Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - There's something terribly wrong with my town

Episode Date: June 24, 2022

🎧 Check out my new True Crime podcast called Crimehub. Just search Crimehub in the search bar to find it. 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube:��https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Fan of soccer, you could assist a moment historic. You could get any of the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. Inscribe you at BMO.com bar-oblique concourse. The reglements of the concourse is applicable. Are you okay, Mom? I asked, sitting down in the front passenger seat. I had just loaded my stuff in the back of the Volvo Station wagon.

My mom smiled weekly. Yes, of course. I'm fine, honey. As she spoke, I noticed the inside of her mouth looked dark, like she'd just been drinking some kind of inky liquid, but I didn't think much of it. Her face had changed in the two months I'd been away at camp. At least, I thought it had. I looked at her intently as she faced forward in the driver's seat, putting the car into reverse. I couldn't put my finger on how she'd changed. The word that came to mind was Ashen. She looked ashen, like she hadn't been out in the sun all summer.

She looked older, too. Of course, she was in the middle of divorcing my father, so I figured it was wearing on her. My dad was a real piece of work, and I hadn't missed him at all during the summer. I'd missed my mom a lot. About as much as a 16-year-old boy could miss his mother, I supposed. I'd also missed my dog, Daly's. who I was excited to get home and see. Mrs. Terrison was asking about you.

I thought you'd get out and talk to her, I said. Oh, that's nice. It was a strange response. I studied my mom as I sat in the front seat, wondering if I should ask her what was wrong. Her right eye shifted over and looked at me. Then, mechanically, jerkily, her head turned toward me, while her eyes stayed in place, fixed on me.

Something about the movement sent a lightning bolt of terror through me. It was as if she was a piece of malfunctioning machinery, her neck in need of oil or new bearings. As her left eye came into view, I jerked away from her. Mom, your eye! She blinked, and the black cloud that had been there, spreading through her left eye like blood in water, was gone. She turned away from me, startled, looking into the rearview mirror.

She was no longer moving strangely, no longer, jerking around. What, Jamie? What is it? She said, looking at herself in the mirror. I, I don't know. I thought I saw something. It was black and in your eye. It scared me. George, it scared me too, she said, looking back at me again. Her eyes were clear, normal, if not a little faded by the premature aging she'd done since the divorce started. Yeah, that's what it is, I thought. Premature aging. My mom drove carefully through the camp parking lot as all the other kids were getting loaded up, some of them saying tearful goodbyes.

Many of their parents were chatting with each other, not in any rush to get going. That's what my mom usually did. Last year, I remembered going nearly insane with boredom as my mom talked with Mrs. Terrison, my friend Travis's mom. But not this year. This year, something was up with my mom. and the atmosphere in the car quickly darkened. We turned out of the camp and onto the small highway road

cutting a valley through tall conifer trees. The sun was in such a position that it was shining down at a shallow angle on my side of the car, leaving Mom in a shadow on the other side. Despite the warm sunshine on my skin, I grew cold in the car. The air conditioner wasn't on very high, and I didn't understand why it was so cold.

Even after closing the AC vents, I had goosebumps. Usually, my mother was the one to initiate conversation, but she said nothing for several miles. Finally, the silence was too much for me. So how's dad? I asked. I didn't really care whether he was sleeping in a ditch every night. Maybe I should have, but I didn't. I was asking because I needed to prepare myself for facing him if he was in one of his moods. Your father is dead, my mother said in a low whisper.

It was as if the words struck me. I jerked, rocking in my seat, pressing against my seatbelt. What? I said, sure that I'd misunderstood her. Yes, your father is dead. My mother said from her shadow on the other side of the car. She hadn't taken her eyes off the road. How?

Why didn't you tell me? I didn't want to ruin your time at can. camp, she said, punctuating this sentence with a little sigh. Like we were discussing the regrettable, but minor death of a goldfish. How did he die? Was he drunk? Did he hurt anyone else? Oh, not now, honey, she said. Not now. When we get home, I'll tell you all about it. I was speechless. I just looked at my mom, mouth half open. As thoughts of my dad flashed through my head like a kaleidoscope of painful memories. But they weren't all painful. They weren't all bad times. It had always seemed that way, until now. Now that he was dead, the good memory

surfaced, tauntingly. I still didn't believe it, though. I couldn't. So I sat in silence all the way home, shivering in the inexplicably cold car. It was late afternoon as we drove into town. At first, I thought it was the shock of the news making the town look strange to me. I thought I was seeing it darkly, through the eyes of a teenage boy with a dead father. But I quickly realized there was something else happening, or not happening, rather. There were no kids playing basketball in the park, no old couples walking their dogs, no children running around in their front yards while their parents watched from the porch. Window shades at a couple of houses parted as we passed.

seen people looking out at us, but that was about all the movement I saw on the way to our house. What happened? I said, looking out the window at our town of 1,200 people, not one of whom was outside on a sunny, late summer afternoon. Things have changed while you've been away at camp, my mom said. It'll take some getting used to. Does this have something to do with dad dying? Did a building collapse or something? Did the old? old horseshoe pub finally fall down the hillside? My mother's laughter was brittle, cynical. It seemed to make the car even colder. Nothing like that, she said. We pulled up to our small, one-story craftsman house, parking around the back, in front of the old separate garage. A garage

filled with yard tools and an old Jaguar XJ6 that my father bought but never got a round of restoring. and now he never would. I stepped out of the car and stared at the garage for a moment. It was a rusty red in color, its two leaning doors meeting off kilter in the middle. The familiar weather-beaten chain and padlock securing the two doors together seemed to be the personification of my father. He'd always been locked away from us, it seemed.

And like the padlock on the garage, he was the only one that held the keys. the only one that could let my mom and me in, but he rarely did. Soon enough, I felt about him like I did about the old garage. I just wanted to tear it down and get a new one, one with an automatic door, one that wasn't locked all the time, seeming to hide secrets from us, one that I was welcome inside, welcome to help with whatever project was going on in there. But now the dad was gone, those thoughts seemed callous and wretched.

I began to wonder if my half-hearted hopes for a new father, a better one, had played a part in his death. A whimpering bark from inside the house, swelled my heart. I turned from the garage and went up to the back door. As always, it was unlocked, and as soon as I opened it, Dallas bounded out and jumped up on me, his tail whapping the door jam and his pink tongue lolling in excitement. Hey, buddy, I said, bending down to hug and pet the black lab. I'd missed Dallas all summer, but my mother's strained appearance, and then the news about my father had taken precedence over thoughts of the dog. Dallas licked my face, his paws on my thighs

and his body shaking with excitement. I got down on my knees and stuck my head out toward him. At first, I thought he wouldn't do it, but then he seemed to remember. He reached his own head up, placing the bottom of his jaw on the top of my head. He was still. His excitement paused as we shared our special greeting. It was our version of a hug, and we had been doing it since Dallas had joined our family when I was 10. The moment passed, and I got up off my knees, and Dallas was once again shaking with excitement. For a moment, Dallas buoyed me, making me forget the worries that had been swirling through my head during the drive. Then I felt a chill wind from behind. Dallas must have felt it too, because he whined and moved

back into the house with his tail, tucked between his legs. I sensed movement, turning to see that my mother had come up the four stairs to the small back porch. Don't forget your things, she said, moving past me into the house. Once she was inside, that chill wind seemed to disappear. Wondering what had gotten into Dallas, I went back out to the Volvo and got my gear. When I brought it inside, I was met with a strange smell. Previous trips, when I'd been away from the house for days or weeks, I'd come back in and smile at the familiar smell of home. But this time was different.

There was something foul in the air, like a sewer line had backed up. I thought Dallas had left us a smelly surprise, but a quick look around the house told me that wasn't the case, and it wasn't overpowering, like dog poop in an enclosed space often is. This was more subtle, and it seemed to be everywhere in the house.

It didn't get stronger near the bathrooms or weaker in the bedrooms. It was everywhere. The interior of the house looked the same as when I'd left it, but it certainly didn't feel the same. What I once found cozy and welcoming was now cold and depressing. I just shrugged it off, thinking that it would take some adjustment to get back into the feel of things after being away for two months.

I took my bag up to my room and found Dallas, under my bed, which was totally out of character for him. What's wrong, buddy? I said, getting down on my hands and knees. He looked up at me, shame and joy seeming to fight on his face. Why are you acting so strange? Do you want to go for a walk? That little word got him out from under my bed, tail wagging raucously. I smiled. Okay, I said, just let me get my phone. We weren't allowed to have our phones at camp. One of the counselors would call our parents if something was wrong. And while a lot of kids hated this,

I actually enjoyed being disconnected for a couple of months. There was always stuff to do at camp, so I was never bored. But it also meant that I'd been missing out on what my friends in town had been up to. I found the phone right where I'd left it in my bedside table drawer. I powered it on as I walked downstairs, Dallas sticking by my side. Mom, I'm taking Dallas for a while. walk. I called up the stairs, assuming my mom was in her room. She didn't answer, but I heard her moving around up there. Strange. I got Dallas's leash hooked up and, with the roll of small poop

bags on my pocket, we were out the back door. Dallas usually liked to sniff around the backyard first before we went to check out the wide world of fascinating smells in the neighborhood. He led me down the stairs and into the grassy backyard. The sweet, smell of the blossoming green spire linden tree in the yard quickly filled my nostrils, replacing the low-key foul smell from inside the house. Suddenly, Dallas stopped, his hackles raising and a low growl issuing from deep in his throat. He was looking straight at the old garage. What is it? There a raccoon in there again? He moved forward stiffly, still growling as we approached the sagging doors. And as we got closer, I could smell that same foul stench.

as inside the house. Only it was worse next to the garage. There was a low vibrating sound coming from this simple wooden structure. I felt it in my chest when we were a few feet away from the doors, barking, Dallas jumped, putting his front paws on the doors, causing them to sway on their old hinges. The vibration intensified as a cloud of flies poured out of the garage where there was a gap at the top of the doors. I tucked down as they swarmed around me, smacking into me and bouncing off. Dallas continued barking and growling at them. It seemed I was trapped in a cloud of the insects for a good ten seconds before I couldn't take it anymore, and I ran down the driveway toward the street. My mouth sealed shut against them, but my eyes opened slightly so I could see.

I dragged Dallas along with me, and by the time we reached the street, the worst of it was over. Looking back toward the garage, I watched as thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of flies, moved up into the sky like a flock of birds. They created a dark, swirling formation that moved off through the sky, over my house and down toward the other side of town. I'd never seen flies act like that before, and couldn't imagine why they'd been drawn to the garage. There were so many of them.

Our house was near the crest of a gently sloping hill. At the top of it, you could see much of the small town. On some impulse I didn't understand. I ran with Dallas up to the top of the hill and watched the cloud of flies. They angled down toward a strange gap in the trees on the other side of the Methodist Church, some mile and a half from my house. The church backed up to the woods, but something had changed there, like someone had gone in and chopped down a group of trees beyond the church.

But that didn't seem likely. There was no road leading back there. I'd played in those woods after church my entire childhood, and it wasn't an ideal place to collect lumber. A wine from Dallas got my attention, just as the last of the cloud of insects disappeared from view into that strange gap. I looked down at my dog, who was looking across the street. I followed his gaze, my heart lurching in my chest at the ghostly figure I saw there,

gazing at me. It took me a moment to realize that it was Mrs. Falk, standing on her porch in an off-white nightgown. Dallas whined again. still looking at her. I raised my hand in greeting, but Mrs. Falk didn't make a move. She just stared at me. Are you okay? I asked, thinking of all the times my dad had grumbled about the cooky old couple up the street. Mrs. Falk still said nothing. Although my heart had calmed considerably after first seeing her, the unwavering gaze she held on me was fast making my

cardiovascular system ramp up again. I looked left and right to make sure there was wasn't any traffic. Then I crossed over despite my uneasy feeling. I thought maybe she was having a stroke or something. I wondered where her husband was. Mrs. Falk, are you all right? Her eyes followed me as I moved toward her, but she made no answer. Like my mother, Mrs. Falk looked older than when I had last seen her. I had no idea how old she really was, but her wrinkles seemed to have multiplied. Her skin seemed washed out, and her stoop more pronounced. Let's get you back inside, I said, moving toward her, but stopping when the leash went taut. I looked over my shoulder to see Dallas hunkering down, refusing to get any closer to the

woman. There was a low whine coming from him, and his eyes were frightened, fixed on Mrs. Falk. Come on, Dallas, I coaxed, pulling gently on the leash. He wasn't having it. There was a speed limit sign nearby, so I led Dallas over to it. He had no problem moving further away from the woman. I secured his leash there and turned around to see Mrs. Fox standing right behind me. Her hands came up, freezing cold as they clasped my head. Her yellow-tinged eyes were wide.

Her papery skin lined with dark veins just under the surface. She said in barely a whisper. Her hand squeezing my head, her breath, foul. I was grabbing her wrists, trying to pry her hands off, but her strength was immense. I heard a growl and felt something bumped the side of my leg. A moment later, Mrs. Falk, let me go. All the intensity was suddenly gone from her face. Both she and I looked down to see that Dallas had bitten her just below the hem of her nightgown. He'd had just enough play in the leash to strain past me and take a chunk out of the side of her calf. The blood was a dark red.

almost black. And it was strange that a single bite could take a chunk out of her like that. The small bit of flesh was lying in the grass next to my feet. Dallas was licking his chops fervently, like he was trying to get a terrible taste out of his mouth. Other than dropping her hands and looking down,

Mrs. Falk showed no signs that she'd even felt the bite. I looked up at her face, shocked at what had happened, but she was already turning around. walking with her uneasy gate toward her porch. I'm sorry, I said, following her. Do you want me to call an ambulance? Maybe I'll get your husband.

Dallas doesn't usually bite. I don't know what got into him. She just kept walking, not saying anything. Mrs. Falk, do you? I trailed off. Unsure what to do. I quickly decided to find Mr. Falk, so I ran ahead of the old woman,

moved up the person. porch steps and knocked on the door. Mr. Falk, are you in there? There's been an accident. I heard nothing. But there was that familiar myasma, clearly coming from inside the house. The same smell from my own home and from the garage. Opening the door, I leaned inside and called for Mr. Falk again.

But there was no answer. Behind me, Mrs. Falk was shuffling forward at the top of the steps. I moved out of the way so she could pass. which she did without a word. She glanced at me once she was inside, one hand on the door. I couldn't meet her a motionless gaze for long, and my eyes flicked down to the wound on her leg. As she went to close the door,

I noticed several flies already around the wound, shifting position, beating their wings, and rubbing their front legs together. By the time she closed the door, there were a dozen flies at the oozing bite. I backed off the porch in a daze, suddenly aware of the utter silence around the neighborhood. There were no radios playing, no lawnmowers humming in the distance, no children hollering and laughing as they played. There wasn't even the hum of a faraway car engine.

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From Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Walking distractedly back to Dallas, who was now rubbing his snout on the grass and pawing at it. I took another look at the town stretching out before me. I didn't see a single car moving down any of. of the streets visible from the hilltop, nor anyone walking or biking or skateboarding along. A deep and intangible fright burgeoned inside me, expanding like oil from a wrecked tanker, spilling into the ocean. The sun would go down soon, and the very idea of darkness descending made me want to scream, although I didn't understand why. Just that something terrible had

happened while I was away, and it wasn't over. It was still happening. I untied the leash from the speed limit side and ran home with Dallas, seeking a comfort in my childhood home that was no longer to be found. The house, like the town, had changed in ways I couldn't begin to comprehend. Leaving Dallas downstairs, I moved quietly up to my mom's room, some cautionary voice inside telling me not to make noise, not to alert her to my presence. Her door was closed, but I turned the knob, feeling that it was unlocked. I opened the door a couple of inches and peered inside, seeing my mother sitting at her vanity mirror across the room, putting lip gloss on. Her back was to me, but I could see her reflection

in the mirror as she put layer after layer of lip gloss on, with the same mechanical motions again and again. I must have watched her for two whole minutes before the insanity of it got to me, and I barged into the room. What's going on? I said, nearly screaming. What's wrong with you? What happened? She paused and turned and faced me.

Nothing's wrong. Would you like some dinner? I know it's a bit early. I'll make some dinner. Mom, talk to me, I said. But she just passed me, heading downstairs. Pretty soon, I heard the sounds of dinner being prepared. I went to my room and pulled out my phone.

My hands were shaking as I typed a message to my friend Brandon, asking him what had happened while I was away. When Brandon didn't answer after a couple of minutes, I texted Daniela. She didn't text me back either. I navigated to Instagram and to Selina Perth's account. I wasn't friends with Selena, but she was always active on Instagram, constantly posting pictures, mostly selfies, from around town. most recent post was from a month ago in late June. And for a change, it wasn't a selfie.

It was a picture of a big hole in the ground surrounded by woods. Sink holy shit, her caption read. It was a sinkhole navigating through my friend's accounts. I saw other posts from around the same time. Many of them were pictures of the sinkhole. It wasn't a bottomless pit. Rather, a roughly circular patch of ground about 200 feet in diameter had fallen down some 20 or 30 feet. The trees that had fallen with the ground were leaning at sharp angles or were resting on the ground, having been completely uprooted. Since the sinkhole was on a slope, a cliff face had been created on the upslope side, and in that cliff face was a dark hole, a cavern of some kind. The entrance looked wide enough to walk through with some room to spare,

But that was about all I could tell from the pictures I saw. I visited several accounts belonging to people from town, and in every one of them, the most recent post was a month old, give or take a few days. Many of them were about the sinkhole. Suddenly, the gap in the trees behind the church made sense. Had there been millions of flies living in the uncovered cave? Had the flies been spreading disease throughout the town, making people sick?

I had a terrible feeling that flies or disease couldn't explain whatever was happening to my town. Setting my phone aside, I looked up at the wall in my room, thinking, as I did this, I realized it was getting dark outside. Standing up to turn on the light, I realized that there was no more noise coming from downstairs. The house was completely silent. Moving to open my door, I called down. Mom? I headed to the top of the stairs. looking down to the dark first floor.

Why would she be cooking in the dark? Why would she be doing anything in the dark? Dallas, come here, boy. I called down. There was no response. No jingle of his collar. No tapping of his nails on the floor. Nothing.

I rushed downstairs, flipping lights on as I went. Raw chicken breasts sat in a glass pan in the kitchen, flies alighting on them. The oven had been turned on, and the preheat indicator was off. My mom was no one. to be seen. Neither was my dog. I headed to the back door, pulling it open and stepping out, thinking that she'd just taken Dallas out. After all, he hadn't had a chance to do his business

with me earlier. There was no sign of them. As I looked around, I saw the garage had been opened. The chain and padlock were sitting in a heap on the driveway. From where I was, I couldn't see into the garage. The right door was blocking my view. The sky behind. The sky behind, me was red and purple with the sunset as I made my way toward the garage. Despite this little bit of light remaining in the sky, I couldn't see far into the dense shadows of the garage as I stepped onto the driveway and looked inside. The old jaguar hunkered there under its dusty car cover, seeming to cast off shadows in every direction. I could see the edge of the hard-packed dirt floor on which the car sat, but all was darkness beyond that, I whispered, stepping to the threshold and

pulling out my phone. I turned on the flashlight, shining it around at chest height, seeing nothing but normal garage stuff. Then I moved the beam down. My heart and stomach seemed to pull away from each other as I saw Dallas's limp hind legs sticking out from under the jaguar. Dallas! I cried, reaching down and trying to pull him out. He wouldn't move, as if he were caught on something underneath the car. I got down on my side next to him, shining the light under the car. What I saw there shook my vision and caused an unconscious cry

to issue from some faraway cavern inside me. Dallas's eyes bulged, and it was obvious right away that he was dead. There was a rotting hand with a vice-like grip around his neck, a hand that was connected to an arm that seemed to come out of the dirt under the car. The skin was blackened where I could see it, but mostly it was covered

and plump yellow maggots that crawled and rived and moved in and out of the holes in the flesh of the arm. But at the wrist was a watch I knew, a watch I'd seen all my life. It was my father's watch. I tried to pull Dallas out again, managing to move his body a couple of inches. But then the arm moved, yanking my dog back into place. I lost it, scrambling up and running out of the garage toward the street, feeling like I was going to vomit. It was almost fully dark now, The street lights were on. I looked around wildly, not knowing what else to do. I ran up to the top of the hill and looked out across the town. I guess I was looking for help, but there was none to be found. Movement down the hill caught my eye, and I immediately recognized my mother and Mrs. Fogg. They were walking away from me. My mother was carrying some kind of knife that glinted in the orange light from the street lamps. I looked back toward my house, tears filling my eyes as I remember. I remembered Dallas's bulging eyes and crushed throat. Cursing under my breath, I walked down the hill,

determined to follow my mother wherever she went, but I had a pretty good feeling I already knew where she was going. My mother and Mrs. Falk moved stiffly down into the sinkhole, using a gentle slope opposite the dark cavern. I watched them for a moment from behind a tree, then turned back to look at the church. Someone had busted the stained glass windows out, and the corner nearest the sinkhole was being torn apart.

It was an old wooden church, and much of the white siding had simply been torn off. There were strange markings on the areas where the church hadn't yet been disassembled. It looked like they'd been painted on with mud. I glanced back at my mother and Mrs. Falk, picking their way through the fallen and tilted trees, and then moved over to the front of the church.

The small parking lot was empty, except for a loose pile of the removed wood. The church doors were open, and it was clear as I stepped in that the interior had also been vandalized. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness outside, so I was able to see the most obvious damage to the pews and the walls. The cross on the wall behind the pulpit

had been ripped down and smashed into two pieces. I stepped toward the pulpit, not sure what I was looking for, or why I'd even come into the church. Movement from behind one of the half-smashed pews caused me to jump. A skulking black figure moved out from behind the pew, approaching me. I froze. Dallas?

I whispered. In the darkness of the church, the dog approaching looked like Dallas, minus the collar. It was also slightly smaller than my dog, but the two could have been from the same litter. The dog didn't growl. Its hackles weren't raised. It came toward me with its eyes up, fixed on me. I noticed it had something in its mouth, a piece of wood. The dog lowered her head.

I knew, suddenly, that it was a she and dropped the piece of wood at my feet. Then she backed away several steps, turned around, and disappeared behind the pew. I reached down and picked up the piece of wood. It was about the size and shape of a stake. about a foot long. The point was sharp, but not thin. Looking back up at the broken cross, I saw where the chunk had come from. There was a piece missing right where the two bars came together, a piece that was the exact right size and shape of the large splinter I held in my hand. I took a few steps forward and glanced around the pew looking for the dog. It was gone.

The same instinct that had led me to the church guided me back out into the night and down, into the sinkhole. My mother and Mrs. Falk were both already inside the cavern. As I came to the ragged mouth of the cave, I gagged at the rotten smell emanating from it. My hair stood on end as I stepped inside. Suddenly, it was five degrees colder than it had been outside, and with every step I took in, it got even colder. I didn't dare use my flashlight, but as I came to a curve of some 15 feet into the cave, I saw a dim, flickering glow coming from around the corner. Moving cautiously, I peeked around and saw that the tunnel widened out ahead. I saw my mother and Mrs. Falk, illuminated by an array of candles placed on rocky ledges.

Beyond them, the cave opened up so wide that I couldn't see the walls or the ceiling beyond the ring of illumination provided by the candles, whereas the ground of the tunnel where I stood was pale brown. It seemed to darken suddenly just beyond where my mother and Mrs. Falk were. There was an outcropping of rock about 15 yards away, halfway between where I stood at the curve and where the two women stood. I got on my knees and crawled, staying low until I made it to the outcropping, where I knelt and piqued my head out. My mom had grabbed a wooden bucket from nearby and was carrying it over to Mrs. Falk, who was lowering herself down into a shallow recess in the ground. I could see the wound Dallas had inflicted as she propped the leg up on the rock,

hiking the hem of her nightgown up past the knee. My mom tilted the bucket, pouring some kind of chunky black liquid over the lower portion of Mrs. Falk's leg. She then put the bucket down and stood back up with a meat cleaver in her hand, the one I'd seen her carrying. My stomach roiled as my mother brought the cleaver up and then chopped it down onto Mrs. Falk's knee joint. Blood flew, and Mrs. Falk closed her up. eyes, making a long, drawn-out sound that wasn't quite a pained scream. Then she started speaking in tongues, babbling incoherently but with purpose. My mother slammed the cleaver down again, and again, and again, the sound of rending flesh and cartilage making nauseous. One final chop

separated the lower leg at the knee. Mrs. Falk stopped making noise. She opened her eyes and looked down at her nub. My mother set the leg and the cleaver aside. Then, she reached down to help Mrs. Falk up. The older woman leaned on my mother, hopping as they moved deeper into the cave, toward where the ground turned black. A great buzz filled the air, and the ground seemed to levitate as they stepped from pale brown to black. I quickly realized that the ground itself wasn't black. It was coated with flies. Curtains of the insects flew up and buzzed around in the darkness near the unseen ceiling, and what they revealed underneath was worse than a billion flies. The ground wasn't there at all. Instead, it was a

carpet of rotting flesh and maggots. What I had thought were rocks were actually people, melted and fused into each other, making a mound of discolored skin and limbs. There were heads sticking out here and there, maggots writhing in open sores, wriggling out of nostrils and ears. Bodies jutted from the mass at the waist or the arms or the legs. Those whose heads were visible to me, I recognized. They were people from town. My math teacher, Mr. Bemis, a kid from school, Joe Ensweiler, dozens of others. And I couldn't even see all the way back.

I had a feeling that half the town had been assimilated. The heads blinked, seeming to come awake as Mrs. Falk and my mom stepped onto the flesh. Their eyes were pure black as they jerked their heads around as much as they were able. The mechanical movements reminded me of how my mother had moved when picking me up from camp hours earlier. I recalled the black cloud I thought I'd seen in her left eye before she blinked and it was gone. Legs and arms jerked, too, where they stuck out of the mottled and bumpy skin. I watched and paralyzed terror as Mrs. Falk sat down, my mother helping her.

As the old woman put her bleeding nub down to the conglomeration of flesh, the skin morphed, reaching up to envelop the nub, seeming to fuse with her in a matter of seconds. Her head jerked up, mouth open, and eyes wide. Then blackness swarmed from the edges of her eyelids, turning her eyes completely black. I looked down at the stake in my shaking hand. What was I supposed to do with a single steak? It wouldn't work. It couldn't. What did I think I was going to do down here?

My stomach twisted. I turned to the side and vomited. The sound of my retching lost underneath the buzzing of the flies. My mother walked back on the solid ground. As soon as she did, the flies landed again, coding the unholy conglomeration. Still shaking. I watched her pick up the severed leg and the meat cleaver. She walked toward me, and I ducked back behind the rock, pulling myself into a ball. She walked past, not even glancing in my direction.

The limbs were important, I realized. The one of my garage had proved it. Maybe they were totems, or they were diseased with whatever black stuff my mother had poured over the limb before chopping it off. They extended this thing's power beyond the cavern. They infected the town, forcing people to come down here and join it. My mom was off to put the limb somewhere, to expand this thing's reach. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let it keep growing. The stake in my hand felt warm in the abnormally cold cave, but I didn't know what to do with it. I was the wrong person for this job.

I'm sorry, I whispered, half to myself, and half to whatever had guided me into the church. I stayed curled in a ball, eyes closed, unable to move. I tried to drop the stake, but I couldn't open my hand. I could picture nothing but the maggots writhing in the mouths and nostrils of people I'd grown up with. People I cared about. The world seemed to slip away.

my despair growing with every passing moment, feeding the fear that gripped me like the dead hand around Dallas's neck. I felt something pressed gently against the top of my head. It was a familiar feeling, sending warmth through my body. I didn't have to look to know that it was my dog, giving me our version of a hug. Dallas, I opened my eyes and lifted my head to see the dog from the church backing up, looking at me. Suddenly, she turned and ran deeper into the cave, toward the flesh creature. No! I said, reaching out for her but missing. She barked as she ran, leaping onto the flesh as the flies swarmed up again. Before I knew it, I was on my feet running after her. As soon as I set foot on the creature, a terrible screaming sound erupted from

all around me. All the heads sticking out of the flesh were crying out, their black eyes fixed on me. A hand grabbed at me as I ran, but I yanked my foot away from it and kept moving, determined to get the dog. I noticed there was a glow coming from me, and I quickly realized it was the stake in my hand that was lighting the way. The flesh creature was enormous, reaching far back into the cavern. I jumped over legs that tried to trip me and kicked at hands that tried to grab me. I could see the dog ahead. It was barking at a giant tangle of jerking legs and arms jutting out from what looked to be the end, or the beginning of the creature. As I approached, the tangle of limbs separated down the middle, the flesh ripping apart to reveal a large and grinning skeletal face.

My eyes went wide, and I faltered, allowing a hand to snag my right ankle, tripping me. The hand squeezed. I screamed, feeling the joint stressing. Sure the hand would crush it in a matter of moments. I twisted around and stabbed down with the stake, puncturing the arm. It immediately let go. The screaming sound getting louder, scrabbling away, I soon found myself in a cloud of flies, all buffeting me, flying into my mouth and nose and ears, blocking my vision. I screamed out and ran toward where I thought the grinning skeletal face was. I could barely hear the dog barking over the buzz of the insects. It was enough. The dog was telling me where to go. I jumped forward, slamming the stake down, although I couldn't see anything. The tip of the wooden weapon

crunched into something, and the screaming got louder again. I pulled it out and stabbed again. Fists and feet came at me from both sides, knocking me back, but I still had the steak. I held onto it as if it were a part of me, and I rushed forward again, stabbing and stabbing despite the blows I took to my face and body. But the blows were already weakening, and I kept stabbing until the blows stopped and the screaming stopped, and the flies were no longer attacking me. I dropped to my knees, exhausted. I spit flies out of my mouth and looked at what I'd done. The skull was destroyed, black goo oozing out of it. The limbs were shriveled, half their original size. I looked around for the dog, but it was nowhere to be seen. It didn't surprise me.

was still glowing, and with it I could see the head sticking out of the massive creature here, and they were limp and silent, their eyes closed. I stumbled back out of the cave, walking over the flesh. None of the limbs moved this time. They were smaller, lifeless. My mother was about halfway back to our house, on all fours on the sidewalk, a black puddle between her hands. Mrs. Fawkes's severed leg was nearby. It, too, looked shrew. She driveled. Mom? I said.

She turned and looked at me. Then she lurched to her feet and wrapped me in a hug. Oh, Jamie, she said. Lights were going on in several of the surrounding houses. A few people walked out of their homes as if waking from a daze. There was no bringing back all those that the creature had assimilated. But there were still some of us left. And that was something.

My mom and I walked home. She gripped my left hand in her wrist. My left hand in her right, my other hand still held the steak, although it wasn't glowing anymore. As we approached our house, I heard the familiar bark of a dog coming from somewhere off in the distance. Lasagne sur-gillet, puissance-molyne, for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Preete the pleasure with the Ojo! The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machines-a-sou and the games of casino in direct.

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