Snook - 5 Unexplainable Scary Stories

Episode Date: November 30, 2025

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Hey, what's up guys, and welcome back to another scary story video. And today we got five unexplainable scary stories for you. And these stories are just, wow, great and fun to listen to. And perfect to listen to if you're studying, sleeping, relaxing, or just want to listen to a scary story. And thank you so much for stopping by. I appreciate it a lot. And please like the video and subscribe to the channel before we get into the video. The channel's goal is 500,000 subscribers.

So please subscribe to the channel. And yeah, without further ado, let's get into five unexplainable scary stories. Anthony Willis Anthony Willis is sitting in my chair today, a young man who is somehow skinny and fat at the same time and has greasy, unwashed hair. It crosses my mind that maybe I should have the chair clean when he leaves. This is his first time, and he is still young, fresh and stupid. Hopefully when he leaves my chair, he will be knowledgeable and maybe, just maybe, have gained a little understanding. So, how old is your child?

Oh, um, two months. Interesting. Most new parents count the age of a newborn through weeks and days. Makes sense when every week is a new milestone. And most of them don't need a second to think about how long the child has been in their lives when they've only been there for such a short time. Do you have a wife? Yes, she's 21. Wow, that's the most defining thing he can think of about her, her age, not how long they've been married or even her name.

Now that I think about it, he didn't mention his kid's name either, or even if they're a boy or a girl. Of course, I already know it's a girl because I read his file before he came in. How are they? Now he's fidgeting in his chair. Interesting. Um, good. They're pretty good. Pretty good, so descriptive.

And he actually broke eye contact with me to say that. This guy is a horrible liar. Thank God. He'll be so easy to break. Yes, but we're not here to talk about them, are we? He brings his eyes back to me and sits up when he realizes that the small talk is over and it's time to get down to business. We're here to talk about you. So how are they in relation to you?

Uh, I must have caught him off guard. He's uncomfortable. He's actually stretching his arms out and placing his hands behind his head in a subconscious attempt to take up more space. Typically, in a human male, this means they are either intimidated or trying to impress someone they are attracted to. Something tells me it's not the latter. After a few seconds of painful silence, I decided to help him out.

Let's just start with your wife. Would you say you have a good relationship with her? I'm leaning forward. eyebrows furrowed, hands together on the table. It seems like the more attention I paid to him, the more awkward he becomes. It's delicious. Yeah, well, uh, it's okay. God, this guy doesn't want to talk.

That's fine because I've dealt with a lot worse. I have a lot of baddies come through this room and sit in my chair, so far I've broken them all. Do you ever have arguments or disagreements? Now I've got them. people who are on the brink of divorce or murder will more times than not tell me that their marriage is okay. I think that people have a very hard time revealing things like that to strangers. We've been conditioned, after all, to slap a Band-Aid on a bullet hole and a smile on our face during

hardship, especially marital strife. Uh, well, yeah, we do. We do argue. What do you argue about? Um, he's looking. He's looking at. looking away from me again. I think this time he's trying to hide the emotion in his eyes. Lord forbid a man were to show any emotion. He gives a tiny chuckle. That looks like it took a lot of effort to get out. Uh, everything, really. Everything. That doesn't sound okay. That sounds miserable. Yeah, miserable. It can be actually ever since she got pregnant. He's still not looking at me. In fact, he is trying so hard to avoid eye contact, he has his face pointed almost completely away from me. That painting of a plant on the wall must be extremely compelling because many of the people who have sat in that chair have spent quite a bit of time staring at it.

Funny, because I always thought it was just a dumb painting of a plant. How have things changed between you two since she got pregnant? More fighting. A lot more fighting. Now he has gotten to the point where instead of spreading out, he's starting to take up less space. He's gripping his thighs and sitting upright. What do you fight about? Try to be specific.

He's moving his hands up and down his thighs now. God, he just can't stop fidgeting, can he? Just stuff like, I don't know. It's always something. Every time I walk in the door, there's something wrong. Like, I've done something wrong. I just can't do anything right. do you help with the baby man i try to so now he's calling me man looks like i'm already breaking down

walls but it's like what am i supposed to do it's not like gonna be able to make it stop crying oh interesting very interesting so now the baby's in it and she's breastfeeding it so it's not like i can help with that and she never wants to just let it cry she thinks it's our job to just jump up every time that it makes it sound and find out what's wrong and i'm just like won't you she get spoiled like that? The more upset that he gets, the more fragmented and confusing his sentences are. But we've had one advancement. He referred to his baby daughter as she instead of it. So would you say you have different parenting ideals than your wife does? Oh yeah. He's looking me in the eyes now and nodding furiously. Sometimes I'll get mad and I'll be like, so what, let the damn

kid cry for a bit and then she'll just lose it lose it oh yeah now he's mimicking my behavior by leaning forward and using hand motions suddenly i'm his best friend tells me i'm a bad dad tells me she hates me i hate it when she says that because you love her because it fucking pisses me off his reaction is almost explosive and i've dealt with worse so i don't react because you love her yeah i guess he mumbles What about your daughter? Do you love her? Of course I do. I mean, she drives me bad shit, but she's still my kid. I just don't know. I don't think she should be treated like the Queen of England, you know? Oh yeah, I know. I know all about you, Anthony Willis.

And I know exactly how you feel about your wife and daughter. Does her wife call you names or put you down when you fight? Yeah, lazy bastard, fat ass, dumbass, deadbeat. Like, she thinks that's my fault. I can't get a job in this shithole economy. I'm not applying myself. How long has it been since you held a job, Anthony? I already know the answer, but I ask anyways. Just because I want to see him squirm.

It's been like a while, maybe a few months. Suddenly he's not looking at me anymore, and he's leaning back in his seat like he thinks if he gets far enough away, the question won't hit him, or maybe that I won't hear him. But I don't have to hear him because I know why he's really sitting in my chair. So, does your wife work?

No, of course not. She can't work because of the baby, right? She quit her job like a couple months before the baby was born. Isn't that a load of shit? He just gets to proper feet up all day while everyone rushes around her, like she just gave birth to baby Jesus. And then they all scream at me to get a job like it's just that easy. If neither of you work, then how do you support yourselves?

Of course, I know they answer to this as well, but it's very important that he says these things out loud. It's the only way I'm going to lead him to the truth. Her parents, you know, they've got a little money, I guess. We sleep in the spare bedroom. Sometimes. Sometimes I just sleep on the couch because I don't feel like fucking dealing with it. Sometimes I just want to get a full night of sleep without the kid waking me up, you know?

Yes, Anthony. I know. I know all too well. She insists on having the baby sleep in the bed. I don't see why she can't just put the crib in the bathroom or the living room and then just let the baby cry for a little bit. even for just a few hours if it means we'll get some sleep, you know? But no, no, no, no, no.

I need a full night of sleep sometimes, you know? What about your wife? Does she ever get a full night of sleep? What does she need it for? What does she do all day? She's always either sleeping, watching TV, or just completely glued to that baby, but then she complains at me that I should be doing the dishes and making dinner,

even though I literally spend hours every day on the internet searching for jobs. but as soon as I try to take a break, you can guarantee she's going to come in and start screaming at me. I think it's funny that a few moments ago, he wasn't even speaking in full sentences to me, and now he's spewing paragraphs. He's not uncomfortable anymore. He's still fidgeting, though. He keeps his eyes on me, but his hands are traveling all over his body like he's covered in ants. Guilty conscious, Anthony?

Living with your in-laws must be stressful for you as well. I'm trying to hit all the pressure points. How worked up can I get him? And what can I get him to confess? Man, you don't even know. I know Anthony. I know all about it. But I want you to tell me anyways.

Her dad? The dude fucking hates me. Like, hates my guts. He's constantly telling her to leave me and he really wants to keep me out or kill me probably. And then her mom is just a bitch, just a straight-up bitch. She doesn't like cussing, doesn't like drinking,

or smoking, or anything. anything except for her grandbaby. She treats that baby like it came from God, but me, the man who made the baby, she treats like shit. Go figure. Do you fight with her parents? Uh, yes and no. Like, they won't say anything to my face. They just say it to her, and then we end up fighting because of it. Do you get angry? My voice is so low now, it's almost a whisper. I'm leaning forward, preparing for the pounce. Who wouldn't? How angry. Well, some Sometimes his voice is getting lower as well. I just, like, I just, I hear that baby, that damn baby screaming.

And I swear to God, I want to kill her. He's holding his hands in front of himself now with his fingers clenched. The tendons in his hands are sticking out, and I can see veins under his transparently pale skin clearly. So what do you do when you're angry? I've already got him. He'll answer any question to ask him, but I still want to leave. him into his own realization. Also, I'm not done toying with him yet.

I throw things, break things. Her mom doesn't like for me to get drunk, so sometimes I just throw empty bottles and break them when they're not home. I slam the doors. I punched the walls, kick the walls. I punched a hole in our bedroom door one time. I can't help it. It's really hard, you know?

Being a man, but being treated like a little kid, I just want a little fucking freedom. How does your wife react when you go into a rage? Oh, you know, all scared and shit. Like she actually thinks I'm going to hurt her. She gets all freaked out. One time she told me that if I laid a hand on her, then her dad would shoot me.

Dude, at this point, that fat old man can go ahead and do it. It'll be a fucking blessing right now. And what about the baby? Have you ever hurt her? God, no. Of course not. I've screamed at her before. Told her to shut up, but all parents get frustrated. It's actually supposed to be normal to get frustrated sometimes. But I get treated like I'm a monster or something. Sometimes when she's crying so fucking loud, it's like I just can't take it anymore.

And I have to punch something. Like the wall or the door? Yeah, like that, you know? Or what about the lamp? Do you sometimes smash the lamps? Sometimes. Yeah. It's like I just want some. fucking sleep and sex. This is really hard to admit, especially for a man. But you know, we haven't fucked since before she gave birth. She doesn't understand because for her it's not as big of a deal. She doesn't even take one.

Single second to think about how that affects me, especially since I can't really jerk it more than maybe once a day since we have absolutely no privacy. I have to hide in the bathroom like I'm a kid again. It's humiliating. By this point, I'm feeling borderline rage. but I've learned how to hide it very well. My face remains practically expressionless, although underneath I'm tensing up for the kill.

Think about the last time you argued with your wife. What was it about? At first it was because I wanted her to actually show me that she loved me, you know? Like put the baby down for the two goddamn seconds to pay attention to me for once. Oh, she didn't like that. Of course she didn't like that. How dare I imply that I'm a human being with me.

needs right by needs do you mean sex not exactly i'm i'm just a physical person you know love languages and shit well i'm physical i like to be touched you know initiate a kiss or something every now and then if it leaves the sex it does but it doesn't have to but at the very least she could at least try she would always complain that if she tried it would hurt but like how the fuck is she gonna know if it hurts this time if she won't at least try once you get this guy you get this guy talk and he could go on forever. I could get him to spill his entire life story to me right now if I wanted to. But I don't. I just want one thing and I'm getting closer and closer. What happened next? I don't remember too well, to be honest. I always acting like I'm his good buddy. He leans back in his chair and stretches.

Talking shit about his wife seems to be making him more confident. Men like him love to talk shit. And when they actually meet someone who will sit there and listen to it without kicking their ass, they eat it up. The hardest part of my job is pretending like I'm not disgusted by men like him. You left the house, didn't you? You were quite angry. Man, angry doesn't even cut it. I was pissed. I think I did leave.

Maybe I went to a bar or something. I must have gone real shit-faced because I can't remember anything. Can't or won't. I have to speak slowly. slowly and enunciate each syllable to keep from screaming. What does that mean? Let me help you out. You didn't go to a bar.

You went to a gas station. You bought a lot of beer. You drank a lot of beer. All by yourself in a gas station parking lot. Then what happened? Uh, I went home. His poor stupid brain is going into. to overdrive now. I think for the first time he's actually starting to question where he is and maybe

who the hell I am, but there's no time for that and he wouldn't understand yet anyways. I have to keep him on track. We're nearing the breaking point. Yes, you went home. Now focus on remembering. I'm leaning so far over the desk now, I'm practically laying on it. My eyes are stuck on is so hard He doesn't dare look away. I have to keep him focused. Her parents were still gone. I was really happy about that. I couldn't stop thinking about how lucky I was, but then I was really mad.

Why were you mad? Um, because the fucking door was locked and I didn't have a key. And I was pounding on the door and yelling and she wouldn't come and open it. She was purposefully not letting me into my own house. It's not your house, Anthony. But that's not important right now. He's making progress. So, how did you get in?

Oh, easy. He looks down at his bloodied right hand. I broke the window on the door and just reached through and unlocked it. It was really simple. I was so drunk that it didn't even really hurt. And your wife, she was inside? Yeah, I think so. He was still looking at his hand like he just couldn't comprehend.

I can't let him finish the puzzle yet. He needs to put the pieces together in order. Anthony, your wife, what was she doing? What did she do when she saw you? She started fucking screaming, loud, telling me to stay the fuck away from her. Oh yeah, then she tells me, guess what? Her parents are at the police station. They're trying to put me in jail over a tiny punch, like not even half-fours.

And what did you say? I told her that if I was going to go to jail, she was going to be a hospital. So she fucking runs like a little bitch into her parents' room and locks the door. I can hear the dumb bitch through the door. She's on the phone saying, oh God, he's going to kill me. Help me. Oh, God. I'm mad, so I start kicking the door.

I'm really only trying to scare her, but then the door breaks. And next thing I know, there's a gun pointed at my face. She's pointing a gun at me, but she has the nerves to call the cops on me. I wasn't even afraid, though. I mean, I knew she wouldn't do it, you know. There's no way she has that much courage. So I just start walking forward and she's walking backwards and crying and saying, don't make me shoot you.

So you know what I did? I walked right up to her. I took the gun and held it to my chest. And I just said, if you're going to do it, fucking do it. And you know what she did? She threw the fucking thing on the ground. and then she's just crying and saying, please don't hurt me.

That bitch was going to shoot me. Can you believe it? He's no longer on the line between crying and laughing. He's playing hopscotch with it. But she didn't shoot you. She couldn't do it. The game is over. Anthony Willis will be leaving my chair

and taking his filthy, greasy hair with him. He won't be leaving a better man. It's simply too late for him. But maybe I can rid the world of a stench once and for all. Maybe I can properly finish the job he left half done. No, she couldn't. She was too sweet, too kind, too babying, too scared. Hell, I don't know, but she made a fucking mistake.

I saw some bright lights. Yep, she had called the fucking cops on me. She had denied me sex like I was fucking unworthy, locked me out of my own house, pulled a gun on me, and then called the cops. And of course, who are the cops going to believe? Not me for sure. They always take the chick's side.

Always. Probably because they think she's going to bone them, you know? No, Anthony. I don't fucking know. A shoulder to cry on becomes a dick to ride on, as they say. What did you do to your wife, Anthony? Well, I thought, you know what? Maybe I should share what it's like to have a gun shoved in her face.

So I grabbed it off the floor and pointed it at her. And then, I don't know. I was so drunk. Yes. You do remember. You remember exactly what you did. I remember she screamed or something. The cops were banging on the door.

It scared me. Say what you did. Say it. I realized that I'm no longer sitting and I can't calm myself down enough to sit back down. I'm going to break him. He looks at me with tear-filled eyes, a pathetic and ugly look for him.

I was just so scared. No, Anthony. She was scared. I think there was some kind of accident like she fell. His vainy, bloody hands are on his face now. They weigh down his skin and make his eyes look saggy and inhuman. No accident. What did you do? I think I think I...

He's rocking now. The truth is fighting him hard. It's fighting to come out and be free. and I think that very soon he will be defeated by it. I think I shot her. Shot who? Who was she? I'm walking across the floor now and then standing over him.

I want to hit him, but I know it would be pointless. So I fight him the only way I know how. My wife, her. No, Anthony. Her name. What was her name? Oh, God. What's happening? Where am I? Who are these people? He tries to rise from my chair only to find that he is bound, but not by chains. Why can't I leave? Why can't I stand up? This is my last question, Anthony. Just answer it, and I will answer your questions. I'll tell you everything. What was her name? He curls up his knees and hides his face in them like a tired child. I can't say it. have to say it or you won't ever leave this room. You won't ever leave this chair.

Please don't make me. Please. He's openly sobbing now and I can't help but remember how he felt towards his sobbing, pleading wife. You cannot leave unless you say it. There's no other way. This is the toughest stretch, but I know that I've already won. All I have to do is keep pushing. He's so close to breaking. He's wailing, stops, and he is calm for a few seconds. He breathes deeply a few times, and I allow him this reprive. When he looks up at me with bloodshot eyes, I know there's no need to prod them anymore. The truth is bubbling its weight up to the top.

The silence is thick and heavy and suffocating, which I know will make it all the more relieving when it is broken. Priscilla. My wife's name is Priscilla. The words come out flat and emotionless. I wonder if this is the same way he looked when he pulled the trigger. Her name was Priscilla, I correct him. Standing up, I walk away from him and sit back down in my chair across the table from him. It's time to answer some questions.

Your name is Anthony Willis. You died when you were 23. This is the house that you killed Priscilla and your son. yourself in 10 years ago. These are the people that live here now. You can see them, but they can't see you. Or hear you. They have a message for you. The young couple sitting on the other side of the room are watching with wide eyes. I know that they can't see or hear him, but the goosebumps on their arms and panic in their faces tell me that they can sense him. One of them is gripping the other's arms so hard, I can see pale fingerprints in their arm. Anthony is sitting in the chair,

and finally looks like what he is. Dead. His eyes are flat and detached. His mouth hanging slightly open. They want you to know that this is their house now, and you are not welcome here. You never were welcome here. It's time for you to stop breaking their lamps,

kicking holes in their walls and terrorizing their children. That's why I'm here to give you this message and to enforce it. He doesn't respond for a few seconds. but I am willing to wait. I have learned that death is a very hard thing to accept, even for those who deserved it. I'm not surprised when he finally starts to fight against his invisible bonds. He is trying so hard just to stand, but I know that his chains are unbreakable. Much stronger people than him have fought them and lost. The chains are made powerful by personal items of his, his obituary, a picture of him, and his dead wife at their high school prom. In a picture,

of his dead wife and their baby daughter. The couple who now owns the house are becoming more frightened as he struggles. His presence must be stronger now with all the energy he is exerting. If he keeps this up, they may be able to see his physical presence. No, this is my house. You're not going to take that away from me. You can't make me leave. He is fighting full force now, which is actually stronger than I would have thought when I first met him. No, Anthony, you are going to leave. I pull a lighter out of my pocket, click it, and produce a small flame. Anthony seems to go even paler when he sees it. When I burn these items, you will be released from this world to go wherever it is you will go. Wait, his voice is high-pitched and panicky. Where will I go? That's for you to find out, Anthony.

I'm still alive, so I don't know. I bring the flame towards the pictures in front of me, but he cries out again, and I allow him his last words. Am I going to hell? He asked quietly, and looks pleadingly at me. I don't know, Anthony. Why don't you send me a postcard? I like the pictures. I know the couple in the room with me can hear the screaming because they both jump

and grow a shade paler. One of them actually screams out loud and acts like they are going to bolt for the door. To my surprise, they find enough courage to stay. I know that I was terrified as well the first time that I heard the wailing death screams of an unwilling spirit being forcefully ripped from this world, but now I find a small amount of pleasure,

The world could always use less Anthony Willis's. Of course it's the most horrible people who seem to cling to life the hardest. It might be because they are so terrified of what waits them on the other side, or maybe it's because they want to just inflict as much pain as possible. Either way, it's not my job to know. It's just my job to get rid of them. Not a job I chose, but the job that was chosen for me. The last remnants of Anthony Willis are fading out of this world in long tendrils of smoke, and

that continue to spark in an unworldly manner. The young couple are holding each other and hiding their faces from the gruesome sight that I have grown so desensitized to. Eventually, the smoke starts to clear, but a musky, sulfurous smell is still lingering in the hazy room. Yes, I'll definitely be having that chair cleaned.

The next few moments are silent except for the haunting echoes of Anthony's passing. The couple finally looked towards me. One's face has tear streaked, and they are trembling. The other steps forward and then addresses me while never letting go of the other's hand. It... Is it gone?

They ask in a whisper that is barely more than a breath. Yes, he's gone now. He won't be back either. Of course, if I were you, I would still keep my eye out for any other occurrences. While uncommon, this was a traumatic death involving more than one person. So, I'd keep an eye out for the wife just in case. The wife, the one he killed? Their question reminds me that they could actually hear my side of the conversation.

Yes, it's unlikely that she is still here. And even if she is, I don't think she could actually cause you any problems. But if there are more problems, don't hesitate to reach me again. Okay, thank you. And the payment? They asked tentatively. I never asked for payment up front because in my experience, any medium who asks for payment up front is a fraud.

My assistant will get you about that. Is there anywhere you can stay for the night? Possibly tomorrow night as well? My mother's house. That's where the children are right now. Why is it? Is it not safe yet? They seem so awkward talking about this.

They always do. I find that many people, when actually confronted with this supernatural wood, rather brush it under the rug and erase it from their minds. I can't blame them, honestly. It's not the kind of thing you can just bring up at a company picnic in casual conversation. and retelling this story around a campfire at night just seems to make light of the situation. His presence is gone, but there's a remaining mist and bad odor that will likely persist until at least tomorrow evening, possibly, the next morning even. Some people have found this smell to be overbearing and some have even had negative side effects to do it.

Nothing too serious. Headaches, nausea, lightheadedness, moodiness, finding another place to sleep for the next two nights would be safer. I think that's a great idea. I'll call your mother now. The one who has been crying seems eager to leave this place in return when the memories are less fresh and easier to reconstruct into something tangible. They leave the room quickly, and as soon as the doors opened, the pressure in the dark and musty room is lightened. I don't know what to say. I don't understand this at all, but thank God for people like you. What would have happened if we hadn't called you?

I mean, could have gotten worse? Well, if you had waited too long, I wouldn't have ever been able to help you. I'm sorry for your family's misfortune, and I hope you can be able to move past this quickly. The children may take a little time, of course. The younger they are, the better they seem to be able to remember it for some reason. Even the baby? Especially the baby. She'll probably remember this years and years from now, even after you've long forgotten.

I'm sorry. I don't want to be rude, but I have a flight to catch, so I can't stay for much longer. No, no, of course. Go ahead. Thanks again. I am led to the door and feel the familiar rush of fresh air and sunshine and life in general. Area 51 is a distraction. The real prize is in eastern Alaska.

So by this point, everyone is no doubt well aware of the Area 51 memes and all the hubbub surrounding them. Apparently, over one million people are set to storm the perimeter on September 20th of this year. Should be interesting. But let's be honest for a second. I doubt it will happen. And even if it did, even if by some ridiculous miracle they managed to overwhelm the most powerful military on earth and infiltrate a top secret base, I don't think they would be exactly thrilled with the results. I'll just come right out and say it, I guess. Area 51 is a red herring. It's a distraction and it pretty much always has been. Nothing out there but sand, reclusive scientists, and some crusty-ass lake at this point. I mean, think about it. If Area 50s, is one of the most top secret in covert black sites in the world, then why does everyone know about it? How secret can a secret be if everyone knows the secret? For God's sake, even Obama acknowledges its

existence a while back. That's the whole point of it. They want you distracted, so you don't look for the others. But why take my word for it? Who am I anyways? Just some pleb on the internet that decided to cash in on a trend for some clout and perhaps a bit of that sweet, sweet karma, right? Well, yes, but actually no. That may be who I am now, but I was once a person of particular interest to the United States government. Most people knew me as Mr. Blue, not my real name, but it is easier to pronounce. I used to be a pilot, did that for many years and loved every second of it. I tell you, there's nothing quite like soaring through the skies and breaking the sound barrier for the first time.

You might crap your pants a little, but it's all part of the experience, really. Now, unfortunately, the type of work I did was above top secret, and for all of our safeties, I cannot go into further detail on what I actually did, or who I actually worked for. One day, I was out on a classified reconnaissance mission in a certain area where I should not have been. I'll apologize here for the vague details of certain things, but you've got to understand. The things I'm about to tell you are beyond top secret. They would kill me ten times over for uttering a word of it. So here's to hoping that doesn't happen.

Anyways, the mission was going as planned, when suddenly my instruments started going berserk on my dash. Air pressure inside the cabin just plummeted, and the speed and fuel consumption gauges looked like they were playing ping pong with each other. Everything began to rattle like crazy, and my alarms erupted into a symphony of irritation. Next thing I know, I see this bright light soar past me at an ungodly speed. The shock wave was produced was so violent that it shredded the whole of my craft,

In a split second, I went from casually flying along to suddenly regaining consciousness as I plummeted head first towards the ground at terminal velocity. I managed to pull my shoot before I splattered, but as I touched down, I almost wished I hadn't. There I was met by an awaiting entourage of at least two dozen men in winter camo suits and masks. They all pointed their weapons at me and screamed in a language which I recognized as English. I tried my best to calm them down and appear unthreatening, but that didn't stop them from wrenching me into a pair of handcuffs and hauling me into one of their APCs. They began to drive away, and the real severity of the situation hit me.

I was not going to be saved. The people I worked for had never said it, but it was always well known that if you ever were captured, then you were pretty much on your own. With that in mind, I had no real incentive to keep my mouth shut since they started interrogating me. It may seem cowardly, but I was not about to be brutally tortured for a former ally, which would never come to bail me out.

Yeah, the government really says they don't torture people, but trust me, when they really wanted to know something, there's no tactic to extreme. And they really wanted to know something. So I told them about who I worked for, what my mission was, where I grew up, all that jazz. It was all fabricated, but they took the bait regardless, thanks to their severe distrust of the Russians at the time. They were actually pretty cool after that. I mean, they wouldn't let me leave their custody, but that was better than being dead, or at least it was at first. They transported me away from my initial interrogation place into a secure facility somewhere nearby. I was blindfolded the whole time, but from the rumbling of multiple vehicles, sounds of doors sliding open multiple times, and the distinct feeling of my stomach dropping, I could tell they were taking me somewhere deep underground. Soon after that, I stepped off the elevator and they removed my blindfold. The leader was a guy with a stern face, thick gray beard, and eyes that looked etched from concrete. He wore a black suit with some symbol upon his heart pocket that I didn't recognize. He stepped in front of everyone and outstretched his arms while staring me in the eye.

Welcome to your new home. An ever so slight grin slithered onto his face as he said it. I glanced down the dismal gray hallways, which seemed to stretch out further than I could see in multiple directions. They led me down the hall on the right, past dozens. have locked corridors and rooms before ushering me into his cell. My handcuffs were removed soon after, and the door slits shut behind me. The same man that had welcomed me to the facility, then approached the window and pushed the intercom button.

We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Blue. I don't believe there is any reason why our time spent together has to be unfriendly. I apologize for all this, but you must realize that this is a necessary precaution we must take. I hope you understand. I took a moment, then nodded back to him. Wonderful. We'll have dinner set to you soon. If you require anything, then please notify one of the guards outside of your quarters. And with that, he and his little entourage turned and strolled down the hallway. That was my very first night in the facility. I eventually came to know as F, E, Z. I don't think it's the official name, but I heard several personnel at the base referred to it by that acronym over the years. I still don't know exactly what it stands for. Forbidden, enclosed cigarette? forsaken evil zoo, forced ejaculation zeal, fabulous elf zombies. The best I could really come up with was fortified experimento zone.

It makes the most sense to all things considered. At first it wasn't actually too bad. The staff was nice. They cooked great food and there was plenty to see around the base. Although every once in a while I would hear the screams just barely echoing through the fence. They interviewed me probably 100 more times after that. and were especially interested in the craft which I was piloting. The craft in question was one of our own top secret technologies,

but unfortunately it had been blown to smithereens by whatever that light was. So I couldn't tell them much about it. It took years of incarceration there, but eventually the staff came to trust me almost as much as they did their own comrades. We would laugh and joke with one another, and soon enough we became what some might even consider to be friends. I became especially close with one of the scientists there named Kempark. Kevin. Kevin was a smart guy, comical too, and explained quite a lot of things to me. He and I would

spend hours talking on countless occasions. He was my only real glimpse into what was happening in the outside world. He'd bring in books and movies for us to enjoy together. He kept me updated on everything. And over the next 30 years, we developed a close relationship that I would always treasure. It must have displayed some kind of intellectual potential because they eventually started asking for my input on various curiosities stationed throughout the base. They only did it because I had sworn them complete loyalty. It would never be allowed to leave the base anyways, but for me, it was just nice to feel included. The base itself was absolutely colossal. They always blindfolded me during transports at any location, but one time I caught a glimpse of the buttons in the elevator.

There had to be at least 50 of them on that panel. I remember the first time they showed me one of the lockdown blocks. There were guards posted at every cell. and I heard some very strange noises emanating around me as we traversed the halls. I thought for sure they were about to show me some horrendous beast from the depths of hell and prepared myself accordingly as the howls of unseen things echoed throughout the halls. The lead scientist, Dr. Roosevelt, rolled back a two-day mirror curtain, and my heart froze with anticipation. In the cell before us, there was nothing more than a human girl in a gray jumpsuit. She was young, maybe five years old or so.

but there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about her. I looked to Dr. Roosevelt, and he flexed his cranial muscles before pressing a button. I heard the sound of gas seep into the room. A few ten seconds passed when the girl suddenly shrieked like a banshee. Her head tilted back and I saw jagged, needle-like teeth emerge from her mouth. Her jet-black eyes then lurched towards us, and she lunged at the window. She struck it hard and fell back to the ground, snarling and hissing like some ravenous jackal. Dr. Roosevelt, then pressed the button again, cutting the gas and posing a question.

You ever seen anything like her, Mr. Ballou? All I could do was shake my head slowly as I watched the young demon child's talk about on the other side of the glass. They found her in the woods outside of Whitehorse with a freshly disembowed man. She was eating him and appeared unaffected by the sub-zero temperatures. I suddenly felt like vomiting, but I said nothing, only stared back at the unusual, gruesome little girl. What the hell was she?

Unfortunately, I never was told anything else about her, and I doubt the personnel knew much more anyways. It came to show me a lot of very strange things over the years. A giant brownish, orange-haired primate that walked upright and seemed to respond to facial movements. A humanoid-shaped being that was only detectable via infrared equipment. A golden chest that would instantly kill anything that touched it. A 10-foot-tall creature wrapped in vines that emitted bouts of radiation and blended into

environments with perfect camouflage. A monstrous fish, at least 80 feet in length, frozen in nitrogen. Various abhorrent creatures that I'm guessing were the results of relentless genetic tampering. I've never seen anything like it. All of the monstrosities housed there in the secrets buried in their possession. They also asked for my advice on a certain paradoxial phenomenon, that had plagued them as well. They told me that for decades there

have been hundreds of unsolved cases of human disappearances that seemed to defy all explanation. Young children would be found on cliff edges that they could not have possibly reached, while old and frail people would be discovered dozens of miles away from where they were last seen

only a few hours later. Most of them would never be found at all, though. I could almost see the fear dripping from their eyes as they were laid case after case of the recorded incidents, and it was clear, although nuts said, that they had no idea what the cause was. Unfortunately, neither did I, as it was the first I'd ever heard of the bizarre phenomenon.

I told them honestly that I didn't believe my former allies were responsible, but I don't know if that made them feel better or worse. Throughout all my years there, I'd always found one thing peculiar. After all the weird and terrifying things they showed me, there was never any mention of extraterrestrials. That's why everyone thinks these black-site facilities housed. after all. But nevertheless, they made no mention of it. They made me smile a bit when I thought about it, because they had no idea how close they were. The closest thing they had was this weird tentacle

creature with a ringed set of teeth in its mouth. It looked almost like an eel, but possessed four iridescent green eyes and a ring around its head. It didn't live in the water either, but instead slithered around on the ground in a very swift and very unsettling motion. They said its DNA resembled nothing like anything they have ever found on earth before. Hence the reason they believed, but we're not certain of its otherworldly origins. Kevin and I got back to talking in his quarters one night as the rest of the crew retired for the evening. He shared with me a bit of his brandy, and we were content to just chat as friends late into the night. He told me a lot about himself that he had never mentioned before.

He showed me pictures of his wife and his son that had been taken from him. Kevin admitted his son had died in a car crash a couple years back, while his wife passed two years later of cancer. It broke my heart to hear that, and I felt sorrow for my dear friend of some 30 years. Kevin was in his early 50s, but you'd never know it with the enthusiasm in his voice. It was during that conversation, Kevin ended up mentioning something I found particularly interesting. He told me that he believed that if an alien species existed and were advanced enough to traverse the galactic canopy and reach Earth, then they would obviously be quite intelligent.

He said he didn't believe in any of the Hollywood depictions of doomsday aliens hell-bent on destroying humanity. He thought they'd be a lot more subtle than that. Think about it. You find something intelligent which represents almost no threat to you, and the first thing you do was try to kill it? Kevin asked skeptically, as I considered his words for myself, that'd just be a waste, and no species that fancies themselves as advanced beings would do something so brash. At least I hope they wouldn't.

He chuckled slightly and it shot me a knowingly look mixed with a, unique intrigue that almost glistened in his gray eyes. Even if they thought we were destroying our own planet or something, why would they care? There are trillions of other planets in the Milky Way alone. They could pick any of them if they wanted natural resources. I chuckled to myself, almost sensing where the conversation was headed. It's not the planet's weep. Thereafter, I replied, Kevin snapped, and pointed his finger at me as his face lit up. Exactly. They'd want to study us, learn how we operate, how we organize, and how we live. Kevin's hand motions turned eccentric and saw his access badge jostle around his neck. He took another sip of brandy and continued. They probably

learned more about us than we even know about ourselves. I mean, granted, they have to be more intelligent. They could learn up close, understand how humans work. They'd have no need for bloodshed when they could simply, in-dispictously, integrate into human culture. They have no doubt mastered the art of altering their biology, they disguise themselves as humans. I mean, there's nothing when compared with the tech they used to get here, you know? He paused from his enthused monologue and wiped the steam off his glasses. I just sat back content to let him continue, as I found it fascinating that he could know so much. Aliens. They're not warlords. They're poets, architects, authors, musicians, beings that wish to create.

It is the ultimate calling for an entity so powerful. Kevin took a deep breath and reveled in his own explanation. His speech had turned a bit slurred, and I could see his eyes floating lazily in their sockets. He then met my eyes and a look that he had never skiven to me before. It was a look that seemed to shed all sense of formality and pose a question which he had long since suspected the answer to. You're not really from Russia. Are you? The sudden accusation caught me off guard, and I felt my stomach drop like a lead weight. I didn't say anything.

and Kevin just scoffed. You had everyone fooled, and I mean, I was too for the longest time. You had a suitable backstory, authentic sounding accent, all the alibis you gave us checked out. He paused and clasped his hands in front of him. You look so authentic too.

There was one thing you missed. One thing that you just can't fake. He looked me deep in the eyes fell silent. He didn't have to say it, for I already knew what he meant. The eyes are impossible to truly fake. That night, your craft was shot down. What were you doing here? Kevin and I maintained a prolonged eye lock before I finally responded. Reconnaissance? For the first time in decades, I dropped the Russian accent, as it was clear there was no longer any reason to lie to my dear friend. And what did you see?

Kevin stared into the very depths of my soul as he asked, and I spoke the truth. Beauty. Poetry. Creators, much like us. Kevin just stared at me for the longest time, as if he were weighing my soul in his mind. I wondered what he planned to do since he had found out, but I didn't ask. Kevin eventually smiled and rose to make his way to the cell door. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a black steel pistol, with a long snout. I slowly met his gaze and he chuckled. Mr. Blue, do you wish to go home?

I nodded after pausing to think for a moment. Kevin looked over his weapon and primed it for use. I hope your allies can forgive us. Without another word, he flashed his security badge and the locks on the door gave away. He motioned for me to rise and follow, and so I did. Kevin glanced back and forth down the hallway, but due to the late hour, there was no one around.

He and I sprinted down the corridor and onwards to one of the security booths. He flashed his badge as I hid just out of sight. He entered the room, and I heard the noise of a brief scuffle before two bright flashes ended it. Kevin re-emerged with wild eyes and beckoned me to follow. He and I dashed down the hallway and reached the massive main shaft elevator soon after. For the first time, I entered without a blindfold, and Kevin punched the button to the top floor and the security code required to power it. Security system will be down for a good half hour, but automated distress beacons have already been activated. That gives us about eight

minutes. Kevin dropped the clip from his pistol and popped in a fresh one. I saw spackles of blood on his glasses and cheek, and I frenzied look in his eye. Here, take this. He reached out his hand and held something which I had not seen in decades, the old radio for my craft. I took it, And he and I met eyes as the elevator door opened. It was back to running after that, but a few minutes of it, we had reached an underground parking facility. Kevin quickly unlocked a nearby vehicle, and the two of us hopped in as we fired it up. The engine roared to life, and Kevin accelerated through a lot.

A moment later, we exited the underground facility, and I saw my version of the night's sky in over four decades. There were men stationed at the perimeter gates that attempted to stop us, but Kevin didn't flinch. He crashed right through the wire fence on the perimeter, causing multiple lights to activate in our wake. I heard a siren blaring behind us in the silhouettes of people dashing throughout the snow. There's a suit in the back. Put it on. I did as he requested without question and fit the snug polyester garment over my body. It covered every square inch from foot to the nape of my neck and felt incredibly comfortable. There's a dial on your right side. You can use

it to mask your body heat. They're going to be after you. He tossed it. He tossed it. to a map into my lap and continued barking instructions. You can contact your friends with that radio, right? His eyes flashed to me as he slid onto the main road and away from the compound. Yes, Kevin nodded. Make your way north. They won't be expecting that. There's a river up there about 30 miles away through the forest.

Once you find it, head east until you find a small town. Ask the guy at the post office for Mr. White. He's a friend of mine who's agreed to help you. He'll take it from there. I tried to digest the flow of information. as best as I could and remain confident. It had all just happened so suddenly. I stashed you some MREs in the bag.

Should last you a good couple of weeks. Kevin then swerved around a corner and reorientated us into a new dark road. In the sudden influx of adrenaline, a sudden thur occurred to me. What happens to you? Kevin didn't seem to want to acknowledge that question. Forget about that. Just get back to your people. Behind us, a flurry of light suddenly ascended into the night sky.

the whirling sound of rotary blades then pierced the tranquil canopy of the blustery night. Shit, I had hoped I could get you a bit farther than this. He suddenly slammed on the brakes. My head lurched forward and the car spun back and forth along the icy road.

Take this too. He handed his long barrel pistol over and I hesitantly took it. He and I then met eyes for one final time. This is where we say goodbye, Mr. Blue. Why? Why are you doing this to me? Kevin sighed and I saw he certain sorrow swirl in his ironclad pupils. He stayed silent for a moment, and only when the

sounds of approaching engines grew louder, was he spurred to reply, you don't belong here, you don't belong in a cage. I don't know where you come from, but I want you to see the ones you love again. His eyes began to water, and he josted his neck before looking me in the eye one final time. I hope you don't think of us as captors or kidnappers. I hope you see us as you see yourself. I hope. I just hope you can understand. A single tear then rolled down his out cheek. I put my hand on the shoulder.

I always have, and I always will. Thank you, Kevin. I then held out my hand and he grabbed it tight as we shared one final moment before I ventured into the blizzard. The journey from then on was long and arduous, with me spending weeks charging through snow and frozen forests. Hounds, men, and machines pursued me for days,

but somehow I was able to elude their efforts. The terrain was brutal, unrelenting, but eventually I managed to find the river which Kevin had mentioned. By that point, all of my pursuers had long since gone silent. I followed the river and found the town, and soon after the man known as Mr. White, he was a kind man and gladly invited me into his house to avoid the agents. It is there that I have been ever since,

awaiting my allies' arrival. They were stunned to hear from me again. but not as stunned as I was to find out the radio was still functional. They weren't entirely sure whether they could even trust me anymore, but I didn't leave them much of a choice when I threatened to go public and expose them to the world. They finally agreed, but admitted it would be months before they could reach me. I expected as much, and thankfully Mr. White allowed me to stay with them

and await their eventual arrival. I found out soon after that my dear friend Kevin, to whom I own my freedom and life, have been found deceased, The authorities ruled an S-word, gunshot wound to the back of the head, but obviously, I have my doubts about that. It truly broke me to learn one of my true friend's demise, but I knew it was what he expected. I like to think that is the way he chose to do it. And furthermore, it is the reason I am here posting this now. Kevin's legacy deserves to live on, and this is the only way I know how to do it.

And with that, we have come full circle to this message. you are reading right now. To address the original topic, Area 51 is indeed a ruse. Kevin held a lot of power in his previous role, and he told me all about the operation. The real prize is the F-E-Z, my former prison, somewhere in eastern Alaska, buried beneath the snow with all sorts of horned things in its clutches. If you're going to storm anywhere, that should be the place. Just remember to pack a coat.

Kevin was a smart man, brilliant even. If you've managed to make it this far, then I'd like to think you are someone like him, brave, curious, and with an almost innate sense of wonder that cannot be satisfied. It is my hope that Kevin's ideas will live on through you. My allies would never approve of this message, but I know now that they are wrong. Truth is something that all sentient beings should be allowed to perceive, despite how unpleasant it may to be here it. It was Kevin's belief that the beings he knows that aliens are already here.

Then instead of murdering humans as is often portrayed in stories, they would blend in, take keen interest in human culture, society and art, write books, poetry, music, in hopes of connecting to something truly extraordinary, something that reminds them of themselves. If Kevin is right, then maybe one day you'll even stumble upon such a story for yourself. Maybe you'll think it's nothing more than a work of fiction to entertain you for a while. Maybe the author of said theoretical story would seem like nothing more than your run-of-the-mill internet user. He probably wouldn't just come right out and say it because that would be entirely too

corny. You would probably just leave you the pieces and hope that you can understand the truth for yourself. Maybe you truly are like Kevin, drawn to mystery and prepared to entertain the fantastic. Maybe you'll just dismiss the implications of the words before you. you because you don't dare believe something so outlandish because in the end truth is not the problem belief is maybe someone will understand who or more importantly what i really am maybe it will be you either way i've been away for a very long time it is time for me to go home thank you kevin i will always uphold our agreement two facts you should probably

know. Here are two facts you should probably know. Fact the first, when a human being is driven into a corner, you should never underestimate the levels of stupid and dangerous they will resort to in order to escape. Fact the second, if a deal seems too good to be true, it is. Normally, I wouldn't be the kind of guy you should be taking advice from. If I wrote an autobiography, it would be called Jesus wept, but in this very specific instance, I have some value. experience. It started as most tragic stories tend to with a series of short-sided mistakes. About a decade or so back, I was a few years out of college and trying to build a life for myself. I was single, educated, and driven, all the qualities someone needs to succeed in life.

Well, not the single part, but you get the idea. I had prospects, some real potential, but like Oscar Wilde once said, I can resist anything except temptation. Yeah, I was a an English major. I didn't get hooked on meth or corn or anything like that. No, my vice was the thrill of chance. Gambling was the greatest rush I'd ever experienced, just giving up control, letting the gods of probability and randomness decide your fate. I got hooked, kept going to those damn casinos night after night. Looking back, I was naive. I was foolish. It would take an idiot, blinded by a lust for sensation to not realize another crucial fact. The house always, I repeat, always wins.

To make a long, painful story short, at the tender age of 24, the local pit bosses had taken me for all I was worth and then some. As a result, I was indebted to some unsavory characters who were not all that keen on giving me some leeway on the money I owed them. I managed to pull together just shy of $100 in a week doing odd jobs, but that was a fraction of a fraction of what I was in for. At the time, it seemed like a better idea to just piss away what money I had at a local bar rather than carrying on my sad little exercise in futility. So that's exactly what I did. And by virtue of a few gallons of

the cheapest spirits you can possibly imagine, I can't remember a great deal of what happened after that. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in a puddle behind the bar, having been turfed out for making an ass of myself. The electric buzz of the neon signs above my head felt like I was taking a power drill to the frontal lobe, while the cold, filthy water below my face helped to sober me up a smidgen, just enough to make me aware. It was right then in my lowest possible moment that I met him. Hey there, buddy, he said, his voice pleasantly cheerful and melodic. You look like you need a help in hand. Thankfully, I've got two. There was a gentle tug on both of my shoulders, pulling me upright. He leaned me against the wall. I could finally take a better

look at him. To begin with, I wondered if I was hallucinating. He seemed so strange, so out of place. My good Samaritan was about six and a half feet tall, but he was built like a pack of uncooked spaghetti, a long, lean, string bean of a man. That being said, the black and white pinstripe suit he was wearing still somehow managed to be form-fitting, like it was just painted directly onto a featureless body. Above his collar fastened to the top button and held in place by a large and ugly bowtie sat a pale grinning head with black hair parted in the middle. Truth be told my initial thought after properly taking in the side of him was as follows. Holy shit. I died in that puddle and this is death himself come to collect my pathetic soul. Sadly, that was not the case. I was in fact

still alive. There we are, pal. That's a lot better, isn't it? He said, kneeling down on the long, rail-thin-legs to look me in the eye. What have you feeling like a million bucks in no time? Never fear. While back then, I just assumed that it was my drunken mind playing tricks on me. I remember his eyes seemingly strange, yellowish.

They had a kind of nuanced sheen to them, like Srella and Iris just melted together into a single formless mass. eyes like goddamn egg yolks. It's always such a shame to catch folks in a pickle. Such a shame, he said largely to himself, I think. Whatever happened to helping people out, you know? It's a good feeling. Who are you? I managed to choke out.

The kind stranger smiled and turned his sulfuric eyes towards me. You're asking the wrong person there, amigo. I'll tell you if I knew, honest. He replied with her laugh. What's your name? though. Nate, I said, wondering if I was about to vomit or not. Nate Wilson. Oh my God, that's such an awesome name, the stranger said, as the sudden explosion of interest on his face told me that he wasn't faking his misplaced enthusiasm. Nate Wilson, it has a ring to it, don't you think?

God, what a great name. You're a lucky guy, Nate. Lucky to have such a great name. Uh, uh, thanks, I guess. Long, awkward silence after that, I sure as hell didn't know what to say, and the strangers seemed to more than content to just stand there and stare at me, grinning like a freak. It felt like it was my responsibility to break that irritating silence. Look, I... I really appreciate you helping me, buddy. I began. Wait, you consider us buddies, he asked?

His tone was at that stage, ambiguous. I mean, you saved me from the breathing alley water, so... I guess so, yeah. This might seem hard to believe because I definitely didn't believe it at that time, but the stranger literally jumped up into the air and whooped loudly. A grown man behind a dive bar doing that. It was like something out of a strange dream that your one boring friend always wants to tell you about. That is fantastic, he said, grinning ear to ear like he just won the fucking lottery.

It's so wonderful to make new friends. He extended a spindly arm towards me. his hand open and his spidery fingers outstretched. What are there, friend Doey, said. And because that night wasn't weird enough already, you better believe I did. That's what I'm talking about, he said with another childish cackle, pulling me to my feet with disarming levels of strength.

Through the power of friendship, anything is possible. Sure, he may have spoken like his only experience with the outside world was watching Saturday morning cartoons, but he seemed innocent enough, a benign, weird. just trying to help people along his way, though I must admit the fact he was reluctant to tell me his name was somewhat of a red flag for me. Now, I'm going to be completely honest with you, Knight. He began as amber gaze turned downwards in what might have been embarrassment.

There was a reason I followed you out here. It wasn't just a stroke of good luck. My heart immediately sank. I knew he was too good to be true. This was when he stabbed me. cut me up, where my skin is a suit and turned the rest of me

into makeshift lasagna. Nobody was ever heard that happy at that hour of the night if they had all their psychological ducks in a row. Well, if you're being honest, I said, swaying on my feet, still too drunk to defend myself. Would that reason happen to be my murder?

He seemed shocked at first, then began to laugh. Do you think a murderer would be this friendly, he asked? molestation then Jesus, no, Nate, you're a good-looking guy, don't get me wrong, but you're really not my type. Then what does a guy like you

have to do with a guy like me? I asked the needle on my internal emotive scale creeping from curious to irritated. Well, he paused again, as though searching for the proper words, he was looking at everything but me. The bar, you finally said.

How much of what happened in there do you remember? Somewhere in the margin of nothing, I think, I said, now leaning against the wall for support. You were talking to the bartender, loudly, he said, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. I wasn't eavesdropping, not at all. I just haven't over here. You were talking about some kind of money troubles? I'd almost forgotten about them myself, but they'd almost forgotten about them myself, but they the second he said it, all the memories came barreling into me like some nauseating tidal wave.

I'd ranted and raved, screamed at the top of my lungs, debt, debt, debt. I got belligerent when I felt they weren't showing me enough sympathy. And when I get belligerent, I was rightly thrown out on my inebriated ass. Oh, oh, don't worry about those, I said. My cheeks reddening with shame. Uh, that's not your problem. I'll deal with it. but Nate, you didn't sound like you could deal with it.

What the hell is it to you, I snapped back. The stranger stopped talking and began reaching into his jacket. I got a sudden flash of paranoia that he worked for one of the casinos, and he's going to put a bullet between my eyes. You're my best friend, Nate, he said. And, uh, friends are meant to help each other out in sticky situations, aren't they? He produced a stack of bills from a pocket inside his suit and passed it over to me. will uh will this be enough he asked it was at this point that i was most open to the idea of this all being some crazy dream

with the curiosity of a madman i quickly counted the money this total stranger calling me his best friend had handed to me twenty fucking grand it would bail me out and then some oh holy shit i said though I can't remember if it was out loud or in my head, I can't possibly accept this. Please do, he said with another ear-to-ear grin, you need an awful lot more than I do. A sober me might have been too proud to indulge him, but funnily enough, drunk me had a far more realistic take

on my level of desperation. I was a desperate, desperate man, trapped in a corner. Fact the first. When a human being is driven into a corner, you should never underestimate the levels of stupid and dangerous they will resort to in order to escape. But why was the only question I could summon? He smiled and shrugged. Because I like you, he said, and I like helping people. But you've only just met me.

So what? A friend is a friend is a friend. Why overthink it? I collapsed back against the wall, holding the stranger's 20 grand. It was a way out of my dire situation. I'll pay you back every penny with fucking interest. I swear to God, I said. The stranger laughed.

No need. I've got no shortage of money. Just take it and bail yourself out, okay? Then promise me you'll stop gambling. There were big, swollen tears running down my burning cheeks. The stranger's kindness was baffling, but it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever experienced. He was a true saint in flesh and blood. I'll never gamble another penny, I said.

Without another word, I lunged forward and hugged him, a long, warm, tight embrace. By the end, I could feel his emaciated limbs wrapped around my back. Thank you so much, I whispered, my tears dripping onto the shoulder of his suit. What are friends for, right? When I finally prized myself off of him, I just couldn't stop laughing. It was nerves, probably. the stranger watched me a kind of eccentric joy burning in his big yellow eyes. He seemed to like just observing.

Oh, one more thing, he said, reaching into his jacket again. A little something I wrote up in the bar, just to help you out. He passed me a piece of paper, folded into the size of a pamphlet. I didn't even think to check at the time. I just shoved it into the pocket of my filthy coat and carried on thanking him. I needed that money. Lord knows I did. but I couldn't just take it without giving something in return.

There must be something you want, man, I pleaded. Palms opened in deferrence to his generosity. Anything. I owe you my life, man. Just name your price. I can't thank you enough. The stranger grinned and stroked his narrow chin in contemplation. Now that's an irresistible offer, he said, almost jokingly.

You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Wilson. Leave it with me, okay? I'm sure I'll think of some. He began walking away after that, whistling, of all things. Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, as he did so. Now I was laughing again, half out of giddiness, half an acknowledgement of the sheer strangeness of the events transpiring around me. Right then, as I sat outside a shitty bar, covered in dirty water,

my own tears and more than a little puk, I was the luckiest human being on the planet. What do you give to the man who has everything, I said aloud? The stranger looked over his shoulder at me one more time, his odd eyes met him mine. Almost everything night. He corrected. Almost everything. And just like that, the stranger was gone. Almost funny, isn't it, how someone like that can have such a profound impact on your life, then just up and disappear just as quickly. Like a comet, just trailing past. You only catch its light for a brief instant.

Then it's dark again. Using the stranger's money, I paid off my gambling debts in full and still had a little left over. I swore to stick to my promise for my own sake and his. In the ten years that have passed since that day, I haven't gambled a cent. Once I was all square with the house, I finally took a moment to check the piece of paper that he left me. At first, I only sort of skimmed it, and it didn't make a great deal of sense to me, just a list of dates from 2007 to 2017, each accompanied by a sentence fragment.

It was only when I sat down and took a long, hard look at what those fragments actually were that I realized the stranger couldn't possibly have been human. No, he was so much more than that. It was a list of instructions specific down to the days, minutes, hours, and seconds, where to be and what to do in order to maximize success at that given moment. He'd left stock tips for companies that didn't exist, but would come into existence exactly when he'd predicted they would. He'd left exact instructions on which house to buy and how to get at the best price, clothes to wear, jobs to take, friends to make. Fifth of October 2009, go to Starbucks in town,

meet Jesse O'Brien, 3.51.17 p.m. Two years later, Jesse O'Brien became Jesse Wilson. The stranger had even engineered me meeting the love of my goddamn life. Precise to the exact second we'd first make eye contact. I invested in the right stocks and, pulled out the wrong ones, avoiding company deaths and market crashes like some financial Houdini. My capital skyrocketed and my personal wealth just grew greater and greater. 8th of June, 2011, buy house 10 Aspen Way, don't rent. 6.14.43 p.m. And so I did. Jesse and I moved into that big, gorgeous house once our honeymoon was over. We were wealthy, healthy, healthy, and deeply in love, but something was missing. Something the stranger had accounted for too.

17th of August, 2012, conceived child with Jesse, 831.19 p.m. Our little girl is called April. The stranger picked it, not me. She's four now, and I love her with all my heart. The stranger, a man who had known for less than an hour, had steered the entire course of my life in the best possible direction. out of nothing more than the kindness of his heart. He'd saved me. He'd saved all of us. Even though it'd been 10 years since that day and I was drunk out of my mind at the time,

I remember every detail vividly. That's why, as I was walking down the street this morning, my arms full of grocery bags when I heard someone singing, Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows. A few feet behind me, I recognized the voice instantly. Sunshine, Lollipops, pops and rainbows. Everything that's wonderful is what I feel one were together. His melodic voice

sang, his tone screaming jovilly. Brighter than a lucky penny, and you're near the rain just disappears. Dear, and I feel so fine. Without a moment's hesitation, I turned to face him. It looks like that strange, strange man hadn't aged a day in an entire decade. He even wore that same pinstripe suit that he had on the first night I met him. Just a nice. know that you are mine. You finished the verse with a smile and threw open his arms. Jesus Christ, I said, my face cracking into a smile impossible to hide. It's actually you. The one and only baby? He said with a laugh and a grandiose hand gist her. How's Jesse, by the way? I opened my mouth to answer, but he raised a hand as though to politely silence me.

I'm sorry to drop in after. Gosh, has it really been 10 years? geez louise time really does intend to get away from me he said anyway the reason i'm here is because i finally figured out what i wanted from you uh beg your pardon ten years ago you said you owed me something anything he replied though i almost heard it back in my own voice as he said it i couldn't decide at the time but i think i now know oh of course it's wonderful to hear man i said my heart filled with a sudden trepidation. So, uh, what is it that you want? The stranger gave me that same

ear-to-ear grin that he was wearing back behind the dive bar in 2007. Well, I've thought about it for a long time, Amigo, and I've finally made my decision, he said. I know what I want from you, Nate. He paused to take a step closer to me. His eyes were just as golden in the daylight.

I want your name, Nate. I almost laughed to begin with. but I soon realized he wasn't joking. He was deadly serious. My name? Yes, Nate, I've always loved your name. It's so wonderful, he said, wringing his hands with glee. See, I've never had a name myself, and it's always left me feeling a little left out, you know? I've wanted a name for so long, and I decided just recently that the name I want is yours. I think it'll fit me just right. This man had given me. my entire life. He saved me from getting killed by casino sharks back in 07, and every wonderful

success I've had since I owed entirely to this decade-long itinerary. With all this in mind, who was I to turn him down this last bat-shick crazy request? If you wanted to go around calling himself Nate Wilson too, what right did I have to stop him? Sure thing, buddy, I said with a smile. he leaned forward, embraced me, almost crushing the groceries against my chest. You have no idea how happy you've made me. It's the least I can do after all you've done for me, I replied. The stranger, or rather Nate Wilson, extended another spidery hand towards me. Let's shake on it, he said.

His voice elated, and I did. We went our separate ways after that. I walked home, and he ran off into the city, singing and cackling with mirth. It brought me some peace of mind to know that my debt to him was finally repaid and that some simple token gesture was all that I needed to do it. When I arrived back at 10 Aspen Way, I saw April playing around with her toy lawnmower in the front yon. I smiled and called to her, but she didn't respond.

She was too wrapped up in her fictitious duties. I made my way inside with the groceries. was in the kitchen cutting up carrots. Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows blasted out the radio. Today just kept getting weirder and weirder. Hey, babe.

I called to her, putting the groceries on the kitchen table. You'll never guess who I ran into this morning. Jesse didn't respond. She just carried on chopping and hummed to the tune. Babe, uh, everything okay? I asked. Still no response.

At this point, I was beginning to get a little worried. With a peculiar heaviness to my every movement, I walked over to Jesse and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. It just went straight through. Straight through her like a goddamn body and she was a hologram or I was. I recoiled with a sharp, short yelp and fell against the kitchen table. Again, no response from Jesse. What the hell happened? Honey, I'm home. I heard of familiar voice call from her hallway outside. Jesse suddenly parked up, turning her head towards the noise. Hi, sweetie, she said. We're out there for a while. I was beginning to get worried. The stranger walked into the kitchen, a smile stretched across his waxen face. Sorry about that honeybunny,

he said. I met an old friend in town. We had a little catch-up. As he said that last part, he threw me a sickening wink with one of his piss yellow peepers. Huh? Jesse said. Anyone I know? She leaned forward and gave the stranger a kiss. The kind of kiss she always gave me. Ah, nah, the stranger said with a chuckle. I don't think you've ever met him. I felt like my mind was going to implode. Nothing going on was making any kind of goddamn sense. The whole world had gone crazy. April calls from outside, something about the grass. You mind taking over the carers for a check, babe? Jesse said to the stranger, I better go check on April. No problem, honey, he said, taking the knife from her hand and giving her another kiss. Jesse left the room, leaving just me and

the stranger, all alone. I quietly fumed and he chopped carrots. What the fuck is going on? I finally asked him when I'd gained the modism of composure required to do so. What have you done, you crazy fucking weirdo. He carried on chopping the carrots. His eyes never left the chopping board. My name is Nate Stranger, he said. I'd really appreciate if you called me by it. In my state of fury, I tried to grab him by the shoulder and turn him to face me.

I could actually touch him, but he wouldn't budge. It was like trying to move a mountain. That's my name. This is my house. And that's my wife, I said to him. Rage and confusion rendering my voice. a crackly mess. I want you out of here and out my life.

The stranger chuckled. See, that's where you're wrong, Slick. All that changed hands, he said. This is Nate Wilson's house. Jesse is Nate Wilson's wife. And this is Nate Wilson's life. And by the terms of our recent deal, I'm Nate Wilson. And you, good buddy?

You're nobody. I won't accept that. I yelled slamming my hand down on the kitchen countertop. Without another word, Nate Wilson rammed the knife through my hand. There was no pain, no blood. It just phased through, as though I no longer even existed. Word to the wise, stranger. Reality marches on, regardless of whether you accept it, he said, as I pulled my hand away from the knife. Everything you have. Everything you've tricked yourself into believing you earned. You got from my instructions.

You never owned this life, stranger. You just rented it for me. Peace by peace. Now, it's mine. And there's not a thing you can do about it. He sucked the knife into the chopping board and turned around to me. Except, of course, leave and let me, my wife and my daughter get on with her lives. Do you understand, stranger?

I stood in crushing silence for a minute or two. But can I see them again? Sure you can. You can see them anytime you like, but only I can see you, just like up until around an hour ago, only you could see me. It doesn't feel good, does it? Being nobody, being aimless. The gravity of it all was finally closing in. I fell onto my ass and began to cry. God, it was so fucking stupid, I said. How did I fall for all this? Nate Wilson shrugged and ate a piece of carrot. Don't blame yourself, buddy, he said.

I was waiting for centuries before I found someone who I could interact with. It isn't your fault you happen to be that person or they had such an awesome name at the time. Well, my name. You were only going to waste a friend, though. If I wasn't there that night, a heavy would have broken your leg the next day. You'd have gone into painkillers and OD'd a few months later. Nate Wilson becomes gravestone fodder. What a waste that would have been, huh?

but but what do I do now what I did stranger nay Wilson said eating another piece of carrot with undue relish ask around find someone you can talk to might be this afternoon who knows sure could be a week month year decade century but I'm an eternal optimist a century I said trying to ebb the stream of tears flowing out of me I can't wait that long you'd be surprised pal

patience is something you you'll learn being nameless. When you finally do manage to wrangle yourself a name, you'll appreciate it a little more this time. You'll make something of yourself. Fact the second. A fideal seems too good to be true. It is.

So, is that it? I asked. Is that all you have for me? Nate Wilson nodded. I'm afraid so good, buddy, he said. But you seem like a nice enough guy. I'm sure you'll fear. something out. You can always depend on the kindness of a stranger's, don't you know? As the man we'd just stolen my entire existence carried on hacking up vegetables, I left the room, walking

out of the kitchen, through the hallway, then out of the house entirely. I stole one last look at Jesse and April. My, uh, no, his family, playing on the lawn, totally carefree. all smiles. They'd never even know that I was gone. Perhaps it was better that way. No heartache. I whispered a goodbye that they'd never hear and closed my eyes in a pointless attempt to shut off the tears I knew would be coming either way.

I sat off into the city after that, walking alone, in search of something, hell, anything to call myself. And that was that. the story of my un-naming. Perhaps Nate was right. Perhaps it was his life all along. Maybe he'll live it better. Live it kinder. He might be a better father, a better husband, a better Nate.

I don't feel so attached to that name anymore. But if you know all this now, that means one good thing. You can read what I'm writing. If you can read my words, perhaps you can hear them. and if you can hear them, perhaps you can reply. If so, I hope to hear from you soon. We have a lot to talk about. You and I, a lot to discuss.

I think I can do some great things for you, dear reader, dear friend. I'll help you out of any bind you need and I'll barely ask for anything in return. Barely anything at all. My father-in-law is in prison for trying to kill me. Now I know he was trying to be kind. One year ago, my father-in-law tried to murder me.

He planned it beautifully, the trip up to the cabin in the woods that his family owned, pushing me into the dried-up old well, pickpocketed my phone, left a gun within the well that gave me the option of cane myself instead of starving to death, his twisted version of mercy, I guess. Either way, he would have got away with it. He hadn't accounted for the lost dog, though. Hadn't thought that a couple would come looking for a beloved pet who had erased off after a deer, that they would find me, half dead from starvation and dehydration,

holding the gun, contemplating it seriously after nearly three days in the well, fully aware that I was going to die of thirst before starvation. There had been no rain for days. When I woke up in the hospital, my wife Samantha was by my side holding my hand, Her beautiful face wet with tears. Despite my own physical pain, all I wanted to do was make her stop crying, so I softly took her hand and with great effort, raised it to my lips and gave it a gentle kiss. I was so worried about you. What happened to you?

She begged me, green eyes bright with tears, the nurse came in and took my vitals, then told my wife that she should leave me to sleep some more. I was glad for the rescue because I knew once I revealed what it really happened to me my wife's heart would break permanently. her father had always been her favorite person. I met Samantha at work three years ago. She was the marketing executive where I was a software developer. We were both in her late 20s and I knew within 10 minutes of our first conversation that I was going to marry her. She was bright, funny, clever and it didn't hurt that she was absolutely gorgeous with bright green eyes and long red hair. Four months into dating her, she met my family. I come from a massive family where both my parents had four siblings each and then went on to have five kids together too.

Our Sunday lunches are loud. Roshes, events at my folks' place with at least 20 people in attendance, but Sam was utterly charmed by my family, and my parents and siblings adored her. She fit right in like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Everything was going so well until Sam decided it was my time to meet her only family member, her father. Cameron Joyce was a tall, burly man. who dressed and looked like a lumberjack.

He lived in a neighborhood at the very edge of the suburbs, close to a big, wide forest. When he stiffly shook my hand, his blue eyes, ice cold, he sort of chill ran through me. After we walked into the two-bedroom house behind him, the first red flag should have been that there was no photos of Sam's mother. Not one. In fact, if I truly thought about it,

Sam never really spoke about her mother. I should have asked more questions about her, but I guess I always just assumed that the subject was too painful for her. The first time I thought her father was trying to kill me was a fleeting thought which happened that visit. A distinctly heard Sam tell her father over the phone multiple times that I had a nut allergy. But when we sat down to eat, I started to feel my throat swell up. Sam's father watched me cough, slowly chewing his food. Of course, we had an epipot on us, but if we hadn't, I could be dead right now.

Then it was the time right after our wedding when he knew I couldn't swim, but I am 90% sure he pushed me into the lake when the three of us were on the docks looking at his boat. The third time was the charm, though. If those hikers hadn't found me, I'm sure I would have died down in that well. You might be wondering why I chose to go to that cabin with a man I thought was trying to kill me because I really didn't think he was trying to kill me.

My brain insisted that I had misread or misheard the situation. In both those incidents could have been accidents. Also, Sam was keen her father and her husband, and I just couldn't break her heart. I'll never forget the ride to the cabin. My father-in-law was a man a few words, so when he decided to tell me a story, I almost sided with relief that I didn't have to keep talking to fill the dead air between us. He kept his eyes on the road and said, There was once a boy lived a happy life with his family in the forest.

It was him, his three brothers, his parents, his grandparents, his uncles, and aunts, and all his cousins. He didn't know much about the world beyond his family home, but he had a thousand things to do in the woods, so he never wondered. For a time, all was well, and as it should be, the boy and his family lived out of the land, hunted and thrived. until one day on his 19th birthday the boy saw the woman in white in the gut of the trees ethyrol and shimmering she glowed like a white will of the wisp when he asked his mother about her

she told him to stay away from the woman that nothing good comes out of the woods on a sickle moon night we were close to the cabin now and as we approached it a strange sort of feeling was beginning to crawl up my spine a sense of something being wrong gripping me tightly. The boy listened to his mother. Two days he did not go looking for the woman.

On the third night he found himself outside the house walking into the woods. As he drew closer, he saw the woman's face. Her gold hair shimmered all the way to her knees. Ice blue eyes and a lovely face that glowed with the promise of a forever. His mortal brain didn't understand. The woman offered him her hand. Entranched, he, rewritten. reached out, took it.

He parked and turned off the engine of the car, but still wouldn't look at me. Instead, he stared ahead into the depth of the forest and he told me this eerie tale. The minute he took that hand, the thing claimed him. They found him a year later at the top of a mountain living in a cave, naked and insane. Speaking a strange tongue in a language which had to be made up. What was terrifying was that both his legs from his knees down. were gone. And yet, the wounds had been cauterized, and someone or something had clearly been feeding him.

His parents brought him home and tried to help him recover his mind. The doctors fitted him with prosthetic legs he kept hidden away, but the boy was never really the same again. When he began to slowly speak again, he spoke of a woman with a skull instead of a face, a long skeletal crone's body. Fangs instead of teeth, clumps of white hair that fell out of her head, and milk white eyes,

the eyes of a corpse. And then, finally, the ear-piercing scream. He fell silent, and then my skin was crawling. I asked him, what happened to him? My father-in-law broke out of this trance

and looked at me, his expression unreadable. Let me show you how to hunt. The trial was short. My father-in-law was caught in possession of my phone and several other items that suggested what he planned to do. His internet search history revealed extensive ways to murder someone. When they put Cameron Joyce in prison,

my wife cried herself to sleep every night for a month. I think she blamed me for what happened, even though she never would say those words. I would catch her looking out for her apartment in the direction of the forest, which we could clearly see. She grew more and more forgetful, wouldn't go to work, would sleep all day, some days she wouldn't even brush her hair. Her face grew more haggard, and sometimes, when I saw her naked form in the bed in the moonlight, I could swear I saw her ribs through her translucent skin.

Her sadness was going to devour her, and there was nothing I could do about it. One day I came home and she wasn't there, and I looked for her everywhere. I don't know how I knew it, but somehow I knew she'd be at the cabin. I jumped into my car and sped there at full speed, not caring how many fines I would have to pay. I got there just before dark and I caught sight of her. She was naked, her back to me facing the forest. Sam! I called her name as I got out of the car.

She didn't turn to look at me. Instead she stood there, her messy red hair lifted by the breeze. I called to her again a deep sense of unease in my bones. Sam! Slowly she turned to face me. And that was when I saw her face. A skull, a distended jaw that opened much, much too wide. That was when she let out an ear-piercing scream.

A sharp pain burst through my head, and I immediately clapped my hands over my ears. I tried screaming my wife's name again, but all I could hear was the shriek that was starting to feel like someone was knifing my brain. My vision swam, and I stumbled backward. A dozen figures had approached from the woods. All of them was skull-like faces, impossibly distended jaws, and the same milk-white eyes that had replaced my wife's bright green ones. And they were all walking towards me. I didn't even think.

I got into my car and started the engine. My ears bleeding from the sound of the scream. I ran. Two days later, I'm couch surfing out of friends after the doctors had dealt with one perforated eardrum. He told me I was lucky both my eardrums had him burst from the volume I was listening to music at. I just nodded and let them go on with it. There was a ringing in my ears I couldn't quite get rid of,

no matter how I tried. There was no way I could explain what I had happened in those woods to them. I'm waiting for the ringing and the headache to stop before I go looking for Sam again. This time I will take a gun. I'll find her and bring her home. I've already spoken to the police, but I know they just aren't as motivated to find her as me. My phone rings and I gingerly held it to my good ear. It's a collect call from the prison.

I accept it because who else could possibly give me answers. It happened, didn't it? My father-in-law's gruff voice made me nearly dropped the phone. I swallowed hard. Sam's gone, I said numbly. She's gone back where she belongs, he said. You're lucky. How am I lucky, I asked, bitter anger surging through me.

She was my wife and your daughter. That thing was no daughter nor a wife. He knows how to mimic being human. Why do you think I told you that story? His voice was low and even. My jaw dropped. Was he really suggest? suggesting he was the boy from the dark fairy tale he was told you're cruel disowning your

daughter trying to kill me you should listen to me boy and listen good that creature was dropped at my doorstep a few months after i came home from the forest it was an infinite then and it butchered my parents i found pieces of them around their cabin for years then proceeded to kill everyone related to me it wouldn't let me die or kill me and i couldn't figure out why until I realized it needed me the way a parasite needs its host. Finally, when everyone I loved was dead and buried, it needed more prey, and it found you. I'll take pieces of you, then keep you alive to take pieces of everyone you love. It will feed on your pain as you live through your own horror show.

I swallowed hard. He had lost his damned mind surely. What on earth was he trying to say? If I were you I would take all my belongings and leave Leave the state hell leave the country Don't ever look back you hear me ever With a sharp click he hung up

I wish I'd listen to him I wish I had decided that I needed to rescue my wife At any cost Instead I'm sitting here in the dark Inside the old cabin looking outside the window My fingers folded around the hunting rifle A sickle moon gleamed silver the only light in the jet black night.

And there inside the darkness, I think I see a figure shimmer. From a distance, she almost looks like my wife. Almost. Until her inhuman skeletal jaw distends. And she screams. I played hiding seek with my son and found something terrifying.

During quarantine, my four-year-old and I played a lot of hide-and-seek. Well, hiding to seek with a few extra rules. One, I'm the only one that hides. He doesn't want to. Two, I have to call out you-hoo every few minutes, otherwise he'd never find me. And three, when he gets close,

I pop a hand or foot out of my hiding spot, and he shrieks, I see your feet. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Four-year-olds are really stupid, okay? And I didn't exactly have the money to buy him a ton of toys. We just moved out into this house a few weeks ago. The rent took up nearly my entire paycheck. I got all the furniture from FreeCycle, we ate beans and rice often, and I was still driving

around a 20-year-old car. Hide again, Benjamin said, tugging my hand. Hide again. But it's almost bedtime. Please. Okay. But only one game, okay? Go count on the kitchen.

He ran around the corner as fast as he could. One, two. I ran through the living room, and then I saw it, the hall closet. Perfect. I opened the door and ducked inside. It was a tight fit, all those scratchy, furry old coats pressing against me, but it was worth it. Because the better the hiding spot, the more time I got to myself. I pulled out my phone and started browsing Reddit.

Soon his muffled footsteps sounded around the dining room. I waited a minute. When he didn't seem to be coming my way, I cracked the door. Yoo! I've called out. Footsteps grew louder. I heard his muffled giggles as he walked towards me, and then he started going up the stairs. What an idiot. I cracked the door open a little further just in time to see his little feet disappear from the landing. Then I shrugged. More time for me. I sat back down in the closet and pulled out the phone. Mommy, I heard me giggle from upstairs.

Mommy, where are you? I smiled. I wonder if a mom invented hiding seek. It's quite brilliant. You get a few precious minutes away from your child. They're not even supposed to make much noise. You're entertaining them at the same time. Absolutely.

Yoo! I stopped. Every muscle in my body froze, but I heard it clear as day, a soft, clear voice calling from upstairs, but Benjamin and I were home alone. Oh God, someone's in the house in Benjamin. I burst out of the closet. Benjamin, where are you? I heard Benjamin's footsteps running above me, his giggles, trailing down to me. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Benjamin, I finally screamed. More giggles, and then Benjamin's voice, I see your feet. No, I catapult up the step. screaming for him and burst into the bedroom and he wasn't there just as empty rocket bed comforter rumpled embroidered stars staring back at me i ran back into the hallway spinning around

benjamin but i didn't hear any footsteps and he giggling the house was dead silent now and i could hear a pin drop i ran into the guest bedroom it was empty i ran over to the closet threw it up and looked up and down nothing stumbling back out into the hallway crossed back towards my bedroom the only bedroom left. I ran inside and flicked on the light. Empty. The pile of dirty laundry on the chair, untouched. The wardrobe hanging open. My clothes inside. The pillows piled up on each other in a heap, heart dropping. I ran around the other side of the bed, also empty. I crouched to look under the bed. Empty. Mommy. Mommy. Relief flooded me as I heard that voice. The door to the bathroom opened a crack and one blue eye peered out at me, wide with fear.

I ran over and grabbed him, hugged him, and then I hoisted him up and started out for the bathroom. His eyes were still wide with fear, and they weren't focused on my face, but the spot just above my shoulder. I whipped around. It took me a moment to see it, but then I did. I stared at the wardrobe, frozen,

my heart pounding on my ears. In the shadows, poking out from underneath the hems of my dresses and coats were two feet. In moments like this, my brain doesn't really think. It's too slow. Instinct rains. The smartest thing would have been to lock ourselves in the bathroom and climb out the window, but instead I just ran for the hallway as fast as I could.

As I ran down the stairs, I heard the weighted footsteps slow and methodical resonating through the house. I could still hear them pounding into my brain as I ran to the neighbor and screamed for help. The police came. They searched the house. They didn't find anything. No signs of forced entry either. So they promised me they'd patrol my street for the next few days.

But that was all they could really do. I decided to stay at friend's house for a few weeks until I felt safe again. But every time I closed my eyes, I could see them. Those two feet that looked so off somehow. swollen as if waterlogged, a bit too grayish in tone to belong to any normal person, toenails blackened and split. And I think back to that wardrobe, how I'd gotten it for free, how the owner told me his mother had just died. And he was just trying to get rid of all her stuff as quickly as possible. And I wondered, how exactly did she die?

And all right, guys, that wraps up five unexplainable scary stories. And this video was so good. I loved every single story in this. And please let me know down in the comments below. Did you enjoy them as much as I did? Because I love these stories. This was one of my favorite scary story videos I've ever recorded. The last one was scary.

The kind of money one was weird. I can't remember the title. But Jesus, I loved all these stories. And I really hope you did as well. please let me know if you'd like me to continue this series sorry rambling now but let me know down in the comments below would you like to me to see would you like to see this series continue i really enjoy the scary story series it's very similar to the reddit story series as well but this is kind of a little offshoot and i think you guys might enjoy it as well so thank you so

much for watching to the end of the video if you haven't already please like the video and subscribe i appreciate you all so much thank you so much for watching to the end of the video All right, until next time, see ya.