Snook - 2 Hours of Horrifying Reddit Stories

Episode Date: August 7, 2026

This was 2 Hours of Horrifying Reddit Stories! These stories were so terrifying! What was your favorite story? And would you like to see me make similar videos in the future? Leave your thoughts down below in the comment section, and make sure to like and subscribe! Credits! Go give some support to these talented authors! lets-split-up - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1sed953/i_bought_talking_buttons_for_my_cat_but_the_cat/ SapphireLion15 - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1tnspm1/i_found_a_weird_housesitting_ad_it_might_be_the/ Saturdead - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1ugmskh/lima_india_sierra/ somethinggoeshere2 - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1nqcp38/i_went_offtrail_in_eastern_europe_and_barely_made/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1 I was granted permission to use all of these stories. Make sure to check out all of the original authors. Timestamps! 0:00 | Intro 1:04 | I bought “talking” buttons for my cat, but the cat wasn’t the only one who used them… 19:46 | I Found a Weird House-Sitting Ad. It Might Be the Best Gig I'll Ever Get. 50:42 | Lima. India. Sierra. 1:30:33 | I went off-trail in Eastern Europe and barely made it out alive. Something in the tall grass almost killed me in Romania 2:01:45 | Outro Make sure to subscribe to the Patreon for early access videos and many more perks! patreon.com/SnookYT Also! Go follow me on Spotify and Instagram! Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber goal is 1 million, so subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Twizzlers keep the fun going. Yeah, I know. I just stopped whatever you were listening to to tell you that Twizzlers keep the fun going. Well, irony isn't my forte, but twisty, chewy, yummy Twizzlers sure is. So think of Twizzlers as a little pallet cleanser for whatever's queued up, which, by the way, should be coming very soon. Like any second now. Okay, Twizzlers, time to keep the fun going.

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to the channel, and today we're getting into two hours. of some horrifying Reddit stories and oh boy do I have some scary disturbing and downright terrifying Reddit stories for you guys today so make sure to stick around and I appreciate you guys stop by means the world to make sure you like the video and subscribe to the channel the channel subscriber goal is one million subscribers before the end of the year so please subscribe all of the support really does help so much and make sure you follow me on Instagram and follow me over

on Spotify and rate me five stars and oh boy I was not line. These are some of the scariest stories and honestly best scary stories I have ever read. They had me on the edge of my seat the entire time. So I'm excited to get into these. So sit back, relax, grab a drink and grab a snack. Get cozy. And let's get into two hours of some horrifying Reddit stories. I bought talking buttons for my cat, but the cat wasn't the only one who used them. Written by Let's Split Up. It's actually my youngest son's cat

who learned how to use the buttons. I inherited the cat after my son lost control of his car on the icy roads last winter. It happened on the day he received a scholarship to his top college choice. He and his boyfriend were feeling on top of the world and were on their way back home from a trip. His boyfriend survived.

He did not. You cannot imagine the grief. Either you have experienced the loss of a child or you haven't. I did not weep, not at the funeral nor for many weeks after. I became a stone, an object. It was as if all these sorrow were locked far from reach. Instead of feeling anything, I simply. thought many times of retrieving the pistol that I own from its case in the back of my closet.

And on a few occasions, I even went and took it and sat with it, feeling its weight in my hand. My son Vin, Vinny to his friends, was my world. One day, he would have been famous, I'm sure of it. You may think that is a father's pride talking, maybe it is, but he had a music scholarship. He would have performed for presidents and world leaders. In my mind, when I see him, it is usually at his piano, playing for his cat. When he was 15, I promised him akin if he did well in school. And he picked out this tabby, the tiniest and angriest tabby in the world and named her Terry. She loved only him and hissed and growled at anyone else who came near, including me.

She also peed on his clothes and on mine and on my bed. To say I wanted to get rid of Terrible Terry as I called her is an understatement. But then my brilliant son died. And suddenly it was just me and Terrible Terry and the gun. I felt nothing but resentment toward the cat. But she spent hours and hours slouched on the window sill in his bedroom where she always sat while he played piano. I used to think she sat there to watch the birds and couldn't care less about his playing. Now she didn't even lift her head.

She just loafed on the sill, as if waiting for him to come bursting in and pull the dust cover off and play. And there were the buttons. You've seen them, I'm sure. sure. Those gimmicky buttons that people get to train their animals to talk. A bunch of nonsense if you ask me. What has a dog got to say? Nothing but food, probably. And anyway, people are supposed to give commands to dogs, not the other way around. But Vinny would watch all these videos of dogs and sometimes cats pressing the buttons, even though to be honest, the cat videos he showed me looked like the cats walking onto the buttons completely by accident. And that's

what I told him. Complete waste of money. People wishfully projecting their ideas onto their pets. The cat pressed, love you, and meant it, ha, cats only know hunger and selfish desires. Well, my stubborn, dreamy-eyed cat-loving son bought a set of those buttons. He pre-recorded dozens of them. But he began with just a handful. Food, cuddle, outside, music, dad, and Vinny. Yeah, he put me and himself as buttons, and music too, because he was convinced in his silly teenaged way that the cat liked his music and might want to request it. Terry was terrified of those buttons. No matter how he tried to do. to train her, she refused to use them. She hissed, she swatted, she wouldn't go near them.

She knew exactly what they were there for, I'm sure of it. She even knew the words because he'd say to her, let's have some music, and she would go to her perch by the piano and wait for him. But when it came to the buttons, she refused. Terry loved those buttons about as much as I love Terry. But then, like I said, came the incident. Suddenly, my son was gone. The house felt wrong, empty. Terry was a husk. I put food out, but she didn't eat.

I didn't know how to read her signals. She hissed at me if I came near. I decided I should get rid of her. I couldn't keep this cat. The cat hated me anyway. I will get rid of her, I thought. and then I will be done with me too. But I couldn't bring myself to get rid of my son's cat.

And I couldn't commit S-word while my cat was still alive. And so we were stuck. Me and the cat. And then one night I was up in my room contemplating S-word when I heard the recorded voice downstairs speak Vinnie. I assumed it must be a mistake. She must have walked over the button, but then it came again. Vinnie, Vinny, Vinny, Vinny.

I stood there, listening to that cat-pressed Vinny over and over again. And tears came into my eyes. It was like a key turning in a lock. A crack in the dam that then finally burst. I gasped, loud, gulping sobs. finally the tears came from my son and when the flood was over i came down and found tiny terry sitting by the buttons looking miserable and i scooped her up and told her i miss him too and for once she didn't swap me she gave only the smallest growl i put her down and got her some food got myself some too

we both ate that was the beginning since then i've added more bolder but i've added more buttons. You see, I'm not an animal person. I didn't understand Terry's body language, her wants and needs, without the buttons. She finally started using them, training me. I guess they say cats do that. She has a wet food button, a kibble button. She has a no button to use if I show her the wrong food. I also added from my son's collection the love you button. Yes, I confess, I did add. I did add it and a Terry button. And I began to make a habit of pressing Love you, Vinny, and love you, Terry.

I was genuinely in shock how much she communicated. The first time she pressed, Dad, love you. I almost broke down all over. I couldn't believe it. She looked like she wasn't even trying. She just casually walked over the buttons, but it was deliberate. It happened more than once. I still hadn't learned to read her cat body language at all.

But with the buttons, I understood her, and I felt like I had a part of my son with me. Sometimes, she said things that just cracked open my soul, like when she looked at me with those big round eyes one time and hit Vinny Home. I wish she was home, too, I told her. It was uncanny, the things we could discuss. We'd have entire conversations. I know it sounds nuts. I'd have thought myself nuts just a couple of months before,

but I added buttons so fast, and she took to all of them. I asked her once if she understands what happened to Vinnie. She replied with Vinnie Bye Bye. I'd added the bye-bye button to tell her whenever I was leaving the house. Then she asked me, Vinny Home. I had to tell her no. Vinnie Bye-bye. and she stubbornly insisted again, Vinnie home, and she walked away, angry, I think, that I couldn't make Vinny come back.

But the reason I am sharing this story and sharing this story here is because of what happened last week. Last week, my son Liam came to see me. Liam is Vinny's older half-brother. He's nearly a decade older than Vin. From a previous relationship, and unfortunately, Liam inherited all of his mother's worst traits. It is always the same with him. He begs for money, gets abusive if I do not give it,

and disappears once I have made him alone, he will never repay. I cut off all funds to him a few years ago and told him I would no longer enable his habits. While I'd never cut him entirely out of my life, I hadn't allowed him to visit when Vinny was alive because of the way he'd treat Vinny on a previous visit. When he'd sneeringly accused me of favoring that menacing little, I won't repeat his hateful words for his younger brother. When he showed up on my doorstep, he had the smell of whiskey on his breath, and he looked wild. died and anxious. Daddy said, and then hugged me tight. I'm sorry about Vin. It shocked me so much. I hugged him right back. And he came in and sat down and asked how I was doing. He was surprisingly solicitous. I didn't understand why. His usual meanness didn't come through

at all until he noticed a growling Terry. You still have that little piss queen, he asked, and reached a hand for her, only for her two swat and runaway. Little shit, he said. Her name is Terry, I said defensively. He laughed. Didn't you used to call her terrible Terry? She doesn't pee on things anymore. From the button area came presses of bye-bye.

She wants you to go bye-bye, I said. She can fuck off. She's not your son, I am. Bye-bye. I didn't like the way he talked to the cat. Though a few minutes later after she peed on his shoes, I found his anger more understandable, and I locked her up to prevent him from harming her. But he seemed genuinely sad about Vinny,

and even asked about Vinny's boyfriend and his recovery after the crash. I wondered if he had to come over to try to patch things up between us, maybe to start off on better footing, like me and Terry had, until he asked me what was going to happen to Vinny's college fund. I haven't decided yet, I told him. I'm still processing all of this. But like, he's not going to use it, right?

I mean, even before the accident, the money you've been saving for him, he had a scholarship, right? He wasn't going to need it, and he definitely won't need it now, Dad. I could use a loan. Liam. You still have one son left, Dad. He burst, and there was the old rage. Why do you always treat me like this?

Even when he's dead, he still deserves more than I do. I bet you cut me out of your will too, huh? I did not. You didn't? No. You both get equal shares. Oh, okay, okay. He calmed down.

Sorry, I just... I have a lot of resentment, I guess. I'm sorry, but... About the loan. Is there any way... I will have to think on it. Okay, okay. You think I'll make us drinks, okay?

I should have known what was happening when he went to the kitchen and was fumbling around longer than necessary. I should have known, but how could I? My head already lost one son. How could I suspect the other? How could I imagine the worst? I wanted to believe things would be better. I drank the alcohol he put in front of me without thinking.

I assumed the wooziness was just the booze. It had been a long enough time since I'd had a real drink. Somewhere in the bedroom where she was locked up, Terry was howling. Howling her a little heart out. I'd never heard her make those sounds and said I was going to let her out, but when I got up, the whole world lurched. Liam's arms caught me and he said, got you dad and then kept whispering in my ear his breath still reeking sorry sorry but you're making me do this

if you just give me that fucking loan i didn't start to panic really panic until he popped me up on the sofa and went upstairs to the question you still keep your gun in the closet the fear hit me in a wave then I felt like I was floating, like I was drifting away from my body, like I was lost in some strange and horrible dream. I tried to stand, to stumble to the table and grab my phone, but I fell and heard the crack of my head against the table's edge. The ground came up to meet me. Pain shot through my skull. Footsteps thudded overhead, cursing as he rifled through my closet. I tried to pull myself up again. Finally managed to grab my phone. The scream swam in my vision.

My fingers were fat and clumsy as I tried to push the keys to call for help. A hand smacked the phone out of my grip. It's because you won't help me. Liam rambled as he again wrapped his arms around me to try to get me onto the sofa. Everyone knows you're depressed. Can't handle Vinny's death. you should have just done it man if you'd just done it i wouldn't have to pah i gasped this is the only way this is how it was going to be anyway you don't even want to live anyway in your own way you're

helping me out here in the end he said and then in response to the howling from the other room he suddenly shrieked shut the fuck up the howling stopped leum glared toward the door. His breath's coming hard and fast. Then looked back at me. Everything had become so blurry. His words were a garble. His features a haze. I felt the cold muzzle of the gun as my heart galloped in my chest. From Vinny's room came a sharp rustle, like a curtain or a sheet. And then the piano, the notes of a piano. The hell? Liam's voice was, slurred through my drugged haze. Is someone here?

The plane continued. Unsteady but beautiful. Unmistakably cleared a loon, just like Vinny had always played, but slower. Halting. And I wondered. It couldn't be the cat, could it? It almost sounded like the cat walking

deliberately across the keys. The same way she walked across the buttons, but that would have been impossible. Who's there? Snarled Liam. V-v-v-v was all I could manage. He snatched up the gun and stalked toward the bedroom door. In my blurry vision, he wavered, back and forth.

And when he opened the door, there, at the piano, was a figure, flickering and impossible. A figure that both was and was not there. And Liam screamed and raised his arm and the world exploded as the gun went off. And then there was the howling of the cat. And the cat came charging out, all bristling like a tiger. And with her, that same figure from the piano. And Liam was screaming in terror and fired the gun again and ran out the door. What I remember next is waking in the ER.

Neighbors apparently called police after hearing the gunshots. When I was discharged and returned home, my head wrapped from the concussion. I was relieved to find Terry whole and alive. She hurried over to greet me, tail up. I'd finally started picking up her body language to know a greeting when I saw it. But it wasn't just the tabby greeting me I knew. You see, I'd finally realize something.

A cat can't play a piano. And this cat couldn't use buttons. Not of her own volition. Maybe it had it been Terry talking to me all along. Maybe it was and always had been Vinny. And so as I extended my hand and Terry rubbed my knuckles, I told her, I love you. I won't ever leave you.

I promise. I will survive. You can be free. I love you. Terry rubbed my hand again and again and rubbed my face when I bent my head to theirs. Then she patted over to the buttons and walked across them. And I listened to my son's recorded voice. Love you.

Love you. Bye bye. Terry hasn't touched those buttons since. But every once in a while, when I'm very deep in dreams, I think I hear the sound of the piano. I found a weird house-sitting ad. It might be the best gig I'll ever get.

Written by Sapphire Lion 15. It seemed like easy money, wanted, weekend house sitter, three days, two nights, will pay for food, $500 a day, call Agatha. I should have been more suspicious, but at the time I was fresh out of college, up to my ears in debt, and barely managing to pay rent every month. I'd been looking for steady work, basically anything that would let me get groceries without filing for. for bankruptcy. When I saw the ad stapled to a tree on one of the city streets, I'd house sat for friends and relatives before. And the flyer didn't mention anything about pet sitting, babysitting, or anything like that. Plus, the pay would cover next month's rent. And if I did a good job, I might be able to make the gig the regular thing. I called the number, thinking there was

no harm and at least making sure the offer was legit. Agatha turned out to be an older woman who answered on the second ring. She understood that the ad seemed too good to be true and told me that she could prove the offer was valid, giving me an address to look up and her full name to Google. I put her on speaker and did so. As it turned out, Agatha had been a pretty big deal 10 years before. She'd been a fashion critic, who was well known for her refined tastes and almost supernaturally good predictions about what would be in every season. Upon retiring, she turned into something of a hermit and almost never leaving her house, though the fact that delivery people regularly showed up at her front door proved she was still

alive, and she was loaded. Born into a high-class family, she had more money in the bank than some small countries had in their treasuries. While this would be specifically for the weekend. Agatha continued after my Google search. I have a series of trips coming up that I simply cannot put off. If this weekend goes well, I may hire you back for a following weekend for double the current rate. My jaw dropped. I could be making three grand in a weekend. At the time, I thought she was either extremely generous or didn't know the value of dollar. Looking back, I probably should have seen that as a red flag. But I was destined to. so naturally I accepted the job.

I was to arrive on Friday morning, specifically at 10 o'clock sharp. Once I'd stepped through the front door, I wasn't allowed to leave the house again until Sunday afternoon when Agatha would return. Thus, I was expected to bring everything I would possibly need for my three-day stay. Odd as I thought that was, I was not about a tick off the lady who could single-handedly and a few of my money troubles. Agatha's house was an absolutely gorgeous mansion. It practically screamed old money. It was three stories tall, painted a pristine white, a balcony overlooked the front lawn, the lawn and flower beds were immaculately cared for. A golden statue made up of numerous brass instruments stood proud at the center of the garden,

all in all, I was starting to think this gig would be worth it. But I had to pause when I saw the dolls. Standing on poles, guarding either side of the porch, were two gigantic dolls. They looked like they were made of some kind of sack cloth, as their skin reminded me of burlap. Both of them were about six feet tall, though the poles they were attached to made them seem, at least a foot taller. They didn't have mouths, but there were two massive black circles

embroidered onto their faces to act like eyes. They had stringy black yarn to act as their hair. Though Howe said yarn hadn't rotted away due to exposure to the elements, was anyone's guess. They were made up to resemble a man and a woman.

The male doll's yarn hair was made up to look like a mop-top haircut, and he was dressed in a black Victorian-style suit. The female doll was wearing a ballet-style dress with black leggings, and her yarn hair was tied up into a sloppy bun. Both had a very Burton-esque feel to them. As surprised as I was to see the dolls,

especially because of how out of place they were, I shrugged and played it off as a weird interest Agatha had. After all, she'd hardly be the first rich person to have an eccentric hobby. Agatha all but pulled me inside when I knocked on the door. She was a sharply dressed woman in at least her late 60s. I noticed that a suitcase was sitting behind her. She looked satisfied to see that I had arrived on time and had a suitcase and duffel with me. Got everything you'll need?

She asked in lieu of a greeting. Everything you'll need, I reassured her. Good, good, very now. On to my taxi here. I looked out the still open front door to see a taxi pull up right beside my beat-up Prius. I'll pay you what you're owed as soon as I get back. She told me as she picked up her suitcase. I don't have time to go over everything, so I left a list of rules for you on the kitchen table.

Follow it to the letter and everything will be fine. See you Sunday. With that, she went out the door, shutting it behind her. I blinked. Wondering if that was normal behavior to someone leaving there clearly. expensive house to a total stranger. Setting my bags down in the foyer, I walked through the gargantuan house until I found the kitchen. As she had promised, a list had been written down.

It was written on custom stationary and left next to a sticky note that read, Please follow all rules. I dutifully read over the list. Some of the instructions were rather self-explanatory, but, But others were just plain weird. Number one. Please feed the goldfish in the library. The food is in a jar on the cabinet next to the tank.

Just one pinch a day. Number two, every night at 9 o'clock sharp, you must be in the living room, staring out the picture window. You must watch everything they do, do not look away. They like an audience. When they bow to you, clap three times and close the curtains. Be sure to open them again in the morning. 3.

Please don't smoke or vape in the house. If you must, please only smoke or vape on the balcony. 4. If you touch any books in the library, please put them back where you found them. 5. If you are injured or feel sick, sleep on the couch on the back patio. Be there, 9 and you'll feel better by the morning. Number 6. On Saturday night, leave a paper plate of frozen

crinkle-cut carrot slices on the welcome mat. Be sure you do this by 6 o'clock at the latest. Don't worry about getting the paper plate. They never leave leftovers. Number 7. Ross, the gardener, comes on Saturday morning. Jeb, the special gardener, comes every Saturday evening. Do not speak to either of them. And do not let Jeb know I'm not home. Number eight, do not make any noise while watching them. They will excuse a sneeze or coughing fit, but everything else will make them unhappy. And finally, number nine, the streaming service is yours to use as you like. If you order any pizza or food for delivery, leave a note telling me where it was at and what it cost, and I will cover it. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. The rules about feeding the fish, not smoking,

and picking up after myself were easy to understand and follow. Fish were easy to please and I had never been a smoker, but the other rules were weird. Still, like I said, they were all pretty easy to follow, and Agatha was being more than generous. I decided to just grin and bear it, though I have to admit that the constant mentions of they left me with a knot in my stomach. Friday was spent exploring the house and finding all the rooms listed. The library was on the second floor, right next to my guest room, which looked like a luxury hotel suite. The back patio was a fully covered and furnished deck, with glass doors and windows keeping Mother Nature out in a connected heating and AC unit keeping it comfortable.

The living room was a surprisingly big room. You could have parked a car in there and still had room for 10 people. The picture window mentioned in the list was so big it took up most of the wall and was framed by red velvet curtains, which greatly reminded me of the curtains used in theaters. After a dinner of ordered pizza in a mountain dew, I saw that it was 10 till 9. Too curious to disobey,

I went into the living room and looked down. out the picture window. The sun had set by that point, with the porch light and various lights in the garden illuminating the front. Then at 9 on the dot, just when I was starting to wonder what the big deal was, it happened. The two dolls I'd seen earlier jumped off of their posts. There was no warning. One moment they were still and lifeless, and the next they were moving like it was the most normal thing in the world. The male doll offered its arm to the female one, who took it delicately.

They walked over onto a bare patch of grass, one right in my line of sight. The male doll touched the statue of the orchestra I'd seen earlier. Eerie, unearthly music filled the air. Then, as I watched, they began to dance. It wasn't a waltz or a salsa

or any kind of dance I had seen before, but it was undeniably dancing. They stepped in time to the music, never looking away from one another. At times, the male doll would dip or whirl the female doll around before they began slow dancing once again. My heart hammered as I struggled to rationalize what I was seen. My eyes were frozen on the pair. Finally, the music tapered off.

The dolls stopped their dance and turned to face me. They'd known I was there all along. I was as still as a statue as their black, unreadable eyes focused on me. Then, perfectly in sync, they bowed at me. Remembering the rules, I gave three loud claps and closed the curtains as quickly as possible. Then I got out of that room as fast as I could. I made a break from my guest room, avoiding all windows. What if they were still watching the house?

and taking these steps two at a time. Great news. The federal EV rebate is back. Eligible customers get up to $5,000 with the federal EVAP rebate on select 2027-volt and 26 Equinox EV models. Visit your local Chevrolet dealer today for more details. I slammed the door when I got into my room, breathing heavily. Like a scared little kid, I darted under the bed, shaking.

How, in the name of sanity, had that. just happened. Did Agatha know it would happen? I had just pulled out my phone in my pocket, wondering what I should do when it buzzed. It was a text from Agatha. I know you must be frightened, but don't be. They only want an audience, nothing more. Just follow the rules, and you'll be safe. I sent her a few texts, most of them asking or really begging for answers, but she never replied. I spent most of my night. under the blanket in my guest room, hugging my plush sea turtle and not daring to look out the window, lest I see one of the dolls staring at me.

Morning eventually came. Exhausted from a fearful, sleepless night, I trudged down the stairs to make some coffee. I froze when I heard someone moving outside, until I remembered the list. One of the gardeners always came Saturday mornings, and I wasn't supposed to speak to them. Tempted as I was to see anyone real, to try and convince myself I wasn't crazy, I decided to abide by the rules, which meant I had to open those living room curtains. I held my breath as I pulled them apart, and wasn't quite sure how I felt when I saw that the dolls were back on their poles, like nothing had ever happened. I had a bowl of corn flakes and a cup of very strong coffee for breakfast, deciding to try and binge comfort films until, I could convince myself it had all been some wild dream.

Unfortunately, that plan was dashed when, while walking back to the TV room, I tripped on my own discarded sneaker. While my landing was painful, it was nothing compared to the sprained ankle I got in the process. I bit my arm to keep from screaming and managed to hobble back into the kitchen for some ice. I wound up still going on a movie binge, but now it was because I was confined. to the couch. I was wondering how I was going to get up the stairs that night.

If my foot was a mess until I remembered, according to Agatha, I had to sleep on the back patio if I was hurt, which meant that I wouldn't have to see those creepy dolls. While I still didn't know what was going on, I felt much better thinking that I might have a more normal night. I spent the rest of the day, following the instructions as best as I could, leaving the chopped carrots on the welcome mat

after the special gardener left. I understood why he was the special gardener when I saw him dusting those freaky dolls. After I had fed the fish, I went about my nighttime routine, made more difficult with the busted ankle. By 8.50 I had gotten myself settled on the back patio. The patio's couch was as soft as a bed,

and there were enough pillows for me to feel comfortable even after I used two of them to prop up my foot. After taking a blanket from the linen closet, I was ready to get a full night's sleep. I just closed my eyes, starting to drift off, and then I heard it. That eerie, unearthly music. I pulled the blanket over my face, too afraid to think of doing anything else. As I listened, the music stopped mid-note. I froze, wondering what that meant. For a few minutes, it was dead quiet.

Then I heard it. Two pairs of unnaturally light footsteps. They walked in sink slowly as though they weren't in any kind of hurry. And they were walking towards the porch. Terrified tears are. rolled down my cheeks as I silently begged them not to come near me. The steps started walking onto the deck, and then the door to the back patio opened. My heart was in my mouth as I heard two sets of feet approach.

Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, but I couldn't, not with my, the blanket was ripped off of me. The female doll was standing right next to my head, holding the blanket in one hand as she stared at me. I was about to let out a scream when her hand dropped the blanket and clamped over my mouth. The other hand settled on my hair. She started rhythmically moving her hand through my hair, like, like she was petting me. Her eyes never left mine. Two hands grabbed my bad foot. I shot a glance towards the foot of the couch and saw the male doll holding out my swollen limb, much like the female doll. He was staring right at me.

He lifted his hand and snapped, and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, the sun was out. Everything that had happened came back to me in a flash, and I looked down on my injured foot, only it wasn't injured anymore. It looked like it had never been hurt. I got off the couch and stood on it to test it. it was perfectly fine.

Agatha's text came back to me. They only want an audience. Nothing more. Just follow the rules and you'll be safe. I guess part of keeping their audience meant keeping them healthy. Feeling physically better after a night of rest, I waited impatiently for Agatha to come back at three that day. When she finally walked through the door that afternoon,

she had a resigned look on her face. She dropped her bag on the floor and gave a tired smile. All unpack, make us a pot of tea, and explain what I can. That was all the answer I got until she'd unpacked everything and put on her electric kettle. Only when we both had a steaming cup of chamomile in our hands did she start to explain. I don't know where they truly came from, she began. or even what they truly are. But when I turned 50, my health began to deteriorate.

And with my wealth, I was a prime target for thieves or home intruders. Jeb's brother reached out to me shortly after my 50th birthday. He claimed that he had a way of making sure I was always healthy and protected. All I had to do was give them an audience. The day after I agreed, I woke up to find those two standing at my attention in my yard. All their cellar told me was I must not remove them, and that I must always watch them dance at night. She took a sip from her tea. At first, I was as confused and petrified as you.

But then when I came down with a dreadful flu bug a week after I got them, they came into my house in the middle of the night and cured me. Since then, I've realized that they are protectors, as long as I've been. as you serve as their audience. That's why I almost never leave. Someone has to be here to make sure they have an audience, that they don't stop protecting the house and whoever stays here. But last week, my brother-in-law was killed in a car accident,

and my sister was distraught. I had to go and stay with her to make sure she was all right. That's why I was willing to pay a complete stranger so much money just to watch the place. Our conversation went on for a little longer, but in the end I more or less got it. I was still creeped out by the whole thing, but after the dolls had healed me, well, I wasn't as scared as before. Thus, I began Agatha's regular house sitter. It was a fair bargain. She finally got to travel and visit people she hadn't seen in years, while I got a steady lucrative income in exchange for watching her place.

and as a result, the dancing dolls, whenever she called me. I'd been her regular house sitter for about a year, when Melanie called. Melanie was the kind of sibling you wish you didn't have to associate with. She'd been a little gremlin since the day she was born, and her behavior had gotten worse with age. It didn't matter how many times my parents put her in time out or she got detention in school. No mistake she made was her fault. All right. Anything anyone else got was something she had to have, and anything that didn't go her way was worth screaming herself horseover.

When I got into college, she'd thrown fit after fit about not being able to go to college herself until they let her take an early admissions test. When she passed, I still think she bought the answers off of someone. She packed her bags and went straight to the enrollment office. She immediately made herself the bane of everyone on campus' existence. Anytime she wasn't in class was spent hooking up with frat boys or getting blackout drunk. She constantly skipped classes, mouthed off to teachers whenever she bothered to show up, and she wound up having to rent an apartment off campus when she yelled transphobic slurs at a trans man and got herself banned from the dorms.

She was eventually expelled, and my parents refused to let her move back in with them until she learned how to act like an adult. She swore she'd show them by marrying rich. In the three years since she'd made that deal, she'd gone through four different boyfriends and nine different jobs, most of them at fast food joints, refusing to admit defeat.

She'd started trying to mooch off any relative that didn't already hate her. So it shouldn't have been surprising when she called me. Talking in that sickly sweet way she always did when she wanted either money or a favor. And he, like, totally left me for no reason and said I would never get a job at his dad's modeling studio. She whined, finishing a clearly falsified story, and giving a few fake sniffles.

So anyway, if you know any way I could get a job, sorry, Melanie, I can't help you job hunt. I cut her off as I finished stuffing clothes and my plush turtle into my duffel. I have something really important to do this weekend. Liar, she screamed through the phone. Mom said you landed a cushy job working for a rich lady. I won in. I sighed. Mom didn't have a filter and always babbled to everyone about everything.

It's not that simple. This really is a one-person job and... Great, so quit and I'll take it. What's the address? I hung up. Melanie only ever heard what she wanted. to hear. Given how completely insane my sister had always been, I really should have predicted what happened next. Agatha's brother was getting hip replacement, surgery, and since it was last

minute, she was paying me $7,000 to watch her house for a whole week. Obviously, I said yes. The rules hadn't really changed, and by then I had them memorized. I thought I knew what to expect. other than keeping the fish fed and watching the dolls dance. My days watching Agatha's house were quiet. What I didn't expect was the knock on the door I got on the first evening of my latest week there. Agatha hardly ever got visitors that weren't from people she'd hired. So naturally, I was startled. I looked at the clock.

It was 8.30. I thought I'd have enough time to shoo away whoever was at the door before the dolls came alive. Unfortunately, when I opened the door, preparing to see a Jehovah's Witness or perhaps a salesman, I found my sister. Hey, Tiffany, thanks again for the job. Melanie didn't let me say that I had not gotten her job. Simply strolling in with her baby pink suitcase and self-centered attitude,

she began chattering about how she managed to manipulate mom into telling her what city I lived in. and the name of the woman I was working for. From there, she just stalked Agatha's name online until she found out where she lived. From there, she started talking about how excited she was to work for a fashion critic and how she was more than qualified to critique people's outfits.

I finally found my voice, though I had to shout to make myself heard. Melanie, I did not find a job for you, and I'm definitely not giving up my job for you. You need to be. go. She froze. I hope that I'd gotten through to her and glanced at the clock. 8.50. I had to work fast. Maybe I could promise to book her a hotel room and you self-centered bitch. Excuse me? You know how badly I need a job? You knew I was perfect for the job from a fashion

critic and you wouldn't give up your job for me. You selfish bitch. Melanie, you've lost it. Why don't you? Are you trying to get rid of me? You are, I can tell. Mom and Dad got rid of me. Grandma got rid of me when I sold her car. Uncle Jake got rid of me when I broke his microwave. My boyfriend left me. My boss has all hated me.

Now, even my own sister? Well, tough. You're not getting rid of me that easy. She grabbed one of the antique bottles on Agatha's shelves and smash it against the wall, sending glass charred to the floor before she came at me with the broken bottle. My self-preservation instincts took over. and I ran for the first exit I saw, the back door. As I ran, the doll's unearthly music began.

I paled. I was too late. What would happen now that I had broken the rule? Come here, you family-betrayed bitch. I forgot about the dolls as my sister came at me, screaming like a banshee. I tripped over one of the patio's footstools landing flat on my back. She was on top of me in seconds. her eyes wide with madness as she tried to stab the broken bottle onto me.

I pushed her back with all of my strength, my heart beating a thousand miles a minute. She was stronger than me, stronger than I would have expected. She started pressing the bottle against me. Then Melanie saw something behind me and froze. What the? She was lifted off of me. My hands flew to my neck, gasping as I pressed against the cut. I didn't have any trouble breathing, and to my relief, the cuts were only a flesh wound.

Before I could get up, I felt someone's arms lifted me. I turned, but for once, I was relieved to see the female doll. Muffled screaming turned my attention to the male doll, who was holding my sister. The female doll continued to hold me as she watched her partner walk out of the patio, the struggling Melanie in his arms. From the front yard came the sound of the eerie. music. With the female doll and myself as the audience, the male doll held Melanie in a bridal carry as he went to stand on a bare patch of grass. Then he began a slow, single dance. It was a bit

like a tap dance, only made more complicated due to carrying a struggling woman. As he spun her, though, Melanie seemed to enter a type of trance. He set her down and she stood, a dopey smile on her face. Their dance began something more akin to a waltz, with him leading her in one dizzy and turn after another. When the music began to crescendo, he took her into his arms again. She stared at him with wonder, a big smile on her face. The female doll then turned, making sure I was facing the door into the house and said the male doll my sister. There was the sound of ripping seams, then a blood-curdling scream. Melanie scream Then

Nothing The female doll Set me on the back patio's couch As the male doll came back He was alone The female doll Put a hand on my throat Examining the cuts

Then she snapped And I was out cold The next morning I turned on the news To find that the body of a woman Who had been found in the woods Nearly a mile away Her broken down car

Had been right next to her Judging by the state of the court the general consensus with that she'd been driving through the woods, decided to stop for whatever reason, and had been mauled to death by some sort of animal, with most people thinking it was a bear. I had a feeling I knew, but I wasn't about to say anything. Seeing as how Melanie managed to tick off anyone who knew her for more than 30 seconds,

no one was grieving especially hard. Agatha heard the news and called me. Apparently, that wasn't the first time the dolls had come to someone's rescue. Just be glad they enjoy an audience, she told me. Her tone was grim. If they ever find that you had no reason to miss a performance, a lump formed in my throat as I realized what she meant. Why am I saying all of this now?

Agatha drafted her will yesterday. She has decided that she will leave her house to me to do with what I please. I've already decided to sell it. The money from such a sale would pay off the rest of my loans, and it's not like I need such a big house anyway. I finally managed to talk to Jeb, wondering if he could take the dolls when I sold the house. He said it was impossible.

The house was now their home. It'll be a long while before Agatha passes, especially since she has a guaranteed way to recover if she's sick or injured. But when the time comes, be warned, if you happen to see a fancy mansion for sale and are told of a list of rules that must be followed, follow them. They won't like it if they lose their audience. Lima, India, Sierra, written by Saturday.

A lot of people wonder why don't get. carry around a smartphone. It's a strange thing not to have. I still have a phone. It's just that it's a very basic model, and I only use it for calls or texts. I'm not even that old. Most figure I'm some kind of technophobe, but it's something different. My wife rolls her eyes every time she sees me making a call with it. She calls it my comfort brick. Meanwhile, she's checking out life hacks on TikTok. I've tried telling her about why I am this way a couple of times, but it's been hard to put into words. So, in an effort to collect my thoughts, I'd like to tell the world about what happened to me a couple of years ago, and to an extent, what is happening

still. I was working on my master's degree, but I was having a hard time finding something to write a paper about. I couldn't come up with a good subject, and time was running out. I managed to get a deadline extension, but only if I could present a suitable subject. I was about to give up when one of my professors suggested I talked to a man working in the private sector. He was a licensed physician who'd gone into private enterprise, but he was sure to have something interesting going on. I got in touch with him, and he asked me to come in the same day. Let's call him Solomon. Solomon and his team were working out of an honest-to-God laboratory.

Most of their work revolved around medical hardware, so they had sterile white rooms to protect sensitive electronics. Solomon was about 6'6 and balder than a bowling ball. He towered over his workers and had a very soft demeanor. He would calmly shake my hand and nod as I presented myself. I got the impression that he would, was a kind man. You notice that sort of thing. As I explained my situation, he made a suggestion. I'm working on a project called LIS. I can't share all the production details, but we collect a lot of

data related to sleep. I could share that data for your paper. That was amazing news. I could easily do a study with that kind of data to back me up. I was scheduled to help Solomon and his team to collect test subject for his LIS project. It was simple enough. People were supposed to take a supplement before they went to sleep and use a headband to record their experience. Didn't matter if they slept long, short, or barely anything at all. Data was data.

This was bulk collection. They'd already gone through about 20 iterations of the project, so this would be the 21st generation. I wasn't allowed to take part in the earlier, versions, but I was going to get full access to the Generation 21 bulk data. That would be more than enough to cover a master's study on a related subject. I put up some posters around campus, and it didn't take long for people to sign up. A lot of folks wanted to get their foot in the door of the private sector. Having Solomon's name on a CV could be more valuable than a quick

payout, but they still got a symbolic sum as compensation for the trouble. As a submissions started to roll in, Solomon brought something up. Why don't you participate, he said. You could critique our methodology. We could separate your data if you think it would invalidate overall results, but I think it'd grant some valuable insight. You sure that'd be appropriate? Of course, he smiled. You're already a part of this.

Might as well get your hands dirty. I had a hard time saying no. I wanted to, but I couldn't. So, yeah, I signed up too. We ended up with 14 people in total. Some were medical students, others were dentists, there were even a couple of veterinarians. They were all invited in for a short presentation about the study

and the various items they would be using. We were pressed into a cramped meeting room around an oval table with a projector showing an out-of-focused presentation on a sun-stained canvas. Collection takes place over two weeks, Solomon explained, pointing to a calendar on the screen. This allows us to account for irregularities.

No worries if you miss a day or two, we've taken that into account. He showed us the items again. There was a headband that was used to record our sleep. It looked like something in 80s tennis player might use. There was a cable to charge it to, during the day. The other item was a small bottle of gel capsules. This is a supplement to help us better record your experience. It does little to affect your sleep. We must insist that you take one

about 10 minutes before you go to bed. 20 minutes if you had a big meal, don't bite down on it, or your mouth will taste like a really crunchy salt. If you don't take it, don't bother with the headband. The data will be useless. It was a very good. It was a little. It was a little bit of a little bit of a little. It was a nondescript bottle, CMP5. It had a printed list of known side effects, but they were so generic that it might as well been ibuprofen. There wasn't much more to it. We all got our kits, headed home, and that was that. I started working on my paper, charged the headband, and went on as usual. When it was time to go to bed, I did as instructed. I took a capsule, I put the headband on and set my alarm.

The headband was surprisingly comfortable. It even had a massage and heat setting. It had a thicker side, meaning you could turn it slightly and use it as a sleep mask. That suited me perfectly, so I'd wanted one for a long time. I figured I'd asked Solomon if I could keep it when the study was over. Maybe in lieu of pay. The damn thing probably had Bluetooth speakers for white noise if I bothered to check. Going to sleep was surprisingly easy. I felt at peace. I had my alarm set and there was no disruption.

No loud noises, no background hum, just the slight saltiness of the capsule on my tongue. What stayed with me all these years is what I dreamt on that first night. It was one of the clearest, most memorable dreams I have ever had. Not because it was amazing, but because it was amazing, but because, because it seemed so real. It was the first time I ever had a lucid dream, as in knowing I was sleeping. I dreamt I was at my old middle school, back in South Dakota.

I walked down the hallway, looking at all the pictures we'd put up. Most of the drawings just looked like mad scribbles, but every now and then you'd see something you recognized. A happy farmer, someone's dog, a sunflower but the wrong color, mostly blue. It was also real. The slate stone texture on the floor.

The soundproof ceiling tiles that you could stick pens in if you flick them hard enough. The wide hallways allowing students to run up and down while leaving a lane for teachers down the middle. The welcome mat outside our homeroom. I remembered the font. I dreamt about some people I hadn't thought about in years. I could see my teacher at her desk, grading papers. There was a globe in the window, with plenty of grubby handmarks surrounding the continental U.S. Whenever someone went on a holiday trip, they were allowed to put a pin on the globe to show where they were going.

I ran a hand across my old desk, feeling the notches bump against my nails. Then the speaker system crackled. I turned to see my teacher sit up straight. She looked at me and spoke in unison with the announcer. Lima, India, Sierra. I took a few steps closer. She kept eye contact with me. She was still grading papers with the right hand,

turning the pages without looking away. Lima, India, Sierra. Someone walked past in the hallway. I could hear the chatter in the background of the PA system. Some of the pictures on the wall looked funny. one of the drawings had the number 21 on it Lima India

Sierra She turned her attention back to the papers And I could feel my blood run cold Something was wrong Something has irreversibly changed I turn around and I see something Someone And in a heartbeat

I woke up screaming I threw the headband across the room, jumped out of bed, and I was wide awake. I'd only slept for three hours, but my heart was pounding out of my chest. I sprinted into the bathroom, washing my face with cold water. I looked at myself in the mirror, only to see that I had been crying. My face was red and puffy. I had to sit on my bed for a while, holding the headband. I was shaking with adrenaline, waiting to find the piece to go back to sleep. It took me the better part of an hour.

I didn't use the headband as a sleep mask after that. I just wore it as intended. I got a couple of more hours, but it was a dreamless sleep. I scheduled a call with Solomon the next morning. I was halfway through a cheese and ham sandwich when he called me. I still had a stubborn cowlick that wouldn't go away, making me look like something out of a cartoon on a video call.

First night, Solomon said. How to go? I'm going to be honest. Not so great. Nightmares, huh? I wasn't prepared for him to admit it so openly. Before I could say anything, he cut me off. It's not uncommon.

In fact, it's very helpful. We have more data than we need of people just sleeping, but nightmares, we don't have a lot of things. that. They're much more valuable to us. How did you know I had one? It's very common, he continued. Some give nightmares, some get a sense of colostrophobia, others just don't use the headband at all and call it quits after a couple of nights. If this is what it feels like, I get it. It was awful. Do you want to quit the study? I thought about it. I wanted to, but I couldn't afford to. I couldn't afford step off now. I had a paper to write and I haven't gotten access to the data yet. Chances were,

if I were to abandon the project, I'd be shit out of luck. I swallowed my fears and shook my head. No. In Toronto, every arrival is a statement and nothing says it better than this. Cadillac Optic was the number one selling luxury EV in Canada for 2025. Find your rhythm across a seamless 33-inch display and an immersive 19 speaker AKG surround audio system. This city demands, agility and optic delivers with precision to make every drive extraordinary. Let's take the Cadillac. Find out more at Cadillac Canada.ca. Luxury sales claim based on S&P Global Mobility Canadian New Vehicle Total Registrations for calendar year 2025 for the Cadillac definition of luxury. I'm okay, I said, but I got a question. What's Lima, India, Sierra? That's just an activation phrase.

L-I-S. It comes from the headband as a synchronization signal, sort of like when you snap a clapper board on a movie set. Is it dangerous? Solomon chuckled a little. It's just information. The next night I was hesitant about going to bed. I drank some milk, got ready,

and spent a full hour scrolling on my phone. I was hoping to get so tired that I didn't care anymore, but it was difficult. I got the impression that if nightmares were valuable data, maybe Solomon induced them. Maybe that's what the pill did. When I finally went to sleep, I was so tired I couldn't keep my eyes open. And once again, I had one of the most vivid dreams of my life. My high school gymnasium, completely empty. Every footstep echoed.

Walls were decorated with images of important milestones. Then at some point, it started again. Not the PA system this time, but just this omnipresent voice, as if spoken by the walls themselves. Lima, India, Sierra. I remembered what happened last time I heard it. I spun around looking for a solution. I was aware that I was in a dream, so I tried to think in terms of dream logic.

Maybe I could hide. Lima, India, Sierra. I found this old speaker that was big enough for me to hide behind. I crawled in, closing my hiding space with a wooden panel. Lima, India, Sierra. Quiet. The tension lifts. and I can feel myself getting lighter.

Something gently tugs at my wooden panel. I resist, but I don't have a good grip. It pulls back and I pull back. A moment of silence. The panel is ripped from my hands. I see two feet dangling in the air in front of me as something attacks. I fall out of bed, coughing, and clutching my chest.

I'm crying and I'm having trouble breathing from the snot covering my feet. face. I am a wreck, and I've only just woken up. I got about four hours of sleep that night. This would go on for a couple of nights. I was a wreck, but I had studies to take care of. I still went to classes, I still worked on my paper, and I had a cheap cheese and ham sandwich in the cafeteria at lunch every day. This one time, as I sat down for lunch, I noticed I wasn't the only one yawning. Not that unusual, but I recognized a person across from me. It was one of the other people who'd signed up for the Solomon

study. She was about my age, but in a different field. I could tell she was struggling too. People don't usually chug two Red Bulls for lunch. I got up and walked over to her. You're in Solomon's study, right? Yeah. She put her half-drunk can of Red Bull up to her temple, cooling her head. Mind if I join you? knock yourself out she introduced herself as norma midwestern gal started her studies later in life than most of us she had the appearance of someone who could probably cook one hell of a chili trouble sleeping i asked nodding to her energy drinks yeah how about you same we sat there for a moment exchanging a couple of pleasantries i was doing my master's thesis she was about to start an internship. I hear this phrase, I said. Whenever I hear it, I know it's about

to get bad. She looks up, nodding enthusiastically. We say it at the same time. Lima, India, Sierra. Her eyes light up. Yes, she exclaims, that's it. I hear that one thing, and then he's just there. Exactly, I say. then pause. Wait. Who's there? You know, that person thing with the seam? What?

It's like a person, but like a seam down the middle. Maybe it's just me? The following night, I tried to look a little closer. I go into my dream with a mission to gather information. Not only am I unusually aware of myself dreaming, but I also look closer at the environment. That time I was at the beach, a childhood memory, I could see my sister and mother swimming in the shallows. My father was there too, leaning back in a sunchair with a book.

Then he turned to me, looking up over the pages. Without missing a beat, he turned a page and spoke aloud. Lima, India. Sierra. And he repeated it over and over. And while the others played like I remembered, I was spinning around and looking for whatever normal had been talking about. As I did, I noticed little details in the background. One of the billboards had changed text. Initial contact, two hours, 41 minutes, 18 seconds. After dad repeated those same words for the third time, I felt a sense of calm.

Then, terror. I spun around, looking every which way, only for something to change. I got a glimpse of someone pale, floating in mid-air, someone humanoid, but the head looked a bit too bulbous. It didn't move its arms,

just its vibrating chest. Then I was awake. I didn't notice the transatlose. until I gasped for air. I started having lunch with normal regularly. We would share our experiences and discuss what we'd seen. For example, I shared the strange billboard text. She, on the other hand, had seen something similar. I dreamt about my high school graduation, she said, but my diploma looked like an email. An email? What did it say? I couldn't read it all before it got me, but there was an address. She handed me a slip of paper. I almost choked on my sandwich. It was Solomon's

private email, the one I'd been handed by a professor when I first reached out to him. He didn't give this out to just anyone. I double-checked my phone and showed her it was the same. That doesn't make sense, she mumbled. How can anything from a dream be real? There were more dreams, and every time I would get little glimpses. I would be someplace familiar, and at some point, I would hear those damn words. It could be bird chirping in the window, a TV running in the background, a ringtone, an alarm clock, a passing car. There was always something, Lima, India, Sierra. Then, then something would happen, something would attack. I usually saw it just before I woke up.

For example, its fingers were tightly webbed. They couldn't flex. Also, it wasn't just pale. It was a light touch of green, like dry grass. And in every way I saw it, its feet never touched the ground. I would wake up screaming, crying, or falling out of bed. One time I was already standing up before I knew I was awake. I would feel so bad about going to bed that I'd end up staying up way too late, just making things worse.

I tried to tell myself that this whole thing was on a timer, and that by the end I'd have security future, but it was hard to keep appearances up. My lunches with Norma later extended to others in the same study. I guess Solomon hadn't counted on us all going to the same cafeteria. There was Elmer, Candice, Joseph, Pat, and Misha. Everyone had a similar experience. Elmer swore that the thing didn't have a face. Candice said it looked like it floated in the air, like a propped-up scarecrow. Joseph said it was bald, like Solomon.

Pat said it never moved. It just appeared in mid-air. Misha, on the other hand, barely said anything at all. He hated just thinking about the damn thing. thing. Norma was adamant about what she'd seen. The thing had a seam down the middle, but you could only see it when it got really close, kind of like the spine of a leaf. And we all knew that just before waking up, it did something, something sudden and dangerous. But we never remembered what? I think it was Candace who came up with the name, Floating Man. It was as good of a

description as any. But more than that, it was strangely consistent. We could all see the same thing, no matter the environment. How could a single image resonate through several people at once? How can you share a dream? I remember us all sitting there, long after we'd finished our meals. No one knew what to say. What we'd experienced was unheard of. Even if one could induce a nightmare, it was unprecedented to have a single shared image, especially one that was so clear. I think it's the pills, I said. I don't think they're supplements. I think they're causing this. You think so, Norma asked. Solomon kind of hinted at it. He said having nightmares is valuable data. Everyone at the table groaned. It made sense. A bunch of underpaid students being used as guinea pigs.

be some kind of mild Parkinson drug, Elmer suggested. Dopamine agonists? You really think they'd slip of something like that, Joseph asked? That's a lawsuit waiting to happen. Unless it was in the fine print, Candace added. Or it's something milder like SSRIs. We should try something I suggested. What if, for just one night, we skip the pill.

If we still get nightmares, it's the headband. If it's the pill, we can have it tested. It was an experiment. We liked experiments. We exchanged numbers and started a group chat to keep each other updated on our progress. It felt good going to bed that night. Either way, I was going to wake up the next day with some answers. I willfully picked up the bottle of capsules, rattled it, and wagged a finger.

Not tonight. I put on some music, crawled to. into bed and put the headband on. I checked in with the others. Some had already gone to bed. Others were still psyching themselves up. Norma was admittedly nervous. This whole thing would be a strange blip in the data for sure. But Solomon had already said he'd accounted for that. One day here and there wasn't all that bad. When I finally fell asleep that night, I felt confident. I didn't even realize I was asleep at first. It felt like closing my eyes and opening them again.

But when I opened them, I was somewhere else. It was the shopping mall my mom and I used to go to when I was a kid. Most of the stores were still stocked with early 2000s fashion. And a handful of passersbyes mirrored that. I could sense my mother on a bench and join a soft serve. I walked around a little, feeling my confidence fade. something was different this time it was still one of those vivid dreams but something felt wrong a man in a stall turned his attention to me looking across the hall lima i sighed it was going to happen again pill or not it had to be the headband i knew a comps eye guy he could probably look into how the hell that thing works i sat down resigned him myself to another scare. A woman walking out of a clothing store turned her head towards me

while still walking the other way, speaking in a conversational tone. India. Looking around, I could sense something was off. There was other conversations happening. There was this young couple sitting at a juice bar, for example. They were having a conversation, but it didn't make any sense. They were lovingly looking into each other's eyes. As one said, induction stabilized, engagement in approximately 300 feet. The other kissed her hand and responded. Suppress her offline. Residual effectiveness 65%. Then they both turned to me. Their face is slack. Sierra. I looked around. They returned to the conversation. One of them would say a number. Then the other would say a lower number. They would be counting down, but not like a clock. It took me a moment to realize

they were talking about distance. 200 feet, 100 feet, 50 feet, attention shoppers, a speaker crackled, all systems nominal. 40 feet, 30 feet. I looked around, but I couldn't see anything. Why was this feeling different. I stepped out of the open, pressing my back up against the store window. They were still speaking, and the number was going down. But there was nothing for me to see. It had to be behind me. I turned around, but there was only a store mannequin, a blank featureless face,

slumped shoulders, and as I looked a little closer, it had a seam down the middle of its body. Something smacked into my chest. I felt a piercing pain as I was flung backward, knocking over the table the two lovers were using. They just stood back up, ignoring me completely. I touched my shoulder, only to feel real physical pain. There was blood on my hand. I wasn't waking up. The floating man had something moving in his chest as the seam closed.

It pushed through the glass of the store window. moving through it without breaking it. I could hear a rhythmic pitter-patter as something solid touched the tiled floor. This thing wasn't just floating. It's more like it was being held up. And it was still coming for me. I ran up the escalator, passing an old woman as I went. She looked at me shaking her head.

Damage assessment. Moderate. I didn't have time to think. Even then and there, my shoulder ate. I could feel the pain through my body. Looking back down, I could see the floating man coming closer. Always a couple of inches off the ground.

Not flying across the room. I hurried past a hot dog stand. The text on the front made me pause. Lima, India, Sierra. I pushed the cart aside, hoping it would slow down whatever was coming my way. I passed a poster on the wall listing timestamp. along with initials. It sort of looked like the way we structured bulk data. Was information from the study leaking into my nightmare? I hurried into the bathroom. There was another man there,

washing his hands. I rushed into a stall, locked the door, and climbed up on the toilet. It took some effort to climb up, as it really felt like I'd been pierced through the shoulder. The nerve damage alone was enough to make my eyes water, and I had trouble staying quiet. I closed my eyes as hard as I could and bit my lip, hoping to distract myself from the pain. I didn't hear any doors open, just the pitter-patter of something taking careful steps. Then the man washing his hands stopped and spoke. Cortisol spike. Engagement in three, two, one.

A blank face passed straight through the stall door. I screamed as it pressed his chest against me. The floating man was so close that it could almost be a hug, making me look over its shoulder and past it. There was something behind it, something holding it up, like a puppet. The seam in its chest opened. I tried pushing it back, only to have my hand pierced by a bone-like protrusion. It went straight through the back of my hand, right below my left ring finger. It retracted and prodded it again, lopping off the top of my middle finger entirely.

It popped against the floor tiles like I dropped a piece of sausage. I've never felt anything like that. Never. It wasn't just pain. It was a constant throbbing nerve-searing pain. I braced against the back of the stall and kicked, pushing this thing out through the door. It gave me enough space to get out, turn a quick left, and run. I could feel it closing in as the pitter-patter followed.

I got out of the bathroom, but I was blue. bleeding profusely. It was only then that it hit me. I was lightheaded. How the hell can you be lightheaded in a dream? What happens when you fall asleep in a dream? What if you pass out? What if you die? I ran past the poster on the wall with timestamps. Some of the lines were crossed out. Making my way back into the main hall, I stood in the middle of the crowded mall, doing the only thing I could bring myself to. I screamed for help. I'm standing there bleeding from my shoulder in hand, screaming for help, and all I see are these neutral faces turning my way. 190 BPM.

Adrenaline spiking. I kept screaming, but no one did anything, and from around the corner, I see the floating man. I close my eyes, scream and tear my face, begging myself to just wake up. For a brief moment, I managed to force my eyes open. I'm in my bed. I'm so sweaty that these sheets are sticking to me. I try to speak, but it just turns into a moan. My mouth is wide open and cotton-like, and I have no sense of control over my body. I'm not awake, but I'm not asleep. I flop my arm to the side, only to see blood on my hand. I try to force myself to move, to get out of bed, but nothing happens. I can hear myself snoring as my eyes start drifting downward. My eyes close and I'm back, but it's somewhere new. It's a traffic jam on the highway. A late afternoon, probably a memory.

Someone is honking and were miles from the closest exit. As soon as I can move, I get out of my car and go on foot. I pass by car after car. Then I stop. Something tickles my mind. I look a little closer at one of the cars, only to see Candace. She's leaning back in her seat. something has torn through her chest, breaking a rib cage wide open.

There's blood on the windshield. I try to convince myself that it's just a dream. I say it loud. I say it like a mantra. And as I do, her body slumps to the side. Her eyes fixed on me. Lima. I shake my head.

I run. I run as fast as I can. And despite it all being a dream, I can feel my thumping chest. Why is there still pain in my hands? Why is my shoulder still bleeding? I pass by a car with an open window. The driver fans themselves with the newspaper as a radio host speaks. India. I keep saying no, like there is someone there to listen. I put my hands over my ears, hoping it'll stop if I just don't hear it. I close my eyes as hard as I can, and when I open them, I see a license plate. Sierra. I dive under a car as someone breaks a window behind me. I'm almost crushed as an immense weight steps down on the car above me, but I manage to get out with just a sprained foot. I see the shadow of the floating man in the late afternoon sun.

I pull on a door and get inside a random car, only for that blank face to pass straight through the passenger side window. Something grabs me by the chest and clothes and pulls me through the door like it was made of paper. A door is between me and the floating man, and something slams against it. I'm dropped on the asphalt like a wet towel. I try to get back on my feet, but I'm not fast enough. I pick the door up and wield it like a shield as something slams into it.

Over and over again. I can see a sharp bone pierced through, just inches away from me. I push back as the door is ripped from me. I'm wide open and this thing is just a couple of feet away. I'm bleeding, limping, and wheezing for air. I step back, but I can tell I won't be fast enough. Not this time. The seam of its body opens all the way from the top of its head to the crotch.

The floating man separates into two separate pieces as something reveals itself. There's a presence behind it, holding the two pieces up like a hand puppet. I can't tell what I'm really looking at. Six, maybe eight legs. Two halves of what looks like a human body. from two front limbs, mimicry to keep you looking where it wants to. And there's a head, a circular set of eyes, arranged in something resembling a mix of honeycomb in the seed pod of a flesh-like lotus.

It's dripping as dozens of bones poke in and out of woodby eyes, and it descends on me, unfolded, primal, and angry. I wake up, but I'm not breathing. I've fallen out of bed, accidentally losing my headband. I'm on the floor, having knocked the air out of my lungs. I'm bleeding. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

I try to get up, but I'm limping. How can my foot hurt from a dream? I still can't breathe. I count 20 seconds. I get to the bathroom and topple over the sink. It cracks and falls. Sending me to the ground. A piece of ceramic bumps against my chest,

and something dislodges from my throat. I spit out a piece of cartilage, bloody and raw. As I lay on the bathroom floor, I can hear my phone exploding with messages and missed calls. I knew it was bad. I knew it. But for a moment, I just drew in breath and thanked whatever God may be to finally, truly be awake.

I couldn't speak, but I managed to call for help. Doctors would later explain that I had severe damage to my heart. windpipe. I had several burst blood vessels, most of which were concentrated around my arm, stomach, and shoulder. They thought I had fallen down a flight of stairs. They did not accept the explanation that it all happened in my sleep. It was impossible. The body can't do that to itself like that. When I got a chance to catch up with my messages and calls, I realized I wasn't the only one who'd gotten hurt. Norma was in surgery. Pat had a broken leg.

Candice wasn't even answering. We would later find out she died in her sleep. They couldn't find any connection. The pills we took were just a mineral supplement. The headband was flashy lights, a speaker, some electrodes, and a memory card. Nothing malicious. I ended up staying in the hospital overnight.

Before I left the next day. I had a surprising visitor. No one came to announce him and no one prepared me. He walked right in. Solomon. I was still in bed, and he sat down next to me. He almost looked apologetic. You all right, he asked.

I shook my head, pointing to my throat. Ah, he said, nodding. Sorry, we've been adamant about people taking the suppressor pill, but we had no idea LIS was effective enough to He paused himself Shook his head and smiled He looked excited I mean

You had some residual effects You were technically still protected And it still managed to do all this Can I see He stepped closer and I held up an arm Shielding myself With my other hand I buzzed for a nurse Sorry sorry

I'm just curious. This is a great development. We've got enough to get started on the next phase. I am more than thankful. And I want you to know that. Solomon got up, heading for the door before a nurse could get there. He looked back a final time.

It really is just information. And information is so much cheaper than, say, a missile. Despite it all, Solomon was true to his word. I got a great recommendation. I finished my master's paper, and I could put my work on his project on my CV. I don't even know why, but mentioning I worked on the liminal intrusion system, or LIS, has opened all kinds of doors. Private sector. Government.

I could take my pick. Candace passed away in her sleep. Norma tried to look into it, but all signs pointed to a brain aneurysm. None of us who skipped out on the pill that night was spared. The study was called off, not because it was deemed the cause, but because they got all the data they were looking for. I've come a long way in my career since then. Solomon is still active, and his team has come a long way since they had to use the headbands.

I think they solved their visual transmission problems. Wouldn't surprise me if all they need is lights now. That's why I don't use a phone anymore. I know what they're capable of doing. I know that if I step too far out of line or say something I'm not supposed to, I could go to sleep one night and never wake up. And the worst thing is, I would know it's coming. I just need to hear those three words, and I know what's happening.

Lima, India, Sierra. I went off trail in Eastern Europe and barely made it out alive. Something in the tall grass almost killed me in Romania. Written by Something Goes Here Too. Look, I know how this sounds. Another 20-something backpacker with a trust fund and daddy issues, right? Finding myself across three continents like some cliche from a gapier brochure, but hear me out. I'm Andrew, and yeah, I was trying to find myself as corny as that sounds.

Claimith born and raised, bro. Those mountains taught me everything about reading terrain, surviving in the backcountry, and respecting the wilderness. By the time I turned at 25, I had already knocked out some serious tracks. We're talking about the Andes in Peru, where the altitude will drop you if you're not careful, the Cameron Highlands in Malaysia during the monsoon season, three weeks solo in the Yukon territory,

where the grizzlies outnumber the people about 50 to 1, Hell, I even did a walkabout in the Australian Outback with nothing but a water filter and some emergency rations. The point is, I wasn't some tourist with brand new gear and zero experience. I knew my stuff. Could set up camp in a wide out, navigate by stars, identify edible plants, the whole deal. But the steeps of Eastern Europe? That was the only place I've ever been legitimately afraid I was going to die. not hypothermia, not dehydration, not getting lost, something inhuman.

Something that made me understand why some places have warnings that go way deeper than stay on marked trails. This was about 10 years ago, when I was still stupid enough to think experienced Trump's local knowledge every single time. I was working my way across Eastern Europe, planning to hit all the major major. trail systems from the Carpathians down through the Balkans had this whole route mapped out of my GPS watch hostels booked the works not exactly the most popular trekking route but that's what appealed to me lesser known trails you know none of that overcrowded

alps BS where you're basically walking in a conga line of German tourists I'd done my research knew the area could be tricky navigation since there aren't many landmarks But I had good topo maps and solid GPS backup. The weather looked stable. I was carrying a week's worth of food. Plenty of water purification tablets. Standard cold weather gear. Even though it was late spring.

The locals in weren't exactly enthusiastic about my plans. This old guy at the outdoor supply shop kept shaking his head when I showed him my route. Stay on trails. Stay near roads. He kept saying in broken English. Not go through tall. grass alone. I figured it was the usual rural paranoia about outsiders, maybe some old Soviet-era superstitions about wandering around in restricted zones. Plus, my Romanian was garbage and his English

wasn't much better, so I figured we were just having a communication breakdown. Should have listened. The border crossing from Moldova into Romania was more of a hassle than I'd expected. There's no real infrastructure for foot traffic at most of these crossings. They're designed for cars and trucks. Not some American with a backpack trying to walk between countries. The Maldavian guards barely glanced at my passport. But the Romanian side was different. The officer looked maybe 25.

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Asked me a bunch of questions in broken English. English about where I was going, how long I planned to stay, and whether I had accommodations booked. When I was explaining, I was planning to hike Overland down through the Balkans, his expression changed. He called over an older guard, and they had a rapid conversation in Romanian that I couldn't follow. Finally, the older guy looked at me and said, you have guide? No guide. I'm experienced. I have maps GPS, more Romanian between them, then the younger officer held out his hand in that universal gesture that means one thing. I slipped him a 20-year-old note, and suddenly my paperwork was in order. But as I was shouldering my pack to leave, the older guard grabbed my arm. His English was

better than I'd expected. You stay on marked trails only. Keep near farms. If you find tall grab, stay out, it's dangerous. Oddly mirroring the warning from the supply shop owner. I thanked him and assured him I'd be careful, but I could see in his eyes he didn't think I was taking it seriously enough. He was right. I should have asked him what kind of danger. Should have pressed for details instead of just nodding and walking away like I knew better.

Instead, I crossed into Romania thinking I'd just gone to the standard horse warning about wolves or wild boar. maybe some concern about unexploded ordinance from old conflicts. I had no idea they were trying to save my life. The first two days went exactly as planned. Made good time, terrain was manageable, weather held up, the hostels were warm and friendly. But I was burning through more miles than expected on the established trails. And my GPS was showing this game trail that would cut about 15 miles off my route,

to the next resupply point. 15 miles is huge when you're carrying a full pack. Game trails are usually pretty reliable. Animals know the easiest paths better than any human trail designer, so I went off trail. The game trail was solid at first, well worn, maybe two feet wide, cutting straight through this endless sea of tall grass in scrubland. These steps out here weren't like anything I'd seen before, not prairie grass like in the Midwest or the scrubland I was used to from California. This stuff grew in thick, irregular clumps.

Some patches knee high, others were reaching almost to my chest, dense enough that you couldn't see more than maybe 20 yards in any direction. My topo maps showed this whole area as intermittent farmland and low-line scrub. But on the ground, it was just grass, endless and tall, swallowing the horizon. It felt like the map was a lie, and I had wandered into some nature preserve or government land. Maybe a large industrial farm had gone fallow for years. What it felt like most was that I'd walked into the part of the country that wasn't supposed to be there, or walked back in time. The landscape was almost primordial.

I'd been following the trail for about an hour when things started feeling off. Hard to explain exactly what I mean by that. You know how in the mountains you can feel weather changes in your bones before the barometer drops? This was similar but different somehow. Like the landscape itself was subtly off kilter. The wind patterns weren't making sense. I'd feel a breeze from the east, then a few steps later, it would shift completely, coming from the south, then die altogether.

But the grass wasn't moving with it consistently. Some patches would sway normally. Others would stay perfectly still, even when I could feel the wind on my face. I stopped. Did a full 360-degree scan like I'd been trained. Listened hard. The usual step sounds were there. insects, some distant bird calls, that constant whisper of grass moving against itself.

Nothing obviously threatening, but my gut was telling me something different. That's when I heard the thunder of hooves. A whole group of wild boar came crashing through the grass, maybe 30 yards to my left, running flat out like something was chasing them. Must have been eight or ten of them, including a massive sow that, had to weigh 300 pounds easy. They were moving perpendicular to my trail and didn't even seem to notice me. My heart rate spiked for a second.

Wild boar are no joke if they decide you're a threat, but they were clearly running from something. Not at me. Probably spooked by my scent and bolting for safer territory. I laughed at myself, took a drink of water, and kept walking. But that feeling of being watched never went away. And now, I was starting to notice other things. Pages of grass that seemed to move independently,

flowing in patterns that didn't match the wind, always just at the edge of my peripheral vision, always stopping the moment I turned to look directly. Something was tracking me through the grass, something that knew how to stay hidden. I had maybe two seconds between seeing the grass part and the thing hitting me. It came from directly ahead,

staying so low to the ground that I barely caught the movement, just this ripple in the grass, like a boulder rolling downhill, except boulders don't move that fast, and they sure as hell don't have teeth. I did what I thought would work with aggressive wildlife, through my pack heart to the left, hoping to distract it,

and drove right into the thickest patch of grass I could see. It was again, But I figured anything was better than just standing there. The thing didn't even glance at my pack. I hit the ground and immediately tried to roll, get my feet back under me. But something clamped down on my left leg just above my ankle, like a steel trap covered in sandpaper. The pressure was incredible, like it was going to snap my tibia in half.

Then it started dragging me. I'm telling you, I've been in situations before. rock slides, flash floods, and even had a mountain line stalked me for half a day in the Sierra's. But getting dragged backwards through tall grass by something you can't even see clearly, that's a whole different kind of terror. My hands clawed at everything, grass roots, rocks, anything to slow down the drag. The thing was hauling me like I weighed nothing, maybe 30 or 40 yards through this maze of vegetation. I could hear my jacket tearing, felt the ground scraping against my back and shoulders.

My hiking pants were getting shredded against whatever was holding me. I tried to twist around to see what had me, maybe get a good kick in with my free leg. But every time I lifted my head, all I could make out was this shape that seemed to shift and blur, like it was made of the same grass and earth it was moving through. Then suddenly, it let go. I scrambled backwards on my hands and ass, putting distance between me and whatever was out there. Heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst. My leg was on fire where it grabbed me, but everything still moved, which meant nothing was broken.

The grass around me was completely still. No movement, no sound except my own ragged breathing. But I knew he was still there, watching me. I sat there in the grass for maybe 30 seconds, trying to. to get my breathing under control when I noticed something was wrong with my leg. The bite marks were deeper than I thought. Four puncture wounds, two on each side of my calf. Like, it had grabbed me with oversized fangs.

But that wasn't the scary part. The scary part was how the skin around the wounds was already starting to change color. At first, I thought it was just blood pooling under the skin, normal bruising from the pressure. but bruises don't spread that fast, and they sure as hell don't turn that shade of greenish black. The discoloration was creeping outward from each puncture, maybe a half an inch in diameter already, and I could feel this weird tingling sensation

moving up toward my knee. Venom. The thing had injected me with something. I've been bitten by rattlesnakes before, an occupational hazard when he spent enough time in the California backcountry. I know what venom feels like as it starts working through your system. This was different, though.

Rattlesnake venom burns. This felt cold, like ice water spreading through my veins. My hands were shaking as I rolled up my pant leg to get a better look. The puncture wounds weren't bleeding much, but the skin around them was starting to swell. When I pressed on the discolored area, I couldn't feel my finger. The numbness was spreading faster than the discoloration. I had to move. Now, whatever this thing had pumped into me, I couldn't let it reach my core circulation.

If it got to my heart or lungs before I found help, I was done. I pulled my belt off, wrapped it around my thigh as tight as I could, and buckled it. The pressure was immediate and brutal, but it would slowly venom spread, maybe buy me a few hours. My pack was still sitting where I'd thrown it, about 20 yards away. I could see the thing had it touched it, which meant it was either gone or waiting to see what I'd do next. I couldn't worry about that now. I needed my first aid kit, my GPS, and whatever water I had left. The nearest help was less than a few hours hike if I pushed hard.

I just had to make it that far before my leg rotted off. I made it maybe half a mile before I had to stop. upper line on both legs. The hiking pole became a crutch, taking most of my weight while I dragged my left leg behind me. Every step sent jolts of pain up through my hip, but the alternative was worse. The weird thing was how quiet everything had gotten. No more rustling in the grass, no sense of being stalked. At first, I thought that was good news. Maybe the thing had given up. Moved on to easier prey. Then I realized what was actually happening.

It didn't need to hunt me anymore. The venom would do the work for it. All the thing had to do was follow out of distance and wait for the poison to drop me. Then it could feed at its leisure. The thought made me push harder, even though my leg was starting to look like something out of a medical textbook. The swelling had gotten so bad that I had to cut my pants leg open with my utility knife. The discoloration had spread past my knee, creeping up my thigh in these twisted, vein-like patterns that looked awful. I was following what looked like an animal trail, hoping it would lead to higher ground where I could get my bearings.

When the grass opened up into this shallow depression, maybe 15 feet across, carved into the earth like a giant's footprint, that's when I saw them. Eggs. Dozens of them. Clustered in the center of the depression like some kind of reptilian nursery. Each one was about the size of a football, with shells so thin they were almost transparent. I could see things moving inside, dark shapes that shifted and pulsed with their own rhythm. But what made my stomach drop wasn't the movement.

It was the color changes. The things inside the eggs were cycling through different hues, brown, green, gray, like they were practicing camouflage before they even hatched. I had stumbled into a breeding ground. The adult that had bitten me wasn't protecting territory. It was protecting its young.

And if there were eggs that developed, there were probably other adults nearby. Maybe a whole family of these things, wading in the grass around the nest. I backed away from the depression as quietly as I could, trying not to disturb anything. trying not to think about how many more of them might be out there. My leg felt like it was on fire now.

The numbness replaced by this deep throbbing ache that pulsed with my heartbeat. I had to get out of here. I had to get away from this nest and away from this entire area. However far these things claimed as their hunting ground, I needed to go beyond it before the venom finished whatever is doing to me. I gripped my hiking pole tighter and started moving again. twice as fast as before, even though every step felt like my leg might snap in half. An hour later, I forced myself to stop.

My body was shutting down whether I liked it or not. I found a patch of slightly higher ground where I could see maybe 50 yards in each direction and collapsed against my pack. The GPS said I still had five miles to the nearest buildings marked on the map. A farm, probably, maybe a small. village. Five miles normally wouldn't even register as a real hike, but with my leg the way it was, it might as well have been a hundred. I made myself eat half a protein bar and drink some water, even though my stomach was cramping up. Dehydration would come me faster than the venom if I

weren't careful. The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was following basic wilderness survival protocols, while something actively trying to digest me from the inside out. This wasn't the first time I'd been in serious trouble in the backcountry. I got bit by a diamond back in Joshua Tree about six years ago, had to hike four miles back to the trailhead with my leg swollen up like a balloon. Spent three days in the hospital, but I made it out. There was that time in Colorado where I got my foot wedged under a boulder during a River crossing, took me two hours to work myself free, and by then, hypothermia was setting in from the snow melt. I was shaking so hard I could barely grip my gear, but I got myself to shelter and rode it out.

The point is, I had been hurt before. I'd been scared before. I knew how to push through when everything in your body is telling you to quit. But this was different. Those other times I knew what I was dealing with. snake bite, hypothermia, dehydration, there are protocols for that stuff. Treatment options. This thing that had bitten me, I had no idea what its venom was designed to do, how fast it worked, what the end game looked like. I caught myself starting to roll up my pant leg to check the wound and stopped. I didn't want to know.

Whatever was happening down there, looking at it wasn't going to help anything. all it would do was freak me out more, maybe make me panic when I needed to stay focused. Five miles. That was the only number that mattered now. I shouldered my pack, adjusted my grip on the hiking pole, and started moving again. One step at a time, like always, just like every other mountain I'd ever climbed, every trail I'd ever finished. The difference was, this time, the mountain was, this time, the mountain was. trying to kill me from the inside. I was maybe two miles closer to the farm when I saw it again. This time I had the advantage. I was coming up a slight rise, using my hiking pole to pull myself

along when something made me stop. Maybe it was the way the grass looked odd about 30 yards ahead, or maybe my subconscious picked up a movement that didn't match the wind patterns. Whatever it was, I dropped low and stayed perfectly still. At first, I couldn't make out anything unusual, just more of the same endless grass, swaying in the afternoon breeze. Then the breeze stopped, and one patch kept moving. The thing was massive, easily 12 feet long, maybe more, with the bulk of a saltwater crocodile, but completely different in every way. Instead of four legs, it had six, three on each side, spaced evenly along its body like some kind of prehistoric centipede. But the weirdest part was watching its skin change.

I'd seen chameleons do their color-shifting thing before, but this was on a completely different level. The creatures hide, rippled, and flowed through different patterns. Brown earth tones, green grass colors, even the dappled shadows where sunlight filtered through the vegetation. It wasn't just changing color. It was changing texture too. Mimicking the look of dried grass stalks and broken earth so perfectly that even knowing exactly where it was, I kept losing track of its outline. The head was pure nightmare fuel, flat and wide, kind of. of like a cobra, but proportioned for something ten times bigger. When it turned slightly, I could see these yellow eyes scanning the area with an intelligence

that made my skin crawl. This wasn't some dumb predator operating on instinct. This thing was thinking. Six legs. I'd been hiking and camping for over a decade, studied wildlife biology in college, and spent time with rangers and naturalists all over the world. Nothing I'd ever heard of had six legs and looked like that. This was something completely unknown,

something that I'd been hiding out here for who knows how long. I had to get a picture. Nobody would believe this without proof. And if I didn't make it out, at least there would be evidence of what killed me. Moving as slowly as possible, I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket. No service, like I expected, but the camera still worked.

I lined up the shot, zoomed in as much as I could, and held my breath. The shutter clicks seemed to echo across the entire steep. The creature's head snapped toward me instantly. Those yellow eyes locking onto my position with terrifying precision. I pressed myself into the grass, trying to become part of the landscape. but I could hear it moving now, not the heavy thrashing I'd expected, but this smooth, almost silent gliding sound as it flowed through the vegetation toward me. I closed my eyes and tried to stop breathing.

My leg was throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat, and I was sure the thing could smell the infection, the venom, whatever chemical markers I was throwing off as its poison did its work. The sounds stopped maybe 10 yards away. I could feel it there, waiting, testing the air. Seconds crawled by like hours. Then, finally, the gliding sound moved away. Heading off toward the east. I waited another five minutes before I dared to lift my head.

It was gone, but I knew it might circle back. These things were smart. patient. I had to move fast. I checked the photo on my phone. Blurry, but you can make out the basic shape, the weird proportions, the six legs. If I made it to that farm, this would change everything. Crypto-Zoologists would lose their minds. But first, I had to survive the next two miles with the leg that felt like it was dissolving from the inside out. The last half mile was pure hell. My vision kept swimming in and out of focus, and I was leaning so heavily on the hiking pole that my shoulder felt like it was going to dislocate. Every step sent waves of nausea through my system, but I could see buildings ahead, long, industrial structures that had to be some kind of agricultural operation.

I stumbled through a gap in a wire fence and onto a dirt road. My legs gave out about 50 yards from the nearest building, and I hit the ground hard. My hiking pole clattering away across the gravel. Voices started shouting in Romanian. Footsteps running toward me. I tried to sit up, tried to explain what had happened, but the words came out as gibberish. Through the haze, I could make out the word, A groin and Drustria, painted across one of the buildings.

But the rest of the company name kept shifting and, and blurring like it was underwater. Strong hands lifted me, and I heard someone curse when they saw my leg. One of the workers, a middle-aged guy in coveralls, was pointing at the wound and shouting, Ambulanta, ambulanta, to someone of the radio. Another voice, older, gravely,

said something that included, Blar de Araba. The word sent a chill through the other workers. They all started talking at once. Their voice is tight with what sounded like genuine fear. Grass dragon. Even through the venom haze, I understood that much. They knew about these things.

They had a name for them. My breathing was getting more labored. Each inhale feeling like I was trying to suck air through wet concrete. The world was tilting sideways. And I couldn't tell if I was lying down or standing up anymore. I rolled over, and my mind felt like it short-circuited. The steeps I had walked through were gone, just vanished, where before, there was an endless sea of grass.

Now, it was what looked like miles of farmland. Surely this must have been just an effect of the venom. I felt my consciousness slipping away. The last thing I remember clearly was the interior of an ambulance. The rhythmic bump of tires on outside. asphalt and a paramedic working over my leg while speaking rapid-fire Romanian into a radio. The siren seemed to be coming from very far away, like I was underwater. Then, everything went black.

I'm sitting in my study right now, looking at a printout of that photo. Ten years later, and it's still the only proof I have that any of this really happened. The image quality is terrible. You can barely make out the creatures outline through the grass. And the six legs just look like shadows and vegetation to most people. I've shown it to cryptozoologists, wildlife biologists, and even posted it on forums dedicated to unknown species. The response is always the same. Obviously Photoshopped or camera artifact or my personal favorite.

Nice try. But we can spot a fake. from a mile away. I don't blame them. If someone had shown me this picture before my trip to Romania, I would have said the same thing. I roll up my pant leg and look at what's left. My leg now ends slightly below the knee. The rest is a steel in plastic prosthetic. Sometimes, when the weather changes, my knee aches with a deep bone-level pain that reminds me exactly how close close I came to never making it home. The hospital records from Redacted are pretty sparse.

I was there for six days. Apparently, I only remember fragments. I.V. drips, doctors speaking in rapid Romanian. Someone asking me questions in broken English about what had bitten me. When I tried to explain about the creature, about the camouflage and the six legs, they just nodded politely and wrote something. down that probably translated to patient is delusional from venom exposure the flight back to the states is mostly blur too i was still pretty messed up running on whatever cocktail of antibiotics and

anti-venom they had pumped into me but i made it home and after a few months of physical therapy i was almost back to normal almost i still hike still travel but But I'm different now in ways that are hard to explain to people who haven't been where I've been. When locals tell me not to go somewhere, I listen. When my gut says something feels off about a trail or a campsite, I trust it. And when I'm in a remote country, I pay attention to sounds that don't belong and movements that feel off. Or don't match the wind. Because I learned something out there that no amount of wilderness expertise at top me,

before. The world is bigger and stranger than any of us want to admit. There are things out there, creatures that evolution forgot to tell us about. Ecosystems that operate by rules we haven't figured out yet. And sometimes, no matter how prepared you think you are, hubris can be just as deadly as anything with teeth and venom. And all right, guys, that wrap up two hours of some horrifying Reddit stories. I really hope you enjoyed today's video. If you did, make sure you like the video and subscribe to the channel. I appreciate you guys watching. And would you like to see more videos like this in the future? If so, make sure to comment down below and let me know. And also make sure to check out some other videos on the channel.

And also make sure to follow my Instagram and follow me on Spotify. It really does help so much. And yeah, once again, thank you guys so, so much for watching. And this is. This was Snook and I'll see next time. Bye.