothing, no trace of anybody. Even still, though, when I went to bed, I locked the door to my bedroom behind me, just in case, and I slept with the knife on my

bedside table. The next morning, when I awoke, the feeling had vanished from the apartment. It was almost as if the daylight had banished the tension-filled aura away, and I was glad for it, along with the fact that I had a full day of work ahead of me. And so, with a final look around, I locked the front door behind me, climbed into my old, but well taken care of Mitsubishi-Starian, and made the two-and-a-half-hour drive into the city for work. The day passed by without much fuss. Aside from a mandatory team meeting, my jerk boss decided to impose on us during our lunch break. The monotony calmed me down somewhat, and I began to mentally tease myself for how bent out of shape I'd gotten last night.

I even decided to tell some of the guys at the water cooler about it. Everyone, of course, had a good laugh over it. Well, Ed, if I ever need someone to slice away at the dark emptiness, of my house, I'll be sure to give you a call. Mark, one of my co-workers joked, causing everyone, including myself, to guffaw some more. The joking shoved it completely out of my mind, and before I knew it, the evening had arrived. I packed up my belongings back into the car and made the journey back home, still chuckling a bit to myself and humming along to the songs playing on the car's radio. As I pulled into my apartment building's parking lot and into my space at close to ten at night,

however, I saw something which tore away that relaxed, relieved emotion from me like it had been a loved one in the grip of a tsunami. My complex is set up in a U formation with two floors, sort of similar to how an older-built motel looks. My apartment was the second one on the top floor, and from where I sat in my car, I could look up and see the living room window of my place between the slats of the walkways railing. As I always did, when I left, I'd twisted shut the white Venetian blinds, so nobody walking from. past the window could look into my place. Someone was peering down at me from between the blinds, from between my blinds. I felt my blood turned to ice as I saw the obvious parting in the middle of them, signifying someone was pulling down on a section of them, and then doubly so when they, just as quickly, snapped back into position. Crap, I mentally hissed. I fumbled around in my coat pockets,

looking for my cell phone. I let out a groan as I suddenly realized I'd forgotten it when I'd left home that morning, which meant it was up there, with them. Crap, I hissed again out loud this time. I gazed around for a moment at the darkened windows of the other units, but I knew none of my neighbors would be of any help to me. Long gone were the days of neighbors looking out for each other. They would inevitably tell me to either find a way to call the cops myself, or straight up tell me to go to hell, that it wasn't their problem, which unless I wanted to drive straight

to my local police station, over twenty-two-year-old. minutes away. The only other option was to go in myself. Hissing through gritted teeth, I pulled the door handle and kicked the door open, letting the chilly night air flood into the car's interior. I reached down and yanked on the trunk release before climbing out and slamming the door. Crossing to it, I pulled the glass hatch up and fumbled around inside for a moment, before withdrawing a tire iron from the mess of crap cluttering up the trunk. Slamming the hatch closed, I took a deep breath, Then, leaving my car's engine running in case I needed to make a quick getaway, I took the stairs to the top floor two at a time. A moment later, I was standing at the head of the landing,

staring at the Tweety Bird yellow-painted door of my apartment. My heart pounded in my chest as I took a step forward, reaching out slowly and gripping the handle in one hand. I gave it a small twist to see if it would turn, but it stayed in place, showing that the door was still locked. or whoever's in there locked it behind them. Swallowing a bit, I reached into my pants pocket for my house keys with my free hand. Pulling them out, I slid them as quietly as possible into the lock in the center of the doorknob. I took a deep breath, knowing as soon as I twisted the key, the doorknob would turn with it as well. God, please don't let me get jumped as soon as I step inside, I quietly whispered towards the dark sky.

I let out a deep breath, then raised the tire iron over my head and twisted the key. The knob turned, and I immediately pushed the door open. It swung inwards before hitting the wall with a soft clunk. The porch light cast a long, narrow shaft of light into the dark room beyond, reflecting off my flat-screen TV on the far side of the living room. Aside from that, though, the place was as dark and silent as a tomb. My pulse quickened as I slowly reached inside, my hand searching for the light switch.

Part of me feared that, as I blindly searched, I'd suddenly feel a vice-like grip seize my wrist and pull me into the dark. The mental image sent a shiver of fear through me, just as my fingers found the plastic switch. Flicking it on, the living room suddenly became a wash in the bright overhead light. Still holding the tire iron over my head,

I took a tentative step inside. The atmosphere in here had changed again. Gone was the tense one which had accompanied seeing, whoever the other night, in its place was an almost threatening one, and realizing it set me even farther on edge. Moving quickly, I leaned around the corner, giving me a glimpse of the kitchen beyond. Both it and the living room were empty, from initial appearances anyways, but that still left the bathroom and the kitchen. Something caught my eye, however, which filled me with relief. My cell phone still sat where I'd left it, in the middle of the living room coffee table.

I moved slowly, trying to stay as quiet as possible, so whoever was hidden wouldn't realize I was going for my phone and bum-rush me. I held my breath as I passed by the half-open doors of both my bathroom and bedroom, stepping around the couch and picking up my phone. I decided right there and then that I'd step back outside and call the cops. There was a fine line between being courageous and being suicidally stupid, and searching this place on my own, with just a tire iron to defend myself. especially knowing someone was hiding somewhere in here, was firmly on the latter side of that line. I turned to begin walking quickly back to the open front door, but something stopped me,

something which made me freeze. There was a small section of eggshell white wall between the door to one of my closets and the bathroom door. Something had been written there. No, not written, I realized. It had been scratched into the wall. My eyes flashed over the three words etched into the paint and plaster. Viderre no's potest. My head swam with confusion, trying to place what language it was. That was when I felt my heart almost stop in my chest, my breath along with it. Out of the left corner of my vision, I saw the door to my bedroom had slowly, but noticeably swung open a bit. That wasn't what had caused my heart to skip a beat, though. It was seeing the black and silver blur again. Oh, damn. Before the thought had finished in my head, I was dashing for the door.

out of the corner of my vision there was a sudden blur of movement as the black and silver figure came flying out of the room. It never made a sound, though. I dodged it somehow and flew around the corner, snatching the doorknob in my free hand and yanking the door shut behind me. Twisting the keys to the right to lock the door again, I tore them from the lock and thundered back down the stairs, yanking the door to my car open and crashing into the driver's seat. Slamming the door shut and locking it, I dropped the tire iron and fumbled. with my phone. As the voice of the emergency dispatcher came on the other end of the line, and I stumbled through explaining what had happened, I kept my gaze locked through the windshield

on the front door and the living room window. I swear I saw the blinds part again, as I heard the wail of the police sirens approaching. When the police arrived, I jumped out of my car and quickly explained what had happened. They took my house keys from me and with their pistols drawn, climbed quickly up the steps to my place. With neighbors opening their door, doors and parting their blinds to see what was happening, they unlocked the door and quickly entered. A few minutes later, they both reappeared and waved for me to come up and join them. I'm sorry, sir, but whoever it was, they're gone, one of them said to me. He then showed me that the window in the back of the apartment, which was in the back of the

kitchen and opened out onto a main road, had been opened, the mosquito screen having been cut to allow someone to jump out. I stared out and down at the door. I stared out and down at the the two-story drop. It would hurt to jump from this height, but it's doable, I thought. The cops again did a sweep of the apartment, turning the entire place upside down with me there, and again, found no one. They both promised to stay the night outside, to keep an eye on the place in case the person attempted to try and come back, and would make sure an officer was posted outside for the next week or so. It made me feel more than a bit better. What about the writing scratched into the wall, I asked them, pointing to it. The first officer shrugged. I honestly don't know, sir,

he said, giving me an apologetic look. That's a language I've never seen before. That's when the second spoke up. It's Latin, he said simply. We both looked at him. He was staring at the writing with a bit of a confused, if not apprehensive look on his face. But what freaking low-level criminal knows Latin, he murmured quietly, more to himself than us? Well, what does it say? I asked him. For a few seconds he didn't answer, then he finally turned and looked at me. He can see us. That's roughly what it says. I felt a massive chill shoot up my spine at his words, though I couldn't understand why, not at the time. As promised, the officers watched over the apartment for the rest of the night,

and for the next week there was always at least one cop car sitting outside. It was also thankfully quiet that next week. I was almost able to feel completely calm, putting the frightening experience. out of my mind and allowing my life to regain a bit of normalcy. I didn't feel any sensation of being watched. One thing I did do, though, was type the Latin words into Google, in an attempt to see if anything came up, but nothing did. I decided to push the last remnants out of my conscious mind, and as the weekend came, I looked forward to sitting on the couch, playing video games all night, and having a bottle to myself. Saturday night, I played until almost one in the morning before

stumbling to the bed. I passed out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. I'm honestly not sure what woke me up, but when I slid my eyes open, it was still to darkness. I felt my head begin to spin, showing that I wasn't fully sober yet. I shot a look at the bright red glowing numbers of the clock on the bedside table next to my head. 3.30 a.m. Oh, what the hell? Do I have to piss? What woke me a... Everything stopped. My mind froze mid-thought, and my heart fluttered in my chest. My breath hitched in my chest as my eyes adjusted to the dark, staring across the room. I was looking at my bedroom closet, which when I'd fallen asleep, I'd looked over and seen it closed. But now, as I stared, I realized the sliding right door

had been pulled back some. A chill ran through me. And then it was replaced by a bone-chilling shiver of fear as my eyes locked onto something else. Something which stared at me from around the edge of the half-open closet door. It was the black and silver blur. Except this time it wasn't a full-on blur. I'm not sure whether it was the darkness or the alcohol still flowing through my veins, but I could see it a bit more clearly now. I couldn't see much. Just what looked like two large, very dark eyes glaring at me. I felt frozen in place, fear quite literally paralyzing me to the bed. As I lay there, my eyes widened to the size of saucers. I slowly became a little bit of a little bit of aware of something else, something which I'll never forget, which I can still hear in the silence.

It was whispering. It was a soft hissing voice, sounding as grating as sandpaper, but it almost seemed to be growing in intensity, as if it knew I was awake and was staring at it, and it was not even remotely happy about it. The words were indistinguishable at first, but as the voice grew louder, the words became clear, but they weren't words I knew, or a language I knew. Tole quinos videre potest, tole quinoes videre potest, tole kinos videre potest. I recognize some of the words as the same as the words written on my wall. It was speaking in Latin. The voice grew angrier and angrier, turning from a hiss into almost a demonic growl.

And then, it went deadly silent. It almost seemed as though the entire world had gone dead silent, as if everything were being sucked out of the world. That's when I saw the hand reach up from underneath the bed to grab onto the sheet, sheets, less than a foot from my face, a hand which more resembled a claw, tipped with five razor-sharp fingernails. There's more than one, and it's under my freaking bed. Seeing that hand, that claw reaching up from under the bed broke the paralyzing hold that had come over me. I flew up in bed, flinging the sheets up and forwards and letting out an involuntary scream.

Instantly there seemed to be a world of motion in the bedroom. Black and silver blurs seem to appear from everywhere, from the closet, from under the bed. Even from inside my armoire, I used to store candy, books, and CDs, and they were all coming for me. But I was already moving, practically flying from my open bedroom door. Behind me I caught the blurs following after me. They were terrifyingly fast, but they stayed silent. Silent, that is, except for the mantra they all suddenly began to angrily whisper. The same words I'd heard the one in the closet angrily hiss. Toleki nos videree potest, they chanted just loud enough for me to hear, but not enough for anyone else in the complex, too. I ran through the bedroom door grabbing it and slamming it shut behind me. A moment later, I felt the push from the other side as whatever the things were attempted to force it open. Looking around, I spied a kitchen chair within reach and grabbed it, forcing it under the handle to block the door. I knew it wouldn't hold for long, though. I could hear the creatures practically throwing themselves at the door. I used the time I had to grab my computer bag, along with the clothes I'd left strewn on my

living room floor and my cell phone. I'd just snatched my car keys from their hook when I realized they'd gone silent. The assault on the door stopped. For a split second I felt a wave of relief. And then I saw something out of the corner of my eye from the kitchen. My blood turned to ice as I realized the cabinet doors under the sink were beginning to open. And that demonic growl of a mantra was beginning to pour out from under it. So was my bathroom door, and both closets. Oh, damn, I whimpered, then dashed from my door, snatching up my sneakers as they rushed out from their new hidey holes.

I unlocked and threw the door open, dashing out into the night and yanking it shut behind me. Bolting down the steps, I jammed the key into the door of my car and unlocked it. I piled into the driver's seat and yanked the door shut, slamming down on the lock button, forcing the key into the ignition and twisting it. the engine roared to life. I knew I should simply call the cops,

but I knew at this point, if I did, when they arrived, they'd all have disappeared. Maybe even make it look like another person had jumped out the window again. They're that smart. Instead, I jammed the shifter into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot. As I left, I saw the blind's part again.

As they watched me go, I haven't been back to my apartment in weeks. I drove all through the night, fighting back the waves of nausea from the alga still in my system until I made it to the city where I work. I rented a motel room, and ever since then, I've been staying there. I figured I could just eventually have movers go and collect my things from the apartment and give my 30-day notice. There was no way I was ever going back there. I thought I would be safe in the city. I thought I would be safe anywhere else

but my apartment. That they were bound to the place. I was wrong, so very wrong, because I've started seeing them everywhere now. I've seen them while out in crowded places such as the mall or Walmart. I've seen them in my co-worker's houses when I'm invited over by them as they tell me they're concerned about how I'm beginning to act. I'm even seeing them at work, peering at me from around the corners of hallways, from behind the water cooler. I've even caught them glaring at me from around the corner of my office cubicle. They whisper that horrible Latin mantra to themselves, now added with evil chuckles and whisper it to me. I ended up entering the phrase into Google Translate to understand what they were saying, but wish I never had, because knowing the meaning of the words

fills me with an existential dread and terror I've never felt before. Take away he who can see us. You need to listen to me now. You, reading this account I'm posting. I don't know what these creatures are. I wish I did, because then I might have some way of fighting back against them. I don't even know what they fully look like. I've only seen their eyes, and their clawed hands. The only thing I can deduce is that they are incalculably old, centuries old, maybe even eons. I now understand that those blurs I saw all throughout my life

from the corner of my vision were them. They've lived alongside us for all of humanity's existence, staying just out of sight. They like it that way. They don't like us humans knowing about them, but I know others not just myself, have likely seen them. How many strange cases of people disappearing in their homes? With all the doors and windows locked from the inside have you heard about?

I know I've heard more than a few, and I think I know what happened to them. They saw these creatures, and when they realized the people could see them, they came for them. They wore them down, mentally and physically, like they're doing to me now. I'm afraid to fall asleep. Afraid I'll wake up to see them right in front of me. I feel so weak now. I couldn't fight them off if I tried. They know that.

They knew that about the others. And that's when they dragged them away, to God only knows where. I know I'm going to find out soon enough. Because all of today, they've been getting closer. I caught one trying to grab my leg under my desk. That wasn't the scariest encounter I've had. The worst was driving back to the motel, looking in the rearview mirror of my starion,

and seeing one of them glaring at me from just behind the rear seat, It caused me to nearly crash into a telephone pole. I've locked myself in my motel room, which is where I'm writing this. I don't have much time left. They're beginning to poke their heads out from everywhere in here. Multiple have popped their heads up from under the bed, watching me frantically typing this out on my laptop, and they're all laughing at me.

Today is when they're going to take me. They know I know that. I can't do anything more now. I can't run from them anymore. I'm too tired, too weak. but I can do one final thing. I can warn you. I can post this account here as a warning. I know for a fact most of you won't believe me, and that's fine. It may even be what saves you in the end. But please, listen to me when I say this. If you ever think you see something peering at you from around a corner, if you ever catch a glimpse of a black and silver blur disappearing just out of sight, don't investigate it, just ignore it. Tell yourself it's nothing and go about with your lives, because you don't ever want the to realize you can see them. Spring just slid into your DMs.

Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner, those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Spring's calling. Ross, work your magic.