Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 10 Creepy Horror Stories (Best of 2021 Throwback Compilation)

Episode Date: February 18, 2026

A chilling throwback to 2021, this compilation brings together the most unforgettable horror stories of the year—dark, relentless tales that prove some nightmares only get worse with time. BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at⁠ betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Quince: Go to ⁠quince.com/dns⁠ for free shipping and 365-day returns. * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised. #creepypasta #horrorstories #drnosleep #scarystories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I am happy. I say it into the mirror. Brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a tight smile. I am happy. My fingers clutched the edge of the bathroom sink, and a muscle twitches near my eye. Something tugs at the corner of my mind. A thought, maybe. It's tempting me to peek at it, begging me to acknowledge it and push it out into the light of day, but I can't. I won't. My mother calls me from the kitchen. Are you ready for school? Yes, I call back. I am. I take another few moments to stare at myself. I burn the image of how happy I am into my memory just in case I start to forget. It's a big day, after all.

The car chokes and sputters as it makes its way to school. I'm in 10th grade, and I have no idea what I want to do with my life. But I know that's okay. It's normal. Nobody does. Except for Maggie Taller and Suki Raj and David Cho and Adam Wallace. They're going to be doctors and engineers and carpenters and drug dealers. They're going to be happy.

We pull into the school parking lot. The van spits out a plume of smoke the size of Jupiter. Once the pollution clears, I open the door and look out over a sea of faces. Some of them are staring back at me. Some of them are snickering. One of them is Maggie taller, and she's waving, all red curls and dimples, so I wade back. My stomach does a front flip. Have a good day, my mother says.

I look her way, and her face lights up with an expression that resembles a smile, but it's not. There's not enough play in her cheeks. She forgets to engage her eyes. I will, I reply. I use the same smile that I practiced earlier. It's much better. When I look back to the steps, Maggie is gone, and my stomach settles. I lurch out of the car.

Honey, my mother says. She reaches a hand toward me, but stops short, as if she's worried I might snap at her or bite it off. She stares at me. Things will get better for us, you know? I close the door. The car leaves backfiring as my mother runs the stop son. and nearly collides with an oncoming pickup truck.

It's okay, though, nobody has hurt. I am happy. The mutters follow me to my first period English class. The voices are hushed, but loud enough that I can hear them. It's intentional. It's by design. Walks like a goof. Saw him staring at Maggie's ass.

Smells like a dead animal. We'll get him after school. I listened to Mr. Yu discuss the significance of metaphor in literature. He spends the hour comparing animal farm to Twilight, and demanding why we waste our time reading the latter. He says it's dumbing us down. He says it's a problem. I've never read Twilight, but I smile and nod all the same.

He asks me to define the word metaphor, and I do my best, but I get the answer wrong. Somebody laughs. Why wasn't I listening earlier, I wonder. What's wrong with me? What a dumbass. I am happy. At lunch, I get a table to myself.

It's good because it means I have personal space to come up with ten different metaphors for Mr. You. The cafeteria is loud, too loud. I try to focus on my paper and pen, and I scratch down my favorite metaphor to get started. It's raining cats and dogs. I look at it and smile. It makes me think of my sister before the horror took her.

I wonder if it won't take my mother, too. The other examples don't come easily for me. My eyes scan the definition of the word over and over, but my mind draws a blank. I can't think. I can't focus. I wonder where Maggie is sitting today. A folded piece of paper lands on the table

in front of me. I look up to see where it came from, to see who dropped it, but I can't tell. There are too many people moving around, too many faces swimming, and too many voices drowning my concentration. I open it. There's something written on the inside, hastily scribbled and messy. It says, you're dead in pencil gray. A stick man is lying beneath the words, surrounded by three other stickmen. They're stepping on him, kicking him. Red penstrokes paint the page haphazardly, trailing from the crying man on the ground. I look closer. The other stick men are smiling. They're happy. Something pulls at the edge of my thoughts. I ignore it. The bell rings, and school is over. I gather my things and pull my backpack up and over my shoulder. It's heavy and awkward. It takes me

three tries to get it right. Today is a big day. I make my way from the school grounds, over the hill that leads to the forest path that runs along the little creek. I make my way home. My arms are tired by the time I get over the hill, but that's okay. It just means I'm getting stronger. All the work I've been doing in the forest is going to pay off. Voices follow me. I recognize some of them. Pervert is going to get what's coming to him.

I'll believe it when I see it. Heard Maggie moaning about wanting what's inside of him. Fuck you. The forest is full of people. There are joggers and people walking dogs. A homeless man asks me if I have any change, and I say that I'm sorry, but I don't. He tries to spit on me but places.

Liar. Gimps like you make bank off disability checks. My arms get sore by the time I'm halfway through the forest. I take the same shortcut I usually do, the one that runs by the creek, and there are fewer joggers and dog walkers. I get nervous, but the babbling sound of the water helps me relax. Today is a big day. I'll kill him. Watch me. Yeah, right, he'll be fucking Maggie before you ever get the balls to. We've only been dating two weeks, I'll fuck her. Not before him. Footsteps approach from behind. It sounds like three, people and one more in the distance. I don't see them, but I know them. I know their smiles. I know they're happy. A fist connects with the back of my head and I fall forward, losing control of my crutches.

My face smashes against the pavement and my vision swims as pain explodes across my cheek. I taste something in my mouth, blood. I try to push myself up, but my legs aren't cooperating. They're hardly moving. They're useless. Crippled fuck, the voice shouts. It's Adam Wallace. He's working himself up. You thought I'd let you get away with Staring holes in my girlfriend's ass? I try to say something, but a foot steps on my backpack and I'm pressed to the ground. The wind's knocked out of me.

I can't breathe. Shoes connect with my face one after the other. There's laughter in the air. A sneaker finds my nose and there's a crunching sound. And suddenly I can't stop screaming as warm fluid spills down my face, cascading over my lips. I sputter and whimper. My eyes well up.

Somebody will see us. Hands grab my limp legs. I'm being dragged backward, off of the cement path and deeper into the forest. I call out, and somebody stuffs a ball of cloth into my mouth. It reeks. It tastes like sweat and filth. Bet you wish that was Maggie's panties, you perverted shit-stain. I close my eyes. I try to smile.

I am happy. I am happy. Tears slip down my cheeks, and something tugs at the edge of my thoughts. I ignore it. I have to. It takes ten minutes to get where we're going. The skin on my elbows is split and torn, caught on too many rocks and roots. They let my limp legs drop with a dull thud. I'm hyperventilating. It's hard to breathe with a jox. strap in my mouth and a broken nose, there's death in the air. I'm rolled onto my back, and I feel my backpack shift against my spine. It's uncomfortable, but not half as uncomfortable

as Adam Wallace wrapping his hands around my neck and strangling me. He's actually doing it. I thought he was just fucking around. The trees above me fade with the air in my lungs. I gasp and sputter, but there's no air to breathe, and I'm not strong enough to pry his hands for my throat. He leans in close. His lips pressed to my ear. You think I'm going to let you cuck me? He asks. his voice is dipped in cyanide. I warned you to stay the hell away from her. Taking too long, use this. I hear the sound of a switchblade opening. The hands around my neck let go, and I take in a lung full of air. My heart hammers in my chest. I try to move, instinctively, and crawl away. But somebody grabs me by my backpack and drags me back. There's something in there. Open it. Four

arms wrestle the backpack off of me. And I groan in agony as somebody presses my broken nose into the dirt. I protest, but it's muffled by soil. Nobody hears it. Nobody cares. I hear my knapsack's zipper being undone, and my pain is washed away and replaced with terror. My body seizes. I forget to breathe. The moment lasts a lifetime. I know their words before they ever speak them. What the fuck? I hear the sound of a backpack hitting the forest floor and things spilling out of it. I hear gagging. I hear footsteps stumbling backward. Soon, their shock will be replaced with anger. Rage. Something tears at my mind. It's crashing against it, demanding its time in the light and roaring at me to stop being such a coward and do something about this. I slam my eyes shut. I can't. I won't. I am happy. Filled with dead animals. He's a fucking psychopath. Hans gripped the front of my t-shirt and pull me up from the ground. They're shouting about the dead squirrel and the dead rat and the dead cat in my bag. A fist connects with my face. Blood hits the ground. Another fist. More blood.

Whose cat did you kill, freak? I'm going to hurl. I open my mouth, and I don't care anymore. The words come out like a broken dam. It feels good. It feels overdue. Offerings! They're offerings. He's lost it.

Offerings for what? I smile, and my teeth are slick with my own blood. Offerings to cure me! Adam Wallace raises the switchblade, pressing the cold steel against my throat. I close my eyes. Something riots inside of me, throbbing against my skull. I push it back. Death is in the air.

Rough hands grip my hair, and I wince as they lurched my head roughly to the the side. Adam's voice is beside me. It's up against my ear. Offerings, huh? You think you're some kind of fucking witch, or my ownie Granger? No, I say. Something shifts in the trees behind Adam and his friends, and a figure steps out from the brush. I recognize them. They've been following us since we left the school. Suki recognizes them too. He tries to step in front of Adam and me, block us from view. Words fall out of his mouth. He's giving her an explanation, maybe. A reason things aren't as bad as they seem. He's interrupted by a horrible, wet-sounding jab, then another, there's a series of four slick rips, like a pen tearing through

paper or a knife cutting into skin. A gasp. Jesus Christ, Maggie! Adam clambers off of me. What's wrong with you? She fucking killed him, Adam? Suki falls to the ground. I close my eyes. I am happy. Warm piss soaks the dirt beneath me, and my limbs tremor with anxiety. I am happy. There's the sound of panicked feet, but it's going in the wrong direction. It's running away from me. The person's muttering and whimpering, and I think it sounds like Adam Wallace, but I can't be sure. Somebody else is struggling now. Two voices danced together on my left, just past my vision. A boy and a girl.

It's David Cho and Maggie. They're grunting a symphony of dying breaths. I hear dirt shift and leaves crack beneath stirring footsteps, and the smack of limbs grasping limbs. There's another wet jab, and a body drops. David asks, why? Another slick rip. The knife's tearing into him over and over, and he keeps asking why.

Why are you doing this? He cries. Why me, Maggie? I hear his skin split twice more, and the questions stop. A girl steps into view, standing above me. Her hair is a wild red, and her face is speckled crimson, just like the knife in her hand. She reaches down, and I think she might help me up, but instead, she starts placing the dead animals back into my bag, one by one.

You forgot the rabbit, she says, and her voice is colder than winter. Her eyes appraised me, but they're missing something. They're empty. That demon will kill you, you know, just like it killed your sister, and just like it It'll kill your mother, too, unless you give it to me first. I know, I say. I'm trying to. She pouts her lips, folds her arms.

A doll hangs from her neck, and it's dressed in pins and needles, and it looks like me. I told you three offerings, didn't I? She looks around. I count two and a bag of roadkill. Adam, I have to roll over so I don't choke on the blood spilling into my throat from my broken nose. I can't, I cough. I can't catch him on crutches. Then don't, she says with a sneer.

Something tugs at my mind. I close my eyes. I clench my fists. I want to scream and lose control. But I can't because if that happens, then I'm not happy anymore. People I love will die. They always do. Can't you get them?

I've already done my part. The spell is specific. The final offering dies by your hand or your nightmare doesn't end. Her mouth splits into a wide smile. You don't have to kill him alone, though. I stare at her, and I don't have any words to fight back. She kneels next to me and runs a hand through my tangle of hair. gripping it painfully. She's smiling, but she's not. There's not enough play in her cheeks.

She forgets to engage her eyes. Now or never. I can't. Sure you can. I whimper as the knife plunges into me. Again and again, there's a ripping sound followed by another and another. I clench my eyes. I ball my fists. I am happy. I am happy. The knife sinks into me once more. In this time, Maggie fishes it around my stomach a while. It twists and I scream. I thrash and roar. Something escapes. It pulls itself over my bones, wraps itself around my mind, and extinguishes my thoughts before whispering madness into my ears and breathing violence into my lungs. I am not happy, and neither is it. A quick reality check. That store-bought coffee you're drinking? It was roasted months ago and tastes exactly like it sounds. Introducing no-sleep coffee specialty-grade beans, roasted to order and delivered just days later, terrifyingly fresh. Do your taste buds a favor and stop drinking stale coffee. Go to no sleep coffee.com and pick up a bag of freshly roasted no sleep coffee today.

Use promo code No Sleep 20 for 20% off your first order. That's no sleep coffee.com. promo code No Sleep 20. It's here. I don't know where. I don't know how, but it's here. It's inside the house. I've done fucking everything.

I've called Todd. I've called Howard. I even called a goddamn exorcist. None of them believed me. None of them so much is offered to help. Now it's Halloween and it's stronger. than ever. I can feel it, moving through the house, like a great darkness suffocating the light from everything. It's already taken my business partners, John and Erica. It's already taken so many others.

I'm upstairs in my bedroom closet. I've been here for three hours now, and I'll be here for three more if that's what it takes. I don't know if the thing hates the sun, but it never bothered me during the day, only at night, always at night. There's a creek and a grown outside. on the steps and I feel the house tremble as something monstrous moves through it. My breath hitches in my chest and I remind myself to be still, to be quiet. I just need to make it until sunrise. Just a little longer. The voice follows.

Low, raspy and inhuman. So many lives, so many lives and so little time. It's singing a song, but the tune is broken. Each word scrapes along my ears like a razor blade, cutting deep into my mind and pulling back memories. It sang before it took John. It was only a single word, then. Comey. It had hummed.

And we had all just thought we were hearing things. Now John's everywhere. There are pieces of him littered throughout the house, fingers and toes, and intestines and eyes. I weep silently into my hands, and I can smell John's blood on them. I can hear his screams. I can taste my cowardice for not doing more to help him, for not even trying. Good it'll feel to finally go.

The thing sings. I wince in pain at every word. God damn it hurts to listen to it. Warmth flows for my ears, and I realize they're bleeding. Just one more, and then the song ends. I gasp in agony, as more memories tear themselves from my mind. Erica. Her and I had separated in the panic of John's death.

I had run up here, trying to call the police, but my phone was haywire. That's when I heard it come for her in the basement. The house creaked and groaned with the creatures every step. It had sunk, descending the basement stairs. One more makes two. I only heard her scream for a moment, and then it faded to silence. until the thing laughed guttural and monstrous

it echoed throughout the house shaking the foundations and rattling the old wooden frame it laughed and it laughed all that we need all that we eat all hail the coming of all hallows eve now it's moving toward me it's getting closer

I can feel it's every step it's every movement it passes through the house house with tremors of violence. Just one more. Sings again. And then the song ends. It's outside the bedroom now.

And my ears are bleeding badly. I can't take it anymore. I can't take the sound. I clamp my eyes shut, trying to ignore the agony of its voice. Trying to ignore the panic rioting in my body. The floorboards creak outside the closet, and I smell something rotten, bile and grotesque. Something dead. There's a low-grown as the closet door slides open.

Looky, looky. It sings, discordant, tuneless. Wouldn't you like to see something spooky? I don't look. Agony tears through my eyes. They're being split open from the inside out, and blood is pouring from my head in a river down my jaw. I whimper, and something leans close to me.

The smell of rot is nearly unbearable now, and I gag and wretch, but I refuse to open my eyes. I can't. If I see it, then it's real. If I see it, then I die. Something grips my wrist, something cold and damp and loose with flesh. It pulls me from the closet, and I howl and terror and fear. It's taking me somewhere. Please, I sputter. Please don't. My leg creaks as it drags me down the steps, and I scream. My eyes are clamped shut, but I feel myself moving through pieces of John as the creature pulls me through the house. Finally, it stops. I'm hyperventilating now, my chest rising and falling in

rapid succession. No, no, no, no. I mutter again. Yes. It says. And this time it isn't singing. It tosses me by my arm, and I feel my shoulder snapped backwards out of its socket. I tumble down the old wooden stairs, my head smashing against the steps, my wrist snapping in half as I finally collide against the landing. I groan, tears and blood streaming down my face. Looky, looky. It sings, though its voice is now guttural and horrible. It grabs me by the back of my hair, pulls my head up, and reaches its fingers down to my eyelids. Would you like to see something spooky? It pulls them open, and I see our studio. Our cameras pointing toward the cages, ten of them, each filled with pieces of the children,

each a tapestry. The light in the basement, is dim, but I can see Sally's witch hat still tied to her head. I can see Michael's werewolf paw still on his dismembered hand. I lick my lips. There, in the back is Yanda's Cinderella costume, the glass slipper still upon one of her feet. The thing throws me forward, and I crash against the steel bars of the cage. When I look up in a daze, I see Erica's corpse. My dear filmmaker, mutilated and cut into pieces, her eyes are missing, and her hand is stuffed halfway down her throat. I lean forward and vomit, only then realizing that I'm lying in a pool of her blood. So many lies, so many lives, and so little time, creature sings. I hear the click of

a button being pressed and see a red light hovering in the darkness. The camera is recording. Looky, looky. Please, I rasp. The house creaks and groans as it steps forward. and my body scrambles backward on its own accord. Please. Wouldn't you like to see something spooky? Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling,

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is there for you 24-7. See less carts go abandoned and more sales go, With Shopify and their shop pay button, sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash DNS. Go to Shopify.com slash DNS. That's Shopify.com slash DNS. The house loomed above us. It sat as a broken, teetering tribute to the dead,

perched atop cackle hill like a crown of rotting lumber. It was the most famous thing in our town. The thing everybody knew, Everybody talked about, but nobody dared disturb. We were warned again and again to steer clear of the house. To avoid even so much as looking at it, when we walked by for fear that we'd see the man in the window with the tiny eyes and snagletoothed smile,

beckoning us forward with his long fingers, but such superstitions are lost on children. It was on Halloween night that we decided to brave the house. There were three of us then, 12-year-olds and small enough to navigate the maze of bramble that encircled the hill, deft enough to avoid the sharp thorns that pressed in upon the house, like a barbed wire fence. The property once belonged to a wealthy aristocrat named Irish Kackle, who owned most of the real estate within a hundred-mile radius.

The story goes that Kackle had a taste for delicacies. He enjoyed fine foods from all across the world, whether that be escargo or snake wine. He loved to try things, eat things. At one point, he decided to try human flesh, and at one point, he decided that he liked it. Kids' flesh, most of all. It's estimated that over a hundred different corpses littered Cackle Hill,

their bones scattered amongst the bramble. These days, it's officially recognized as a burial ground, a final resting place for a legion of people with no name and no history, no record of their existence besides the occasional femur rising from the dirt. Twenty-two years ago, though, the legend spun into overdrive. On Halloween night, 1989, four children crawled through the thickets of thorns and made it into cacklehouse. All four were massacred. Ever since, it's been closed off.

The authority said it was out of respect to the unmarked graves that covered the property, and to protect would-be explorers from venturing into the dilapidated, condemned death trap that was the house. But the locals knew better. They knew that Irish Kakl had never been tried for his crimes. They knew that he lived a full life, one with blood on his hands, and hair in his teeth, and young flesh in his belly. They knew that Irish Kakul, despite being dead for over a hundred years, still lived in that house, that he watched them from atop the hill. Stories like that are magnets to children.

Urban legends have always had a special pull on the 16 and undercrowd. And that night, me and my friends learned we weren't immune. I think that's why we did it. I think that's why we climbed Kackle Hill on Halloween night and made the worst mistake of our lives. The passage up the hill was awful. It was dark inside the bramble. The dense canopy of leaves blocked the moon almost completely. We navigated by feeling alone with Landon in the lead,

Wendy behind, and me in the rear. The blanket of thorns pressed us down, preventing us from being able to even properly crawl. Instead, we slid across the ground like worms. My heart worked overtime as my muscles burned, each movement more difficult than the last. It took us over an hour to make, make it up the hill. And once we did, we needed another 10 minutes just to catch our breaths.

As we did, we realized just how alone we were. All the way at the top of the hill, you couldn't even hear the cars zipping along the streets below. You could barely make out the last of the trick-or-treaters marching back home for the night. It was just us, us, and the house. It stood 20 feet away, a tall teetering structure draping us in its shadow. The front of it was covered in broken windows and rotting wood. Its walls, now sagging, and in many places crumbling, looked to have once been painted white, but all that remained of that were chips of discolored beige. I pulled my jacket tighter about myself. It suddenly felt cold. This place even feels haunted, Wendy muttered.

That's just what they want you to think, Landon said. Dead people are dead people. There's no such thing as ghosts. My brother told me the only reason they say all of that gossip is because there's actually a lot of valuable stuff inside Cackle's Manor, but they don't want kids looting it. It was hard for me to imagine being able to loot much of anything from the house. It was a tight enough fit coming up here with just the clothes on our backs,

let alone a backpack or duffel bag. The thorns had cut my arms and legs to ribbons. Whatever, let's just hurry up and get this over with, Wendy said. This place gives me the creeps. Landon rolled his eyes. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a flashlight, turning it on and illuminating the battered front door, creaking quietly in the wind.

Guess I'll go first. He stepped across the rickety porch and paused at the door, then swept his light inside the house, before disappearing into the darkness. I followed. Inside, the house was a mess. Cobwebs lined every corner of every ceiling, and what walls weren't decorated in peeling wallpaper were covered in faded graffiti. Beer bottles were strewn here and there, old ones, probably from a time before the bramble had grown as thick as it did. Of the four chairs that sat in the kitchen, three were in pieces and spread across the hard wood, while another sat bow-legged and weary, threatening to collapse at any moment. The countertops

were dusty. Bugs skittered across them, spiders and ants alike. But beyond the insects and arachnids lay a row of black and white photographs. Still lives of a different time. One pictured a man smiling. His teeth a mess that stuck out in odd directions. His eyes were sunken and hollow. And his fingers, long and bony, were draped over the shoulders of two girls. There he is, muttered Landon, airish cackle. Wendy shivered beside me. He looks even creepier than in the textbooks. I had to agree. There was something about the photo that made my inside squirm. The girl standing on either side if cackle looked uncomfortable, almost frightened. These are probably the girls he ate, I said. Probably, Landon agreed. Moving past the photographs and inspecting the rest of the kitchen,

he pulled open a drawer and withdrew a rusty carving knife. Think he cut up any kids with this? Landon, Wendy groaned. What? He said with a smirk. Everybody knows he loved them. Remember when the Daily Times published his journal, he called them juicier than a steak. Ew, that's so disgusting. A clatter sounded from down the hall. I turned, startled, peering into the inky darkness. What's up? Landon asked. Be quiet for a second. Just listen. The three of us stood there in silence, my ears straining. It sounded like somebody dropped something, I said, like they bumped into a table. Well, let's go check it out. Landon said, flipping the carving knife in his hand and passing the flashlight to Wendy.

Don't worry. If cackle jumps out at us, I'll gut him with this. He pantomimed, stabbing his stomach, complete with a goofy, tongue-rolling expression. Wendy sighed, but followed him into the hallway all the same. It was a long, twisting thing. The walls of the hallway were cramped, and its carpet was a faded red. All around us, objects were. hung from nails, interspersed between dusty photographs and old paintings. Trinkets, I realized. Pocket watches, bonnets, boots, and letters were all nailed to the walls, though many looked to have been torn off and stolen. These look like prizes from his victims, Wendy said. Mementos! Lame prizes, Landon said with a yawn. Well, they wouldn't have many possessions. The people

cackle preyed upon were mostly just poor immigrants who, wind touched the back of my neck, warm, humid, like somebody's breath. I wheeled around, coming face to face with nothing at all. You're losing it, Landon snickered from out front. Everything okay? Wendy asked. You look stressed. I'm fine, I lied. Just tired. Well, let's check out a couple more rooms and head back down. Lanton said, reaching for a doorknob at the end of the hall. This place is a lot more boring than I expected. He turned the doorknob and pushed open the heavy oak door. I doubled over and gagged.

The stench coming from the room was unbearable, rancid, grotesque. It smelled like shit, piss, and perfume all at once. I brought a hand up to cover my nose. What's the matter? Wendy asked. That smell. It's awful. She looked to Landon, shaking her head.

I don't smell anything. Me neither. Maybe Ian's gigantic nose is just better at smelling? Oh, screw off, I muttered, beginning to feel nauseous. The three of us moved into the room. In its center was a large bed, draped in moldy blankets. On either side of it were two finely carved dressers. And in the far corner was an empty closet and tall full-body mirror,

broken a long time ago. Must be Cackle's bedroom, Wendy said. It looks like it. The smell of death was so powerful that it made my stomach twist. I'm feeling a little gross though, guys. Too much candy, maybe. I think we've probably seen enough. Hang on, Landon said.

He pressed his foot against a floorboard. Then another. One elicited a hollow echo. The other did not. I think there's something under here. He kicked at it once, twice, three times. The board warped, but didn't break. One second, he said, grabbing the light from Wendy.

Let me try to find a hammer. Before I could protest, he was gone. Vanished from the room. His footsteps creaked along the twisting hallway before fading entirely. Wendy and I stood in the dark, no flashlight between us, with only the small scraps of moonlight filtering through boarded-up windows. You're right, I said to her. You were right all along.

This place is creepy, and we shouldn't have come up here. My nostrils ate with the smell of corpses. We'll see what's under the room, and then we'll leave, she reasoned. If we take off now, Landon's going to throw a hissy fit. Okay, I said. The two of us stood there in silence, waiting for seconds that turned into minutes, that soon felt like hours before Landon returned. When he did, his face seemed different.

It was hard to describe, but the carefree aloofness was somehow gone. Something else had replaced it. Something calculated, serious. Ready? He said. Don't trust him. That voice again. But where was it coming from?

Who was speaking to me? I wheeled around, scanning the empty bedroom, and nearly yelped when Landon clasped my shoulder. You'll go first, he said. I'll throw you the light. Once you're down there. I nodded, somewhat disoriented. Sure, yeah, no problem. Landon got down on his knees, eyes staring into my own, and raised the hammer.

It came down on the floorboard with a deafening crack. The wood, old and rotten, splintered easily, and Landon continued to smash away at it. A ravenous look in his eyes. Soon he was finished, leaving a jagged hole of splintered wood behind. He said, breathless. I stared down into the hole. My palms growing clammy. I couldn't make out anything down there.

We'll be right here, Wendy said, encouragingly. Don't worry. Actually, I said, losing my nerve. I'm not feeling it. Sorry, guys, I just... I hand pressed against my back, pushing me forward, pushing me into the hole. I shot out my arms, trying to catch myself on the lip of the broken wood.

But my hand slipped. I fell, screaming. I fell. A second later, pain shot through my tailbone as I landed with a crash. I took a shaky breath, trying to get my bearings, but I was in so much pain. Tears welled in my eyes. Landon! I heard Wendy shriek from above.

Are you crazy? Sorry, he said, sounding embarrassed. I didn't mean to push him that hard. I was just messing around. I groaned, looking up, and seeing their two faces swimming in the darkness above. I must have fallen six or seven feet. Too much for me to get back up through the hole on my own. But still, I wasn't going to just sit there.

I got to my hands and knees, then to my feet, and I gasped, crumpling to the ground. What's wrong? Wendy called. My ankle. I sat through gritted teeth. I fell on it. I think it's broken, maybe. I can't stand up.

One second, Wendy said. I'm going to find a step ladder. She took the light and disappeared, leaving me in Landon alone. You didn't have to push me, asshole, I grunted. He didn't respond. Ever since Landon left us to get the hammer, he seemed different, more severe. Even now he stared down at me, the house so dark that all I could make out was his unmoving silhouette. He tapped the hammer against his leg, humming quietly.

Do you have your phone on you? I asked, swallowing my pain. I might need to call for help. Not sure I can actually get out of here. Landon was silent, unmoving. He just stood there, humming, and looking down at me. I'm serious. I'm fucking hurt. A voice whispered. I froze.

It hadn't come from above. But instead, in front of me, somebody else was in the crawl space. Landon? I said, panicking. There's somebody down here. No response. He just continued humming, louder and louder. There was a dull thud in the dark, then breathing, heavy, ragged breathing.

It sounded like something heavy was shifting its way toward me, moving slowly through the crawl space. Fuck, once more I tried to rise to my feet, but once more pain exploded across my ankle and I collapsed into a heap. The thing shuffled closer, whimpering, I scanned my hands across the dirt floor, feeling for something, anything. thing to defend myself with. Nothing. Wait, what was that? My hands gripped something long, metallic, a screwdriver. Hey! A voice called from above. You still alive down there? I looked up and saw Wendy standing above me, smiling at me with the flashlight in her hands. I breathed a sigh of relief. Beside her, Landon was trying to position a ladder above the hole. Hurry up! I bellowed. About time you said something. Landon said with a sigh of

smirk. You've been quiet as a corpse. Roll out of the way, Wendy called. We're going to drop the ladder. I did. The ladder crashed in front of me. A moment later. It creaked and groaned as Wendy clambered down it, followed by Landon. We got to go, I said. There's, what is this place? Landon said. Looking around, smells like rat do-doo. I studied him warily. The silent, creepy figure from earlier seemed to have gone, and he was back to cracking silly jokes. Wendy swept the flashlight across the area, revealing a narrow pathway lined by several thick wooden supports that ended in a sharp corner. There was no sign of anybody else down here. Sheesh, it's a total maze, she said. Bet you there's something cool at the end, Landon said. Let's go check it out. Don't! I snapped.

The idea of Landon going into the dark alone with Wendy ate my seat. skin crawl. I couldn't put my finger on it, but Landon still felt different. Dangerous. Don't go, I said. I heard somebody down here. Just help me up the ladder and let's fucking leave this place. Wendy eyed me. You saw somebody down here? Well, no. I heard them and... Landon slapped my back. Don't be such a baby. I've got the hammer. And besides, we'll be back in no time. The two took off, their figures shuffling down the narrow corridor and disappearing around the sharp bend. I swallowed.

It felt so vulnerable sitting here like this, alone in the dark, without so much as the ability to stand on my own two feet. I was helpless. The breathing returned, this time right next to my ears. I snapped. I flung my hand out, screwdriver clenched between my fingers, but connected with nothing. but empty air. I panted, mouth dry. Wendy, Landon. Now the breathing was in my other ear, ragged, warm. I spun around, my ankles screaming in pain, and I threw my hands through the dark,

but they met no resistance. Was I losing my mind? Guys, I called out. Get back here. I'm fucking serious. There's somebody in here. No response. Then, a voice. This one higher pitched, a childlike. Run. I shook my head, backing up against the far wall of the crawl space. Where was Wendy? Landon. They had to have heard me. I shouted for them as loud as I could, and yet...

A new sound reached my ears. This one familiar. Terrifyingly familiar. It was Landon. His voice was low, quiet. He sounded like he was just ahead of me, near the sharp bend where the wooden support split off. Now that we've got him here,

He said, I'll bash his brains in with the hammer. You can take the first bite. No, Wendy replied, her voice reverberating all around me. I want to cut him open and see how much of him I can eat before he dies. Greedy, hissed Landon. I thought we brought him down here so we could take our time. We did, but I wanted to play with his brain. Where did you put the saw? My body shook. I scrambled. Pain be damned as I tried to mount the ladder and reach the opening above to reach the inside of the house and eventually the hill beyond. But it was no use. My ankle writhed

with pain the moment I so much as moved it, and the pain crippled me, broke me into a heap on the floor. I screamed, help anybody, please. It wasn't any use. I know full well that it was late, much too late for people to be out and about near Cackle Hill. Besides, even if they did hear me, how were they going to help? We barely made it up here as it was. was. The sound of shifting dirt meant my ears, followed by a low humming. Somebody was walking toward me. Not Landon, but somebody else. I squinted my eyes and ahead, a shape moved beneath the dim light of the broken floorboards. Wendy, she held something, patting it against her side. A saw, rusty metal, deadly. Wendy, I said, mouth trembling. Stop messing around, all right?

I don't feel good. She didn't respond. Instead, she took a shambling step forward, her head snapping to the side, her body moving like a puppet on strings. Her tongue darted across her lips. Landon appeared beside her. He slapped the head of the steel hammer

against the palm of his hands, humming along with Wendy, but an entirely different tune. His expression was detached, empty. They looked possessed. They looked like something had crawled into their skin. one, two, Wendy's saying, Coming for you.

She sprang at me. I shrieked in agony as the sawblade dug into my shoulder. I felt my skin tear, my warm blood seeping down my chest and through my jacket. Wendy grunted, wordlessly, her eyes wild. She began working at the sawblade, grinding back and forth, cutting apart my flesh and beginning to tear my arm from my body. My other hand, still gripping the screwdriver, moved on instinct. I swung at her. There was a wet, popping sound, and Wendy's mouth dropped open. Her expression turned

vacant. She teetered on top of me for a moment before falling forward with a soft groan. Warm blood flowed from the place the screwdriver pierced her skull. It dripped onto my face, into my eyes, my mouth. I gagged, crying out as I tried to push her off of me. But Landon was quicker. He clambered on top of her corpse, knocking the wind from me, and before I could react, He lifted the hammer, then brought it down on my forehead. Crack! My world went blurry. Everything from sights to sounds to sense,

and even the taste of Wendy's blood became a slurry of madness. I squirmed, and in the corner of my vision, I spotted a shape on top of me, vaguely humanoid in appearance. Landon, he lifted the hammer again, lifted the hammer to kill me. My hand scrambled across the floor, gripping something small,

something sharp. Landon swung, and this time my hand shot upward, jabbing at him, jabbing into him, but it wasn't enough. I was slow, too slow. The hammer struck my temple, and my world went black. When I came to, I was in a bright room. Light shone above me, blinding, painful and disorienting. I tossed and turned, grumbled, moaning as vignettes of nightmares played inside of my head. A voice reached me, one I'd missed, one I'd wanted to hear for some time. Oh, sweetheart, my mother said. You're awake, she told a man standing in the corner to go and get the nurse. The man's arms were crossed. His face was stern, and he gazed at me like he wanted to rip me from limb to limb. My father, he turned, leaving the room, and coming back a moment

later with another man in scrubs. The nurse. How do you feel? The nurse asked, checking several instruments and making notes on his clipboard. I feel a bit hazy, nauseous. You were struck in the head multiple times with a hammer, he explained. Your skull is fractured, but it looks like you've avoided the worst of it. No brain damage. You're likely to experience migraines for some time, however. Do you know know what a migraine is? I nodded. My world, still a blur. It was just then that I noticed another figure in the room, a woman in a dark jacket with stern eyes. Where's Landon and Wendy? I asked. Are they okay? My mother choked back a sob. The stern woman cleared her throat. I'd like to ask you some questions, if that's all right, Mr. Pearson. I'm a detective with

the county police, and I need to know if you remember anything from three nights ago. Three nights ago? I asked. My mouth felt drier than a desert. Yes, she said. October 31st, Halloween. Do you recall anything from that night? I racked my mind. It was hard. The landscape of my thoughts felt like quicksand, but certain pieces still jumped out at me, certain memories. I remember going up Cackle Hill, I said, slowly. I glanced sidelong in my father. Sure I was going to get grounded for just admitting that, but he didn't react. He just sat there, gnawing his lip. I remember going into the house with Landon and Wendy and seeing some photographs, and I paused. There was somebody else there with us, wasn't there, another voice, another presence. So far that

matches what we have, the detective said. You and your friends did climb Cackle Hill that night. At roughly 2 a.m. that morning, shouts for help were heard in the neighborhood below, coming from the house. Officers were dispatched to the area via helicopter and located you in the crawl space. I took a breath. It was only then that I realized plastic tubes were stuffed into my nostrils, draped across my chest, and connected into oxygen units. Breathing felt difficult. We found you lying beneath the bodies of Landon Matthews and Wendy's song. I swallowed.

My heart pounded. Beside me, a machine began beeping more rapidly. What happened? I asked, panic seeping into my words. Your fingerprints were found on an old screwdriver and a rusty nail, the detective explained. Do those objects mean anything to you? No, I muttered.

My thoughts racing. Should they? They were the objects you used to murder Mr. Matthews and Miss Song, respectively. I took a sharp breath. Machines sang beside me. Their chorus is reaching new piercing heights. I felt hot. I felt sick.

My entire body seemed to shake under the weight of the horrific revelations, and yet it felt numb. Like it wasn't even there. What we've been so far unable to explain, the detective continued, is the fact that both Mr. Matthews and Miss Song's corpses were partially consumed at the time they were found. Their faces, particularly their cheeks,

had been violently bitten. We found traces of their DNA on your teeth. And presently, we believe we found evidence of their flesh in your stomach. My mother stepped forward, a hand raised. Her voice was hoarse, broken. He doesn't need to hear that. My father growled. The detective looked at my mother.

Then she looked back to me. Unfortunately, he does, Mrs. Pearson. Based on the analysis of the bite marks, your son murdered and partially cannibalized his classmates. and I'd like to know why. Look at him, my father shouted. He didn't have a choice. You think he rolled underneath their bodies? No, they were trying to fucking kill him.

My mother pressed a soothing hand to his chest. Self-defense is self-defense. The detective agreed. But cannibalism is something else entirely. She turned her attention to me, walking up to my bedside and crouching so that we were eye-level. The thing I'd like you to help me understand is who the other bite marks belong to.

My jaw fell open, and stuttering words fell out of it. Other bite marks? Yes. In addition to the teeth marks on Song and Matthews' cheeks, they also had bite marks on their arms and legs. Strips of flesh had been torn from them. Where that flesh went, or who attacked them in that manner, is something we've been unable to determine.

But the marks were made with human teeth. A shiver ran through me, but whether because of the drugs coursing through my veins or the exhaustion of my body. I hardly felt it. I felt frozen, unable to move. I don't know, I said. I didn't see anybody else.

Are you sure? Why would I lie to you? I yelled, losing control. My friends are dead, and I'm sitting here with a broken ankle and tube sticking out of me and you're telling me I killed them and ate them. And now you're calling me a liar? Tears flowed from my eyes in a torrent.

What's wrong with you? You didn't feel it then, the detective asked. I blinked, bleary-eyed. Feel what? She sighed, looking to my mother and father, then to the nurse. All three of them looked away as if they couldn't bear the interaction. I'm sorry to be the one to show you this. She'd pulled back the sheet covering me.

The breath left my lungs. No, not my lungs. I didn't have lungs anymore. Just a couple of airbags inside of my split-open chest. Tubes spilled out of me from all directions. So many of my organs were missing. So were my arms, my legs. I couldn't speak, couldn't even cry.

I just stared at my hollowed out body in silent horror. Whoever tore the strips of flesh from your friends also dismembered you, chewing your limbs to the bone before laying them next to you and across. They made a small incision in your side. And from what the surgeon described, they reached inside and pulled out people. of you, not enough to kill you, just enough to taste. The detective lowered her eyes, taking a deep breath. We found your appendix partially devoured a short distance from you, as well as pieces of

your large intestine. Your wounds have been cauterized. For whatever reason, whoever did this to you wanted to keep you alive. My mind felt blank. I couldn't process what she was saying. Do you have any idea who did this? idea at all. I did. I knew exactly who did this. The trouble is. He'd been dead for over a century. I live in Rio de Janeiro. My apartment is right next to a dangerous favela. Drug dealers from

different gangs are constantly a war in my area. One night I was sound asleep. I am a deep sleeper, so most things don't wake me up. This particular night, a huge explosion shook me from my slumber. wide awake in my bed. I was trying to process what I heard. Gunshots were pretty common in my area, but this was no gunshot. I thought maybe this was a grenade. Chills ran down my spine.

In Brazil, criminals use weapons that other countries would normally use for war. If this was a gang fight, it was a serious one. I tried to calm down and think logically. First, I slid off my bed and onto the floor. By staying low, I would likely avoid any stray bullets. I began crawling on the floor like a soldier. I crawled into my kitchen, where there were more walls to protect me.

As I crawled, gunshots rang out. They sounded so close. Even though I was scared, this situation really didn't surprise me. The news had been filled with gang-related conflicts. I personally once saw a mother dying while protecting her son from gunshots. Another time I saw criminals breaking into houses and taking hostages. I crawled from my kitchen to my front door to market. I stayed crouched on the ground, waiting for the sounds to pass.

All of a sudden, I noticed something that sent a shiver through my spine. My doorknob started to turn ever so slowly. Whoever was opening my door clearly didn't want to be noticed. I swallowed a heart. An eternity seems to pass by. Horrible thoughts passed through my head. Maybe I didn't lock the door all the way? What will happen if he gets in?

Luckily after the knob turned, the door didn't budge. I then heard footsteps retreating away. The gunshots also stopped. After a couple of minutes, I got the courage to tiptoe to the peephole. Looking out, I saw two guys in my corridor. They were wearing regular clothes and didn't seem to have any guns. They were clearly trying to open my neighbor's door. Out of nowhere, one of the guys turned his head towards my door.

He shouted, there's someone in there. The other guy pointed towards my door and said, open up, we're undercover police. A pit formed in my stomach. What if they were telling the truth? I wasn't going to take any chances. I yelled, is this about the shootouts? After a while, one of them answered, yeah, we just wanted to see if you're okay. I moved my trembling hand toward the lock.

I was about to open it. I then yelled, I'm okay, the guy said, but we need to come in. We need to teach you how to protect yourself if this happens again. I said, there's no need to. I ran back to my bedroom and after a while returned to sleep. That following morning, I heard some commotion in my hallway. I saw journalists, people crying, and police in front of my neighbor's unit. Soon after, medics came out with my neighbor on a stretcher all bloody.

I shivered and sweat profusely at the site. Turns out the guys were robbers. They came to a party at my apartment. After the party, they went around trying to rob people. The shootout ended up being unrelated to the robbers. The creepy thing is, if that shootout didn't happen, my door would have been open and they would have come in. I felt bad for my neighbor, but it could have been me on that stretcher.

I know his name. I don't know his age. I don't know where he lives and I certainly don't know how to find him. All that I know is that he's dangerous, and he's on the move. I'm a government employee. I work in a research lab that develops experimental weaponry, primarily of the biological variety. I don't want to say too much more than that,

as this is already at massive risk of exposing my identity. But I will say that I'm not exactly an intern. I've seen things. I've studied things. I've created things. I created him, or, better put, I recreated him. Confused? If you're reading this, then you're well aware of the concept of legends and mythology.

Things that feed on our collective imaginations to grow more powerful, that live on our tongues as we utter their names and speak their stories, growing and evolving until they become a force of their own. unstoppable, unforgettable. The man with a red note pad is one of them. I'm not positive, but I think his legend began in an email chain from the late 90s. You know the type. Forward this to 20 people in the next hour,

or some asshole is going to hack you to pieces with an axe. Except his went a little differently. In his, he would find his victims and draw them. Sometimes he would draw them drowning to death. Other times he would draw them wasting away in a hospital bed. And other times, he would draw them being cut open and pulled apart. It was a coin toss, what version of the internet myth you'd encounter. But all of them had one thing in common.

He would draw you, and you would die. The thing about the man, though, was that his sketches were thorough. It wasn't enough to simply make a stick figure labeled sex. and have that stick figure being impaled by a flagpole. No. In his sketches, Sally was a detailed work of art, with immaculate shading, perfect lines. His sketches would take hours.

Sometimes they would take days. It was only after he had finished his sketches and signed them with his messy initials that the death sentence would trigger. When I received the assignment, I laughed. Give life to a legend. I remember saying to my boss.

You know April Fool's was six months ago, right? She wasn't laughing, though. I remember the way she took a deep breath, straightened her blouse, and sat down in the chair across from me. I remember the steeple of her fingers, the nervous twitch at the corner of her mouth, and the smell of cheap coffee gently steaming on the table between us.

Fear, she said carefully, is a weapon more powerful than bullets and bombs? We need that right now. That was six years ago. I've grown since then, mentally and physically. So has the man. He started life in a test tube, shapeless and helpless. Before long, though, he was walking, talking,

and after not much longer than that, he was killing. At first it was prisoners, people we'd pulled from black sights. We'd sit both of them in a lab we called the Red One, room, a prisoner chained, and the man behind a plexiglass divider, he'd draw them, and they would die. Sometimes they'd catch fire. Other times they'd break out in hives, scratch their own skin bloody, and flay themselves alive. Always though, they would die. Needless to say, he never had access to the notepad unless the experiments were running. In the time between, he'd sit alone in his small cell, hunched over in the corner with his head down. I suppose I couldn't blame him,

with only a thin mattress, a bowl to shit and piss in. And two meals a day there wasn't much else for him to do. We kept two cameras pointed at him at the front of the room just in case, monitoring the man at all times. We even made sure to cycle the guards. On the off chance, he managed to coax one into becoming sympathetic. Hell, thanks to some clever genetic work, on the part of my science team, he rarely even needed showers. So he was virtually always under lock and key. We took steps, is what I'm saying. We covered our bases. Despite it all, though, he escaped. I got the call last week and when my boss broke the news. At first, I called bull's it wasn't possible. Nobody escaped the facility. Hell, I remember the date it first opened. When I was still a

young man with stars and stripes in my eyes and fantasies of helping my country defeat the bad guys. I remember the contractor who'd overseen the construction, a round and hairy man with breath-like garlic sausage and the fingers to match. He'd called the facility state-of-the-art, proudly boasting that Sherlock Friking Holmes couldn't break out of here. And yet the man was gone. Not only was he gone, but he had left a bloodbath in his wake. All in all, there were over ten security persons now dead. One of the guards was found outside the man's cell, her skull cracked open and brain matter gently oozing from the fracture. Another was found in the camera control room, a bottle of Drano at his side, and vomit covering his chest. Another was a personal friend of mine and head of the

overnight guard detail, and he was found draped over the woman who ran the front desk, a bullet in both of their brains. It was horrifying and mystifying all at once. How could this have happened? The man's cell was entirely enclosed and didn't allow him to see any of our personnel. The most it had was a tiny slot on the bottom that we passed food through, and he passed his shit and piss through. Each week, when we'd retrieve him for our experiments, we'd even dispatch personnel to scrub the room

and ensure he wasn't drawing on any of the surfaces. Of course we tried consulting the camera footage, but the cameras had been disabled during his escape. escape, there was nothing. He was just gone. A few hours after the escape, I got a call from the IT department. They'd been going back through old footage of the man, trying to determine if there was some hint of what was to come, something that might indicate exactly what had happened. They showed me footage of the man in his cell, and it looked like the same routine I'd seen a thousand times before. He sat in the far corner with his head down, silently waiting for his next meal

or bowel movement. There was the sound of a latch opening, followed by a woman's voice calling the man to supper. And then a covered plate of food slid across the floor. The man shifted, getting up to retrieve the plate. When he did, I saw it. A tapestry of red was written upon his flesh, detailed and intricate, markings covering his stomach that looked to have been carved by the edge of a fingernail. He quickly readjusted his shirt, taking care to tuck it. back into his waistband. My jaw dropped and stunned silence. Can you play back the footage with his shirt up? said quietly. But take a still capture and zoom in. The IT technician nodded and did so. That's when it all came together. The markings in the man's flesh were his escape plan,

his sketches. Each one an immaculate carving of the facility's guards, each one a piece of the puzzle. One showed a guard unlocking the man's cell, then caving in her own skull with the the heavy steel door. Another had a guard disabling the cameras and then swallowing drain cleaner. The last sketch was of the man I knew, the head of the nighttime guard detail. It pictured him shooting and killing seven other security personnel and then turning his sidearm on himself. There was also another sketch. I recognized that face as well. And my heart sank momentarily before realizing the subject of the sketch was still alive. She was a secretary in our archives. A young woman who had tragically lost her arm in a traffic collision two months ago.

She hadn't been back to work yet, but it pictured her burning down the archives and all the local research we had of the man before walking into the flames herself. In the man's flesh, though, she still had two arms. My mind turned, and I realized how the man had pulled it all off. It was in the time between experiments. It was during the walks we'd take to the red room. While he made his way along the corridors and chains, he'd cataloged faces, features. He'd store them away in his memory, taking care to notice small details of their schedules.

He'd grown up here, after all, spent years in the facility. He had plenty of time to grow familiar. At first, my boss refused to believe it. She argued that he never indicated any such capability in the email chains we'd pulled his legend from, that he'd always needed his red notepad. and once he had it, he needed the subjects present to sketch them. It was, of course, our mistake to forget that legends evolved. Now, that mistake has cost people their lives.

I see it in the news reports. They're easy to miss if you don't know what you're looking for. But I know the man is on the move, and he's killing again. The facility and the government refused to comment on it. They refuse to come clean about the things where doing, and the danger the public is in. My boss died two days ago. A day before that, a member of my research team passed away.

The day before that, two other members died. I'd probably be dead myself if I hadn't seen the writing on the wall and taken one of my fingers off. So now I'm taking matters into my own hands. I'm raising the alarm to you, the public. The man with a red note pad is out there. He may be sketching you. You might not even see him doing it.

Maybe he'll just say hello to you in passing. Maybe he'll just take a memory. But if you do catch somebody looking at you a little too carefully or glancing your way before putting pen to paper, then it's time to run. It's time to run and maybe leave a finger behind for good measure. Today marks my 40th birthday on this earth. And rather than contemplating how to deal with the typical midlife crisis, I'm deciding whether or not my time here has ended. It's sort of a family curse. For as long back as my family

tree stretches, the men of the family never make it past the age of 40. It even goes as far as saying each of them have died exactly on their birthday. At least, that was the case for my father. I was in the middle of college when I got the call. They'd found the athlete of a man, lying dead on the front porch from an apparent heart attack on his 40th birthday. My uncle suffered the same fate a couple of years later, as did my brother, who died about five years ago. Based on the evidence, I'd say there's some merit to the supposed curse, but as with every rule, there's an exception. In this case, it's my granddad. Even as a kid, I always looked up to him, not only vertically, but as a role model.

In fact, our birthdays were only a few days apart, so we usually saw each other around that time. He had this aura surrounding him, like an invisible shield that prevented anything malicious from getting too close. Everything he did, he did with purpose and with an undying smile on his face. Only once did he ever break his perfect facade at my father's funeral, but even then he seemed more disappointed than he did sad. Year zero, that's what he called his 40th birthday. For him, it marked the true beginning of his life.

He created jokes about his age, claiming he just turned five years old on his 45th birthday and so on. Once I reached adulthood, his demeanor changed. changed ever so slightly as he approached me for what he called some manly advice. He sat me down, handed me my first official beer, and started talking. After what happened to your father last year, I'm sure you've been thinking a lot about this so-called family curse. It's not false that all men and our families seem to simply die on their 40th birthday. But it's wrong to call it a curse. In fact, It's more of a blessing in disguise.

He took a deep breath before continuing. It's going to sound a bit crazy, but I'll tell you anyway. On your birthday, once you turn 40, a man will come knocking on your door at precisely midnight. Despite the odd hour, you'll feel compelled to let him in. Don't worry, he won't harm you. He just wants to talk. And once he has said what he wants to say, he'll offer you a choice.

What choice? What's he going to tell me? I asked. Confused as to how words could have caused all these deaths. That? I can't tell you. It's something you have to find out for yourself. All I can do is warn you.

And tell you to live your life to the absolute fullest. for as long as you can. He never brought it up again, and though it always lingered in the back of my mind, I couldn't bring myself to actually believe it. But I did, as he said, and tried to enjoy each aspect of life, believing that once I turned 40,

I'd surely perish like the rest of my family, which brings us to today, my 40th birthday. At precisely 12 o'clock, midnight, I awoke to what sounded like three soft knocks at the front door. My wife, the lightest sleeper on the planet, didn't even seem to register the intruding noise, while I myself, a usually heavy sleeper, awoke with a startle. I hadn't been sleeping while the days prior to my birthday, anticipating the end of my life, yet unable to believe it. Wearing nothing more than my pajamas,

I made my way to the front door. With slight hesitation, I looked through the peephole. On the other side, stood a middle-aged man in a suit with a friendly smile in his face. Mr. Shepherd. He greeted me as he shook my hand. Mind if I come in? Speechless, I could do little more than to gesture for him to enter my house.

I'd made up my mind long ago to deny him entrance, yet I felt compelled by his presence. He walked past me and headed straight for the kitchen, seeming to already know the layout of my home, a house I'd inherited from my father. I followed him obediently into the kitchen, and we sat down at the table. He just kept staring at me without speaking a word, his smile, never leaving his face. I had a lot of questions, but I couldn't bring myself to ask a single one. We simply sat in silence, looking across at each other, like an awkward and equally twisted blind date. You seem surprised to see me, the man finally said after minutes of silence. I'm assuming you expected my visit?

I nodded my head, still unable to speak. Come on, Mark. You have a perfectly functional tongue. At least your wife seems to think so. Don't be embarrassed to use it. Why are you here? I eventually asked. His smile vanished, replaced with an expression of utter confusion.

Why I'm here? That's the question you want to start with? Not who I am or what I did to your father? I didn't respond. And he stared into my eyes, not moving a muscle. As you wish, he sighed. I'm here to talk.

To tell you the answers to each and every question you've ever had. Anything you want to know, I will tell you. No matter how stupid or bizarre of a question it is, I promise you nothing but truth. Did you kill my father? Of course not. That's entirely against the rules. I simply gave him a choice.

And like all the men in your family, except for your brilliant granddad, He chose to leave. What choice? Ah, Mr. Shepherd. Or Mark. Do you mind if I just call you, Mark? Before I could answer, he just went on talking.

That's the beauty of our little meeting. I will tell you the answer, but not until I believe you're ready. He leaned back in his chair and waited for me to keep asking questions. Though from the smug look on his face, I could tell he knew exactly what I'd ask. Who are you? Come on, Mark. You don't really have to ask that. You already know, don't you?

I had my theories. And as dumb as I felt they were, it couldn't possibly beat the ridiculousness of the family curse. Are you Satan? I asked nervously. Technically, that's correct. But let's not resort to name-calling. I prefer Lucifer.

He chuckled. Once again, he fell silent, awaiting my next question. But I couldn't organize the thousands of thoughts flowing through my head. You're really bad at this, you know? Not that it makes a difference. I know exactly what you want to know. You don't even have to speak. So, how about we start with something innocent, hmm?

He stared deep into my eyes. Digging through my brain, looking for questions, I didn't even know I had. Ah, you want to know? if your ex-girlfriend still thinks about you? Julia, that's her name, yes? I nodded automatically. She doesn't. And you weren't that special to her.

In spite of the pedestal you've put her on, you really should appreciate your wife more. She's far more suited for you. My wife, I'd completely forgotten she still lay upstairs sleeping. As easy as she was to wake up, she'd surely be suspicious of what the hell I was doing awake with a strange man. in the middle of the night. Could we go somewhere else?

My wife is sleeping and... I said before being cut off. Mark, don't be ridiculous. Your wife can't hear us. Actually, she's a really light sleeper. He stood up from his chair before screaming. Oh, Hannah! I'm talking to Mark in the kitchen.

I'm just about to tell him all the secrets of the universe. And if you come downstairs, I'll tell you too. He then sat back down. and listened for any commotion coming from the room, nothing but silence. I think we're good. By then, most of the adrenaline had settled in my body, and I started to grasp the more advantageous aspect of our conversation. I could ask literally anything, and he'd answer me, but I still needed more proof he was real.

Just before my father died, he told me something I've never told anyone else. I didn't understand it at the time, but when he died, the next day I couldn't stop thinking about it. He paused for a moment, giving me just enough time to doubt him. Be a better man than me, Mark, he said. But the voice I heard was the one of my father. My heart raced at the familiarity, and Lucifer just smiled in return. All doubt had been stripped away from my mind, so I decided to ask something more otherworldly. If you're for real, then surely God exists as well, heaven and all that?

He looked truly disappointed in my question. Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry. Sorry about what? To answer your question, of course he's real, him and heaven, and the other truly magnificent creations emerging from his holy powers. But you didn't think he actually created you, did you? He didn't? I stuttered.

No, not at all, you, humanity. You're nothing more than an unfortunate side effect of God's actual creations. You really think something so horrific could be created by an almighty being? Think about it, Mark. You creatures wage war on anyone even slightly different than yourselves. You hoard all of your ultimately pointless possessions, letting some rot in poverty, while some thrive beyond what's even remotely necessary.

You kill for fun, and in the end, you'll destroy the planet, your own home, just because you're all too selfish to take care of each other. That doesn't sound like something God would create, does it? His word sunk through me, like an anchor had been attached to my soul and tossed into the deepest part of the ocean. There are good people here, too. It's not all that bad, I argued. You're right. There are plenty of good people around here. But none of them are truly great. Not a single one of you is able to see the bigger picture. He stood up from his chair and started to pace around as he lectured me on the futile nature of human beings.

In the grand scheme of things, nothing you ever do here matters. In the end, you'll all turn to dust, floating around in the empty void you've so affectionately called space. He finished. I felt crushed. I thought of my wife, the fact that we'd both one day die, and whatever feelings we had would be erased as the meat on our bones rotted away in the ground, our jobs, working to provide a function for society, all of it was a pointless task, only serving to extend the inevitable end of our world.

So, what happens when you die? He finished my question for me. Yeah, do we end up in hell? No, you just stop existing. The little fragment of divine power within you, the one you think is worth to be called a soul, is harvested by my workers. We need the fragments to make more desirable beings. He paused, reverting his attention towards my fridge.

You'll probably need a few minutes to process. Do you have anything to eat? He helped himself to some cold chicken casserole my wife had cooked. as a pre-birthday dinner. So, what do you do then? Since God has left, apparently leaving you behind with the rest of us? He laughed with his mouth full of chicken,

a few pieces of meat flying across the room. I didn't stay behind. I chose to remain here. Someone has to make sure you guys don't revolt. You guys keep taking things that don't belong. It's only a matter of time before you figure out how to cross over. It's actually way easier than you might think.

And while I'd love nothing more than a revolution, I can't leave just anyone in charge to lead it. He dug through the casserole in a matter of seconds, loudly chewing through the meat, almost moaning in pleasure as he did. Your wife truly is a wonderful cook, Mark. Remember to thank her for me. What do you want for me anyway? I asked. I want to offer you a choice. Before I could clarify, the walls around us started to dissolve.

The ground cracked beneath our feet, and every piece of furniture not stuck to the wall fell through the ground. I stood up in panic and looked at Lucifer with pleading eyes, but we didn't fall with the rest. We simply floated. It wasn't long until the world around us had been erased from existence, and we stood in a gray, empty void. Where are we? I stuttered. Give it a minute, he said calmly. Buildings appeared all around us.

tall, modern architectural masterpieces, colored and bizarre mixtures of silver and blue, all stretching far up into the sky, so uniform, nothing deviating from its neighboring design. This is Utopia, Lucifer exclaimed as we suddenly found ourselves on top of one of the buildings. There were no clouds or fog to obscure the view, meaning I could look far into the horizon, seeing that the city truly did stretch on without an end in sight. Utopia? Really? Obviously not. This is my city. I made it some hundred thousand years ago.

It's what you people call purgatory, though I prefer to just call it the place in between, he said. You made purgatory? Yep. It's as close as humans will ever get to heaven. It's the only place that exists in the same realm at the very least. I looked around. The street, thousands of feet below, seemed so empty, devoid of any people. Where is everyone? In a different section. I keep expanding this place as people flow in.

You see, Mark, this is what I offer you. Eternal life in this city. Or to be erased by time itself in a few decades, quick to be forgotten by the world you once lived in. Why? What do you mean, why. God might have given up on humanity before you were even created, but I still see your potential. Unfortunately, your belief in him still stops most of you from accepting my offer, but you. You are just in the right state of religious mind to be reasonable. You see, I need you all to believe in the glorious afterlife described in your religious books. Just not too much. I could sense the malicious intent behind his offer. If he truly will be able to be able to offered eternal life, then surely he wanted something in return.

What is this potential you talk about? We're going to take back what's ours, Mark. God sure as hell isn't going to give it to you, but I will. He smiled. Within the next second, I crashed down in my chair back in my kitchen. Without warning, we'd returned back home. That's the choice I offer you. A chance to live in the Silver City, to have a purpose.

all of eternity at the tip of your fingers. But that means you'll have to die today and come with me. What about my family? I'm sorry, Mark, but they're not ready. Most of them have been poisoned by their upbringing in religious households. Only a few of you are suitable for the job. He looked over at a clock on the wall. Time had passed faster than anticipated, and morning had just arrived.

Well, our time is up. You have today to decide. At midnight, the deal expires. And you return to your short existence. He started walking out the door, but turned around to give me one final goodbye. Oh, and happy birthday, Mark. Make sure you really enjoy this one. I felt exhausted after Lucifer left.

I'd been given the ultimatum of my life. I grabbed a cooler full of beer for. from the fridge at seven in the morning and sat myself down on the front porch. An hour later, and two beers down, I saw my grandfather strolling down the street, waving at me. He could see the look of defeat on my face and sat himself down by my side. So, how did the chat go? You did talk to him, right? I just nodded my head in defeat. Why did you choose to stay? I asked.

He glanced at the cooler behind me before answering. You got another one of those for me, kiddo? He asked. I handed him a cold one, waiting for an explanation. I met your grandmother when we were just 18. By then my father and his father before had both left us. So it's safe to say I was aware of the family curse. But though I didn't learn exactly what happened until much later,

I promised myself I'd live life to the fullest up until my time came. I figured I would just die like all the others. So imagine how relieved I was when I was actually given a choice to stay. He took a large sip of his beer, almost finishing it in a single gulp. But why would you want to stay? If once you die, there's nothing left on the other side. If nothing here matters, then what's the point? Who's to say it doesn't? Just because time here is limited, does that really mean it's not important?

Besides, if I have to exist in a place without your grandmother, I'd rather just cease to exist. When we got married, I promised to stay by her side forever. And that's exactly what I intend to do. I looked at my granddad in admiration, 83 years of age, at the end of the end of the end of the of his lifespan, yet completely carefree, in charge of his own destiny. What about everything else, he said, about God, humanity, the place in between? He looked at me for a moment, pondering his next words. You make your own purpose, Mark. Don't you ever forget that. We talked until my wife woke up. She made my favorite breakfast and invited both myself

and my granddad inside. She showed a genuine sense of joy, and I envied her, living life in ignorance of the horrible truth. I smiled as we ate together, the first time since my meeting with Lucifer. He gave me until midnight to choose, whether to stay behind and let history wash me away, or to go with him and forever live in the place in between, to serve in a war against God himself. I'll enjoy this day the best I can. After all, it might be my last. My mother went missing when I was 16. It wasn't a suspicious event at first.

After all, she and my father had been fighting with each other for the better part of my childhood in teenage years. They always seemed so mad at each other, so full of hate. It made no sense to me why they'd ever stick together. But though all their actions proved otherwise, they claimed to love each other. I didn't believe them. But that's beside the point. My mom went missing one morning. Her car was still there and the doors were all locked.

She'd been known to sleepwalk, so we searched the house. Once we found her shoes and some clothes missing, we knew she'd left. We only had the one car which was still here. So she must have been picked up by a friend or called a cab. Those were our initial thoughts anyway. After calling her phone a few times, my father decided to just give her some space. Her tantrums didn't tend to last more than a few hours, a day at most. But once a day had passed, and she still hadn't answered, we started to get worried.

First we called my grandparents, but they hadn't heard from her either. Then we called her friends, who just assumed she had taken a couple of sick days off work. After putting the pieces together, we realized she hadn't just left. She had vanished. We called the police next, who were understandably suspicious of my father, seeing as we waited an abnormal amount of time to call. Of course, they didn't understand how common. of an occurrence it was in our house. Still, there was no proof of foul play, and after an

overabundance of questions, they moved on to the next line of suspects. But nothing was to be found. By all means, it looked as if she had simply walked out of the house with nothing worth some clothes, fleeing from home with no destination in mind. Then on the seventh day of her disappearance, a bit of cloth I knew belonged to her scarf, was found on a branch a few hundred yards into the nearby forest. Our original theory that she had just left was quickly replaced by her being kidnapped. Near the cloth, investigators discovered tracks leading deeper into the woods. They found drops of dried blood and strands of her hair. Police told us it didn't seem like a kidnapping, more like a wild animal had torn her to shreds. Day by day, hope started to vanish. Once the third

week had passed, we'd all but given up. Officially the investigation was still going, but there was no hope left in our hearts. All of a sudden, in the middle of the night, someone knocked on the door. With sleep-filled eyes, I wandered downstairs to see if it was just some kids playing a prank. I took a look out through the peephole. There she stood. My mother who'd been missing for the better part of a month, and she looked fine and healthy. I pulled the door open and embraced her in a hug.

She didn't reciprocate. She just kind of stood there awkwardly. My reaction quickly turned to anger as I started to realize, that the entire search had been a pointless venture. Where the hell were you? I asked. She just looked at me as if mulling over what to say. Robert, was all she said. Yeah, but that doesn't answer my question. Where were you?

I asked again, getting more aggressive. I just need time. Can I come in, please? She asked politely, not moved by my harsh words. I invited her inside and woke my father up, who showed a more empathetic reaction than myself. It was as if the year, of anger had been replaced by relief that she was okay. He embraced her, and she hugged him back.

Where were you? My father asked. I was in the woods, she said. Doing what? I'm not sure. I was trying to find myself, I think. She seemed confused, unable to answer anything about the almost four weeks she'd been missing. We called the police shortly after, who were equally as unsuccessful in finding out what had happened. A psychiatric consultation was ordered, and she was quickly diagnosed with a fugue state. Essentially, she'd gone through a disassociative episode, ending in amnesia. They kept her at a psychiatric facility for a few weeks, but other than the missing lapse in time, they couldn't find anything wrong. Once she returned back home, she seemed more like her former self. She hugged me as she always had before, and the initial awkwardness had faded. We sat down and just talked for a bit.

She seemed content, happier than she had before. But there were bits and pieces from our home life she'd just forgotten. When we decided to make dinner, she'd help out, but she couldn't remember where anything was, and needed to be shown how to do the simplest things. That was just the start of the oddities. She'd be overly affectionate with my father, but it didn't seem to be born out of love, but rather mechanical in nature.

It was as if she was forcing actions rid of any real emotion. Initially, my father wasn't suspicious. He just figured it had something to do with the ordeal she'd gone through and fully expected her to return to her former self. A week went by like that, before my mother started insisting on taking hikes into the woods with my father. It was a terrible suggestion, considering my father was the laziest man on the planet. He hated going for walks, always had.

But she kept insisting. It took two weeks for my father to finally break and join her on a hike into the very four that had stolen her memories. I was busy with schoolwork and decided to decline. Besides, I wasn't particularly interested in spending too much time with the two of them together. Still, the entire situation just felt off to me. I ended up falling asleep at my desk to the sheer boredom of my homework, only to wake up after midnight with a splitting headache and neck pain. Still, my parents hadn't returned. I was getting worried, ready to call the police when I heard the door unlocking. My parents walked in as if I was a lot of the parents walked in as if I was a lot of the

their late return was nothing out of the ordinary, but their presence alone wasn't enough to call me down. Their presence just didn't seem real. They didn't seem familiar, but rather like strangers. What's wrong, Robert? My father asked. He'd never called me that. It was always Robbie or just Robb. Just like my mother, he didn't seem like himself after going into the woods. I'm fine. I just have a headache. They didn't question it. They didn't even try to dig deeper. They remained in the living room as I went to bed. And by the time I woke up, they were still there. Why don't we go for a walk? My mother asked. Where? Into the woods. It's such a nice day. She said with almost no hint of emotion in her voice. Yes, Robert, come with us. My father chimed in.

I, I have school, I lied. It was a Saturday, but something was seriously wrong with my parents. They accepted my explanation and just left the house without speaking another word. From the window, I could see them go from neighbor to neighbor, knocking on doors and convincing a few to join them on their hike into the woods. I wanted to warn them or call the police, but who would listen to a teenager? So I decided to follow them from a distance to see what the hell they were up to in the forest. They were all busy chatting and taking photos, making it easy enough to track them. My mother, on the other hand, remained remarkably quiet during the entire journey. You sure you know where we're going, Alice?

One of the neighbors asked. This way, she simply stated. I don't see any trails, though, he continued. She didn't respond, and they kept walking deeper in. The further they went, the thicker the woods got. Branches were starting to intertwine, essentially blocking out any natural daylight. The ground grew barren and the sounds of chirping birds were quickly replaced by deafening silence. All right, this is kind of creepy. Why are we going here? Another neighbor asked.

We're almost there, was all my mom responded. Let's just turn around. There's something wrong about this place. Here we are. Then the silence was shattered by a loud growl coming from deep inside the forest. What the fuck was that? One of the neighbors asked. We're here. A shadow flew by too fast to get a proper glimpse.

What was that? Dad asked. My mom just stood there, seemingly frozen. Alice? Then her skin started to crack, with long longitudinal tears forming all over her body. Chunks of her flesh fell onto the ground, revealing bizarre, dark muscles below. Oh my God! I said out loud.

Dad managed to get out before another dark shadow flew by. He fell to the ground as he held his hands over his chest. A chunk of him had been torn away in a split second, leaving him unable to speak. The other neighbors turned to run, but more shadows had already started to appear in the distance. They rushed by, tearing away chunks of the people before they even got a chance to run. One by one, they all fell to the ground. Some screaming in agony, while others had already died. By the time all of them had fallen, my mom had shed the entirety of her skin, revealing that she herself was one of the beings. I realized then that my mom had died over a month ago, and that the creature that had been living with us was little more than an imposter. With fear gripping me, I decided to make a run for it.

In the chaos, I'd lost track of where I was. In the distance, I could hear the sound of my dying neighbors being silenced and taken over by the creatures. I ran, and I ran, but I'd already gotten lost. Though the creatures didn't seem to be chasing me, I had no way of finding my way back. Once day had turned a night, I just hid behind a rock, trying to keep myself warm without giving away. my location. I could still hear growls in the distance as the creatures feasted on the flesh of the dead. I didn't even move until daylight came back around. Then I walked. Hours passing by as I tried to traverse the thick woods. As evening came to wash day away in favor of night, I finally heard the

sound of a chirping bird. I'd made it away from the territory of the beast, which meant I was heading in the right direction. I was on the brink of collapse by the time I found my way home. The concrete streets had never been so inviting. I practically crawled back to my house, my only goal to alert the police and tell them what I'd seen. I opened the door, falling onto the floor of my own house. Robert, where have you been? My dad greeted me as I lay there. He just stood there emotionless. Dad? I asked, though I knew it wasn't him. Then my mom joined him. You missed out on the trip, she said. Then they approached me. Their skin cracking up as they realized I was far too weak to escape. We can finally be a real family, my mom said. I was jolted back to consciousness by a violent

coughing fit caused by the unnaturally dry air around me. Drops of sweat had piled up and started trickling down my forehead. It was dark, and there was not a single ray of light to even make out my closest surroundings. My memory was of no help in recognizing my whereabouts, but upon fumbling around with my weak hands, I noticed I was sitting on a fabric-coated chair in a room that seemed to vibrate ever so slightly. As my eyes started to adapt to the overwhelming darkness, I could start to make out the vague shape of my room. There were three seats facing each other, with windows on the right-hand side, though they revealed nothing more than an empty black void. On the other side was a door with a small window, which led out into a hallway, and then it dawned on me where I had woken up.

It was in a train compartment, and the train was still moving, though seemingly rid of any other people. I tried to get up, but my legs refused to properly cooperate. They were too weak, as if they hadn't been used for days. Then some of my memories returned. I was a was traveling. I remembered getting on the train, though I hadn't the faintest idea what my destination should have been. My memory was simply cut short after stepping inside my empty compartment. That had been November 12th. I checked my pockets to look for clues. I found my phone, which had long since run out of power, and my wallet, which contained a train ticket. In the dark, It just looked like weird scribbles on a piece of paper.

With an incredible amount of effort, I finally managed to get my legs working enough to stand up. Though I had to use the wall as support, it was enough to move around. And I soon stumbled into the hallway of my train car. I looked out the windows in the hallway. The whole world outside was empty. It looked and felt as if nothing existed.

outside the boundaries of the drain. The darkness made it hard to navigate without falling to the ground. I tried to look for a light switch, or at the very least, another person to help me out. But none were in sight. I peeked in through the window into the next compartment, and I could see the vague shape of people sitting still in their seats.

But upon trying to enter, I realized that the door was locked. I tried to knock, but the people on the other side didn't even flinch. When I tried to call out for them, I realized my voice had almost completely vanished, replaced by just a whisper. I made my way from compartment to compartment, and while they all seemed to be occupied, none would open, and not a single person responded to my increasingly frantic knocks. As I reached the last compartment of the car, the train turned ever so slightly on its tracks,

enough to knock me to the ground. While I lay there, I tried to call out for help with my barely audible voice, but no one could hear me. I got to my feet and noticed the door to the last compartment slowly glided open from the turn. Hello? Can anyone hear me? I called out with a trembling voice as I approached the open door. No response. This was either because the compartment was empty or because my horse voice hadn't been heard.

I slowly peeked my head around the corner to see the compartment fully occupied by dark figures. All of them were sitting perfectly still in their seats. Hello, I said again. I took a step inside. My eyes had started to fully adjust to my dark surroundings, and I quickly realized that not only were the people sitting perfectly still, but they weren't even breathing. The horrible thought of them being dead struck me like a hammer, but I had to make sure. I bent down on my knees next to the closest man and shook him gently. Still, he didn't respond.

I then checked for a pulse, and though I'm not a doctor, I couldn't find any signs of life. I heard a small beep that shot me to my feet and looked down to see the man wearing a digital watch that had alerted him that an hour had passed. I looked at the watch and noticed the date was also written in the center. The 29th of November. It had been 17 days since I boarded the train. With a trembling hand, I checked the rest of the people for signs of life. All of them were beyond a shadow of a doubt, dead.

Panic arose in my body, both from the presence of dead people and from the realization that I'd been asleep on a moving train for more than two weeks. I collapsed to the ground in front of one of the dead passengers. She was an elderly woman, dressed elegantly with wide open, piercing blue eyes. I didn't want to stay in the compartment with them, but I was paralyzed by the lack of a plan. There I sat, surrounded by six dead people, trying to contemplate my next step. The train was still moving, which clearly meant that someone had to be in control of it, a conductor, or at least someone with an idea as to what the hell was going on.

So, I decided that my best bet would be to make my way to the locomotive and pray that not everyone had died on the train. All the while these thoughts ran through my head. I couldn't take my eyes off the people. Something just felt off by their presence. Firstly, there wasn't any smell, meaning they hadn't started to decompose. And secondly, all of them had their eyes open wider than I thought possible. Before I could consider the bizarre situation any further, an elderly woman suddenly blinked.

I shot to my feet in horror as she blinked again. I double-checked her pulse. Still nothing. Yet, her eyes kept blinking without any other signs of life. In shock, I looked around to find. that the other five dead passengers were also blinking rapidly. Without checking them for life, I jumped out from the compartment and shut the door. I noticed a chunk of wood missing from it, as if someone had kicked it in, leaving it unable to properly close. As I slowly backed away from

the compartment, I glimpsed out through the windows, into the empty void beyond. I humored the thought that we might be driving through a tunnel. But if so, how long could it possibly be. I stepped into the next train car. Unlike the previous one, it wasn't divided into compartments, but rather filled with rows of seats, split in the middle by a central passage. But, like the compartments, each seat was occupied by a dead passenger, each blinking in response as I quickly passed in panic. I walked through about 15 such cars, each alternating by rows of seats and compartments. It felt like hours passed as I made my way through the locomotive. And just as I was able to enter through a door marked first class, I was shoved to the floor by someone holding a bright

light to my face. Stay the fuck down. A deep voice shouted at me. Speechless. I could do nothing but comply with the man in front of me. Wait, you're not dead? The man asked. As he realized I was basically just a kid, barely in my 20s. He moved the light away from me and reached out a hand to help me up. I'm sorry. I just heard someone moving and thought you were one of them. He said as he pointed to the lifeless people sitting idly by in their seats. What's your name? He asked. I'm Thomas. I stuttered. As the shock from the bright light faded,

I saw the man was dressed in a police uniform, well-built and bald. The name's John Hendricks, he said. And we better get out of there before these bastards wake up again. They're not dead? I asked. Yeah, well, not exactly. It's like they're in hibernation. I looked at him in confusion.

People in hibernation? They ain't people, kid. Not anymore. As he spoke those words, he seemed surprised by something behind me. Fuck, I was too slow, he said. Oddly calm. I turned around to see the people moving their heads around, all of them staring directly at us.

Their eyes now fixed and unblinking. We need to get out of here. John said as he pulled my arm and dragged me in through the door to another compartment car, far nicer than the one I'd awoken in. All the doors had opened, and people were slowly piling out from each compartment into the hallway, staring at us with their wide open eyes. We dove into the first available compartment,

and the officer pushed one of the people out from it and locked the door. He sighed, We'll be safe here for a bit. Hopefully, they're just scouting. What the hell is... I started saying before the cop put his hand over my mouth, gesturing for me to keep quiet. Keep it down, would you?

He said quietly, clearly agitated by my idiocy. What's happening? I whispered. We've got to hold up here until they go back to sleep. He stood up and peeked out the window into the hallway, before ducking down quickly back behind a cover. The other passengers? What happened to them?

I asked. Dead. most of them anyways. Got a few survivors camped up in the dining car. I just came out to look for batteries, hoping we could get a phone working and get help. How the hell did you survive here all on your own? I don't know.

I just woke up an hour ago, I said. I took out the ticket from my pocket and tried to read it. Officer Hendricks took his flashlight and set it to its lowest setting to help me read. The text on the ticket was a language I didn't recognize, just jumbled symbols and a date. Yeah, it's the same with all of our tickets as well. None of this makes any damn sense.

Do you remember where the train is going? I asked. He shook his head. The people out there seem fairly docile. Can't we just push our way through? They don't seem to be moving. I asked. He sighed again.

I'm not afraid of the things out there. It's what comes next that terrifies me. What is it? Hell, I don't even know what it really looks like. It's massive and dark. It just uses those things to look around for survivors. We call them, as he tried to finish the sentence. A large thud could be heard on the other side of the door.

I carefully peeked down through the window to see that all the people had collapsed back to the ground and that the door leading to the car behind us had opened up. A tall, obsidian black creature pulled its way inside using large tendril-like appendages. It had thin stumps that resembled legs and multiple more tendrils that slithered along the walls seem to sense its surroundings.

Though it was vaguely humanoid in nature, it didn't have a head nor any eyes. John lifted a finger to his lip and signaled for me to keep absolutely silent. I noticed then he had a gun holstered, attached to his belt. I pointed to it without saying a word, but he just shook his head in response.

The creature moved closer, and before long, it was standing just outside the door. Its arms spread out, flattening out, covering the window. It started to form small cracks in the glass pane, allowing small tendrils to seep through. Godderm, John whispered a sweat poured down his face. Suddenly, he stood up and kicked the door, breaking it straight off its hinges. It barely phased the creature, but it allowed us enough wriggle room to bolt past it. He grabbed me and pushed me through the gap between the wall and the creature, getting caught up in its tendrils in the process. They latched onto him and buried into his leg.

Run! He yelled in agony as he tried to fight off the tendrils wrapping around him. Still feeling weird, I fell onto the floor of the hallway, as John desperately tried to get free from the rapidly enveloping tendrils around his leg. As the grip tightened, his service weapon, still in its holster, down to the ground, out of reach from him. What are you waiting for? Get the fuck out here! He yelled. Refusing his orders,

I dove to the floor and grabbed his gun. With the absolute minimal amount of firearms knowledge I possessed, I picked up the weapon and started firing at the center of the creature, frantically pulling the trigger, and I didn't stop until the excessively loud shots were replaced by silent clicks. Though the rounds barely phased the creature, it loosened its grip on John just enough for him to crawl away from certain death. I helped him to his bleeding feet,

And together, we rushed through into the next train car, where we pulled loose some chairs and used them as poorly constructed blockade to slow down the creature. We continued through the car, repeatedly tripping over the dozens of corpses littering the floor. I took a peek back at the barricade to see the creature slowly sleeping through like a black fog before reforming itself on the other side. Hurry up! John yelled at me. The creature had almost fully formed by the time we got through the next car. Unable to grab us, it quickly realized we were out of reach. And in response, it split open its body down the middle,

revealing rows of black teeth and multiple tendrils that resembled tongues. It let out a horrific, high-pitched shriek that shook the entire train, almost destroying my eardrums. The sound itself awakened to dead people strewn across the hallway. They lifted their heads and looked around until they fixated their eyes on us, which alerted the creature to our presence. moved quickly. All the while its tendrils stretched impossibly far towards us in a hungry attempt in catching us. We were almost to the dining car when I fell back to the ground. A tendril

had wrapped around my shoe and John quickly grabbed my arms as I was pulled away. I screamed and the door to the dining car shot open. Two men and a woman ran over and helped John pull me free from the tendrils grip. One of my shoes slid off in the process, allowing me to get away. We ran through the door and it shut behind us. While one of the men pulled a large, metal rod through a makeshift lock. Both John and I lay wheezing on the floor from exhaustion as I tried to look around, observing my new surroundings. The car was full of booths with a small bar all the way up front, covered and canned foods and bottled water. In the corner, I saw a few bags full of waste and empty food wrappings. The entire car was dimly lit up by a couple of

rows of emergency lights on the ceiling, and it was clear they'd survived there for a couple of weeks already. What the hell happened to you, John? Man in his 50s asked. They, they must have seen me coming. I don't know how. John said, still out of breath. They kept looking at him in shock, not satisfied by his answer.

So he continued, I didn't even use the flashlight until I saw Thomas here. And by then, they'd already awoken. So you waited until they went back to sleep? The woman asked. No, they already saw us. We had to make a run for it. I came back as quickly as I could. John, you were gone for two days, she said back.

Don't be ridiculous. I was gone for a couple of hours at the most. She pulled out a digital watch and showed John the time and date. It's December 1st, she said quietly. That's... John trailed off, speechless by the realization. How do they see you anyway? They're not exactly absurd.

unless someone disturbs them. One of the men said in a condescending tone. I don't know, Frank. Do you think I did it on purpose? I thought back to the old lady I'd seen in the first compartment and realized John hadn't been discovered at all. I was the one that got caught. Officer, I...

I tried to say before John interrupted me. John, he corrected me. We're in another fucking dimension or some shit. No need for ranks or titles. I tried to confess again, but the woman noticed John. John's bleeding leg and rushed over to him. You're bleeding, she said.

It's nothing. The Sentinel got a hold of my leg. Don't worry. I'm fine. Just sit down. Let me have a look anyway. John sat down, and the woman rolled up his trouser leg to reveal deep gashes in his calf. You'll need stitches.

Get me the med kit, will you? She said as she pointed to Frank. While she did her best to fix up John's leg, I got a better look at the door. They reinforced it with pieces of metal around the edges. It also covered the window, preventing the creature from seeping through the cracks. On the wall beside the door, someone had etched lines, marking each past day. 19 lines for 19 days passed on a train that never stops.

The oldest man, Frank, came over to me, looking as suspicious as ever. Who are you? He asked firmly. Thomas, I responded. You want to tell us how the hell you survived 19 days all on your own? without food or water? I couldn't answer his question. To me, only a few hours had passed, and though I felt thirsty,

I wasn't even close to parched. I, I don't know, I stuttered. What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know? Frank said, getting agitated. Give him a break, Frank. If you hadn't left your bag behind, I wouldn't even have had to go out and risk my life,

John interjected. It was enough to shut Frank up, Though an asshole, he knew his place in the group. The other, younger guy, came up to me and reached out his hand. I'm Philip, and that's Mia, he said as he pointed to the woman fixing up John. And lastly, that's Frank. Don't pay him any attention. He's a pain in the ass 90% of the time.

Whatever, Frank interrupted. Did you get the batteries at least? Of course I did, you twat. They're in the bag, John said. I just stood there trying to get a grasp on the, the situation, barely responding to the other's questions. Don't worry about it, Thomas, Mia said, as she noticed the absolutely baffled expression on my face. Huh? None of us remember what happened. We all just woke up at different times on the train

and had the idea to make our way here. It's safe, mostly, and the Sentinels keep us from going out very often. You're lucky John found you. Sentinels? The thing that chased us, John explained. A bright light penetrated the otherwise gloomy car as Frank booted up his phone, using one of the battery packs. Without hesitation, he attempted to dial a number. Put it on speaker if you're trying to call someone, John said, still waiting for Mia to finish bandaging his leg. No one responded on the other end. Frank lowered the phone to input another number. Before he was able to, his phone started ringing. The text on the screen read, blocked caller ID. For a few moments, he just held the phone.

phone in shock before he regained his senses and answered. Hello? No response. Hello. Can anyone hear us? Frank asked again. We listened intently to the emptiness on the other side of the line, and a minute passed without anyone speaking. There's no one there, Mia said.

Before any of us could respond, the phone started emitting repetitive beeping sounds. They continued for almost a full minute. none of us daring to speak up while we listened. Once it was finished, the call ended on its own. And Frank looked around at us, wearing a confused expression. What the hell was that? John asked. No clue. It was just a bunch of beeps. Destination, Gahena, 108 hours. Do not get off the train, I said.

What? It was Morse code. Learned it as a kid to secretly communicate in class. I know. It's dumb. I was a geek. But I'm absolutely sure that's what the message said. They looked at each other for a moment, still visibly confused, then back at me. Gehenna, what does it mean? Mia asked. Forget that. Frank interjected.

Why are they telling us to stay on this fucking train? We fell silent again as Frank attempted to dial another number. To no avail. 108 hours. Just over four days before we reach our next station? We can do that. got to stay here. We have enough provisions for at least two weeks, John said. So that's it? We just sit here in the dark for another four days? Frank asked. A small argument ensued, and while they discussed what we'd do at the train station, I took a moment to look out the window. The vast emptiness was horrifying on its own. I wondered how far the darkness reached,

if it had an end, or if anything lived in the void. A part of me felt dead as I pondered these questions. It was as if the train was nothing more than a mere figment of my decaying mind, but the pain was ever too real. The tiredness felt too overwhelming for the world to be fake. I took my dead phone, grabbed one of the battery packs, and plugged it in. The others were too busy arguing to notice me wasting power. I needed to write down some messages over text in case we happened to get a signal. I sent a text describing my circumstances to my dad, hoping he'd share the story should I not make it back. While I patiently waited for the text to go through, I kept staring into the dark. Some parts were blacker than their surroundings. And I then noticed they

weren't just patches that contrasted with the rest of the environment, but moving things, almost Vantablack, like a shadow moving through the night. It glided in the air alongside the train, quietly looming by with its eyeless body. It was a sentinel. Guys? I said quietly. They kept on arguing. Guys, there's a sentinel outside. I said much louder. John broke off from the argument, and everyone fell silent as we watched the creature fly beside the train. Then we noticed another, and a third, and a fourth, and before long, we could make out hundreds, if not thousands of sentinels following the train. Don't worry. They shouldn't be able to see or hear us without their surveyors, Philip said. We all kept staring at the shadowy things in the void. And though Philip was right,

They couldn't possibly see us without their aids. There was one undeniable fact about them that just didn't make sense. They were getting closer. John grabbed and pulled me down to the floor, away from the window. Stay the fuck down, he whispered. While we lay there, Frank and Philip rushed to cover up the windows with whatever debris and furniture they could get loose from the floor. Do they know we're here?

Yeah, asked. Doesn't matter. We ain't taking any risks. We need to survive for four more days until we reach Gahanna, John responded. They were quick to block the windows, and within a minute, we'd all settled down on the floor, where we tried to discuss our next move as quietly as possible. On the other side of the door, leading to the next car, we could hear the shuffling of surveyors trying to get in. They knew we were here, which meant the sentinels would be alerted very soon.

They're behind the door, Frank said. can they hear us? Don't know, but stay quiet anyway. They might not know for sure that we're here, John said. What about your gun? If we just kill the surveyors, they won't be able to alert the sentinels. I don't have any ammo. Besides, that idea is fucking stupid.

Even with the emergency lights dimly illuminating our car, it was hard to make out our surroundings, and with no idea how to turn them off, we could only pray that the surveyors didn't notice them either. A few hours passed with none of us daring to speak up, all fearing that the sentinels would come bursting in through the windows at any moment. The only one moving was Mia, and she only did so to check on John's leg. Do we have any antibiotics in the bag? she asked. Philip opened and rummaged through a large travel bag. In the dark, he couldn't see much, and after a minute, he decided to just empty the

bag of all the random items they'd gathered on the train, finally pulling out a box of pills. Amoxicillin? Miaf asked, Maff said. That's all we have? Mia asked. Philip nodded and tossed Mia the box. She handed them over to John, giving him instructions on when and how many to take. The next 24 hours went by, each marked by an innocuous beep from Mia's digital watch.

I couldn't get my mind off the name. Gehenna, it sounded familiar. It was definitely something I'd heard before, if only to be stuffed away in the back of my mind, polluted by pointless information I'd gathered throughout my life. 42 hours passed, as counted by the beeps. People were getting restless, unable to stand up or move around without alerting the surveyors. We still hadn't made a decision whether to stay on the train as we reached Gahanna or to bail and try out our own luck elsewhere. Are we really going to listen to some cryptic message?

Philip asked. Like, I don't want to be all pessimistic, but why should we trust them? They're telling us to stay on the train. But do they mean as it stops? Or now while it's heading there? Mia asked. Does it matter? Shouldn't we just do the exact opposite of what they tell us?

No, whatever happens, we're getting the fuck off this train when it stops. As long as there's solid ground to walk on, we're not staying a minute longer than we have to. John interjected. Sixty hours passed, and the void lingered outside our train, ever present, and full of unseen horrors. Despite the stress, I'd somehow managed to drift off to sleep. Though restless, it was a deep sleep occupied by an incredibly vivid dream of Gehenna. I saw it as an empty ruin of a city, trapped in the center of a steep valley. Mia and Frank stood by my side with defeated expressions on their faces.

As we observed our surroundings, a bright light lit up the gray sky, almost blinding us with its presence. I tried to lift my arms to block out at least some of the light, but I couldn't lift them. Something within the light had paralyzed me, surging through my body with intense pain. As I winced in agony, my mind suddenly felt clear than it ever had, and then I remembered. It was just a piece of fragmented information, long since forgotten, that I'd learned during my childhood in a religious class. Gehenna, it was hell, and we were heading straight for it.

I awoke abruptly due to a high-pitched, glaring sound emitting from a speaker system hidden in the ceiling. It jolted all of us to our feet in panic as we tried to decipher what it meant. What the hell is that sound? John yelled as he clutched his ears. It was rhythmic. Morse code, just like before. Though, in the mess of static and distortions,

I could barely make out the individual beeps. After a couple of minutes, despite the mess of sounds, it became apparent that the sound was just a loop of beeps with a simple message played on repeat. Leaving vacuus, stand by. Leaving vacuus, stand by. Leaving vacu's, stand by.

Leaving vacuze, stand by. It was incredibly loud, vibrating enough to loosen the already fragile barricade in front of the door and windows. On the other side, the surveyors were trying to break through, and with a final push, the door gave in. Dozens of them flooded in through the broken barricade, stumbling over each other in the process. All the while, they kept their eyes fixated on each of us,

non-blinking, full of agony. Push them out! John yelled as he rushed at them with a stick, shoving the one furthest behind back through the door. than the next, but they kept getting back up. The rest of us rushed to aid John in his futile attempt, but before we could even reach him, every single window in the train shattered from the force of hundreds of sentinels, throwing their mangled bodies at the car. Covered in the shards of broken glass, I fell to the ground alongside Frank, who tried to use me for balance. A piece of

glass cut my left eye, temporarily blinding me from pain. As I got the piece of glass out, I saw the sentinels digging their way through the broken windows, turning to a viscous fog. and pouring in through each crack in our barricade, reforming themselves on the other side, just like before. It was hopeless, and all we could do was stand there in a frozen panic, unable to think of any plausible escape. Mia and Philip had sought covering one of the corners where they sat and bracing each other, while John charged at the sentinels wielding nothing more than a kitchen knife.

As the mix of sentinels and surveyors came at us, the alarm kept blaring, and I prepared for my quickly approaching to my quickly approaching. lies, leaving Vakus stand by. Suddenly an impossibly bright light filled the entire void, instantly turning the sentinels to mere filaments of darkness lingering in the air. It persisted for minutes, completely blinding out any memory of the empty void we'd left behind. And then the speaker gave out a new message in the form of Morse code. Designation, Gehenna, 18 hours, do not get off the train, the goat said. As quickly as it had come, the light faded. It took a while before our eyes

adjusted, but once they did, we were greeted by a brand new world outside the windows. The once empty void had been replaced by endless fields of bright green grass, only contrasted by tall, blue mountains in the horizon, miles and miles away. The sentinels themselves had all but vanished, while the surveyors had turned back into lifeless corpses, now doing nothing more than littering the hallways. Where are we? Mia asked. Gahanna?

Did we make it? asked. No, we still have 18 hours left, I corrected him. I took a hopeful look out the window and stared at the lush fields just out of reach. The ground looked so soft, and I contemplated for a moment whether it would be smarter to just jump off the train. That idea was quickly put to rest as I got a look around the train, now filled with blissful daylight that it immediately changed the mood. All right, let's head for the locomotive and try to shut this train down, John said. We quickly made our way through the train, littered with the fresh corpses of people that died weeks ago. Their connections to the sentinels had been broken, leaving them limp on the ground with no direction.

Once we reached the locomotive, we were faced with a heavy iron wall blocking our entrance. A door with no handle, nor a keyhole to open it. Great, what now? Frank asked. Maybe we can climb out one of the windows and get there from the outside, John suggested. Before we could even indulge the idea of climbing on the outside of a moving train, we were all shoved to the ground as the train rapidly lost speed. The tracks screeched as the wheels locked themselves in place, and we quickly came to a sudden stop.

What the hell just happened? We've stopped, but there's no platform or anything outside. Mia said as she peeked outside the window. Doesn't matter. Get your stuff. We're getting off this nightmare. We returned to the dining car and picked up our bags, alongside any amount of food and supplies we could possibly carry. We hadn't yet reached Gehenna,

but considering the implications that we were heading straight for hell, this would be a safer bet. For the first time in weeks, we stepped down on solid ground, with a brilliant green field only a few feet away from us. Philip took charge, carrying what little medical supplies we had left, while John followed. There was a decently brisk wind that felt great

in an otherwise hot climate, but the grass didn't seem to sway even in the slightest. As minute a detail as it seemed, it warranted a closer look. They were crystals, green, razor-sharp crystals that from just a few feet away resembled to blades of grass. Wait, don't! I tried to yell, but it was too late, and Philip stepped down hard on the field. Ow, fuck! He called as the crystals cut through his shoes, into the sole of his foot.

The rest of us froze in our step as we saw Philip. pull back in agony clutching his leg. It's not grass, I trailed off. Fuck, it hurts. Philip groaned. Mia instinctively ran to his aid and pulled off his shoe. Let me have a look, she said. There were green crystals embedded deep in his soul,

covered in jagged edges, making it almost impossible to pull out without causing more damage. We've got to get you back on the... Mia froze mid-sentence. The crystal was spreading, with tiny shards breaking off, embedding themselves into Philip's skin, tearing through it as they grew.

What? What's happening? Philip stuttered. Though the growth was slow at first, it quickly sped up, covering his entire foot within a minute, before proceeding up his leg. Get them off me! He yelled in pain as Mia reached out to try to rip them off, but John stopped her before she could touch them. Wait, you'll get them on you too. John yelled. He pulled out his knife and got ready to peel the shards off Philip.

But the crystals simply cut through the knife like butter, spreading onto that as well. In shock, John stumbled back and dropped his knife. Mia once again tried to run over and help him, but we all held her back. All we could do was to stare at Philip as the crystals dug their way into his body. His bones audibly cracking and his skin rupturing as they continued spreading. He just lay there screaming in agony until the crystals got to his lungs. And before long, his entire body had been turned to rock. Before we could process or mourn our loss,

The crystal started spreading along the ground, slowly making their way towards us. Back on the train! John screamed. As we got back on board, we did our best to seal the doors and windows. But even then, we had no proof it would stop the spread. The train had broken down, and with no way of getting it back up and running, all we could do was wait as the green field of crystals spread onto the train and to us. It was just a matter of time. Mia stared out through the train window. Her eyes. fixated on the crystallized remains of Philip. They'd known each other for most of their lives, and now he had become nothing more than a memory, forever preserved within the green rocks.

It had been a day since the train broke down, but despite the time that had passed, there wasn't any noticeable change in daylight. The sky hung above us, blue and bright, though no sun existed to let us know whether we were still on Earth. Instead, the light seemed evenly distributed across the sky with no visible source. I tried my best to comfort me on, though nothing I could say would ease the loss and trauma we'd all just experienced. Our best bet would be simply to keep everyone alive through the next part of our horrific nightmare. Though the crystals had slowed down once we retreated, they kept reaching out for the train, and had already covered two of the cars in the back, slowly inching their way ahead during the

the day we'd been stuck. They seemed to react to touch, spreading faster with any interaction between us and the environment outside the train. While trapped in the morbidly beautiful landscape, John had taken it upon himself to find a way into the locomotive. The entrance had been sealed by a heavy metal wall, and it seemed that even from the outside, there weren't any windows nor feasible ways of entering. It was simply a block of iron that had effortlessly dragged us through two dimensions, broken down only to cause us pain. John, as fit as he was, had turned into a spitting image of death itself, both from exhaustion and the infection spreading through his wounded leg. Pearls of sweat formed on his forehead as he looked for different tools to smash

his way through the wall, a noble but futile effort. John, you need to get some rest, I demanded. He appeared to be on the brink of collapse. I didn't dare to be on the brink of collapse. I didn't dare say too much against him, both from fear of pissing him off, and because he stood our best chance at escaping. No, I'm fine, he shouted back as he popped a couple of pills, a mixture between antibiotics and painkillers. He leaned against the wall, looking out through the window at the ever-growing crystals outside. There's no time to stop. If we don't do anything, we'll be dead in a matter of days. I know, John, but we can work without you for a couple of hours. You have to take care of care of yourself. Just leave me alone. I need to think. There has to be a way inside. I know it,

he said as he shoved his way past me, off to search for more tools. The train had turned quiet, illuminated by bright light from the sunless sky above. The air felt heavy and was filled with the stench of dead surveyors, but it was still preferable to the threat of sentinels. It was now an easy task to search for both supplies and any equipment we could use to aid us in her escape attempts. Another day passed in the fields of crystals, and Mia still hadn't spoken a word, apart from checking on John's bandaged wound and instructing him to keep taking the antibiotics. Of course, despite the inflamed and painful cut in his leg, he refused any rest. Frank and I eventually decided that we'd force him to take a break, even if it meant physically

restraining him. After a short talk with Mia to make sure she agreed, we'd. He set out to force John into temporary retirement. He had turned oddly quiet, and we had to search every car to find him. When we found him, he was hunched over on the ground with the bandage ripped off. Black liquid oozed out from his wound. Before we could even call Mia in to help, the train jolted to movement. Its forward motion was short-lived as the train quickly came to a stop as the back cars had fused together with the crystals.

The train! It's working again! Frank yelled excitedly, before realizing we stopped moving. We looked at each other in sudden realization and shouted simultaneously. The cars! We have to disconnect them, Frank suggested. You do that. I'm going to stay with John. Tell Mia, we need her quickly. I said as Frank started running to the back of the train. I sat down and shook John in an attempt at waking him.

And while he didn't respond, at least he was breathing. I glanced at the black liquid trickling down his leg. forming a puddle on the floor, not daring to touch it. Whatever it was, it didn't look anything like the yellow pus I'd expected from an infection. Mia came running to his aid, quickly checking his pulse and breathing. He's burning up, Mia said. Suddenly the train broke loose, and we started moving away from the green fields of infectious crystals. Frank joined us with as many supplies as he could carry from the back cars,

trying not to leave food or medication behind. I can't believe we're moving again. Frank said gleefully as it returned to us, showing little concern for John's deteriorating state. Near the front of the train, there was a sleeping car, which we cleaned out and put John to rest. Moving the mountain of a man was a tough challenge on its own, but it was nothing next to the challenge of keeping him alive through sepsis as the infection spread into his bloodstream. Mia took on the task of watching John, making sure he drank and fed him his antibiotics while the train moved closer to Gehenna. It would only be a matter of hours until we reached our final destination.

And I had yet to tell the others what the place truly was. While Frank was busy trying to contact the outside world, using one of the few battery packs still working, I approached Mia to tell her the pitiful truth about her journey. I sat down and glanced out the window, watching the landscape change as we quickly passed by. The infinite green field that had taken Philip started to give way to solid rock, gray, and continuous, with scanty cracks breaking its perfect surface.

Tall structures extended from some of the cracks, looking like red tree stems covered in veins and arteries, pulsating and twitching in response to our passing. At the top, they broke up into bubbles filled with swishing black glue, similar to what it oozed from John's wound. Red forests, reeking of rotten flesh, grew in density as we kept moving closer to a literal hell. Every now and then, creatures would emerge from the densest parts of the structures. Bizarre beings, vaguely resembling horses, with long bodies and impossibly thin legs stretching at least 15 feet away, and eyes that were pitch black, sunken things, far too large for their heads.

About a dozen of them had gotten an inkling to our presence, and galloped, elegant, along our moving train, keeping up the pace. Mia, I have to tell you something, I said carefully. She didn't respond. She just kept staring at the creatures that were following us. They never got too close, probably only curious as to what and who we were. We're not going to make it, are we? She said without a hint of emotion in her voice.

What do you mean? Gehenna, I know the name. It means hell, she continued. The red forest outside kept getting denser, forcing the creatures to break off. And as the trees grew taller, the sky darkened. I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier. I didn't want us to give up, she said. I kept my mouth shut. She'd been struggling with the same information as me, yet she kept helping us. It wouldn't make sense for me to confess that I already knew as well.

I'm sorry about Philip, I said after a minute of silence. Thanks. He would have wanted us to keep fighting. I checked the watch, only to notice the seconds ticked slower than normal. According to the time, we were only an hour away from Gehenna, but with every watch having slowed down, there was no way of telling how far away we really were. So, what do we do? I asked. When we get there? I nodded. I don't know. But right now, we have to. She was cut off by John's starting to shake violently, screaming in agony without fully regaining consciousness. At first, it looked like a seizure, but once we saw his leg, we realized it wasn't anything

that could possibly be explained by modern medicine. His leg had torn open completely, and black tendril stretched out, wriggling around in the air as if searching for something. The obsidian black appendages looked exactly like the flesh of the sentinels, and it immediately dawned on both of us that the sentinel had deliberately let John live, after spread itself within him. We both screamed in shock, unable to decide whether to leave John behind and flee or to stay and try to save him. Frank came rushing in just in time to see one of the tendrils shoot out from his leg and try to grab me, but I ducked beneath it just in time. What the, we have to cut

off his leg? Mia yelled in panic. Frank, get the knife and something hard. How are we going to, I asked with a trembling voice. We'll cut through the flesh with a knife and try to break the bone, but I, I... Before we could even start to plan out the amputation, John shot to his legs, partially waking up from the pain, realizing what was going on. Get! Get away from me! He groaned as one of the tendrils shot out of us, ripping flesh away as it extended from his wound. I pulled Mia with me out from the compartment, and we fled forward into the next car just as Frank came running back with an axe he'd found.

Where's John? he asked. We didn't need to answer the question, because John quickly followed us, walking with his mangled, sentinel-infested leg. One of the tendrils had grown out from the wound, forming an amorphous black blob on the floor, still attached to John, feeding off his body. His leg had completely shattered and split open, but the infection had spread even further,

reaching his abdomen, covered in tiny holes occupied by more dark appendages. Amputation was no longer a viable option, so we kept backing away as John screamed in agony, physically trying to fight against the sentinels' movement inside him. As we got to the space between cars, John unwillingly grabbed onto Mia with his arms. She fought back. But even without the tendrils, John was far stronger than all of us.

I can't stop it. He forced out. Please, use the axe. Frank got ready to hit John, but one of the tendrils swung at it, snatching it away. John kept fighting, turning his head to one of the exits, reaching out for it with all of his remaining willpower. Don't fucking die on me. He said before pulling the handle, the door opened, and John let himself fall off the train into the thick mess of red trees and darkness. I held on to Mia as she collapsed to the floor from exhaustion, carefully checking if she'd been wounded from John's grip.

Frank closed the door John had fallen out of, and we all stared at each other in silence. John had died to protect us from himself. And with that, an immense feeling of loneliness overwhelmed me. Our best chance of survival was gone. and our next stop will be hell itself. I kept staring at the slowly ticking clock, based solely on my biological assessment of time. It felt like days had passed.

But according to the clock itself, it had been no more than a measly half hour. It was the same with each clock on the train. They simply didn't work together with reality, measuring each minute as a small eternity. With John dead, we felt more vulnerable than ever, and since his death, we haven't spoken a word. I know we're all on edge, but I think it's time we discuss what we'll do once the train stops again, Frank said in his usual annoyed tone. Both Mia and I knew our true destination, but hadn't yet told Frank.

Alas, the time had come. And if we stood even the faintest chance of surviving, we had to be able to rely on each other. Frank, we need to tell you something, I said. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at my obviously guilty tone. Tell me what? Our destination, Gehenna. Well, I trailed off. Yes. What about it? It's, uh, Gehenna is hell, Frank. We're all going to hell. Mia burst out, annoyed by my hesitation. We fell silent for a few seconds, while Frank processed. what we just told him. Then, he suddenly burst out laughing. Really? Hell? That's the best you could do? He said. I just nodded in response. So, you mean to tell me that we're already dead and that our next stop will be the realm of Satan

himself? Yeah, I guess. Why is that funny? Well, if you hadn't noticed already, two of us died. How is that possible if we're already dead? Where's John and Philip? He had a point. Our conventional idea of hell required us to be dead already, though it never stated whether you could die twice or what happens upon the second death. We're clearly not dead, but that doesn't mean we're not going to a horrific place. Regardless of what you might think, Gahena means hell, Mia said. The argument went on fruitlessly for a while, Frank never giving in and admitting that we weren't going to reach salvation once the train stopped.

In the meantime, I kept staring out the window. The once green fields of killer crystals had long since vanished, and the forest of red pillars had grown so dense that it finally blocked out each ray of light, brave enough to attempt to illuminate our path. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought we were back in the void, but it felt different,

far hotter than it had before, and even more devoid of hope. Before I got a chance to question the environment, the darkness gave way to a large, open space, rid of any life. Just a rocky, flat surface surrounded by infinitely tall cliffs on each side. It was a valley, gray and dull, with little to no light penetrating a layer of thick clouds above. All of a sudden, the train started to slow down. We're coming to a stop, Mia said as she peeked out through the window.

The tracks end here. Before long, the train stood still, and all the door, opened, signaling for us to get off. There was a sign on the empty platform next to us, written in a language I couldn't comprehend. I pulled out my crumbled-up ticket and compared the text, noticing that some of it matched. "'Gahenna,' I mumbled. "'So what now? We get off the train and wander the wasteland? Or sit here with the last of our supplies, waiting for hunger to kill us?' Frank asked.

We never got the chance to make a decision. The train simply started to start to disintegrating under our feet. First the windows turned to sand, then the seats rotted away, as if hit with a thousand years of time. And finally, the floor started to crack, causing us to plummet onto the tracks below. I groaned in pain as I landed, severely twisting my ankle, while the others landed slightly more elegantly. Mia and Frank helped me to my feet as we witnessed the last chunks of train just vanish before our eyes. We climbed off the tracks, and onto the train platform. It was situated on a bridge, giving us a clear view of our surroundings. It was a city, or at least it used to be one. Now, it was nothing more than the ruins of a

previously inhabited place. Tall cliffs stood around the city, too steep to be climbed, too massive to allow for much light. We were in the shadows, clueless and lost. I looked around at the worn-down buildings, desperately searching for any kind of life, but there was none to be found. Without any other options, we headed down to the streets and started searching for a way out. The houses were mostly empty, too broken to set foot in without risking total collapse, filled only with crumbled papers written in a language none of us could understand. Where they had furniture, it was crudely constructed with debris of metal,

and what could only be bone fragments, but whoever built it was nowhere to be seen. How much food and water do we have left? Frank asked. Enough for maybe a day, Mia responded. He sighed in response, and we kept walking. I limped behind the other two on my twisted angle, until we eventually reached a large, open square, surrounded with what looked like temples. Unlike the surrounding city, they were beautifully built in stark contrast to their surroundings. In the middle of the square sat an emaciated figure, a man with white, thin hair.

His ribs protruded from his starved body. He didn't seem to notice us as we quickly approached him to see if he needed help. But even as we spoke to him, he just sat there, rocking back and forth as he mumbled over and over again in a horse, sickly voice. I just want to die. Why won't you let me die? I just want to die. Why not? Why? Why? Why? Mia bent down in front of him and tried to get his attention. His eyes had turned white from cataracts, rendering him completely blind. Chunks of flesh were missing from his chest and abdomen. It was obvious. It was some kind of infection.

She reached out and checked his pulse, quickly retracting her hand. He's dead. What do you mean dead? He's clearly living, talking and everything, Frank said. Look at him. No one could have survived these wounds, and he doesn't have a fucking pulse, she said. Of course, she was right. The man should have been dead.

Yet there he sat, crying in agony, begging for a death that never came. What do we do? I asked. I think. I think we should just finish him off. Frank said meekly. We can't. He's...

Mia stopped mid-sentence. Realizing that for once, Frank was right. I'm sorry. I think I've got to agree with Frank on this. He wants to die. The least we can do is to free him. I said, as kindly as I could.

Frank pulled John's knife out from the backpack and looked at us for the go-ahead. I nodded in return. You guys better look away, Frank said. He bent down behind the suffering man and whispered that he was sorry before quickly slitting his throat. To all of our surprises, not a drop of blood poured out from the newly formed wound. Instead, the man just fell to the ground and gargled incomprehensibly. A whole minute passed and then another, yet the man refused to die.

Rather than freeing him, we just put him into a little. a whole other level of misery, taking away his voice and ability to beg for death. I didn't. Frank stuttered as he realized what he'd done. With that, as if a veil had been lifted from our blind eyes, we finally saw the empty city for what it truly was. Rather than the desolate ruins we'd met as we entered, we saw a fully populated city filled to the brim with suffering inhabitants, each mutilated in various degrees. Most of them were blind, with their eyes either ripped out or turned to cold. Those unfortunate enough to see had their limbs removed or their organs torn out, unable to do anything to end their miserable existence.

As the horrific realization hit us, the ground below us started to move. The city had finally noticed our unwelcome presence, and it reacted violently by pulling itself apart, creating a gaping chasm in the middle of the square that swallowed anyone unlucky enough to be in the way. What's happening? Frank Aspen panicked. I don't know, but let's get out of here. I yelled in response. The chasm quickly widened, revealing a massive hole extending down into a dark abyss, with spikes and black tendrils extending from the burning walls beneath us. With my sprained ankle, I couldn't keep up with the others and slipped to the ground as it shook violently. Thomas! Mia yelled as she rushed to my aid. She pulled me up just in a

time to avoid being swallowed by the ground. We headed after Frank, who'd started running down one of the alleys, seemingly devoid of any people. As he entered the alley, the concrete wall started moving vigorously. Frank, wait! I yelled, but he didn't hear me. By the time he noticed the walls, it was already too late. Hundreds of spikes shot out from the walls, morphing out from the concrete buildings. Frank dodged the first one as he tried to retreat back towards us, and for a moment it seemed he was in the clear, before one final spike emerged and penetrated straight through Frank's abdomen.

With a mortal wound, the wall fell silent. Frank collapsed to the ground, holding onto his guts, unable to scream from the intense pain. Frank! We yelled simultaneously as we rushed to his mangled body. He lay there in shock, his eyes darting frantically back and forth between us. Two wounded to move,

he didn't even realize the severity of his injury. Mia tried her best to stop the bleeding by applying pressure, but it'd hardly slowed down the incessant flow of crimson blood. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'll be all right. Frank kept repeating in panic, getting quieter with each iteration. He quickly blood out, too fast to accept his ultimate demise. All we could do was to sit over him as he let out a final breath. The ground started moving again, not to attack us, but to swallow Frank.

to fuse his limp body with the concrete beneath him. Within seconds, he'd vanished and become one with the city of Gehenna. Before we could get the chance to catch our breaths, the wall started moving once again. With my injured leg, I knew I had no chance of escape, but Mia didn't have to die with me. Mia, get out of here! I yelled as spikes formed around us, reaching out to destroy our vulnerable bodies. Then, out of nowhere, a dark rumble sounded alongside a bright light, and the ground came to a standstill.

An old man emerged from up the alley, wearing a worn out but perfectly tailored suit, and it came in his left hand. The sound shook us, and I grabbed my ear futilely trying to block it out, but it barely helped. What the hell are you kids doing here? The man said, as both Mia and I passed out,

I slowly opened my eyes, momentarily forgetting that I had literally spent the past couple of weeks in hell. The old man that had saved us stood by the window, staring out at the empty street, mumbling in a language I couldn't understand. Good morning, he said without even turning, somehow noticing my awakening. With a throat like sandpaper, I couldn't even respond. I looked around the room with my tired eyes, quickly realizing that Mia was missing. Mia, where is she? Don't worry about her, Thomas.

She's resting in the chamber as the infection fades. He said matter-of-factly. I pushed myself up into a sitting position, noticing a glass filled with a murky, brown liquid on the bedside table. Infection? I asked, as I inspected the glass. It's the closest translation I could come up with. Everyone touched by the void slowly starts to drain.

their souls wearing out as they merge with this place. He turned and limped towards me, revealing a mangled leg kept up by his cane made from bone and a bright green crystal, exactly like the ones from the fields we'd passed. Everyone, except for you, Thomas, he said. What does that even mean? I asked. Before the man could answer,

A loud, brief scream could be heard from one of the other rooms, one sealed by a heavy metal door, similar to the one on the locomotive. What was that? Without an answer, he limped over and touched the door with his cane. It morphed into an opening, which he walked through, then it promptly closed itself off. A few minutes passed, and I got back on my feet, stumbling over to the door, unable to open it. I pushed my ear against it at an attempt at listening to the other side. But as soon as I touched it, the hole returned, and the old man walked through it,

shortly followed by a drowsy Mia. Tom! She exclaimed in joy as she embraced me in a tight hug. The three of us sat down around a table made from concrete and bone. You must have a lot of questions. And though we're short on time, I'll answer as many as I can, he said. Mia and I looked at each other, both wondering where to start. Who are you? I asked.

That's a tough one, he said as he scratched his head. I'm what you could call a guardian, and my job is to keep this place locked down, preventing any unfortunate souls from accidentally slipping through dimensions and ending up here for the rest of eternity. Before that, before my time, I don't know who or what I was. I believe I used to be human. But it has been so long that any memory before this place has long since been wiped out. He paused and looked at the untouched glass on the bedside table.

Drink it, he said, as he looked at me. Without questioning him, I drank the liquid out of some strength. compulsion. It tasted like this, but it immediately revitalized me, as if I had returned back home and recovered from the ordeals in hell. How did we get here then? Mia asked. The man looked at the floor with a shameful expression on his face. It's my fault. For millennia, I've kept this place safe, but even I have aged considerably. Eventually, I will perish like all things should. And the people that are already here, like the ones we, Mia trailed off, they came during the time between the last guardian and myself, when there was nothing here to

keep the gates between our worlds closed. Those who meet an untimely death, or are unable to process or accept it, they all come here. I tried to help the ones that were already trapped, but they were far too gone. Not like you two. Not like us? No, you two still have a chance to escape, but we have to move quickly. With that, the man shot up and started gathering a bunch of papers. The papers had different kinds of drawings and text that was unreadable. Similar to the text on my train ticket, he stashed the papers into a bag. Take these, he said as he put the bag of papers in my hand. We left the house and carefully ventured into the dark streets, with the sky so riddled with thick clouds that even if a sun existed, it couldn't possibly brighten up the ruins of

Gahanna. The street was mostly empty, just a few suffering lost souls wandering. Curious to our sudden presence, they started to follow us. Don't pay them any attention. They won't bother us until we get closer to the light, the man said. He guided our way through the twisting and turning streets, eventually giving way to a vast, barren field riddled with mutilated bodies and lost souls. Without hesitating, the man started walking into the piles of dead, faster than the both of us despite his mangled leg.

Ahead of us, miles and miles in the distance, lay massive cliffs stretching straight up into the sky, obscured at the top by storm clouds. As we touched the cold ground with our feet, a dim light appeared by the base of the cliffs, shooting through the air. What's that? I asked. Your way out. It's a cave that serves as a doorway between our worlds.

I've tried to close it, but I'm too weak. Now it will at least serve some purpose. As we pass the dead, some of them aware. awoke, albeit too weak to rise. They stared us down, shrieking unintelligible words of agony. The guardian tapped the ground with his cane, the crystal facing down, and the dead fell silent once more. He fell to his knees as he lifted the cane, unable to support himself without its help. What happened to your leg? I finally worked up the courage to ask. It's a recent injury, caused by the sentinels, as you call them. They're usually kind of

confined to their void, kept at bay by my mere presence in this world. But recently, they've been getting braver. I guess they know my time is up. What will happen without you? Mia asked. The sentinels will take over Gehenna, rule it as they used to millennia ago, and the gates will open, allowing any unfortunate soul to follow. through the gaps of reality. Unless, unless someone takes your place, I asked. He nodded. I looked over at Mia, who had finally realized the same as myself, that one of us had to stay behind and become the

next guardian. Tom, Mia said as she looked at me with pleading eyes, I turned towards her, but before I could respond, the ground below us started moving. I looked down to see that the barren fields had given way to an infinite pile of corpses, all rapidly waking up by our presence. Some started to scream, while others were aware enough to grab for us. The guardian pointed his cane at them again, and while some fell silent, he wasn't strong enough to keep them all at bay. Something's wrong, he said quietly. There was no way we could reach the cave with the lost soul's awakening, and the guardian knew it. Without a word, he slammed the cane to the ground, falling down with it, and an impossibly strong light penetrated the air, instantly silencing the dead.

As he saved our lives, his skin started to crack and burn with the vast amounts of energy surging through him. Run for the cave! The man demanded as he collapsed to the ground, rapidly falling apart. We rushed to help him, but he was surrounded by an invisible barrier, making it impossible for us to reach him. No, leave me. He groaned. We looked at him in despair as the light started to fade, and the dead started to awake once more. He'd bought us a few minutes, but time was quickly running out.

Do as I say, and run! I grabbed Mia and pulled her with me, and we dashed for the cave only a few hundred feet away. The movement of thousands, if not millions of lost souls, moved the ground enough to cause cracks that shot towards the cave, ripping rocks from the wall. The cave started collapsing, and we dove through just in time to avoid being smashed to pieces by the falling rocks, one hitting Mia on her shoulder, tearing through her flesh. Are you all right? I asked, as I helped her to her feet. Yeah, the wound isn't too deep. I'll be fine. We turned towards the light that filled the cave. It was a frame of glowing fog surrounding a pitch-black

portal, hanging a few feet above the ground. That's it? I asked. I guess so. It doesn't exactly look inviting, but there's nothing else around. Even the ground within the cave was a really riddled with the bodies of the dead. And with each second we spent there, they started to wake up. We have to hurry, Mia. You go first. I said as I walked closer to the portal. She didn't follow. She just stood back and stared at the swirling darkness hanging in front of us.

I'm not going with you, she said quietly. What? You heard him, Tom. This place needs a guardian. If we both leave, millions will suffer. I just can't do it. Mia was far too good of a person, unwilling to consider her own well-being over that of others. And I knew in my heart that nothing I could say would change her mind.

She walked up to hug me, a final goodbye before we parted ways for the rest of eternity. I held her tight as I whispered into her ear. I'm sorry. Sorry about it. Without letting her finish the sentence, I grabbed onto her, swung around, and shoved her into the portal. The second she realized what was happening, it was already too late. Her body washed away in the darkness, giving me a final look of sadness before she vanished. Gehenna needed a guardian, and Mia wouldn't have let me stay behind.

So without any other choice, knowing that she had a much brighter future back on Earth than myself, I made the decision for her. One moment of betrayal, to give her a chance at a good life, even if it meant myself staying behind for the rest of time, it would be worth it. After Mia vanished, I felt at peace. Something within me knew she'd made it home. With that, I gained a whole new awareness of the place I would call home. The papers given to me by the old man, once filled with an incomprehensible language,

suddenly turned into instructions for me to follow, and that's when I knew the place had chosen me long before I even entered Gahanna. I was supposed to stay behind. My job now will be to close every gap between this world and earth, meaning that after this message, no one will ever hear from me again. Tell my family I never suffered, and Mia, if you ever read this, I'm sorry. I hope you live a great life. There I lay frozen in bed, as I had a hundred times before.

What had started out as a waking nightmare, had become little more than a mild annoyance. paralysis, always occurring as I awoke from a bad dream. I darted my eyes around the dark room, trying to figure out what time it was, wondering if I should try to move my body or make a futile attempt to return to sleep. Then I felt the pressure build up within my chest, as if someone was crushing it with their own weight. I knew it to be a little more than my imagination. So it didn't particularly scare me, but it felt uncomfortable nonetheless. But on that night in particular, the sleep paralysis simply wouldn't fade. I was trapped within my limp body, unable to even call out for help, as the words I produced merely formed whispers. Then I noticed

something I hadn't seen before, a strange shadow standing in the corner of my room. I tried to figure out whether it came from a lamp casting a strange shadow. But if that were the case, why hadn't I seen it before? Then the shadow moved, ever so slightly. What had been a projection on the wall was then a figure standing in my room. I felt adrenaline, built up in my blood. Elucinations weren't unheard of during episodes of sleep paralysis, but I'd never experienced them myself. I tried to wriggle my body around, but it wouldn't respond. The shadow took a step in my direction, and mild fear had turned to mind-shattering panic. I forced as much air out of my lungs, calling out for help. Next thing I know, the lights turn

on and my parents come rushing into check on me. Eric, what is going on? My mother screamed. My dad standing next to her with a baseball bat. I sat up in bed. Finally, freed and observed the suddenly empty corner. Had it all been a dream? I, I, I, I just had a bad dream, I think. I thought I saw something standing in the corner, I said as I tried to catch my breath. My bed was soaked in what I could only pray was sweat, but in the grand scheme of what I'd just experienced, it didn't really matter. The nightmares are getting worse, my mom asked, I nodded. They were always the same. Always the car crash with my grandparents. Their blood It splattered upon my face as I cried. I had caused the accident, not on purpose, but I'd

cried enough to distract them. At the age of four, I just didn't know any better. There they lay, bleeding out, but still trying to comfort me because I was scared. Those were the images haunting me in my dreams each and every night. Those were the nightmares that forced my body to stop functioning. My mom sighed. I think we need to schedule another appointment with Dr. Burke, I agreed. He'd been able to help me through the trauma, though only to a certain degree. With his help, I'd been able to get back in a car without having a mental breakdown. I'd known him for the better part of my life, and though I'd just turned 18, technically not within his scope of therapy, I wouldn't have accepted help from anyone else.

Hello, Eric. It has been a while since we last saw each other. How's it going? He greeted me as I entered his office. At that moment, it seemed so childish. He was a psychiatrist both for children and teenagers, and though I technically fit within that realm, I wanted to be treated as an adult. Still, I sat down and talked to him, going over the nightmares as I had so many times before.

Back as a kid, he'd mainly been treating my post-traumatic stress disorder with the idea that the nightmares would vanish alongside my anxiety. He wasn't a particularly big fan of medications for kids, so we'd been working under the theory of cognitive behavioral theory. Despite all that, the nightmares persisted. I know I've told you we'd stay away from medications for as long as possible, but now that you're an adult, it might be time to take the next step. I was skeptical, but in the end, I did trust the man. What kind of drugs? I asked. Just a mild antidepressant. If we can get

your sleep under control, I'm hoping the sleep paralysis will vanish alongside the nightmares. I'll give them a shot, I guess, I said, still not convinced. The thing about SSRIs is that they might need some time to work. Typically, you'll notice an improvement within a couple of weeks, but until then, you need to keep taking them, as long as you're not experiencing any side effects, of course. He wrote me a prescription and sent me on my way. A mild glimmer of hope had been ignited within me, though it remained overshadowed by my lack of belief in medication. But I knew he was an educated man with years of experience. I'd diligently take my pills and pray for a good night's sleep. That night, I took my first pill and slipped into a deep sleep.

Coincidentally, not only would the antidepressant help with my nightmares, but as a side effect, it would make me tired, which meant it kind of doubles a sleeping tablet. I felt myself fade into a dreamless darkness. It was a void where I was rid of any weight, floating in nothing except for infinite peace. I remained extraordinarily lucid throughout the experience, never once forgetting the fact that I was indeed sleeping. It just felt calm, content with my own existence, and so I would remain until my body finally landed back in bed and I opened my eyes. I was paralyzed. My mind frozen inside my

useless body. Not that it bothered me too much though. Just having a peaceful moment of sleep was worth the paralysis. I looked around the room as usual, trying to figure out the time. Then I saw it again, a shadow standing in the corner, but it was closer than last time. I could even make out its basic humanoid silhouette. Help! I let out with merely a whisper, but there was no one there to listen. My parents were fast asleep, and I was alone with the strange shadow that was moving just slightly closer than it had last time. Then I shot up in bed. The room suddenly cleared of all malicious entities. I could move, but that time at least I hadn't screamed. I peaked over at the time. It had just passed three in the morning, which meant I had a long night ahead of me.

Despite the horrific experience with the creature, I was content that the nightmares had vanished. And if the medication still needed time to function, I felt confident that the paralysis would be removed too. How did you sleep? My mom asked as I came down for breakfast. I slept, all right. Still had sleep paralysis, saw some weird things, but no nightmares. That's great, she exclaimed in joy. Why aren't you happy? It's just that thing. It was the same as last night, I said. A monster? She asked. I think so. I'm not sure. Eric, you know your mind can play tricks on you when you're tired. The hallucinations are normal with sleep paralysis. We went over it all together.

I knew she was right, but it felt all too real. Still, I was almost excited to sleep. So when nightfall washed away the blinding rays of sunlight, I took my medication and headed back to bed. Once again, I slipped into the empty void. It was just me and my thoughts. All the horrors of the world didn't matter, as long as I could just stay in that blissful place.

Just like last night, I was free from the nightmares. But once my body regained consciousness, I paralyzed back in my bed. I immediately glimpsed over at the corner, and sure enough, the creature was there, closer than ever before. The being that had once been a mere silhouette suddenly had more human features, though twisted, wrong. It was unnaturally tall, slim with twisted fingers containing far too many joints. It took a step closer, and I could hear its raspy voice and putrid breath fill the room.

I put every ounce of willpower into moving a finger than my arm, with a few, excruciatingly challenging movements, I was finally able to sit up, and with that, the monster was gone. It's just a hallucination. I kept telling myself as I inspected the empty room. It's still better than the nightmares. So I diligently went on with the therapy, and each night I'd slip into the same unconscious void, drifting further and further into the darkness. But no matter how far I sank, I would always awake, paralyzed with the creature getting closer each night. Before long, I could feel its humid breath on my face and the sound of its creaking fingers stretch out as if trying to reach me. Its face was still shrouded in the darkness. Only its hands were close enough for me to make out

any specific details. The skin was charred with deep fissures that were actively bleeding, drops falling onto the floor below. His hand was just a few inches away from my face, and its stench immediately assaulted my nostrils. With that, I shot up in bed and the creature had once again vanished. But despite being safe, my body remained in panic mode. I jumped out of bed and pulled open each and every door, curtains. Then I checked under the bed, and as I kneeled down, I felt something wet brush against my foot. It was blood, just a few drops of the putrid liquid that had poured out from the monster's hand. It was all real.

I tried to tell my parents, begged to visit my grandparents for just a couple of days to escape the entity, but they refused. They saw the blood, but it didn't exactly look normal. It was too thick and lumpy. So they figured I'd just spilled something. Instead of helping, they just booked me another appointment with Dr. Burke. I knew I sounded insane, but it was real. So I decided to stay awake until I could come up with a plan. I didn't have any close enough friends I could sneak over to.

But of course, that wasn't a permanent solution. While the first day went fine, I was still no closer to finding a plan. And as the 72nd hour rolled around, I drifted off to sleep, sitting on a chair in the kitchen with a cup of poorly made coffee in my hand. As always, I drifted through the dreamless void before being shoved back into physical existence. I was lying on the floor in the kitchen after having fallen off the chair. I was paralyzed, and the being was standing closer than ever before. His face was finally visible, and it was little more than a solid block of meat with sharp teeth sticking out here and there.

There were multiple small holes on its head, each containing a tiny tendril that wriggled around like a trapped worm. Tomorrow! It whispered with a harsh broken voice. That was last night. And though I fear for my life, I'm still dead tired. I can't stay awake much longer. Even if I do, I don't think it's enough to hold back the monster anymore. By this time tomorrow, I will be dead.

And once I'm gone, the creature will just latch on to someone else. So if you wake up paralyzed, just keep your eyes closed. Pretend there's nothing there until it gets bored and leaves. It's your only chance. The small town of Bridgeview, Colorado had folklore, tales, and disturbing stories of plenty when I was growing up. We were a town that bordered a vast and uncivilized forest. I think the archetypal landscape drew the stories from the lips of the citizens of Bridgeview. The stories range from realistic serial murders to supernatural accounts of the undead and alien visitations.

Some of these stories were verifiably true, like when Connor Mason murdered his own mother with a shovel. That story was all over the news. It happened back when my mom was in high school. Other stories were much less believable. Mr. Dixon tried to scare us in middle school with the tale of the otter people. Supposedly, somewhere along the rivers of our own forest, there lives a grotesque tribe of crossbreeds, half human, and half otter. Mr. Dixon said their shrieks are so guttural and terrifying that the very sound can make a person go mad. But there was one story that stuck out to me, one story that disturbed me more than all the others. This was the legend of the faceless man. No one knows exactly where the story came from, but even my grandparents remembered sharing

the story around campfires when they were young. The faceless man was an impossibly tall man, nearly eight and a half feet in height. The story goes that he prowls the forests of Bridgeview, looking for unsuspecting campers to make his victims. His name, as you might have guessed, came from the fact that he did not have a face. This is where different variations of the story come in. Some say he's a World War II veteran whose face was blown off in the war, and he kills because he is still looking for enemy soldiers. Others say his face was cut off by his insane and abusive father,

and now he exacts the same punishment on the people he stumbles upon. Still, others say that he is not really human. Instead, he is some supernatural monstrosity, a demon who devours the fear of his victims as he guts them. But in every version of the story, he carries a rusty hunter's knife and dismembers the campers he finds without mercy. I think the story disturbed me so much because it was somewhere on the border of reality and fantasy. The faceless man was almost believable. I could picture myself stumbling upon his disturbance. form in the forest at night. But he was also inhuman enough that my reason couldn't quite

wrap itself around him. I wouldn't want to run into a serial killer in the woods, but at least I could know that a serial killer could die or could be outrun or arrested. I didn't know what rules the faceless man played by. Two years after graduating high school, I was working in the local grocery store. I spent most of my time organizing merchandise and stacking boxes in the back room. It was the day of Halloween, and I had just stepped outside to take a smoke break. The autumn air chilled me.

Samantha Harding, a senior at her local high school, followed me outside to bum a cigarette. We both inhaled and released clouds of smoke that were indistinguishable from our frozen breath. You coming out tonight? Samantha asked while tapping the end of her cigarette. Oh, I said, maybe. I'm pretty tired.

I might just go to bed early. Oh, come on, Samantha said. We need someone to buy us booze. I didn't say anything. That was a joke, she added. You don't need to bring anything. We all genuinely want you to come. For reasons, I can't understand.

People really like you, she smiled. I blew air out of my nose. Well, I said, we'll see, I guess. I crushed my cigarette under my heel and turned to head back inside when she said. He was my friend. too, Hayden, and we're still allowed to have fun sometimes. It's been two years after all. I felt a hint of anger, but I knew it wasn't fair to be mad at her, so I gave a quick smile and nodded. The rest of my shift consisted of me turning away customers who were looking for last-minute

bags of Halloween candy. We were sold out. Well, one customer said, guess I'll have to be the loser that gives out apples or some shit to the kids. My shift ended at four in the afternoon, and the sun was preparing to drop behind the mountains. I drove home in my old, rusty truck and found my mom decorating our front yard. Hey, sweetie, doing anything fun tonight? She asked while laying spider webs across a skeleton. I might go to the Halloween camp out. I don't know.

I don't really feel up to it. Mom looked at me sadly. Are you feeling okay today? Yeah, just tired. I think it would be good to be around your friends tonight. Anniversaries of tragedies are always hard, but it is better to not be alone, even if we feel like we really want to.

My mom was the school psychologist for our district. I should have been grateful for her expertise, but I usually just found it to be annoying. Yeah, I said, okay, Mom. Mom suddenly wiped tears from her eyes and sniffed. It's hard for me too. All day I've been thinking about when you two were little, playing right in this yard.

I always thought of him as a second son. The second son she was referring to was Henry Lawson. He was my childhood best friend. and he had disappeared our senior year of high school on the day of Halloween. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed tightly. I'll go, I said. Oh, good, she replied. Have fun, sweetie.

She kissed me on the cheek. I changed out of my work clothes and put on a warm flannel sweatshirt. I pulled a joint from my sock drawer and smoked it. Careful to blow the smoke out my bedroom window. After eating leftovers from the fridge, I got back in my truck and headed for the local liquor store. Samantha had been joking, but I still didn't want to show up empty-handed. As I pulled out of the driveway, a glance at my rearview mirror made my heart skip a beat.

I thought, for an instant, I had seen something standing at the edge of the forest. It looked like a person, tall and pale. But the light was dim, and I couldn't quite make it out. When I turned a look with my own eyes, nothing was there. I shook my head and shocked it up to paranoia from the weed. After picking up a handle of vodka, I headed out into the forest, along the old backroads that led to the usual meeting spot. I was becoming unnerved as I drove alone in the dark. Only one of my headlights worked, and it was hard to make out where I was going.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced down to see a message from Samantha, asking if I was coming. In the instant I looked back up, I saw something large lunging in front of my truck. I slammed on the brakes, and my tire skidded in the soft dirt. I sat in the dark for a moment. The only sounds were my heavy breathing and my truck's clunky engine. Slowly, I opened my door and stepped out onto the dirt road. I looked at either side of the forest. Nothing. I surveyed the dirt for tracks. It might have been an elk. They were common out here. I didn't find any prints in the dirt, but what I did find, sitting just at the edge of the forest, made my heart thunder. There was a blue lighter on the ground near the bushes. I approached it slowly. It looked like, but it

couldn't be. I picked the lighter up and held it in my palm. Drawing on every ounce of my courage, I rolled the lighter over. And there it was. Crudely carved into the back of the lighter were two letters, H and L. Henry Lawson. It was his lighter. It was Henry's lighter. The same lighter I had used with him so many times before. I wanted to cry or scream. Instead, I jumped into my truck and headed for the campsite. I didn't want to be alone, and I needed to show Samantha. I even needed someone to help me understand how this was possible and pull me back from the brink of insanity. Not wanting to draw attention, I parked my truck on the outskirts of the campsite and walked toward the fire. I scanned the shadowed faces for Samantha.

Hey! Someone shouted. It's Hayden! Faces turned. I smiled and tried to greet my various friends with affection. Samantha excitedly ran up to me. You came! She shouted.

She hugged me and spilled a drink from her red solo cup. Aden? She questioned, looking into my eyes. What's wrong? Can I talk to you alone? We walked to the edge of the campground. Before she could speak, I thrust the lighter into her face. It's his, I said, choking on tears.

It's Henry's. Samantha turned the lighter over in her hands. Her expression unreadable. After a long silence, she looked up. Where did you find this? Something ran across the road when I was driving. I almost hit it. But there was nothing there.

except I found the lighter. Samantha, why was his lighter lying in the road? I don't know. I guess he lost it a while ago. That's bullshit, Samantha. The entire town and the police combed these woods when he went missing. This wasn't here before. And there was something big out there.

Something bad is happening. I... Hayden. Samantha gently stroked my face. It's okay. You're okay. I get this is weird. I don't know why his lighter was there,

but it's nothing crazy. crazy. You're just upset right now, and you're panicking. She hugged me, and I began to sob. After a while, I took my head off her shoulder. Here, she said, have a drink. It'll help you calm down. I chugged the cup she handed me, and we went back to the fire. I continued to drink, and I felt better. I calmed down. Samantha was right. There was an explanation. It was just a lighter. I left the campsite to relieve myself on a nearby tree, and that's when I saw him, standing like a statue, just a little way behind the tree. My childhood nightmare, the monster from a campfire story, there, illuminated by the moonlight,

was the faceless man. He was tall, but not impossibly so. Somewhere around six and a half feet, his skin was pale, and his head was hairless and smooth. Where his ears should have been, there was only smooth skull. There weren't even empty sockets for his eyes. Instead, the skin grew over the sockets. There was no mouth. The only features on his head were two tiny slits where a nose would be.

It looked as if he had been born this way, if he had been born at all. The nose slits flared, and he turned toward me. I was about to scream and run, but something made me pause. Tied around his waist was Henry's leather jacket. The one he had been wearing when he went missing. I approached the monster. Where is he? I demanded in a harsh whisper.

I doubted that this thing could hear or answer me, but in my anger I still challenged him. Where is my friend? The faceless man slowly reached into a fold of the jacket and pulled something out. Something that dangled in the moonlight. He lifted it to his face and pressed it on. There, leathery like a cured deer hide was the skin of a human face. It was Henry's face. I could tell by a small scar on the left cheek.

My mouth was frozen in horror. The faceless man reached up to the skin again and pulled at the open slit where Henry's mouth was. He stretched the nightmarish mask into a grotesque smile. My mind snapped. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter, and I charged at the faceless man. Pounding my fists against his chest, I found him to be incredibly sturdy. He grabbed my wrists and lifted me into the air with one hand. His other hand pulled a rusty hunting knife from his pocket.

He'd him! A voice shriek. The slits of the faceless man flared again. turned his head toward Samantha, who had stumbled into the clearing. Effortlessly, he flung me aside. My skull cracked against a large boulder, and I collapsed. I heard muffled screaming. Through bleary eyes, I saw him on top of her.

He was covering her mouth. The knife in his hand raised high, glinting in the moonlight. Then it lowered. It raised again, tripping thick, dark blood. It lowered again and again and again. I tried to crawl toward them. There was a terrible ripping noise. Looking up, I saw that the faceless man wore a new mask.

Samantha's face, dark with blood, was plastered onto his. Her dark hair rolled down to his shoulders. He had scalped her. The faceless man tossed Henry's face onto the ground along with his sweatshirt, his watch, and other trinkets I couldn't identify. He had collected Henry's things when he had killed him, and he had carried them around for two years, wandering these woods. Silently, he tied Samantha's jacket around his waist

and tossed her motionless body over his shoulder. He turned to the forest and walked away. From the back, I could see Samantha's mutilated head. It was meaty and leaking blood all over. I stumbled after them, barely able to stand on my feet. Hot, sticky blood poured from my head, dripping into my eyes. Help! I tried to shriek, but I could only muster a whisper.

I collapsed somewhere in the bushes. My face angled upward. I saw him one last time. The monstrosity. The wicked creature that had now stolen two of my friends. He stood over me, Samantha's face dripping blood onto mine. The faceless man turned away and, with utter indifference, disappeared into the darkened woods. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan.

I'll see you in the next one.