Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - We Dug Too Deep in Antarctica. Something Followed Us Home

Episode Date: May 25, 2026

An Antarctic drilling crew uncovers something impossible beneath four thousand meters of ice—but by the time they realize it’s alive, it’s already aboard their ship. As paranoia, violence, and infection spread through the crew, one survivor discovers the real horror may not be the creature controlling them…but what it awakens inside him. Are you still drinking that stale, store-bought coffee? Check out ⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠ to get 20% off fresh, same-day roasted coffee delivered straight to your door. Just use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! Huge thanks to our sponsors: 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. Shopify: Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at shopify.com/dns. Author:  Matt Doggett Check out his books on Amazon here. * * * 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.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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and 54% of leading positions held by women. Diversity is a strength that helps L'Oreal Group create the best beauty products for all people. Visit L'oreal.com to learn more. The constant vibration from the ship's engines makes me doubt whether I've just heard anything at all, or maybe I don't want to hear it. Maybe I don't know if I can be around any more violence right now. I'm leaning over the tiny sink base.

and in the community bathroom, looking into a moisture smeared mirror. The steam from my shower is still dissipating. I'm only wearing my boxers and socks because it's late, and I'm planning to go directly to bed. No reason to get dressed, just for the 15-yard walk to my cabin. Another thud from nearby distracts me. It's followed by a bout of angry shouting. Most everyone is asleep, save for a handful who are on duty, which makes the noise doubly strange. What now? I mutter. As I step to the narrow door and reach for the knob,

I notice my hands are shaking. It's an automatic response to violence, one I picked up after a very bad night ten years ago. I don't want to leave the bathroom. I already feel sick to my stomach. But someone out there is shouting my friend's name, and in a tone that doesn't bode well. Curiosity and concern get the best of me.

I open the door and step out into the hallway. The sounds of a struggle are louder now. I hurry toward them, thick socks swishing on thin carpet. Memories of what happened before leaving our Antarctic base two days ago have never been far. But right now, they're foremost in my mind. I turned the corner to find two men and a woman struggling in the hallway outside the stairwell door. I know them all well. We've just spent two and a half months together in very close proximity,

which is why I'm so surprised to see what's happening. Brennan, my bunkmate, and the man I've known the longest out of everyone on this ship, is pressed up against the wall by the other two. Davila, a tough ex-Army woman, has his arm pressed against the wall with one hand she tries to free a familiar Teflon-coated canister from his grip with her other hand. Stein, a bearded Canadian outdoorsman, presses Brennan's other arm against the wall, using one leg across Brennan's knees to keep my bunkmate from kicking out. This would all seem insane even if I couldn't plainly see the same.

the look on Brennan's face. He's struggling so hard, grunting and grimacing, that he looks like a different person. His clean, shaven face is lobster red, his lips pulled back to reveal clamped together teeth. Vains throb with his insanely fast heartbeat. Let go! Davila screams. Come on, Bryn, let go! This isn't like him. None of this makes sense. My hands tremble as they try to make fists. I don't let them. My stomach turns inside out. Flashes of the night 10 years ago come to mind. A struggle, a push, steep metal stairs, a man shrieking in pain. As I stand there dumbly, taking in the scene, blood vessels pop in Brennan's left eye, clouding the white sclera with red next to his rich brown iris.

What are you doing? I shout, unsure who I'm talking to. Stein glances over at me, revealing that his nose has been smashed in. Blood flows into his orange beard, making it look brown. Help! He's nuts! Given my size and physique, I could easily subdue Brennan, but I don't. I can't. Brennan, I say Dolly. Knock it off, man. His eyes, which have been staring, unseeing at the wall, shift to me.

There's a flicker of recognition. Brennan suddenly stops struggling. Eyelids droop. Every muscle relaxes. Davila rips the canister from his hand but doesn't let go. Neither does Stein. Eyes fixed on me. Brennan opens his mouth.

He's about to say something, but he doesn't. His eyelids shoot back up, and he goes stiff again, fighting against his coworkers. He opens his mouth wide, any hint of recognition of sanity is gone from his eyes. With an amount of force I didn't know was possible, he slams his teeth together with a horrific clacking sound. He does it again and again, turning the clacking to cracking as he breaks the bones in his mouth or jars them from their gums.

He slams his jaw once more, before Stein lets his arm go and gets one hand under his chin, forcing his head back against the wall. This prevents him from slamming his jaw again, but it doesn't keep him from grinding it side to side. I can hear the movement of his broken and uprooted teeth there. It reminds me of a rock tumbler I had as a child. Jesus, stop!

I cry, stepping forward, but still unable to get physically involved. Brennan swallows. The implications of that don't register at first. Not until he starts convulsing. His face growing even redder. He's choking on his teeth, I shout. Stein pulls his jaw open and shoves fingers into his mouth, jamming one finger into the back of his throat.

He tries to make Brennan throw up. It doesn't work. I can't get them out, Stein cries. Finally, I break my paralysis, moving to my friend. Let him go! I need to do the heimlich! Davila moves aside, but Stein is still trying to get the massive teeth out with the finger. As I pulled Brennan away from him, I shouted Davila to go get him.

Golindo, our medical officer. She runs off with the canister still in hand. I get in position and perform the maneuver, but it's too late. He's gone. Still, I try a few more times, until Stein puts a hand on my shoulder. As I'm lowering my friend's body to the floor, I glanced down the back of his sweater. I swear something moves in there, something slithering down his back, away from the light, something gray-green and faintly glistening. But then Davila is back with Golindo, and the man is pushing. me away from Brennan. As I watch and hope, some frightened part of my mind goes to work, convincing myself I didn't see anything under his sweater. What if I did, though? And what if it

has something to do with what happened at the drill site two days ago? Four thousand meters! A cheer went up at the announcement, which had come from inside the Coring Tower, shouted loudly over the sound of machinery. For safety reasons, most of us weren't supposed to be inside the Coring Tower during active drill. I wasn't sure why they called it a tower. It was just a large tent with two walls and two open ends. We had gathered around the tent, dressed in our puffy, brightly colored snow suits to witness the moment we broke the record. No one had ever drilled 4,000 meters into Antarctica. I had to convert it in my American mind, finding that it was roughly 13,100 feet, a mind-boggling depth in the ice.

Raina, a graying, scrunch-faced Dutchman, who was overseeing the project, had been the one to make the announcement. Now, he stepped out through one open side of the drill tower with his arms raised in triumph. Four thousand meters! He called again, a smile lighting up what I could see of his face between his wool cap and the scarf around his neck. We've just made history, and it's because of your hard work! A joyous energy continued to sweep through the crew as the frigid wind batted. us and the bright sun reflected off the snow in every direction. Brennan slapped me on the back with one gloved hand.

Drinks on me tonight! I shook my head, smiling. We all chipped in for the bottles. Does that mean you're going to pay for my portion? Absolutely not. I mean the drinks will be on me tonight. I'm bound to spill a few down my chest as drunk as will be. I laughed at Brennan Estine came over, grinning.

We talked excitedly about the fame we'd enjoy in our professional circle when we got back home. Ten minutes later, I helped bring out the first core sample the drill team had taken from that depth. It was inside a long metal drill tube, which Brennan and I carried to a nearby tent for the scientists to inspect and sample. Davila and a woman named Alfaro pushed the core sample out of the tube and onto a table. It wasn't a nice core, which surprised me. It looked like mud and rock. Davila saw me looking and said, We hit a subglacial lake. This stampede is from the lakebed. Damn, Brendan said.

Did we know there was a lake down there? No, Davila replied with a smile. I guess we'll get to name it. Although I was a little more than a glorified assistant, I knew that subglacial lakes often remained liquid because of pressure and geothermal heat. Brennan and I took the drill tube back toward the tower. As we approached, the quiet suddenly became very apparent.

Normally, the equipment would constantly run until the day's work was done, but it had been turned off. I had a moment of hope that we would get off early, but angry shouts soon eclipsed that thought. I glanced over my shoulder and saw my concern mirrored on Brennan's face. We hurried forward, still carrying the heavy drill tube between us. Upon reaching the drill tower and stepping inside, we were met with an odd scene.

The drill operator, a man named Fry, crouched next to the large complex drill rig. He held a wrench, which I had seen him used to reattach the drill tube to its apparatus. But now he held it oddly, jutting up between his middle and ring fingers like a baby might hold something before learning the best way. His expression made it even stranger. His eyebrows were together as if in deep thought, but his mouth was slack. Drul dripped into a short black beard. It's okay, Raina said, palms out. We're not going to hurt you. Aside from Raina,

three other people surrounded Fry, but at a safe distance. Their body language, made me think they were afraid of him. Raina stepped closer, still trying to calm the man down, and Fry whipped the wrench toward him. The end of the tool barely missed Raina as he ducked away. I started to shake, the threat of violence making me feel ill. I tried not to think about the way Weiss had looked as he lay in a twisted heap at the bottom of the stairs.

But the memories came regardless. You want to give them a hand? Brennan asked me. I was by far the biggest guy on the team. Brennan knew about my previous. job as a bouncer, but not about the incident that changed my life. No one here did. I didn't answer, but Brennan's voice made Fry look in our direction. Tang, positioned behind the man, saw her chance. She darted forward, although I had no idea what such a small woman hoped to do against a man

that had to weigh at least 225. Fry sensed her coming and whipped around with the wrench, missing as she ducked under his telegraphed swing. The wrench slipped from his grip and bounced off a plastic equipment crate. Tang hit him in the stomach in a poor attempt at a tackle, but he shoved her to the snow and spun around as the others moved in to subdue him. The scaffolding that supported the drill was about 15 feet tall, reaching up toward the middle of the large tenth. Fry started to climb it, moving as if he were drunk.

Raina tried to grab his foot, getting kicked in the chest for his trouble. As someone who'd helped set up the drill, I could picture what would come next. The scaffolding squatted over a four-foot wide hole dug through the snow, which was essential for proper operation. It didn't have a very wide footprint, but it didn't need one. The downward pressure of the heavy drill while in operation provided plenty of stability as long as the surface was flat. While extremely stable under normal circumstances, putting so much weight on one side of the scaffolding could cause the whole thing to topple, especially with the drill mechanism up like it was, and a heavy drill tube off.

Get him down, I called, dropping my end of the drill tube and rushing forward. My eye was to climb onto the other side, providing a counterweight. But before I could reach the scaffolding, it started to fall. A chorus of frantic shouts went up, as those in its path darted out of the way, and others looked on helplessly. Fry had reached the top of the tower, but barely. His head and shoulders were above the top crossbar, but nothing else. His back hit the hard-packed snow first, followed immediately by the way to the tower.

The sound of his bones breaking as they were smashed against the hard snow made me think of a strike at a bowling alley, only muffled and tinged with wetness. Everyone froze, staring at the man. On landing, he spat blood from his mouth, and it hung open, wide along with his eyes. What the hell happened to him? I shouted, too loud. No one could tell me. He just started acting strange, talking gibberish, they said.

When Tang had moved over to see what was wrong, he'd grabbed the wrench and swung at her. I saw the rest. The project was shut down immediately. It took more than a day to pack everything up at the drill center. site and then everything else at the research station. We drove back to Port Lockroy, where our ship was docked. Once everyone was aboard, we set sail. Now Brennan is dead too. It's no coincidence. It can't be. I stare at my friend's body still lying on the hallway floor. The ship's captain is here, having been pulled from his slumber by the chief officer. A couple of other people from this

deck who heard the commotion have also gathered around. The captain is still telling us how he'd like to keep the incident under wraps until morning when I blurt out. We need to check his back! Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy, but I say it again. Check his back. I saw something on it when I was doing the heimlich. What did you see? The captain asks.

Just check it? Now, please? I'll have to check him over anyway, Galindo says. With Davila's help, he turns Brennan onto his face. Then he pulls Brennan's sweater up. Starting a business always sounds exciting until you realize how many little things you suddenly have to figure out. We've experienced that firsthand

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We've moved the man into the cooler, where the core samples are stored. After finding nothing but bruises on his back, I finished getting dressed before helping to move his body. Now, along with me and Galindo, Davila is in the walk-in cooler with us, having put the sample back in its right place. Did you find out what he was doing with the sample? Galindo asks her. No, he didn't say anything I could understand.

Sounded like gibberish. Like Fry? I asked, looking over at the cadaver bag, containing Fry's body at the back of the cooler. I guess. I wasn't there to hear it, but that's what they're saying. Galindo leans over the gurney to take a closer look. Hmm.

What? There's some stippling, very small holes in the middle of the bruise. A dozen of them. Fry was the first one to handle the course. sample when it came out, right? I say. What if something came out with it and infected him? And then we accidentally brought it on board with his body. Galindo and Davila look at me with varying levels of disbelief. Like a virus? Davila asks. I remember what I saw on Brennan's back. No, an organism. Subglacial lakes are full of creatures we've never encountered before, right?

Sure, but nothing in science would allow for something that would. What? Hijack a human being? Evolution doesn't work like that. Maybe they've never hijacked humans before, I say. Maybe they latch on to other creatures, but now that they've encountered us. Besides, how else do you explain the bruising? There could be a dozen reasons. Maybe it happened when he was carrying equipment on board, or when we had pressed him against the wall.

Maybe he got too drunk last night and fell into something. Okay, so what about Fry? I say. How do you explain his behavior? Maybe we should check his upper back for bruising. What's still intact as a mess of bruises, Galindo says. We wouldn't be able to tell. Besides, Davila is right.

There's got to be some other explanation for this. I shake my head, looking at my dear friend. It reminds me of Weiss, how he looked in those few moments of relative silence at the bottom of the stairs, before he started screaming. My hands started shaking. I jammed them in my pockets. The therapist I saw while trying to get anxiety medication said it's common for people. to have physical responses like mine after a traumatic event.

When she first told me that I scoffed. Nothing happened to me. I wasn't injured. I came out of it fine. Dr. Morrow said, Just because you didn't suffer a physical injury during the altercation doesn't mean it wasn't traumatic for you. Even if you didn't mean to,

and even if you were acting in self-defense, your actions did cause serious injuries to another human being. You're clearly a very empathetic person, and the fact that you're a very empathetic person. that you caused this man pain bothers you. It may not seem like it now, but that's a good thing, Marcus. I wish there were more people like you in the world. If you stick with me, we'll work together through this,

while keeping that empathy intact, of course. I remember thinking, if you only knew the truth. What's that? The fear in Davila's voice brings me back to the present. She's looking at the rear of Brennan's soiled sweatpants. Following her gaze, I see that something's moving underneath the fabric. something headed toward the waistband. No fucking way!

Galinda breathes, stepping back from the gurney. But there's not much room. His back touches shelves before he's gone more than two feet. Davila, closest to the door, moves toward it without taking her eyes off Brennan's sweatpants. The thing that pokes out from under his sweatpants and his boxers looks like a large slug. It's a sickly shade of dark gray green, and it moves like a slug, slowly and with a series of wave-like undulations. As its entire body slithers out onto Brennan's lower back, I see that it has no features to speak of, no head or feelers or tail, about the same size and shape as the bruising.

We need to capture it, Galindo says. Or kill it! Davila adds with unscientific disgust. I stare at the thing, realizing I was right, but I've never wanted to be wrong so bad in my life. Galindo holds a handout toward Davila. Grab me a cylinder. A rack of shelves next to the door has empty cylinders. Davila nods and steps over. The slug springs up from Brennan's back

impossibly fast, landing on Galindo's face. He gasps and grabs at it with his gloved hands, and the creature scurries up his cheek on tiny legs, hidden beforehand, like it meant to hide them, like it wanted to trick us. The slug covers Galindo's eyes, draped over his nose like some luxury spa mask from hell. As he grabs hold of the thing to pry it off,

something happens. Golindo starts screaming. Blood pours down from under the slug as it undulates, its previously smooth skin now rippling in waves. Galindo's hands fall away as he spasms, crashing onto Brennan and shoving the gurney into me with his weight. Panic hits in tandem with the gurney, breaking my paralysis. As Galindo collapses, I shoved the gurney away and dart to the door, shouldering Davila out of the way. She follows me a moment later. Together, we slam the cooler door and lean against it. The dull sounds of Galindo's spasms come from inside.

Help! I shout, somebody help us! It's the middle of the night, but someone should hear us over the ship's constant hum. Soon enough, Raina comes running into the room. The captain woke him earlier to explain the situation, since he's in charge of the expedition. Moments later, Stein comes in behind him, a bloodstained bandage over his busted nose, and one hand held behind his back. Raina is pale with concern, which only deepens when he sees our faces.

What's happening? Davila stammers out an answer as the two men come closer. Stein swings an ice hatchet blade first into Raina's skull with a crunching thud. I flinch as blood splatters my face. Raina's pain-filled eyes roll up as blood pours down through his thin gray hair. Davila gasps. After a moment of shock, she looks at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to do something. I'm bigger than Stein, stronger too.

Stein pulls the blade out, shoving Raina, who topples to the floor. I do nothing. Only tremble and stare is Stein. Steen steps toward us, raising the hatchet. Davila growls as she lurches toward him. The blade comes down on her left shoulder, a glancing blow that opens her up, but doesn't stop her from charging,

hands aiming for Stein's neck, but she doesn't choke him. She wraps him in a strange hug, shoving her hands under the back collar of his sweatshirt, going for the slug. She's figured out what I've been too shocked to realize. There's more than one of those things. While I'm considering this,

Stein whips the hatchet down, sinking the blade into the back of her thigh, Her screams triggers another memory of Weiss, shrieking at the bottom of the stairs, his legs mangled from the fall. A fall I caused. Debilitated and troubling, I stare as Stein yanks the hatchet out and slams it into her lower back. She writhes, her hands coming out from under his sweater, empty. She tries to push him away, but Stein hugs her to him with one arm as he slices into her again.

Some part of me notices that Stein's movements are more fluid than the others have been. He's holding the hatchet correctly, unlike Frye and the wren. Like the slugs are learning how to control their hosts. But he's not fast. Every blow takes time to develop. Something slams against the cooler door, launching me forward. I land on the floor just past Stein and Davila. The woman stops screaming as she goes limp.

Half turned, I look at the cooler to see Galindo emerge. A familiar canister in one hand. Where his eyes used to be, there were only bloody sockets. Gore dangles in these twin caves as the man walks stiffly out. Stein drops Davila to the floor next to the floor next to him. arena before turning to look at me. Despite not having any eyes, Galindo also turns directly toward me. They both make noises with their mouths. High-pitched, incessant, gibberish. Stein steps toward me, raising the hatchet. The feelings from that night ten years ago come rushing back on a wave.

Feelings I've successfully suppressed until now. I didn't know the man's name was Weiss. Not then. I only knew he'd groped a couple of women in the bar and was a sloppy drunk. As another Bouncer and I were escorting him to the alley stairs from the second-story bar in a renovated warehouse. He threw an elbow at the other bouncer, hitting him in the head hard enough to knock him out. Then he swung at my face, missing as I dodged back. Rage swelled within me. I'd been angry at drunk patrons before, but never like this. Violent fantasies rushed through my head.

Things from a torture porn movie. Things that I, in that moment, would have gladly done to the man. I dodged another sloppy punch, resisting all the dark earth. I shoved him out the door and onto the landing near the stairs. He swung on me again. The darkness won. I grabbed him by the neck and slammed him back first against the railing. Suddenly, I knew I was going to flip him over that railing and send him 30 feet down to the alley below.

I knew it might kill him. I didn't care. I wanted to kill him. But he sensed what I was going to do, even in his drunken state. Before I could grab his thighs, he pushed me out of the way just enough to lurch for the stairs. I lunged after him and shoved him in the back, hard. His screams don't haunt me because I felt guilty. The visions of his mangled legs didn't surface like a vengeful ghost.

Those things haunted me because I didn't feel guilty about them, because I liked them, and I wanted to do more of them, to anyone who cut me off in traffic, or acted like an asshole to a retail worker, or argued with a flight attendant, or started to fight. I wanted to punish them. But I didn't want to be that person. The fact that Weiss was blackout drunk,

saved me from any consequences. That and the testimony of my coworker and others at the bar who'd seen his belligerent behavior. Yet, I figured it was only a matter of time before I ended up in prison, where I thought I should be in my heart of hearts. Now, Stein steps close, hatchet raised. I finally give in. I let the darkness take me into its loving arms. I lift my foot and kick out, slamming it into Stein's knee. It folds backward with a crunch. He makes no noise and swings the blade down, but I've changed the trajectory. It slices down the outside of my left arm, cutting through my shirt and into my triceps.

He falls next to me thanks to his ruined leg. I yank the hatchet from him and send it toward his face. He gets a hand up, and the blade slices deep into his palm between his middle and ring fingers, but no shriek of pain. He just gibbers at me. Galindo slinks toward me, but not very fast. I bat Stein's arms out of the way and send the blade into his face with a satisfying crunch. I no longer see him as the man I've come to know.

He's a fucking slug and he needs to die. Getting to my knees, I flip Stein over so I can kill the slug. Before I can do it, Galinda reaches me. I whip the blade up and out, cutting a huge gouge in his throat. He stumbles back, blood spewing. I turn back to Stein, now face down, twitching, trying to get up despite the facial wound. I can't see the slug, but I assume it's in the same place it was on Brennan.

The blade slices through his sweatshirt and into what's underneath. He stops twitching immediately, but I continue hacking at the slug, which I can now see. It bleeds maroon sludge. It's complex insides, a range of muted colors that spill out as I cut. I can even see the strange translucent filaments retracting from Stein's body. That explains the tiny holes, I think, slamming the hatchet down again. Suddenly, I stop, straightening. Cold clarity slides into my mind, along with the rush him endorphins. I finally feel free. For the first time in a long time, I'm not suppressing some essential part of myself. I glance over at Galindo, who has gone still, his bloody eyeless sockets staring at the ceiling.

He still clutches the cylinder in his hand. My eyes fix on it, footsteps sound, people are coming. At first, I think I hear them speaking English. But as they get closer, I realize it's that same strange gibbering I heard from the slugs, like they don't know how to make their hosts talk, But they try anyway. Tang and Alfaro rush into the room, but I'm ready for them. I know they've come for the cylinder, and they'll kill me if they can. I sink the hatchet into Alfaro's chest, and then shove her into Tang, pinning both slugs against the wall.

One blow from the hatchet splits Tang's skull open. Letting them fall to the floor, I turn around and grab the cylinder. I shove it into my back pocket and rush out of the room, coming face to face with more slugs. The captain and his chief officer rushed toward me, shattering nonsensically. I use my bulk, my muscle, my experience, and the hatchet to dispatch them. I do what I was made to do. The slugs won't stop me. With only a few bruises for my trouble, I leave their twitching torn bodies behind as I head for the deck.

The night air is frigid. A blanket of stars competes with a quarter moon for splendor in the sky. The ship rocks gently on dark waves. I stop at the side, looking over the railing at the water below. After dropping the hatchet to the deck, I pull out the canister and twist it open. breaking the seal put there by Davila or Alfaro. I hold it out over the water and upend it. The mud and rock course sample from the subglacial lake slides out and splashes into the water.

They're eggs. I'm not sure how I know, but I do. That's what we accidentally scooped up. Their eggs. A moment later. The cold clarity I've been feeling. The freedom and sense of purpose fades. What was once an intense high now feels like a come down.

Something moves on my shoulder and then plops down into the waves. But I catch a glimpse of it in the pale celestial light before it disappears. The world seems to collapse in on me. I stumble away from the railing, glimpsing the bloody hatchet on the deck. No. I murmur. No. No, no, no, no.

I rushed back inside the superstructure, retracing my steps, coming across the captain and the chief officer. They no longer twitch. Their death rattles have gone quiet. I pulled down the back of the captain's shirt, looking for a slug, or at least some bruising and stippling, asking myself why I didn't kill the slugs. I killed the one on Stein's back. Why didn't I kill the other ones? But I already know the answer.

Neither man has bruising. There were no slugs. But I run back to the lab anyway. I check Alfaro and Tang. No evidence of slugs. They were never hijacked. I was. Right after killing Stein.

Which means. I rush over to Galindo's body and pulled the back of his shirt down. Bruising. No slug. Looking over the massacred bodies. I feel nothing like I did when Weiss started screaming at the bottom of those steep metal stairs. There's no dark joy, nothing but regret, nothing but crushing guilt. More people run into the room.

I barely register their presence as they find me sobbing on the floor. I don't even realize I'm speaking until I hear two of them talking about me. What's he saying? One of the masks. I did it. He's saying I did it. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or follow.

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