Snook - 7+ Hours of Disturbing Reddit Stories

Episode Date: April 12, 2026

This is 7+ hours of some disturbing reddit stories! This is a megacompilation of some of the most wild, disturbing and scary reddit threads I have ever read... I hope you enjoy! And let me know if you would like to see more videos like this in the future! Thank you all for listening! Make sure you rate the podcast 5 stars and follow! Thank you all so much for listening! Make sure to subscribe to the Patreon for early access videos and many more perks! ⁠https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT⁠ Also! Go follow me on Spotify and Instagram! Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber goal is 1 million, so subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

I ordered myself on the dark web. I know you're frowning. The title is weird, I know. But if you could just give me a moment, I'll explain. I'll have to be fast, though. I don't know how close they are. Essentially, I ordered myself on the dark web. I'm a D user, I'll admit it.

Green is my usual go-to, but I buy that off my friend. If, however, I want to get something a little heavier, like acid or Coca-Cola, I'd just order it off the dark web. A few clicks, some Bitcoin transfers, and then boom. I have acid in my PO box. I'm also a curious guy. The dark web has always intrigued me. Up until a few days ago.

I'd only been on there to buy D's off-sites. Some of my friends gave to me, but late one night I was sober and at home, which was a rare thing for me. So since I was bored, I decided to boot up my Tor browser and try and see what sort of fucked up shit I could find on the dark web. If you've ever been on the dark web, you'll know that you can't just search up red rooms or hitman for hire and get results. No, you have to find links to these websites first. So I hopped back onto Google again to try and find some links to a messed up website. I know it's weird that I was actively searching for the worst, but as soon as I got on the dark web that night, had a sense of morbid curiosity that overcame me.

Anyway, I spent a little while trying to find some links. Anything that I found, though, was either too tame for me, or the links didn't work. At this point, I was about ready to give up, and I wish I had. But in one final attempt, I clicked on Reddit, hopping onto the R-slash deep web. I didn't think I had much to find, so I just scrolled through hot for about half an hour before sorting by new. Then I found it. One simple text post-titled Slayer's Assassination and Life-Ruining Services in the text box in the

the post was what seemed to be just a random assortment of numbers and letters, Z-Y-3, D-K-Y-T-C-A-U-K-K-2-Y-3, for those of you curious. It took my tired brain a second to figure out what it was, but I realized pretty quickly. It was a link, presumably, to a Hitman website. So I decided to paste the link into my dark web browser, and what do you know? It worked. But before I decided to go any further, I figured I should go back to O.P.'s profile to see if they had posted any other dark web links. However, when I went back to the post in question, O.P.'s profile was deleted. Weird. Anyway, I reopened my dark web tab and hopped onto the site.

Up along the top of the website was its name, Slayer's assassination, and life-ruining services. And next to it, what looked like to be a skull inside of a crosshair. I chuckled when I saw it. The site must be fake. Upon scrolling down, however, I was not disappointed. There was a paragraph of white text on a black background, in a small box to the right of the text that just said, place and order. The text was the main part, though, as it took up most of the page. It read, Slayers' assassinations and life-ruining services offers everything from acid attack, crippling, blinding, castration, torture, R-word, beatings, and good old death. We have the lowest prices out of any other company running similar services, and we are worldwide.

We have a dedicated and experienced group of staff based all over the world, so if you need someone to be assassinated, or maybe you just want them scarred for life, don't hesitate to contact us. Again, I laughed. This has to be satire, right? Hell, I was even tempted to order it on someone just to see what would happen. Ironically, I actually have a half-decent job so I can afford it. Better not to risk it, though, I thought to myself. I was about to close my computer and call it for a night when I heard a knock at the door.

I lived alone, so it was unusual for me to get visitors, especially so late at night. But when I opened my door, it was just my good buddy Mark, who also happened to be my green plus. As I opened the door, he didn't hesitate to let himself in and shove a big baggie full of green in my face. This dude is the best shit I've had in a minute. We got to try some. I couldn't say no. Cut to a couple hours later. It's early morning and Mark and I are chilling on the couch, both blazed as fuck.

He suddenly decides to get up and I assume he's going to get some leftover pizza, but he walks over to my desk and computer. Slayers' assassinations. Are you going to kill someone or something? He mutters. What? I reply? Your computer, dude. It's got some hacker shit on it.

It's a dark web, man. Don't fuck with it. At this point, I'm still on my couch. Half asleep and not paying full attention. However, I sat up pretty fast when he said the words, Hey, man, let's order a hitman on you. I hopped up and walked over to my PC. Part of my brain was screaming, no.

What the fuck are you doing? but the majority of my brain, which was also the high part, was thinking about how funny it would be to order a hitman on myself. So I agree. I did make him get out of my chair, though, because I didn't want him seeing what my credit card numbers were as they transferred some Bitcoin. At the end, after I wrote down all my personal details,

like my address, age, and even a photo, I had to select what I wanted to happen to me. I just selected plain old assassination, as it was actually cheaper than some of the other things. I could have paid an extra a couple of grand to be beaten before my death, but even my high brain didn't want to splash the cash too much on my own death. God, this is ridiculous. Anyway, I placed the order and then replied to a confirmation email, and boom, it was done. A couple of clicks, and I had ordered myself on the dark web. Mark and I laughed

about it for a while, and then he left about an hour later, and I fell asleep not too long after. I woke up around 9 a.m., which meant I got at least six hours of sleep, even if it felt like I got three. I got up and out of bed, throw on some track pants and a cotton shirt, yes, I had to sleep naked, and brood myself a coffee before sitting down to play some games and just enjoy my Sunday. You can imagine how shocked I was when I saw that I had ordered my death the previous night. Even though I thought this site was bullshit, I still felt a pit open up in my stomach. Even when I'm high, I usually can make sensible decisions. I chuckled. Not like I could remember it anyways, but I guess Mark's new shit really was good. I would assume a normal human being would do something else,

but I was still kind of out of it from the night before so I just carried on with my day. I was a little more paranoid, sure, but as I said, I just assumed it was bullshit. I even laughed at the email I got from the website saying that their hitman has been dispatched and was on its way. It was like ordering a package on Amazon. I was tempted to email back and ask for some same-day delivery, but I didn't need to ask because that's exactly what I got. I didn't see it arrive, but around the time I started to cook myself a shitty dinner, I noticed a blacked-out sedan parked on the other side of the road from my house. I didn't live in a rural area, but there is a lot of trees and bushes between each of the houses

on my street, so I'd be surprised if any other house saw the car except for mine. At this point, I was freaking out. What if this site was real? Even though I'm a big guy, I was freaking out. I don't own any weapons, aside from a slightly larger than average kitchen. knife. Fuck it. I'm confronting it, I decided. I put on a hoodie and slid the knife into my front pocket before waltzing on out of my house and walking right up to the driver's side window of the vehicle. Even I was astonished at my own courage. Knocking on the window, nothing happened.

It was rather anti-climatic. I was fully prepared to have a fight for my life, all because I did something really dumb while I was baked. But like I said, nothing happened. I even put my head right up to the window as if there was a reflection to try and get a better look to see what's inside. I could barely see what was inside the car, but all I could make out were two empty seats. No one was even inside. I had got all hyped up for nothing. I decided to wait out by the car for a bit, but after half an hour or so, I was hungry, and I had to go back inside to take my dinner out of the oven. I swear, it was only a minute between me going inside to take my dinner out of the oven and looking back out of the window and the car being gone. I didn't even. I didn't even

hear it go. Guess I'm eating my dinner with all the curtains closed and doors locked, I muttered to myself. I just started to calm down when the power shut off. It was sunny outside and a, coupled with the car, I now knew that this was the real deal. I had signed my own death warrant. I ran into my upstairs bedroom and locked the door and then hid under the bed. I couldn't call the cops. What would I say? Oh, yes, hello, sir. Turns out, while super high, I paid 5K for some anonymous hitman to kill me, and now he's arrived. Send an officer ASAP, please, and thank you. So I just stayed hiding under my bed, and I still am now. I've been here for an hour now writing this. Think of this as an epitaph. I know I'm screwed. Just a minute ago, I heard my back door slowly creak open.

This piece of writing may seem humorous to you, the reader, but in reality, as you read this, I'm under my bed praying to God that lost all faith in me years ago to spare me to let me go. But I know that won't happen. My bedroom door just opened, and I can see a big pair of black boots. I accidentally discovered an online shrine. I recently received a friend request that reminded me of this story, so I'm going to share it here. This happened after I went to university, so I was 18. I made an effort to make friends after I moved onto campus and ended up with a few groups to hang out with, including a new girlfriend, and plenty of people from my classes that I liked well enough.

There was one class before lunch where it was traditional for people to go to the cafeteria afterwards to eat in pairs or threes. I wasn't very discerning about who I'd have lunch with because I got on fine with most people from the class, and we are all trying to make an effort to be social. So when one girl, Lily, asked if I wanted to eat lunch together after class, I didn't have any reason not to go. We talked about school and that kind of thing, nothing noteworthy, but she did ask me to get lunch with her again the next week. It became a pattern, and there wasn't exactly a way to start something. saying no suddenly. It was fine, but it did mean I lost the chance to eat lunch with anyone else on those days. In hindsight, I suppose that was the point. One day in class, I asked someone if I could

add them on social media. This happened in front of Lily. I saw her face jerked towards me from a couple of seats over. It was such a sharp reaction that it was hard to ignore and I still remember it. By the time I got home later that day, Lily had sent me a friend request. No friends in common, don't know how she knew my last name. I was a bit surprised, but I guess she'd just dug through the university's social media pages and found me through there. It gave me a bad feeling, but surely it was fine. She ended up messaging me a lot and commenting on anything I posted.

I told myself that she was just awkward and we became friends, if not close, unknown worst people. She still always got me to go eat lunch with her after our one shared class. Other than that, we rarely spent time together in person. I saw around sometimes, but I never went out of my way to hang out with her, so it was mostly online messaging and seeing each other in group settings. Coincidentally, my girlfriend was also called Lily. This was something that clearly bothered Lily, not my girlfriend, who couldn't have found it less interesting as a common name. She occasionally hinted that she wanted my girlfriend to pick a different name or joked about her not suiting it.

She clearly didn't like my girlfriend at all, and I had no idea why. It was hard to ignore by this point. Lily was starting to unsubbly hint that she had a crush on me. I tried not to address it because what was I going to say? I've never known what to do when a friend makes it pass at me. I was also not interested in the least, even ignoring the weird stuff she pulled. Lily was not my type at all. She tended to dress and act in a way somewhere between a 50s housewife and one of those adults who was still obsessed with Disney princesses,

if you can picture that. Things took an uncomfortable turn on the day of our last shared class of the year. Instead of asking me to lunch like she usually did, Lily asked if I'd go for a walk with her. Again, I didn't exactly know how to refuse, so I said, all right. Our campus was bordered by a large patch of woodland. Lily led me into the woods and the sounds of our fellow students slowly faded away. She sat down on the log and I joined her. She started talking about how she was going to miss me over the summer.

I tried plus adding her, but I didn't want to be there, especially because she seemed almost on the verge of tears. I think I tried to make an excuse about having plans with my girlfriend, but before I could leave, Lily chose to kiss me without warning. It was uncomfortable to say the least. I got out of there and was happy to think I wouldn't see her for a while. I came back to university after the summer, moving into a house with my friends. Without going off topic, there was some serious issues in my friend group. A lot of petty arguing and worse.

I broke up with my girlfriend around the start of the school year as well. And basically the whole mess made me re-contextualized things with Lily because it suddenly didn't. didn't seem as bad. That said, I didn't want to be alone with her. We mostly talked online. She was still constantly messaging me after all. One upside of everything was that I started dating a boy. Lily was not pleased to hear the news. I think she hoped to sneak in after I broke up with my girlfriend, but as I said before, that was never going to happen. There wasn't a big gap between my breakup and this new relationship, so she must have thought that she missed her chance to be with me. This is where the story gets bad.

At this time, I was fairly active on Tumblr. I occasionally talked about my life and mostly reblogged photos and stuff. I was on there one day when something odd happened. One of the blogs I followed had received an ask with some phrases I recognized. It took a second to register that it was taken from my about page. That made me freeze. I read the message properly. Someone was asking this completely random person to analyze a section of text from my page,

asking for their opinion on the type of person who would write it. I could not stress how messed up it was to see people talking about me like I was a character and a book. They were trying to study. The reply was basically, I don't know, sorry. But the important thing was that the question had it been anonymous. It linked to someone's blog. Obviously, I wanted to know who had taken such a bizarre interest in me.

As far as I knew, no one in real life other than my boyfriend knew about my page. Well, no prizes for guessing who was behind it. What I found was like a shrine. She was using a fake name, but I recognized Lily all over that thing. It was all this cutesy pink and red page. There were a few posts about her interest, but most of the content was focused on her primary interest. Me. Most of the posts were about me.

There were accounts of things I'd done recently. He told me about such and such. He went to a nightclub recently, etc. As well as references to things from as far back as I'd known her, it was clear she'd been keeping tabs on me, both online and offline, gathering up every scrap of information she could about my life and hoarding it here in her collection. She talked about us eating lunch together and how special our dates had been to her, as if it was anything more than acquaintances getting food after class. She talked about the time she had forcibly kissed me in the woods,

but she wrote it as if it had been mutual. She quoted lyrics from my favorite song and talked about how she'd always been there for me, no matter who else came into my life, lots of references to loving me just the way he is, which answered another mystery about an anonymous love letter I'd received earlier that year with the same wording. It got worse. There were a lot of posts about my boyfriend as well. Those weren't so nice. They got vicious, talking about how he didn't deserve me. He didn't know what he had. If she was with me, she'd be jealous of anyone else who came near me. So my boyfriend not being a jealous person meant he didn't love me. It was angry and hateful. I didn't like to think about that sort of person who could write so obsessively being fixated on me.

One thing that didn't make sense at first was that the blog also made plenty of references to Lily's best friend Stephen. She had never mentioned this person to me. Her post talked a lot about Stephen and how a great friend he was, and how much fun they had together, how he looked out for her, etc. I was trying to work out whether this was an online friend when one specific post made it all click. She had posted a photo and captioned it, Stephen sent this to me.

He knew I'd like it and love it, or something like that. The problem was the post was taken. from my own page. I hadn't sent it to her. She took it from my page and then claimed this fictional best friend or her shared it with her because in her head she'd split me into two people. In her messed up fantasy life, I was both the perfect best friend who was always looking out for her and her soulmate who was bound to end up with her when I finally got over my sweet, kind, boyfriend and all the other easy girls I hung out with that she made dozens of posts complaining about who was she complaining too oh lily had an audience she asked open questions about me and her

relationship with me and got messages back from her followers people who took what she said at face value i saw a bunch of random people agreeing with the stalker that my boyfriend didn't deserve me and we were bound to break up soon so i could be with lily the person i was clearly supposed to be with she had this fake fan fiction version of my life up for anyone to share their opinion on and she'd made herself out to be the hero of it all. I went maybe a month back into the page history. I'd not look at everything that was there. It was too much. So I'm not sure how long this had been going on. I sent Lily a message confronting her about the blog. She said nothing. And I cannot stress how weird it was to have found pages and pages dedicated to me with her talking about how she was in love with me and would make

sure we ended up together, slamming my boyfriend and building a fantasy life with two different versions of me in it, as she clearly believed to be real. Then, acting like it hadn't happened. She said nothing. She didn't address it. She just changed the subject even after I pushed, and it was like she hasn't even registered what I said. I've never seen anything else like it.

She deleted the page, of course, or at least changed the name and hit it, so I never found it again. It wasn't the end, though. I wasn't going to hang out with her anymore, but we were still shoved together in classes, and she had actually started to actually kind of scare me with what she might do next. I'm kind of a paranoid person, knowing someone was obsessive. keeping track of me for who knows how long freaked me out.

The next thing she pulled was trying to seduce my boyfriend. It was an absolutely useless attempt that only made him uncomfortable. He told me about it right away. What was her plan there? Did she hope to tell me he cheated and wait for me to break up with him? Why would I want her after that? Well, that didn't work out for her. She tried hitting on three of my other friends.

None of them took the bait. She ended up dating one of my former housemates for a while. but made sure to send me messages while they were together, letting me know she'd rather be with me. No thanks. Lily made sure to stay in my life the whole time I was at university. There was a time when I tried to pull away from her and she ended up starting rumors about me and damaging a career opportunity I'd put a lot of work into. I don't know what else she did behind my back, but it made me realize it was safer to let her

think she was part of my life while ignoring her rather than doing something that would cause her to get angry. After I graduated, Lily still wanted to spend time together, but I knew I don't have to now. I make excuses about work and barely talk to her after that point. I almost entirely stopped posting on social media that I knew she knew about. Of course, she didn't give up that easily. She tried to start conversations, asked me to meet up with her, attempts I usually ignored. I didn't like to think she was still tracking me online, but she probably was. I don't know, but she'd occasionally referenced things I mentioned online somewhere.

somewhere she shouldn't have known about. The last time we had a real conversation, she sent me a message out of nowhere. We hadn't spoken at all in months, and we hadn't talked about anything serious and much longer than that. Thinking about the conversation still makes my skin crawl, but I'll summarize what happened. At first, she asked me some questions about how long I knew I was queer. I told her some basic stuff, the kind of thing I'd tell anyone who asked. Then she changed the subject. She started talking about how would I feel about her if she was a boy,

about wanting to be a boy for me. The messages quickly became fetish-stick. She went into plenty of detail about fantasy she had of the two of us. Again, we were not friends at this point. We'd never been especially close, at least not from my perspective. And we had barely spoken for years. I can't imagine sending messages like that to even a close friend, let alone someone you barely know. I tried telling her not to pull this crap with me, but she decided to change tactics.

She sent a photo of herself, followed by a bunch of messages. Maybe four or five a minute, way too fast for me to reply before the next one arrived, basically quoting back what I told her about myself in my past earlier. She was telling me these things as if they had happened to her. She was role-playing as me. The worst part was that she seemed to believe it was real, that those things actually had happened to her. Even when she was quoting me word for word, things I'd told her only hours before were now

her life. It was like she was trying to absorb my history to take it over to make my life part of her. Yeah, I didn't talk to her again after that. I ignored future attempts she made to talk to me and I eventually silently deleted her from the inactive social media, which was her only real way of contacting me. I really thought she might finally move on. A few days ago, she sent me a friend request. It's sitting there unanswered, but because I know if I delete it, she'll only send another one. Lily and I met nearly 12 years ago. This story is just the highlights and even then it's only the stuff I know about for sure. A lot happened behind my back. I know it did. So, girl who spent

12 years obsessing over me, fetishizing me, stalking me, and harassing me. Let's not meet again. The fantasy life you built for the two of us in your head is the only place you'll be seeing me anytime soon. I was a kid, home alone, and a fake Girl Scout cookie salesman wouldn't leave. Years ago, when I was 11 years old, I was staying home alone with only my little brother who was seven. At that time, it was only about 9 p.m. dark and pouring rain. We were reading in our room, right next to the front door with a big window and open blinds. That's when I hear the front door by a ring followed by knocking. I thought my parents had arrived.

Strange, though, that they didn't use the garage or their keys. I looked outside to see their car. Nothing but rain. As I approached the door, I hear a man's voice that was, not my father's yelled through the torrent. Would you like some cookies? We're selling Girl Scout cookies. I'm shocked at this, considering the weather and time of day,

saying nothing, I'd check the peephole and peer through the side window, only to see it was not a father with his girl as I expected. My heart dropped. Standing there was just a fully grown man maybe in his late 50s, no box of cookies in sight, soaking on my doorstep. I can remember the gut-wrenching feeling of having to check the locks while he was right on the other side. For sure, he heard this.

The two locks were the only thing separating myself and brother from a potential monster. He continued to knock and mention his cookies. As I had considered calling the cops, that's when I remembered the blinds were open in my room where my brother was, with the light on.

As I turned the corner into the doorway, I see the man carefully peering into our window, possibly eyeing my brother, distracted in his book. My heart was pounding now as I began to panic. In a move that took all of my willpower, I quickly turned off the lights and ran over to the window to close the blinds, in full view of the man.

As fast as I could, I double-checked all the locks in the house, closed all the blinds, and told my brother to go hang out in one of the big closets in the interior of the house, no windows. I didn't tell him what was going on, so he wouldn't be frightened. And for some reason I never did call the cops or my parents. I just waited in the hallway until he left. Still thinking about it gives me shivers that so many things could have just gone wrong that night. My worst fear since is a stranger getting to the unlocked door before I do.

Open the door. Please, come out. This story happened a few years ago. I was in my early 20s and was studying Paris, France. I was going home from uni. I usually took a short bus ride and walked the rest of the way. That day, I felt slightly uncomfortable. I could sense some guy looking intensely at me.

I was used to unpleasant, unsolicited gazes, but this time his gaze felt beastly. It's hard to explain why, but I felt like a prey being stalked. I decided to get off the bus a few stops early. I wanted to avoid him and didn't want him to see where I usually got off. Like I learned in the movies, I waited until someone else pressed the stop button and waited until the last moment to stand up and leave.

I didn't notice him getting off the bus. Just as I was feeling the relief of having escape an uncomfortable situation, I looked over my shoulder, and there he was, a few meters behind. I had the distressing feeling his eye had just looked away the moment I turned. I walked into a shop, took my phone, and pretended to be taken a call. When I couldn't see him anymore, I exited, and made my way at home as fast as I could. I kept looking back in the busy street. I zigzagged, crossed the street at every cross.

Finally, I believe that him getting off at the same stop, as I'm sorry. me was just a coincidence. When I reached my building, I looked back one last time, and there he was, his alarming gaze on me, smirking. I ran up to my apartment, climbing the stairs four at a time. I reached the top floor, squeezed through my door, locked it, and froze. My intercom was ringing. Don't ask me why I picked it up. I regretted it at the moment I did. I could hear the opposite, flat intercom ringing as well. He had pressed all the buttons one by one, hoping someone would open. But now, he knew my name. Gabriel. Oh shit. I felt like a deer in the headlights. Frozen. Open the door. Please, said a pleading voice. I just want to talk to you. Somehow I couldn't move or speak.

Come to the window, he added. Look at me. You'll see I'm not a bad guy. Something clicked. He wanted to locate my apartment in the building. I was not going to make that mistake. I hung up in shock. I waited by the door without moving for what seemed like hours. When I finally managed to calm myself, I called my long-distance boyfriend. Call the police, he said immediately. Why didn't I call the police? I don't know. Today it would have been the first thing I would do.

The fear of making a big deal out of something not important, perhaps. What an idiot I was. I called my best friend instead. I didn't want to feel alone. I told her all about it, and after a while I felt better, safe. We started laughing. Suddenly the intercom rang again. Two hours had passed since I'd come home.

I answered. Gabriel, said the voice, open. Please. I still remember the chills I felt. He was still there. He was there all this time. I was silent. Hedrified.

He was silent, but I could sense his trepidation. Gabriel, let me in. I'm so thirsty, he said. Just give me a glass of water. This broke the tension. I hung up. Curled up in a corner, literally in recovery position, terrified. I waited. I was too scared to make a sound. I knew he couldn't hear me from the hall, but I was scared to even breathe.

The intercom rang again. And again, I didn't answer this time. I crouched at the sofa and fell asleep in exhaustion. I heard the intercom ring one more time in the middle of the night. I woke up in the morning, afraid to leave my apartment. I called my dad who came to pick me up. There was no one in the hall, but there was a note in my mailbox. Gabrielle, I'm a nice guy.

You should have opened to me. We immediately went to the nearest police station. The police listened and, of course, told me that I should not hesitate to call them. My dad called a locksmith to install digit code on the building door the same day and wrote a message to each of my neighbors asking to not open the door to anyone they didn't expect. He sat in the cafe in front of my building with two friends every evening for more than a week. we never saw the stalker again. After this episode, I used a different route to and from uni every day.

I kept my phone tightly in my hand and looked back every few meters. Today, I am still observing of my surroundings. I never answered the door if I'm not expecting someone. So, people, if you ever find yourself in any kind of uncomfortable situation, call the police. Don't be an idiot like me. Be safe, everyone. That time I accidentally dated a sociopath. It has taken me many years to tell this story out of both fear and embarrassment.

I share this today as more than simply therapy for myself, but as a warning to all people. Be careful who you meet on social media. In 2018, my ex-husband and I at the end of a very tumultuous marriage. He and I had been polyamorous for about three years before I met this guy. His name was Jez. I met Jez on Okay Cupid. I was 28 and he was 42. We hit it off very quickly.

After a few weeks of talking, I agreed to meet up with him at a restaurant close to my house. We sat and talked for a few hours before I invited him over to meet my husband. Things went very well and they seemed to get along so Jez and I started dating. This guy completely swept me off my feet. Jez was sweet and caring. He enthusiastically listened to every little thing on my mind. engaged, and validated me. Over and over again, he absolutely revered me for my strength and wisdom. He practically worshipped me for all that I was and all I was becoming. He showered me with gifts,

flowers, and random good deeds just to make me feel safe, wanted, and cared for. I had never been in a relationship that quite felt like that. It was wonderful. It was as though we had been looking for each other for years. After the first few weeks he had a meltdown over my polyamorous nature. He, quote, pulled the plug because he said he was already falling for me and couldn't handle sharing me. I stood my ground and accepted this boundary in that fact that I would have to let him go. I left that night sad, but confident that I'd done the right thing for the both of us. The next week he sent me flowers in a car to my workplace, begging for another chance and reassuring me that he would rather try than not and end up regretting it.

even though it was scary. He wanted to take this journey with me. We continued dating and it was just as wonderful. Long nights we spent awake talking, sharing, laughing, love making and planning. We went places and did things that I always wanted to do. Then in the deepest, most intimate moments, when we would just sit in silence, he would grip my hand to his face in solidarity and astonished asking where I've been all this time. Our time together was effortless. We fit together like puzzle pieces. By August of 2018, my marriage had ended, by no fault of Jezzes. By October, my husband had moved out. I was on lease at a time and knew I couldn't afford the plates on my own, so finding a roommate

was essential. I had no support system to fall back on, nor did anyone else, I know, needed a place at the time, so Jev's offered to move in. Even then, I was hesitant. We'd only been together for about four months, and I knew everything always changes when you move in with a partner. Despite my hesitation, I agreed. He was wonderful to me.

How bad could it be? I was not prepared for the change that was to come. It was literally like night and day. Jez suddenly became a different person. He was extremely controlling, jealous, and lazy, nothing like the person I thought I had met. And the way he treated me progressively got worse and worse. Hanging out with friends became a burden,

if not impossible because he would blow up my phone, and guilting me about leaving him alone or not involving him in some way. Yet when I tried to, it was also treated as a burden and inconvenience as he would huff and puff his way through even the concept of leaving space for anyone but ourselves. In December of 2018, we attended my work a Christmas party. I'd give him the option whether he wanted to go or not. It was really neither here nor there for maybe, especially because I had already learned

that he really didn't do well. he felt pressured into social situations. I opened the invitation to him because it expressed to me over and over that it was important for him that he was involved in my social life. For the full month, he knew about it. He insisted that he wasn't going. I took it as him being introverted and didn't push the issue. I let him know that I would make sure he felt welcome if he decided to go, but not to feel

obligated. I was surprised when he changed his mind at the last minute and insisted on going. and even more stunned when we went, and he actively acted as though he did not want to be there. Everyone there was incredibly welcoming and included him in the festivities and conversations. However, he still practically grumbled the entire night about the entire thing, mumbling insults and critiquing every little part of the party under his breath, as though being there was absolutely awful to have to endure. No one really seemed to notice the low whispering insults and gripes.

At one point, after a couple of glasses of wine, my direct manager leaned in to Jez and started praising him. She and I were very close, therefore, she was intimately familiar with what I had gone through with my ex-husband. I'm so, so happy she has you. She bleated through wine-happy. You've been absolutely transformative for her. It's so nice to see her finally happy and appreciated. Without missing a beat, Jez grimaced at the comment and quickly snapped back. You don't fucking know me.

I honestly didn't believe my ears. It was one of those moments where time stops, and you just know you couldn't have heard that correctly. I sat brewing on it for a minute before another lighthearted interaction with Jazz prompted him to suddenly snap at me through great teeth. Stop it. This triggered me, and I lost it. I pulled him outside and asked him what his problem was. I called out his behavior and told him if he was going to act that way, then he could just leave. That if he didn't want to be there, he should have stayed home.

He ended up giving a sort of half-assed apology, and we went back inside and finished the party. I remember the drive home that night, staring out the dark window at nothing in particular, in worried silence. I might have messed up. Was my only thought through the entire drive? This all started out slow, of course, like waving me away or invalidating my experiences and ideas due to my age, that I was dramatizing my experiences because I was young, etc. The man who, not six months prior, had validated me, my trauma and experiences to the ends of the earth.

Now, every time I started a story or tried to share anything, even trying to plan out meals for the week, he would openly show annoyance as though I was violating his time and attention. Before I knew it, he was snapping at me over every little thing. If I asked how his day was or talked about my day, I would aggressively shut it down. Why do you always ask me that? I don't want to talk shop at home. I really don't care about your work. It's work.

Before I knew it, I couldn't even bring him a plate of breakfast without being snapped at. It was as though he was testing me. When Jez and I first started dating, he flat out refused to talk about most of his exes. He refused to name them or discuss any of the issues or lessons learned. They, quote, didn't matter. He would claim. They weren't in his life for a reason. It was the same reasoning he also used in reference to my more recent exes,

talking about them, including my now ex-husband, may as well have become off-limits. Anytime I brought up either of our exes, you'd become incredibly agitated, belittling, and just overall very aggressive. I took this as both an age-gap issue, as I have a tendency to dwell, as well as insecurity and a threat to the life he was trying to build. However, after he moved in, in this hot-button topic, have been established several times, he would bring up his exes in how they looked, telling me on more than one occasion. Would have never dated me back in the day, in that I was lucky he lowered his standards.

I didn't even really know what to say to this. I would laugh it off and shove it in my back pocket, noted. And then started bringing up my looks and accusing me of catfishing him. I'd stopped taking care of myself due to the isolation, had it also put on some weight. so most of my clothes that I once felt great in no longer fit. And since Jez had also been dishonest with me about his financial position, he was always needing extra money here and there, leaving me broke almost all of the time. A horrible tragedy happened that following summer.

While Jez and I were together, I received notice that a good friend I went to art school with asked himself in the head while tripping on LSD. Our whole class was devastated. He was, without contest, the best photographer of our class and one of the most kind-hearted individuals I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Also, as someone who is very familiar with LSD, I was rocked. Jez, however, was far from supportive. He pretty much immediately shrugged it off. That's life. I guess that's what he gets for fucking around with LSD. I was baffled at such an unsympathetic response, and even more later, when Jez started to interrogate me about my

relationship with this guy asking when the last time it was that I had even talked to this friend. You don't even know this guy anymore. Who cares? I broke up with him the first time after he called me at work raging. I was busy, so I wasn't able to answer right away. Once I was finally able to answer, I was met with intense anger. It was storming, and one of my dogs was having an anxiety attack due to the storm and separation anxiety. This wasn't the first time, and he was well aware that she needed in those moments. Why the fuck aren't you answering your calls? You answer when I call you. I don't care where you are. He went on for a few minutes, calling me a shitty girlfriend and laying into me over my sudden distance and lack of communication while I was at work. At this point, I was done and I lost it.

I tore into him over everything, especially causing problems for me at work. That being in my life is a privilege and if he's going to wake up every day acting like he hates me, then I don't know what on earth he's even doing with me. I told him that I expected him to get his things and leave. He was always threatening to go back to his old roommates or there was still room. I didn't want him there. When I got home, we could coordinate times for him to come and get the rest. He flat refused, suddenly victimizing himself, claiming he had nowhere to go. How dare you make me fall in love with you? How dare you make me meet your father and then dump me? My manager and her husband ended up following me home that evening because she was concerned

for my safety and had offered to let me stay with her for a few days. I will never forget the scene I walked into, like Theon Greyjoy begging for his life. My boss stood next to me, watching as this 42-year-old man crawled on his knees before me, begging for mercy and communication, at one point wrapping his arms around my legs, crying into them. I can't believe this is happening. She's the love of my life. You know that? He cried to my boss. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. This was the antithesis of the heartless person I've been spending my days with. I shook them off and went back to the house, gathering enough of my things to get them through the next few days, as well as any and all valuables I could think of. It took a few days, but after about a week,

Jez started blowing up my phone. Apology after apology. Suddenly he was the man I met again, full of humility and self-awareness. He acknowledged the awful way he had treated me and sent me walls and walls of well-thought-out messages, psycho-analyzing his own behavior, where it comes from, and the ways he knows and needs to change. I took him back.

Like a dumb, desperate girl. I took him back. It wasn't long into this second round that he started to guilt me over the breakup. My panic had damaged his relationship with the people in my life, and he made sure that I knew it was my responsibility to fix it. It wasn't long after this that my car ended up breaking down at a gas station close to home. It was a very nice couple in the vehicle next to me that came to my rescue and checked things

out under my hood. The gentleman turned out to be a mechanic for a living, so he had a pretty good theory about what could have potentially be going on. By this time, I'd already attempted to contact Jazz to let him know what was going on and where I was. It wasn't long until he got off of work. so he told me to sit tight and he would be there shortly. Meanwhile, this sweet couple stayed put and kept me company while I waited.

Jess barreled in about 15 minutes later, completely ignoring the couple that had helped me. Touching base. The gentleman handed me a slip of paper with a name and phone number on it, reviewing what he thought was going on with my car. Before Jez butted in. Cutting him off. I said she's fine, he snapped. I could see the woman out of the corner of my eye slink away at this comment. and get into the passenger seat of their car.

I could feel the sudden tension, like maybe she's been here before. The gentleman didn't move and shifted his attention to me as Jez walked into the store. I could see he was clearly concerned. Are you okay? He asked in a low, almost whisper. You don't have to answer that, but if you need anything, he looked down at the number in my hand and nodded to it. Seriously.

With that, he got into the driver's seat of his car and drove away. I've thought about that couple countless times since that night. Everything went right back to the way it was before, as though the initial breakup never even happened. The same eggshells, the same belittling. If anything, it was worse, because I had permanently damaged our relationship. If I had not just been so dramatic, if I didn't run away from everything, then maybe he wouldn't have to work so hard for respect to my life. One night we got into an argument. I don't even remember what it was about, but I don't even remember what it was about, but I don't know.

I had to be up early for work the next morning, so I paused the argument in order to get some sleep. When I went to lay down, I heard the TV turn on. I have a soundbar so the volume can get pretty loud. Jez proceeded to turn the volume up and up and up. Far past any volume I ever pushed those same speakers to even for parties. The very walls were reverberating with the sound of the TV at astronomical volumes. Jez then started laughing hysterically. It was a laughter manic with anger as though something might be funny on TV, but he might also jump through a window right now.

I remember laying in bed absolutely horrified at what was happening. I knew things had gone bad, but now I was scared. I got out of bed and asked him to turn it down. To which she responded, scoffing, I'll watch TV if I fucking want to. And turn it up even louder. I felt like I was in a horror movie. I started crying at this point, begging him. to please please just let me sleep he started mocking me and calling names for crying oh wow poor baby is

crying again that's your card isn't it crying this caused the fight to start again and he started screaming at me followed me to my bedroom where he suddenly punched a door not two inches from my head his eyes were black and he looked me in my eye sending the clear unsympathetic and hostile message that was a warning next time he wouldn't miss. My whole system had shut down at this point, and I sunk to the floor in a panic attack. My ex-husband had issues with violence. Jez knew that. All our rentals prior to that, one had holes and walls and doors peppered throughout our unit due to my ex-husband's inability to handle his own motions,

but he never hit me or even came close to it. I crumpled to the ground feeling powerless, trapped and afraid. As my thoughts continued to race, he continued to berate and mock my panic state. Most of our argument from that night was a blur, but ended abruptly once he threatened to put my social security number on the dark web. At this point, all that was left in me was to fight. I blacked out and went ballistic, screaming at him to get out. I felt rabid and dangerous as I screamed like a banshee for him to leave my home. It was over, and I was ending at that second.

I contacted my landlord and explained what had been going on. This would also end up contacting her, weaving his own tail that I was moving out and tried to have the lease transferred into his name. Luckily, since I was several steps ahead of him, my landlord didn't fall for it and contacted me immediately. She personally came and changed my locks for me, gave me the personal contact of a police officer close by in case he showed up again, and took half of my round off for the next month.

I'm forever grateful to her for these simple acts of kindness. There are above and beyond anything I would ever expect for my landlord. It took weeks for him to stop messaging me. The only reason I didn't block him was out of fear that he would show up at my house. Though I had contacts for protection, I knew I'd rather get a daily apology video than I'd have to deal with him on my doorstep. So they persisted. For a while.

The same act from before, the love bombing, the promises, grasping at straws, trying to find the weak spot where I'd let him back in. But I ignored it. I continued for weeks before he finally. gave up. He bowed out gracefully, stating boldly that he will always love me. I left him on red. The illusion was destroyed. It took me several years to pick up the pieces. If my divorce wasn't enough, this definitely made me lose trust in myself. I still don't understand what the end game was. In one of our last discussions, I asked him desperately, what happened to the guy fell in love with?

Jez looked at me, dead in the eye, smirked and said, That guy doesn't exist. I told you what I had to tell you in order to get you away from that fucking asshole husband of yours. You're just stupid and fell for it. Jez, let's not meet ever again. I think there is someone living in my shed. Title says it all, but it also doesn't say anything. Lately, I've been noticing something off about home,

Like, there's something else there with me. My wife and our two dogs, but I have not been able to put my finger on it until today. For some context, I live in a duplex. We share this property with another guy in his mid-20s. He has his own house, and we have ours, but we share the laundry room that leads to our respective backyards that are separated by a fence. This all started about two months ago when the guy sent me a text. Hey, man, just a heads up. Someone stole my bike out of the sunroom.

This is extra creepy because to get to our son slash laundry room, you would need to hop the brick fence surrounded by shrubby trees and then hurled the bike over, unless the thief had the most massive pair of balls ever and walked it out through one of our front doors when we weren't home. Either way, I didn't feel right and made more of an effort to keep the door locked. Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago. I let my dogs into the backyard and one of them starts sniffing at the shed. No big deal. The lizards are coming out with it, heating up. They probably just chase one under the door. I finally got them to come in, but didn't give it much thought. I hardly ever go into that shed. Nothing wrong with it. It's just kind of out of the way, and I'm not really a hangout in the shed type of guy.

So we generally use it for storage, suitcases, furniture that doesn't fit slash match the house, camping stuff, you know, boring suburban shit. You probably enter it maybe three times a year. After the 18th day in a row of my dogs being curious about the shed, I decided to give a little look-seat to see if maybe there was a Komodo dragon or something in there, since they wouldn't let this and go. Nope. No Komoto. But what I did find literally made me piss myself just a little bit. Just a few drops.

Inside this shed was the bike that my neighbor had stolen a little while back. My first thought was, oh fuck, my wife has a little bit. a klepto, but quickly ruled that out. She doesn't even like to bike. Then I was briefly worried that my neighbor thought that I was the thief. I mean, it's in my shed. I don't know how to explain that if he found out. Plus, I wanted to give him his bike back. I kept looking around and found one of our sleeping bags unraveled but balled up behind a box. Inside of it was what looked like to be around $20 in change and singles. There was also a bag for garbage and had lots of food wrappers inside. Eventually, my brain accepted what it was ultimately denying at first and put two and two

together. Someone, I don't know, is living in my shed, or at least was. Maybe my dog spooked them off, or maybe they sleep there every night and leave during the day. If they weren't coming back, why would they leave the change? I left everything how I found it and was thinking about what I should do next. Whoever did it must have gotten in through the spare set of keys I keep hidden in my backyard. I locked up and brought them inside with me tonight. Hopefully whoever it is gets the message and moves on. I'm going to install cameras tomorrow. I'll keep you guys updated if anything more happens. Please hope for the best and as this person isn't a lunatic. Possible murderer slash serial killer encounter in Maine. Not really sure how to be.

begin this and my title may make more sense after reading my experience. I'll try to be as brief slash concise as possible. Summer of 2004, my family was supposed to vacation in Cannebunkport, Maine. My father was stuck in meeting, so he was going to come up from Manhattan a few days after us. My mom wanted to drive up, super annoying to me at the time. We didn't have a choice, and my brother, sister and I loaded into the car and started the drive. I was about 14 at the time. Drive was uneventful, but there were various delays

and we ended up getting in a lot later than originally planned. Because of this, the owners of the house we were renting from had turned in for the night and we weren't able to get a hold of them to get the keys. Sounds like horrible planning, but apparently they were pretty strict about the time frame to pick up the keys. My mom, on phase, decided she wanted lobster,

so we went to one of our favorite spots. She called my dad to see if you could make us reservations at a hotel in Kennebunkport from New York City while we ate. We were enjoying the lobster while a guy came up and started chatting with my mom. I figured it was just a friendly, local-making conversation. During this, my dad calls my mom and my mom excused herself to speak to him. Apparently, all hotels were booked for the nights, go figure. Hide a vacation season in Kenbunkport.

The plan was for us to drive to the beach. the nearest town and just find somewhere to stay until we could pick up the keys for our vacation home. Apparently, the local had been listening into my mom's conversation and came back over once she got off the phone. I want to say, there was nothing outwardly off about him. He was preppy, clean cut, unassuming, and fit in with the clientele. He told my mom he had a big home with a big guest house. We were more than welcome to stay at, and his wife wouldn't mind. Immediately, my reaction was F that. No way in the world I was staying in a random dude's house in creepy Maine in the dark. No offense to anyone from Maine, but the streets get creepy. My mom, doing her due diligence,

determined this guy was legit. Said he was in finance. My mom was an investment banker. And they chatted it enough for my mom to determine he wasn't totally full of it. I called my dad hysterical. He said I was overreacting and that I need to get out of the city more and accept that sometimes people are just nice. So my brother, sister and I, got into our car and followed him back to his house. The guest house was really nice, fully furnished, but the beds were oddly placed.

The guest house had two bedrooms, and instead of the beds being located in the middle-slash-centered, imagine asymmetrical room layout, they are right under the window in each room. It just seemed kind of out of place. Anyway, fast forward. We are all getting ready to go to bed. My mom hears a knock on the door and it's the guy.

He said he was just checking in to make sure we all got settled. Cool. Nice thing to do. About 30 minutes later, he comes back to check in again. At this point, my mom was like, thanks, we're good. We will stop by the house in the morning to say thank you, etc. Fast forward another 30 to 45 minutes. I can't sleep.

I'm terrified. We hear this rustling, which is up. because the guest house was nowhere around trees or close proximity to bushes that might cause such a noise. At this point, I see my mom wide awake and look up at the window, like motioning towards the window with her eyes. Let me add, none of the windows had curtains. The guy said it's because his wife was in the process of redecorating. When I looked up, there was a male figure, just standing. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I don't know how long he was there for. When we walked away, my mom waited a bit and then told us to get our stuff together.

She wasn't messing around. We had my dad out on the phone at this point. He was pretty much flipping out at my mom about something, but I didn't hear what. My mom said she was going to put our stuff in the car and to follow her out. This is around 2 a.m. When we got into the car, we pulled around to the front of the main house, so my mom could return the key and say thanks and get the fuck out of there. However, when we got to the front, all the lights were off.

Not just all lights, but it looked like no one had been home. Porch light, table lamp and front windows, everything black. Also, the two cars were gone, the local's car, and what we presumed to be his wife's car. After seeing this, my mom, at this point, pretty unsettled, said we were leaving and we proceeded to drive to the gate. The gate at the end of the driveway had been deadbolted or padlocked, shut from the inside. It wasn't a super strong gate, so my dad said, Revit. We were in a big SUV and just get out of there. We drove straight back to New York City, not speaking the entire time.

We have never returned back to Maine, and my parents refused to speak about it. I asked a family member one night about it when he was drunk, and all he said was, they didn't tell you? The actual owners of that house were on vacation. I'm assuming my mom or dad followed up with local authorities and figured that out, but never told us. I don't know who that man was or what was planned that evening. I was curious as to whether there were any known serial killers or murderers who were in the area at that time, whether traveling through etc. Sorry for the long post, just trying to be thorough.

The night I learned to not sneak out. To start this off, I'd like to give a bit of context. This happened four years ago. I'm a girl, and at the time this happened, I was 12, going on 13 in just a month or 10. two. The friend I mentioned in the story was 14 at the time. The friend, Sally, who I was staying with that night, 14 female, was quite a bit older than me. At least at the time, the two-year age gap was quite big. At 12 to 13 years old, I was about to start my second year of middle school, whereas Sally should have been about to begin her sophomore year of high school. I met her in the

beginning of my first year at a new school. She was older than the other kids in her grade and was considered one of the popular kids. I think that was what drew me to her first. We became fast friends, and before we knew it, we were spending every single weekend together. Seriously, every single weekend. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. It was your typical Friday night. We carpooled to her family's apartment after school. I've always been a picky eater, so when her family had dinner, I didn't eat with them. I just snacked on the Pop-Tart that I'd stowed away in my backpack in case they order. something that I wouldn't eat. Something to note is that her family was pretty religious. I wouldn't go as far to say they were fanatics, but they didn't allow their kids to watch

horror movies or anything that was rated PG-13 or older. It didn't stem from the desire to protect them from something inappropriate. Sally's mother had an irrational fear that scary movies had satanic messages. We asked to watch The Purge, and her mom obviously said no. After some negotiating, she agreed to let us watch Hunger Games instead. After the movie, Sally and I went to hang out in her room. She put on some music, and being the age we were, we gave each other some makeovers. By the end of it, we were looking much older than just 12 and 14. This part of the night is where things started to seem off to me. Sally wasn't the most positive influence, despite being my best friend at the time. She was manipulative and got off on putting me down.

She had a habit of talking to men online and lying about her age. Sally showed me some text between her and the man she was talking to. I can't give you the exact recount of them, but they consisted of him trying to convince her to meet up with him and just the usual thing you'd expect from a creep online. According to him, he was 19, tall, and blonde with soulful blue eyes. Once I saw the text, I asked if she had a picture of him. Something didn't sit right with me after seeing the messages. She showed me what he looked like, and he was very clearly not 19. This man was a at least 40 and looked like he lived in his mother's basement. Then we got a call from him.

Sally answered without hesitation. And when I heard the voice on the other end of the call, I felt like I was going to be sick. You're so pretty. Why don't you come meet me? he asked. Sally said that she couldn't because she was spending the night with a friend. The mention of that sparked his interest, and then he proceeded to try and ask both to meet him.

Sally, lacking any common sense, said yes. Thus begun her plan for us to sneak out, he walked 15 blocks to meet him in a deserted McDonald's parking lot. I didn't want to go. I was raised on stories of what happens to teen girls who meet random men from the internet in person. But after adamant pleading from Sally that she didn't feel safe going by herself, I agreed.

We took our phones with us for the walk. I had a kitchen knife stuffed in my bra in case something were to happen and I needed to defend myself. The route we had to take to get there didn't have very many street lamps, and there weren't any houses. We were surrounded by trees on both sides of us. When we got to the parking lot, the only car parked nearby was a black beat-up 2000 Toyota Corolla. The car was still running when we got there, and from what we could tell, there was more than one person inside. The man from the picture got out of the front seat and left the door open behind him before approaching us.

I turned my flash on so I could see, and he was obviously on something. I can't tell you what kind of drug it was for the life of me, but his eyes were so wide, they looked like they were about a pop out of his head. He was jittery and kept twitching. I became very conscious of how big he was, maybe six to and around 280 pounds. For reference, my friend and I did not look our ages, even without makeup. I'm about 5'2, my friend was pretty tall, probably around 5'6 to 5'7. we were both significantly smaller than him.

The man reached out for us and caught my friend by the arm. I went to get my knife as quickly as I could, and that's when I saw his friends getting out of the car. He invited us back to his car and offered us booze and drugs, but after seeing my knife, then I was ready to call the police, he released my friend. I took Sally's arm and ran faster than I ever had in my entire life. We took the long way home to avoid them finding out where she lived

in case they were following us. Once we got there, her family was still sick. sound asleep. We locked all the doors, closed the blinds, and blocked them on everything. There wouldn't be any sleeping that night. We were constantly peeking out the windows into our dismay. The same Toyota was circulating around her apartment building. Not once, not twice, but three times. I never mentioned any of this to my parents out of fear of getting grounded or in trouble. I'm 16 now, and they still have no clue. I still get nervous when I see a car similar to the one from that night. As for Sally, her parents never found out either. We agreed to never speak about it

again. Thankfully, she moved into a new house just a few weeks after that happened. Safe to say, Sally and I haven't spoken three years. She was pissed at me for ruining her night, and our friendship didn't last long after that. We had a pretty bad falling out, but looking back on it now, it was definitely for the better. So, to Sally, thank you for teaching me a very good. very valuable lesson in making me realize that some people are best just left alone. Into the man and his friends who tried to prey upon two young girls, let's not ever fucking meet again. Drive safe. My ex always hated our dog, but he probably would have taken her too if she weren't so ugly. If Lulu were one of those cute mini golden doodles or corgis,

or even one of those goofy-looking dogs that are charming in their ugliness, think Danny DeVito or Steve Bouchemmy, only in dog version. Then I have no doubt he would have claimed ownership of her too, along with everything else in our apartment. But Lulu is just a plain, old, ugly dog. And for that, and so much else about her, I'm forever grateful. I don't want to talk about my ex too much here, because this isn't about him. But I do need to explain why I was traveling across the country in the middle of the night, with my few worldly possessions loaded up in the back of a bumpy U-Haul van. My ex and I had been together six years, never married. He said marriage was outdated. I said fine. Was I upset by that? Yes and no.

Well, yes, but I kept quiet. I loved him. Five months ago, he tells me he wants to split up. He said it just like that. I want to split up. No shaking of the hands, no tears in his eyes, not even a change in the tone of his voice. I was in the case. I was in the case. He said, he said it just like that. I was in when it happened, eating honey bunches of oats for breakfast. He was standing in the hall. I want to split up, he said. Then he grabbed his bag and left for work, leaving me to sob as my cereal got soggy in the bowl. Lulu heard me crying and nuzzled her snout in my lap. She whimpered along with me as the hours went by. I skipped work that day, sat on the couch and watched the sunlight pass over the walls of the apartment I'd always thought of us as our home together.

The thing is, my ex made way more money than me. He was happy to cover the bulk of the rent, he'd said. Happy to buy the furniture. Happy to lease the new car for us. Happy to pay for this and that, loading up our apartment with nice things. When the time came for me to move all these things that were actually mine out of the place, I realized I had even less than I did six years ago. It was all barely filled the U-Haul van.

I didn't have a couch or chairs. Those were his on paper. I didn't have any dishes or silverware. We'd thrown out my old ones when he'd bought a fancy new set a couple years ago. I didn't even have a mattress. He'd gotten us an expensive memory foam king size. I remember I'd always wanted to tell Lulu hop up on the bed till the snuggle while we watched movies in our room. My ex wouldn't hear of it.

Stop treating the dog like it's a person he'd say. She's lucky she even gets to live inside the apartment with us. I was the one who got Lulu from the pound, back when she was a puppy. She's a street dog, or she was, until the people from animal control swept her up one day, as she'd been rummaging through an overturned trash can. You can tell she'd gotten a good amount of pit bull in her. But beyond that, she's an all-American mutt with a big boulder of a head, a weirdly thin body, and stumpy legs. She waddles more than walks, and she snores like crazy, but she's a total sweetheart.

When she sees kids, she lies on her belly and waits until they get close enough before she gives them kisses. We didn't even train her to do that. One afternoon about a year or so ago, Lulu came up behind my ex and licked his ankles, and he turned and gave her a small kick right in the head. It wasn't enough to hurt Lulu, but that was when I should have known. Looking back, it's amazing how much you convince yourself someone is who they're not. So the U-Haul was packed. I'd quit my hourly job and I was now on the road toward my sister's place in Spartanburg, South Carolina,

where I'd been promised a place to stay for the time being. It was a 10-plus hour drive, just Lulu and me in the front of the van as we rumbled through the endless pastoral of farmland and cow towns. I purposely decided to take the smaller highway to avoid traffic since I was uncomfortable driving the U-Haul, and the scenery made me glad I did. Tall fast food signs rose up into the sky like totem poles against clouds so big and white. They almost made you want to cry, but I'd promise myself I was done crying, or at least least until I'd gotten off the road. I'd had to pack the U-Haul all by myself, so it had already

been early afternoon by the time I set off. After about four hours on the road, the sky began to dim over the highway, just that the sun sunk beneath the ridges of the mountains in the distance. I heard a loud clang somewhere below my feet. All at once, the U-Haul van started shaking. It felt like the wheel was fighting against me. I kept having to grip it and yank it straight back. I had trouble seeing out the back window because my stuff was piled up, but I managed to get over to an exit that was just ahead. As I slowed the van down, now that I was off the highway, I saw a sign sticking out from the roadway. Richard and son's auto repair, quarter mile ahead. I know you've probably heard a story like this before, a story where a car breaks down in the middle of nowhere on a backroads highway, a young woman by herself.

Maybe she meets a creepy guy in overalls who says something like, Well, you must be lost, little Missy. As he eyes are over like she's a good meal he's about to devour, but it really wasn't like that. Evening, ma'am, said the perfectly normal-looking guy inside the auto repair shop. How can I help you? Oh, and who's this cutie, he added? Looking notice of Lulu at my side.

The shop's owner was a man named Richard Meadows, and he was a pleasant, polite, and well-dressed older gentleman. His gray hair neatly combed and his buttoned shirt starched bright white. He ran the place with his two sons, both of whom were waiting in the garage. My son's Abel and Dean will run diagnostics. Then you and I can head into the office to call the U-Haul folks. Richard said as we walked up to him, Don't want this to be on your tab after all, Abel.

Want to take your keys? I handed the keys to the son named Abel, who was a little chubby and pale. His shaved head dotted with moles. He seemed shy and only nodded when he took the keys from me. I only mentioned Abel's appearance because the other son beside him, Dean was almost shockingly handsome. He had a thick head of sandy blonde hair, a chiseled jawline, and broad shoulders under his denim workshirt.

He was that level of teen movie heartthrob handsome that made my face suddenly hot. Walking with me out to the U. Hall and the lot, Dean took out a clipboard, licking the tip of his pen as he angled it downward. So, the truck just started rattling on you? He asked. I started through what had it happened, feeling like a nervous high school girl again. But he just smiled and nodded the whole time.

His voice calmed like a doctor at a bedside. Hmm. Well, I'm sure we'll figure it out. And like my dad said, don't worry. We'll make sure the U-Haul folks pay up, not you. I thanked him, trying to ignore the fact that I was blushing for no reason. Good thing you've got a bodyguard here with you, Dean added, smiling down at Lulu. What's his name?

Her, I said? And her name is Lulu. Well, hi there, Lulu. When he reached down to pet her, Lulu stepped back and showed her teeth growling under her breath. Lulu, I said. Bad girl. Dean just laughed. Nah, she's cool, just protecting her mom, right, Lulu? Honestly, I wouldn't trust some random auto repair dude either.

No, it's not you. It's just my boyfriend, or I guess my ex-boyfriend now. He just, yeah, I don't know. I guess he made her a little skittish around guys like you. Dean raised in his eyebrow a little, and then he pursed his lips and nodded as if he understood, and I appreciated that he didn't ask any further about it. He told me to go wait on him, that he'd handle everything from there. When I got back to the office, Dean's father Richard had already sorted out the bill with the U-Haul folks.

Free and clear, he said. There was nothing else to do but wait for the van to be ready. A TV hanging in the corner was playing a muted episode of Judge Judy. Richard took a seat across from me in the waiting area and petted Lulu while telling me a little about himself and his family. His wife had died a year and a half ago, he said, passed suddenly in her sleep, which is a mercy, I suppose. I'd have been a tough string of months, but he and his sons were close. They were getting him through it. Lulu seemed to sense his sadness because she showed him more attachment than most other male strangers. I hope you don't mind me speaking out of turn,

Richard said as he stroked Lulu's head, but I'm relieved you have this dog here with you. Why is that? Well, not to scare you, but there have been some incidents. He told me he didn't want me to cause any undue worry, but there had been seven women found dead in the woods beyond the cornfields down the highway over the past year and a half. All the victims were like you. Young women traveling alone, Richard said, so it's good you got this girl here. and he put his face close to Lulu, who licked him on the cheek. Ah, good girl, such a sweetie.

I mean, I appreciate you giving me a heads look, at least, I said. Sure, and like I said, didn't mean to scare you, probably nothing. No, it's nice of you. You guys have been all really nice, I added. Dean was, he was very helpful. That's just the wonderful service and dedication you would expect from the world-famous team at Richard and Sun's auto repair. Richard laughed, but I do thank you sincerely. I almost asked if Dean had a girlfriend, as if that weren't a totally crazy, empathetic question to pose to a total little stranger, but before I had the chance to embarrass myself, the other son, Abel, shuffled into the office and murmured something to his father.

Richard nodded, saying to me, well, looks like you're all set. No paperwork or anything? Nope, all taken care of. Get you a receipt for insurance purposes, but otherwise you've good to go. Here, let me walk you and Lulu out. On our way out of the office, I debated the merits of giving Dean my number, trying to balance the pros and cons. Was it better to risk wild embarrassment if I get rejected versus the regret I might feel if I did nothing? I was so new to this single life again that I didn't know how any of this worked anymore. It turns out the decision was made for me because Dean was gone when we got to the van. Dean head off already? Richard asked. Abel nodded. Had a date, he said in that whisper, quiet voice of his,

oh another date why i'm not surprised of course i thought and really what did i expect just because dean was working at some nowhere'sville auto repair shop didn't change the fact that he was still wildly handsome and easy to talk to if anything girls probably swooned over the fact that he could take a car apart by hand peeling off his shirt afterwards his muscles gleaming with sweat etc etc i felt like an idiot well sure was great to meet you richard said and so nice to meet you too miss lulu his son Abel reached into his pocket and dangled the keys out in front of me, while Richard got down and gave Lulu one last head scratch. I took the keys from Abel and smiled. Thank you, I said. He smiled back, but he didn't break eye contact. And for a split second, a shutter passed through my body,

something I can't explain. Drive safe, he breathed. The back road highway that night was dark, what my sister would call country dark, but what I would call horror movie dark. It seemed like The smaller highways like this were only busy during the day because I only saw a car pass by every few minutes or so. Fields of corn along the roadside swayed under a cloud choke moon. The night air was punctuated by faraway train whistles, which sounded to me more like muffled screams. I don't know if I was just freaked out by the warning Richard had given me or if there really was something to be said about the stretch of highway, but I kept getting a feeling as if eyes were staring at me from the fields. I sensed I was driving into the mouth of a beast,

already on my way to being digested by the darkness. Up ahead, the cornfields ended and were overtaken by forest, a dense swath of evergreen trees. In the moment we drove past the fields, Lulu started barking. I swear I almost got crashed the car. Oh my God, Lulu, Lulu, calm down. She was going crazy, turning her head side to side as she barked back at whatever we'd just pass on the side of the road. Lulu, relax, girl. But it couldn't even say that without my own voice choking up. Seven women found dead in the woods beyond the cornfields. Richard had said,

My hands felt slippery on the wheel. I'd never been comfortable driving a U-Haul van before, and it didn't help that the darkness seemed to devour the headlamps so that I could barely see a few feet in front of me down the highway. I tried turning on the radio, got static, and turned the dial, but then thought the better of it and shut it off again. Better to be in silence. Just in case.

In case what? My mind was going in so many directions and even saying there was silence would be wrong, because every few minutes Lulu started up again, pawing at the backseat in the windows, barking like crazy and growling. It was like she was fighting a ghost and wanted to break out of the car. I glanced out the windows, but it could only see darkness on either side of the road. That along with the shadowed outlines of trees, stumps, power lines, all of which looked like monsters to me.

Eventually we entered South Carolina. We pass out of the rural area, and it was only when the bright flood lamps of passing car dealerships and 24-hour fast-food places illuminated the inside of the cabin that Lulu fell silent. But even then, for the last three hours of the car ride, she never fully relaxed, especially when we passed through the occasional pocket of empty rural areas. She seemed just stressed. Occasionally, she'd perk up, as if she'd seen someone outside her window, floating along with us. Her body language would stiffen. By now I just let it happen. I told myself she was just tense from traveling.

She seemed desperate by the end of the trip. I could tell she was exhausted. She hadn't slept all night. I was exhausted too. Lulu's howls and barks had kept me alert, but it hadn't exactly done well for keeping my eyes on the road. I felt the kind of twitchy panic that usually came from drinking too much coffee, my eyes darting from side to side,

feeling like I was about a crash into something any minute. My sister had texted me before she went to bed and told me the key was under the mat. It was around 3 a.m. when I pulled up to the curb outside our house and put the van into park. When I did, Lulu shot up. Okay. Yes, we're here, girl. You can relax now. In the glow of the van's cab, as I reached over to grab my nightbag,

I could hear Lulu breathing deeply. She was taking fast and muffled breaths, panting. It sounded like she was trying to catch her breath after her. running. Hey, chill out, I said, as I grabbed my bag and sat up again. What are you panted for, girl? We've already... I froze. Lulu was totally still beside me. She was facing the back of the van. Her mouth was closed. Her tongue wasn't hanging out. Her chest wasn't rising and falling. She was calm and focused, breathing slowly and silently. It wasn't her. The breathing wasn't her. It was coming from somewhere in the back of the van.

Just then Lulu showed her teeth and growled. Oh, okay, girl, I said, trying to keep my voice normal. I was shaking. I could barely feel my body. I was floating outside of it. Let's head on inside now. Come on. I fumbled with the door handle. I almost fell when I stepped out. I tried taking out my phone and dialing 911, but my hand was shaking so bad, I couldn't even unlock my home screen. Lulu hopped out and circled me. She was on high alert. Her head was

low when she moved like a predator, keeping close to my legs. I walked backwards with her up the driveway, but she stayed beside me and the van, pacing quickly from side to side. I managed to get my phone unlocked. I was about to hit the emergency call button when I heard something move inside the van. A metallic click. The back door I realized. I locked it, but it could still open from the inside. The street was dark, only one lamp post glowing off at the intersection down the road. Everyone in their homes were asleep. I was totally alone. In the darkness, I heard something scrape at the back door from inside the van.

Then a soft clunk as the door opened. It opened slowly at first, as if a creature inside were checking to see if it were safe. I hit the emergency call button just as the door swung all the way open. 911, what's your emergency? 911, what's your emergency? But I couldn't speak. I was frozen. The door bounced.

back as it fully opened and then out fell a naked body, tangled limbs hitting the pavement, a mess of blonde hair shimmering in the dark. When the person rose up again, I almost passed out. It was Dean. Hello? Hello, I said into the phone. I need help. Someone. He was in my van. Please send police to. Blank. Lulu barked and jumped forward. Jesus fucking Christ, Dean said, shaking out his limbs. Can someone please tell this fucking dog to shut up? Dean was covered in sweat, wearing only his boxer shorts. He looked sickly and diseased.

All fucking night, it's just bark, bark, bark, yap, yap. He exhaled and stretched out his arms. And I saw he was holding a knife in his hand. With his free hand, he swept back the sweaty hair off his forehead. Cooped up in a hot-ass truck for hours until, oh, your useless shit had to take off my clothes. It was so damn hot. and I gotta hear that fucking dog barking nonstop.

Please send help, I said into the phone, repeating my sister's address over and over. Please, he's got a knife. Oh, he's got a knife, does he? Oh, boo-hoo, said Dean, walked forward, holding the knife out towards Lulu, tossing it casually from one hand. Every time I try to make a move, this bitch just goes nudge on me. Yap, yap, yap, yap. Dean, please, just, I don't know what you want, but please.

You should be thanking me, you know that? He waved the knife from side to side as if reprimanding me. I'm way out of your league, so the fact that I chose you tonight, it's really an act of charity. Okay, I said. I would have said anything to get him to go away. Okay, I'm sorry. You want the truth? It wasn't even me who wanted you.

I think you were a six, maybe a seven at best, but my brother, he thought you looked tasty good. So I said, fine. Sure, I'll get you and bring you back to him. I'm a good brother, aren't I? That's what good brothers do. They do favors. I wanted his first time to be special. No, I know.

I know you're a good brother. I still held the phone up to my ear, hoping the operator could hear me. This all could have been so easy, so fucking easy. Would have been over now. But no, because Miss yap, yap, yap over here. He gripped the knife type, squatting as he stepped forward. his eyes on Lulu. So keep on crying as of the phone.

But make sure you tell them your dog is dead too because this bitch deserved it. No. Dean lunged forward, slashing the knife at her. Lulu yelped and flipped to the side as the blade swept across her back, her body scrambling over the pavement. But then it was Dean who screamed, falling back as his knife landed on the ground. Fuck! Jesus Christ, my hand!

Even in the darkness I could see the blood pour open from Lulu's back where the blade had sliced her open. But I could also see her spit out a mangled hand onto the pavement, as if it were nothing but a squeaky toy. I'm going to kill this dog, Dean screamed. Blood poured from the stump at his wrist. With this other hand, he reached down to grab his knife, then turned to face her. Belulu was already upon him, lunging up in the air, her own blood streaking off the gash in her back as she flew. This time, she aimed for his face.

A severed hand, it turns out, is a more than adequate DNA system. It only took a few days before the police were able to match Dean's DNA with the DNA found on the bodies of seven women who were found in the woods down the highway from the auto repair shop. Dean's mugshot showed a guy who with a mutilated, torn up face, bruised and bloody, and held together with stitches. When the police had arrived that night outside my sister's house, they had found him half dead on the sidewalk, blood leaking from his neck. As for Lulu and me, I'd already carried her inside the house. The police found us on the tile floor of the kitchen. Lulu bleeding out of my lap unmoving, while I whispered to her, I love you, girl.

I love you so much. It wasn't long before Dean's brother Abel was arrested as an accessory to the crimes. During a news conference a few days later, the police chief said that for the past year and a half, the two brothers had been using road traps on the back road highway to cause damage to passing vehicles forcing them to stop. In most cases, they could fix their cars, and that was that. nothing more than a scam to gain business for their father's shop. But when the driver was a pretty young woman,

the two used the shop's tow truck to lure the women away to a remote location past the cornfields. DNA samples from at least four of the women were found inside the truck. With the last would-be victim, the brothers appeared to have gotten reckless and instead lured her right to the repair shop, said the police chief during the press conference, had the young woman not been accompanied by her dog, a pit bull mixed by the name of Lulu, there's no telling what. I closed my laptop. I don't want to hear the rest.

Later, I saw an article online of a photo of their father, Richard, shielding his face as a reporter to surround him. There was no evidence he'd been involved in any way. He'd seemed shocked when the police came to the auto shop. I felt bad for him. He seemed like a good man. I couldn't even imagine what he was thinking. The police chief had said that the brothers have been committing the assaults and murders

for the last year and a half, which means they would have started right after their mother died. The timing made me feel sick. Richard had said his wife's death was from natural causes, that she died peacefully in her sleep. I like to believe that's the case. I like to believe the brothers had waited for their mother to die, and that's the only reason they started their murder spree right after her funeral, despite all they did. I really hope, if only for Richard's sake,

that they hadn't gone impatient and done something to their own mother. It was surreal trying to get settled in a new place after all this. I felt like my old life had been years and years ago. My ex did text me once, though, just after he heard the news. Hope you're okay, the text said. Normally, I would have sat for hours deliberating over how to respond, but now I texted back right away. I am, I said.

I watched three dots pop up in the bubble as he was typing something, then they disappeared again. That night, the news ran a segment about Lulu. there was a whole ceremony in her honor. Normally, I wouldn't have watched the rest of the coverage of the case. It was already traumatic enough. I was told I would have to testify that it would be a long process and I wanted to avoid it as much as I could.

But I made sure to watch the news segment on Lulu. A moment of celebration today as Lulu, the scrappy pit bull mix, gets a hero's welcome outside the Eastcast Animal Hospital. To the newsacre. So many people had showed up to the Animal Hospital earlier that afternoon to celebrate Lulu's discharge. The footage held on Lulu's face as she eyed the crowd of police officers, the news crews, the reporters and hospital staff.

I was right beside her in the footage, looking just as awkward. See that girl? I said as I watched the coverage with her later that night. Lulu was cold up on my lap on the couch as I stroke the long scar on her back. The jagged ridges where the animal doctors had sewn her up again. That's you and me on the news. See, girl? Lulu had been sleeping and now she lifted up her head, drowsy from the commotion of the day.

She didn't seem too interested about her 15 minutes of fame. She just sighed and plopped her head right back down on again on my stomach and went back to sleep. When the news was over, I nudged Lulu awake. And after she went outside to pee, the two of us shuffled down the hall. I led Lulu into the guest bedroom. As I pulled down the covers on the bed, Lulu went to lie down on the hardwood floor in the corner of the room by herself. No, no, come here, girl. She glanced up with me, one paw on top of the other.

I patted the bed. You sleep up here from now on. Come on up. She made a soft noise, her tail wagging. Then she hopped up awkwardly on the bed, still a little sore from her wounds. As I shut off the lamp, Lulu nuzzled up against my leg, resting her head on my thigh. Comfy, I asked. She sighed a grumbling, growling purr in response.

He used to a pretty girl, I said. You've more than earned it. Feed the pig. I slowly opened my eyes. My head was swimming in a dull pain surrounding my throat. I was thirsty. That was the first thing I noticed. I licked my dry lips as my surroundings faded into focus.

My body ached and I realized it was because I was tightly bound to a metal chair in the middle of an empty room. The barren concrete walls were stained and dirty. The floor beneath my bare feet. feet was cold and slightly wet. A single bulb lit the room dangling from the ceiling by a string. It cast moving shadows and I blinked back darkness. An open door stood before me, but I couldn't see anything but the wall of a hallway. I tried to clear my head, tried to remember how I got here. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself not to panic. I slowed my breathing and focused my thoughts,

desperately trying to summon some kind of recollection of why I was here. I couldn't remember anything. I opened my eyes and exhaled. My parched throat throbbing. I could hear sound echoing off the hallway walls outside the door. Screaming, clanging, howling, all very distant, but that did nothing to help calm my nerves. Hello? I cried. The word tearing at my vocal cords.

I felt my chest, itch, and pain, but I cleared my throat and yelled again. Is anyone there? Hello? The dark hallway remained silent. except for the constant echoes. I shut my mouth and tried to wiggle free from my bindings, but the rope was knotted impossibly tight. I fought back against my imagination

as it flooded my mind with horrific scenarios of what awaited me, if I could only remember. Suddenly, footsteps erupted from outside the door, a rapid patter of small feet. My hopes rose and I trained my attention to the door, praying it was help. A young boy ran into the room, dressed in a red onesie,

complete with padded feet. stretched over his face was a plastic devil mask the eye holes revealed massive blue eyes that greeted me curiously taken back i opened my mouth to speak but that's when i noticed something was off his eyes were huge and possibly round and bulging from their sockets isn't a shiver of unease down my spine but i shook it off this child might be able to free me hey i hissed urgently hey kid can you get me out of here the boy took a step closer cocking his head but remained silent. I rattleed my bound arms against the chair. Come me free, please. I shouldn't be here. This is some kind of mistake. The boy eyed me behind his strange mask and stopped directly in front of me.

He leaned in close and whispered. His voice like wet silk. You did a bad thing. Confused, I shook my head. No, no, this is a mistake. I didn't do anything. The boy's enormous blue eyes suddenly filled with sadness. Oh, you did a really, really. bad thing. I shook my head violently. No, I'm sorry. I don't remember. Just please get me out of this chair.

Suddenly, before either of us could speak again, a man came charging into the room. He was overweight and dressed in overalls. His grids old face twisted and seething anger. He was holding a sawed-off shotgun in his arms. I didn't do anything. I cried as he advanced on us. My voice cracking.

I'm not supposed to be here. The big man ignored me and instead grabbed the kid and shoved him hard against the wall. The boy grunted as his back struck the concrete, and his eyes rose to meet the grizzled man's. Wordlessly, the man raised a shotgun placed against the boy's forehead and blew his head off. Chunks of gore splattered to the wall as shock sludged me in the stomach, like an iron fist. My eyes rang, and time seemed to slow as I watched in horror as the headless body crumpled to the ground. My breath rushed back into my lungs and time seemed to readjust.

Jesus fucking Christ I screamed. Strained against the ropes. My eyes bulging in horrific shock. What the fuck? The man ignored my screams as he bent down and picked up the boy. He slung the ruined corpse over his shoulder and walked out of his doorway. Suddenly the hallway erupted with malicious laughter, a chorus of voices all howling in glee. I shut my eyes.

The noise deafening. An absolute terror filled my every pore. After a few minutes the laughter faded and I cautiously opened my eyes. unable to believe what I had just witnessed. Hello? I jumped as I realized there was another man standing before me. He was dressed in a simple white button-down shirt and jeans. His brown hair was cut short, and he appeared to be in his early 30s.

His green eyes were dull and lifeless. His full lips pulled down at the corners. What is going on? Where am I? I cried. New fear pulling in my stomach like hot blood. The man crossed his arms. So, you're the new one, huh?

He shook his head. You people disgust me. Questions bubbled on my lips, but he waved them off with a sharp chop of his hand, slicing the air and demanding my silence. He ran his tongue over his teeth sneering. You look like you've already seen some of the horrors this place holds, huh? Yes. I can tell by the look in your eyes. You're terrified.

You've seen something, haven't you? It doesn't seem all that bad now, does it? Looking back, you've been here five minutes and already shit in her pants. "'Where am I?' I gasped. "'Unable to hold back any longer. "'What do you people want?' "'The man crossed his arms behind his back. "'How about you want to?

"'Get out of here, don't you? "'I bet you'd like to go back to your home, "'your family, everything.' "'Please,' I interrupted. "'Whatever I did to you, I'm sorry. "'I really am, but I don't remember.' "'The man rolled his eyes. "'You didn't do anything to me.

"'You did it to yourself. "'You really don't remember anything?' "'I shook my head and felt tears brimming in my eyes, liquid fear. The man looked at me with contempt. You waited until your wife left for work and then you went out to the woodshed and hung yourself. You're dead. The recent memory rose in my mind like a monster from a bog. My eyes went wide. As much as I wanted to deny it, he was right. I had ced myself. The incident tore through my brain like a bullet train and left me reeling. I'm Danny, by the way, the man said, ignoring the shocked look on my face, and I'm number two here.

I run the orientation process. I want to make this quick because I'm tired of repeating this fucking thing to you pathetic S words. You get one question before I begin. He stared down on me and I scrambled to organize my thoughts into something cohesive. That was all horrifying. Why had I kid myself? I fought against the fog and panic in the midst of confusion slowly began to lift. I just lost my job.

Yes, that was a start. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced more the memory to emerge. I lost my job and I was about to lose the house, my wife. Tess, she found out and was going to leave me. I didn't have any way out, didn't have any options, getting fired, had come out of the blue, and it didn't have much in savings. I was broke, soon to be homeless, and my wife hated for it. There was something else.

Yes, that's right. She'd been cheating on me. I'd seen text on her phone while she slept one night and I confirmed my suspicions. My life had degraded to shit and I had run out of my options, humiliated and ashamed, I had decided death was my only option. Hey, fucker, do you have any question or not? Danny said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I was sucked back into reality and I asked the only question that mattered.

Is this hell? Danny snorted. That's always what people asked. He began to pace back and forth in front of me. No. This is not hell. It's not heaven either. This is the black farm.

And no, I didn't name it. This is where God sends the souls who, have ended their own life. S-words. You see, he doesn't really know what to do with you, and neither does the devil. They're genuinely good people who kay themselves, seems cruel to banish them to hell for all of eternity for a moment of weakness, right? Personally, I think God and the devil were just tired of arguing about it. And so they send them here to the Black Farm. Did God create this place, I asked? Growning more and more confused. Danny spit on the floor, chuckling.

Sure, at some point, but he lost control of it when he put the pig in charge. What's the pig I asked? I'm sure I wanted to know the answer. Danny held up his hand annoyed. Can I fucking finish? God created this place, eons ago, put the pig in charge and then forgot about it for a while. Well, when his back was turned, the pig decided to use his new powers to try and create his own little world. This mess you see around you is the fractured remains of that experiment.

The black farm used to be a lot nicer. But the pig wanted things to be different. He wanted to create his own vision. These people, you see, these monsters, they are the pig's attempts to creating functioning life. Instead of mirroring God's earth, these mutated, horrible creations are full of sin and hatred. They run rampant here, unabashed.

This place is chaos. The black farm is a circus of freaks and monsters, and it's your eternity. Fear boiled in my gut like thick oil. No. No, this couldn't be the end. I didn't believe in stuff like this. This wasn't real. I'd wake up soon and realize I was just having a nightmare. That had to be it. Danny stood before me and lightly slapped my face. Hey, hey, don't get into hysterics on me. I haven't finished yet.

I raised my teary eyes to meet his. Danny smiled. You can always feed the pig. My breath pushed from my lungs like burning steam. What does that mean? Danny spread his hands still smiling. It's as simple as that. Feed the pig. If you do so, there's a chance you'll send you back to your life. And what happens if it doesn't? I bumbled. You get sent to hell, so flip a coin if you have one, stay here with us or feed the pig. If you choose to stay, I'll let you go. I'll let you go out there, he said, pointing towards a door. But let me assure you, what awaits you at the end of the hallway?

Well, let's just say that hell isn't that much worse. I swallowed hard, trying my best to digest everything. Why wouldn't I try feeding the pig? Whatever that meant, if there was even a sliver of hope, I would take it. An eternity of this place? The Black Farm, be sent to hell or feed the pig? I would do anything for a chance to go back. This nightmare made my problems seem nothing in comparison.

Danny raised a hand before I could speak. I'll let you think on it for a while. I'll be back later. I want to feed the pig, I cried. Not wanting to spend another second in this awful room, I could hear a woman screaming down the hallway. Her cries rising as something meaty pounding her. My breath came in sharp poles and my throat burned. Danny noticed the noise and grinned.

Sounds pretty bad, huh? He said softly as the woman's voice creaked with agony. Something was still slamming into her. The sound of beaten flesh igniting my imagination with horrors. Please, I gasped, breathlessly. Just let me feed the pig. I don't want to stay here any longer. Danny turned away from me.

I'll be back later. Enjoy your time alone. Really, think about your situation. Weigh your options, and remember, you put yourself here. And with that, he was gone, leaving me in the dim room. Tears streamed down my face. The woman didn't stop screaming for hours. At some point, I fell into a semi-sleep.

The darkness in the room seemed to press in on me, and my eyes fluttered shut. My body ached and my throat was a halo-o-fired. Thirst racked my windpipe like sharp glass. My lips felt like crumpled paper. My head thundered like a drum. The room swam in and out of focus and my mind drifted towards the horrific sounds that never ended. I was lost in a haze, unaware that something was sliding into the room until I felt a sharp prick on my big toe. I jolted out of my days as my barefoot ignited with pain. I screamed and tried to move, but my bindings held me tight. The room rushed back into focus and I blinked in agony as I felt blood trickled between my toes. I looked down for the

source of pain and I felt a scream, clawed my throat. Staring up at me was an armless man. He slithered on the floor like a worm. His bald head scabbed and filthy. His legs were wrapped together in barbed wire, forcing him to wriggle his body to move. His eye were lidless and wide. Two bloodshot white orbs that stared up at me with hungry intensity. His teeth had been removed. and replaced with long screws which jutted from his bleeding gums like a broken rock formation. Around his neck was a chain leash, which I followed across the floor to the open door. The end of the leash was held by a tall naked man. His body was hairless and flabby, covered in similar scabs like his pet.

A dirty bag was pulled over his head that hid his features except for a single red eye that peeked out at me from a crude cut in the cloth. He stared at me and groped his engorged peeword. His breath heavy and labored. As the armless man wriggled towards me again, his master started to mward. I screamed as the screw filled my mouth and bit me again, and my cries seemed to stimulate the naked man even more.

Get off me, stop it, I screamed, horrified, and I tried to kick at the man, doing my best to avoid his sharp metal teeth. I brought my heel down on his head, and he screamed as his face bounced off the floor. A moan of pleasure escaped the bagged man's mouth, and I turned away as a mist of black, sprayed out on the floor. There was a rattle of chains and I turned back to see the two of them leaving.

The armless man dragged by his neck out the door. I looked at where the bagged man had E word and saw a puddle of dead ants. I vomited onto myself, thick, chunky curtains of bile and slime. Get me out of here, I screamed, strands of puk running down my chin. I don't belong here. I listened to the two men retreat down the hallway, the clank of chains accompanied by the sound of flesh being dragged onto the concrete. I screamed again, but I knew no one was going to help me. I spit a wad of phleg and bile onto the floor, ridding my mouth of its soreness. I forced myself to calm down. It wasn't easy. After some time I heard someone else approaching. I'd been in a miserable lull. I mind a blank canvas of dark despair, but the noise roused me from my trance-like state.

The muscles in my arms burned from being restrained for so long and I shifted them desperately. trying my best to repair myself for whatever horror was about to walk through the door. Footsteps drew closer and then a woman walked into the room. She stopped at the doorway and looked at me. One of her eyes was missing. A dark, cavernous hole in her skull. Her hair was ratty and wild, a brown tangle like a forgotten nest. Her skin was pale and filthy and she was dressed in rags.

I couldn't tell how old she was, but there was maturity in her one good eye. Still thinking, she asked, her voice coarse and brittle. What? She took a step closer. Are you still deciding whether you're going to feed the pig or not? I looked at her cautiously. Yeah, I am. Who are you?

What do you want? I was once where you are now, she said, trying to decide my fate. I couldn't believe that this was what happened, what happened after we die. It wasn't what I thought. Religion didn't warn me about this place. I tested my bindings again before asking. You caged yourself too? You're a person like me? You're not one of those, those creations? She snorted. Breaks my heart, you have to ask, though. She touched the hole where her eye should have been, though I can understand your caution.

Yeah, I'm an S word. I've been here a long, long time. But that was my choice. I decided to chance it here. I mentioned with my head towards the door. What's out there? What is all this? She exhaled heavily and leaned against the wall. I can't even begin to describe this place. It's like nothing you've ever seen. You walk down that hallway and go out and into it and she swallowed. You'd have to see it to understand. How bad is it? Why are all these mutated people hurting and killing each other? I asked. She let her head lull back against the wall. It would take years for you to fully understand this place. Years you don't have. Right now you have to make a decision Stay or feed the pig

They tell me hell is worse than here But it can't be by much Monsters and S words roam the black Farm killing R-wording Brutalizing and then you wake up And wonder how long you can survive Before something else kills you It's an endless cycle

So why did you stay I pressed Why didn't you feed the pig I don't even know what that means But I would do anything from our chance to go back I can't stay here I just can't She smiled sadly at me. Why?

Why did I choose this? It's simple, really. I'm a coward. I was a coward when I was alive, and I'm a coward in death. When it came down to it, when the moment presented itself, I chose to stay here. I didn't know what waited me outside. It boiled down to a simple choice fueled by my own fear. What is the pig?

What does it do to you? I pressed. She suddenly turned to go. I'm afraid that's for you to find out, but let me warn you. Think hard before you make a decision. Sometimes suffering through your fear is better than suffering for eternity. Be brave. What do I do? I yelled, shaking in my chair as she walked out of the door.

She paused and took one last look over her shoulder. Her eyes darted around and she dropped her voice to whisper. Feed the pig. And with that she was gone. I sat in silence once again. My mind was spinning, desperately turning over all my options. I still could fully understand the situation I was in. It was too much, too overwhelming.

The other side of death wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't know what I had expected, but it wasn't this nightmare. Questions crashed over my mind like cold waves onto a sinking ship. How was I supposed to make a choice when I didn't even know what my actions entailed? This place, the Black Farm, I couldn't stay here, but what if I went to hell? What if I didn't get sent back? I'd be out of the fire and into the frying pan. my existence would be forever be damned to an unending misery.

Here, though, here there were people like me, S-words. It wasn't all monsters and mutilated murderers. Maybe I could hole up somewhere with them, try to scrape together a passable existence. Surely that would be better than getting sent to hell. No. No, this wasn't going to be how I spent my eternity. I refused to let it be. If there was even the slightest sliver of hope, I would take it.

I didn't want to wonder what could have been. I didn't want to be tormented by doubt. I would feed the pig and accept whatever fake chose for me. When I bowled down, there was only one option left. I would feed the pig. Hey, hello, Danny, I yelled, rattling him in my chair. I made my decision, Danny. After a couple seconds, I heard footsteps echoed down the hall towards me.

Danny walked through the doorway, so annoyed look on his face. I made my choice, I said. I'm going to feed the pig. Sounds like you've really thought a lot. about it since I left you, Danny said sarcastically. I licked my lips. You do the same thing if you were my place. Danny walked behind me. I was in your place once and I chose differently. My eyes widened and then Danny wrapped my entire head with a strip of thin cloth binding me. I sucked in as much air as I could, but each lung fell felt empty. I felt Danny cut me free from the chair and my body sighed as

my stiff muscles were released. I rolled my shoulders as my hands were released. I rolled my shoulders as my hands were released and I moaned with relief. I dug my fingers into my back and I stretched, my bones creaking. Keep her blindfold on and follow me, Danny said, pulling me up. My leg shook as I put weight on them. My thighs trembling after the long cemented position. I groped blindly in front of me and found Danny's shoulder. I rested my hand on it and he walked us out of the room. As we entered the hallway, I could suddenly hear sounds I had it before. The clank of metal, a long, fleshy, tearing noise, something vomiting. These sounds sprang to life in my ears,

painting the darkness before my eyes with imaginary scenes of horror. I gripped Danny's shoulder tighter, stumbling behind him, my heart thundering. I heard something trailing behind us, but Danny didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care. Flesh slapped the concrete,

mere inches behind me, and I suddenly felt hot breath on my neck and the click of a wet tongue against gums. My breathing became even more labored, as fear choked me. me. Going in you to feed the pig, are you? Something whispered in my ear. I felt something pressed against the back of my head, and I tried not to think about what it might be. It was wet and slimy, and I heard the thing chuckle. He's a hungry pig. You make sure he gets his meal now.

The thing whispered again. It's voiced low and unlike anything I'd ever heard before. It was like a series of grunts and moans jumbled together to form broken words. To my relief, I heard the thing retreat back to wherever it came from. and I continued to follow Danny. He remained silent as we walked and I could feel shifts in my air. The thick heat gave way to a cooler, almost pleasant temperature,

but then it kept decreasing and soon I was shivering violently against a coal. I couldn't see anything, but I felt a breeze on my face like we were outside. I didn't hear Danny open any doors, but nothing about this place was natural. It was like reality blurred and bled into itself,

like reels of film melting together. Teeth chattering, I was suddenly black, with intense heat and I gasped. My feet tripped over themselves as the train changed and I was suddenly walking on what felt like warm iron. My ears were filled with the sound of blazing furnaces and the clash of working machinery. I couldn't see it but I felt like there was a vast open expanse overhead. I smelled ash and tasted dirt on my tongue, sweat already forming along my spine. Suddenly I crashed into Danny as he came to a halt. I backed up a few places, quickly and muttered my apologies. I could hear movement in front of us, a rustle of chains and an old clicking sound

on the metal floor. Something else, too. Something snorting. And then this room filled with a deafening sound of an immense pig squealing. I covered my ears, head splitting at the high-pitched whale. I gripped my teeth as the noise echoed off the metal and faded into a series of snorts and grunts. It sounded absolutely enormous. I brought another one, Danny announced. A slight tinge of respect lining his voice. He wants to feed the pig. I waited, expecting to hear some answer. The cloth around my eyes sealing my sight to darkness.

I realized my knees were shaking and my back was coated in sweat. I was terrified. If that is what you wish, Danny said, and I felt in bow under my hand. Apparently some unseen conversation had just happened and Danny took my wrist and pushed me forward. Approached the pig, he instructed. My whole body trembled and my knees, locked in place. Rob from sight, I raised my hand, trying to get my brains. The heat and ash filled

my head with nausea. I felt like I was going to throw up. My stomach rolling like a dead sea. I didn't know where I was or what horror lay before me. I felt lost in tiny. A fresh splash of tears dripping from my eyes and soaking into the cloth around my face. But please, I beg. Let me see what's happening. Danny was suddenly behind me, pushing me forward. He guided my hands towards something as we stepped together in unison. Even with the clother on my face, I could see a giant mass of towering darkness before me. It was a spot of black on and already darkened canvas. As we walked forward, I was suddenly assaulted by a horrendous smell and I gagged, turning away.

Danny's grip tightened and forced me to continue. I could sense something just in front of me, a living, shifting mass of flesh. The smell increased to be a wretched level, and I gagged again. Then hot air was being blown on my face, a blast of heat that came and repeated short bursts. I vomited into the cloth, the source of the smell stemming from the hot air. I choked as the bile gushed over the fabric, soaking it and momentarily cutting off my oxygen. Danny slapped my hands again, and I took a few seconds to steadily my breathing again. I was openly crying now, fear and misery collapsing my willpower.

The wet cloth stunk as I sucked in, soggy bruce. breaths. My own stomach acid coated my skin, and I begged for all of this to be over. And then something squealed directly in front of me. I felt my bladder go. I was standing before the pig. It was a source of darkness in my obscured vision, a fat titanic creature that filled my senses with every breath it blew into my face. Danny raised my hands and suddenly I was touching the pig's snout. I recall it immediately, but Danny forced my hands back. Its fur was stiff and brittle, and as my shaking hands explored up its nose, the size of the animal became clear to me. It was gigantic and had weighed over a ton.

Its flesh wiggled under my sweating hands, and it opened its mouth slightly. My fingers curled around, teeth, the size of kitchen knives, and I realized its mouth was absolutely carnivorous. The pig squealed again, and I heard its hoofs clack against the ground. It sounded like thunder rolling across an open field in the middle of summer. Take this blindfold off, please, I begged, my legs turning to jelly. Danny had taken a few steps back and I heard reverence in his voice. You don't want to do that.

I jumped as the pig nudged me with its nose, the wet circle of flesh squishing against the length of my face. I shuddered away, raising my hands and omitting a cry of fear. Feed the pig, Danny instructed. His voice likes cold steel now. You made your choice. Now live with it. It's the only chance you have of going back. or maybe the pig won't like how you taste and send you to hell only one way to find out my eyes widened behind the vomit soaked cloth won't like how i taste climb into its mouth my bladder let go again and i felt warm piss run down my leg no no no no no you can't mean danny's voice hardened climb into its mouth and don't stop crawling forward until it's done with it's done with it's done with it's done with you know don't know you can't mean danny's voice hardened climb into its mouth and don't stop crawling forward until it's done

you. But please, I begged, turning towards Danny's voice, reaching out blindly. Please, there has to be some other way. Don't make me do this. I was a mess of snot in tears. My words bumbling from my mouth like a toddler. Danny stepped forward and spun me back to face the pig. Do it!

You made your choice. It will all be over soon. This is your only chance. I could feel the pig breathing over my face. It's now mere inches from mine. The smell in Hitoomitted made me want to vomit again, but I held it back. This was insane. This wasn't happening.

My mind spun and twisted in chaos and fear. There had to be some other way. I couldn't do this. I could not do this. Suddenly, I remember the words of the woman. Sometimes suffering through your fear is better than suffering for eternity. Be brave. This was my only chance to get back to the world of the living.

I had made such a terrible mistake in Cain and myself. If I could go back and change my life, I wouldn't have to spend eternity here. I could change my ways, and sure I spot somewhere else, somewhere away from the pig. But what if I decided to send me to hell, how much more suffering could I endure? I had to take the chance. Please, God, I whispered, taking a step forward. If you can hear me, please have mercy on me. My shaking hands reached out for the pig and I grasped its thick fur.

I felt it slowly lowered its head and open its mouth. It was waiting for me. It's thick, hot breath, stinking in my nostrils. This was it. No turning back now. I slowly gripped its teeth and pulled myself forward into its jaws. Its head was at a downward angle and so I immediately fell into my stomach at a 45 degree angle. Its wet tongue switched under me and I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe.

Tears soaked my blindfold and my heart crunched against my ribs. I slowly reached forward and found another tooth to grab onto. Gritting my teeth, I pulled my body inward past my knees. The pig raised its head and I was suddenly completely, completely horizontal on its tongue. Saliva and mucus stripped around me and the heat was so intense I almost blacked out. My knees clacked against its front teeth as I pulled myself even deeper. Its inner cheeks pressed in around me, squeezing my body like a soaking, flushing cough.

Crying, terrified, I reached ahead of me and found more teeth. I pulled myself deeper into its mouth and I felt my feet slide past its lips. My whole body was coated in slime and I openly wept, grasping in the darkness for another tooth. And that's when the pig started to chew on me. I screamed in crushing agony as my body was compressed between its massive teeth. I heard my legs snap instantly and felt wet bone pop for my skin. I shook violently as my body spasmed in shock, a mangled twist of blood and pain. Its tongue shifted me in its mouth and I felt it bite down on my shoulder.

My eyes bulged in their sockets as I howled, a hot pillar crunching down on my collarbone. I threw up violently, unable to control myself the pain overwhelming, keep crawling. Screaming. Bloodshot eyes rolling wildly. I reached forward with my good arm, wetly surging for another tooth. I gripped my teeth, blood squirting between them as my fingers wrapped around something solid. The pig bit down again. Its tongue twisting my body so its molars could snap me on its knees.

The pain brought darkness, but when my howling screams forced my eyes to remain open. Jesus, make it stop, I bellowed. My trembling hand still gripping the tooth ahead of me. Please, make it fucking stop. I ground my teeth together so hardly cracked, screaming as I slowly pulled my body deeper into the mouth. Something was changing. The tight walls of its throat squeezed my head and I realized I was almost through. Come on, you motherfucker.

Come on, I begged. Vocal cords cracking. I reached ahead of me and grabbed onto a thick wad of flesh. My hand felt like it was splitting and the pig bit down on me again. I gasp, blood exploding from my mouth and a great gush of red. It had pierced through my stomach obliterated my insides like bloated noodles. Darkness rushed in on me and I was in too much shock to even scream. With the last of my strength, right as the blackness took me,

I pulled myself forward one last time and felt myself slide down its throat. Darkness, falling, screaming. I was screaming. Heat Heat so intense I thought I would melt. Clanging. Something was hammering on metal. Colors and images flew past me so quickly I could only make out their shape.

Blood poured into my eyes. I felt like I would keep on forever. Suddenly my eyes snapped open and I was falling, my breath rushing back into my lungs in a great wave of purity. My face bounced off wood floor and I cried out as I felt my nose break. I tasted blood and saw stars. I'd stop falling. There was a ring of burning fire around my throat, and I felt impossibly thirsty.

I was lying on the floor. I slowly opened my eyes again, and in the darkness began to fade like morning mist under a hot sun. Colors blended together, and shapes came into focus. I was in my woodshed. I reached up around my throat and grasped at the source of the heat. It was the rope I had hung myself with, but now it was severed, releasing me from the grip of death. Relief rolled over me in overwhelming waves of things. I curled up on the floor and sobbed, tears dripping from my eyes onto the dirty floor.

My body shook, unbroken, as I wept. Wet horse cries rising from my quivering lips. I had been spared. I was alive again. From my spot on the floor, I turned my eyes upward. My voice crackling. Thank you, God. Oh, thank you.

I fell into another fit of uncontrollable sobbing. I promise I won't waste my life again. I promise I'll make things right. I'll fix everything. I don't know how long it was before I got up. Time seemed to stretch for eternity. My mind refused to rebuild. The horrors of what I had just witnessed, crushing me.

But I knew I would do everything I could to make the most out of my life. I was going to live every day to the fullest. I would devote myself to helping others in dark times. I would reach out to as many S words as I could and try to save them from what it waited on the other side. I didn't want anyone else to have to witness the horrors of S-word. I didn't want anyone else to have to feed the pig. Prison is hell.

I hate it here. Granted, I deserve it. I'm currently locked down behind massive concrete walls and solid steel doors in a maximum security penitentiary. I was locked up what feels like a lifetime ago now. I earned it. I did. Every second I rodden here is justice,

but that doesn't change the fact that I hate. It is cold here. I have a single concrete cotton toilet. My clothes itch and are too thin to keep any chills out. The walls are gray with a sickly green tint due to the dull swamp-like tile that sends a grossly colored glow into the room reflecting and buzzing florescent lie above me. The door is thick and unmoving. They painted the same shade of sickly green as the floor. I assume it is lead-based to save on cost. Maybe, if I look at enough times, Maybe I can kill enough brain cells so forget I'm here. I have no roommates.

And many don't know who perceive as extreme risks. Thankfully, I can still have time outside and shower without being entirely supervised, more than I can say for many in here. My only commodity is my toilet paper and my journal. I earn the journal through much work and good behavior. The pencil I write with is dull and has no racer. Like that a golfer would use to keep scorecards. I'm allowed four hours poor day with it. Between breakfast and lunch, I receive the journal and pencil with my meal and return it in kind. If the pencil has any pieces missing, or there are any

extensive tears in the pages, then I will lose it for the following day. So I can ply. I can ply, so I may have some mild comfort in this concrete cage in which I slowly die. Again, I definitely earned it, but that doesn't change the fact that prison is hell. I earned my place here because I killed people. I killed many people. I killed 20 people, to be exact. This is the first time I've actually written it. I beat the cannibal's number, which for some reason gave me a sense of accomplishment.

However, what gave me more satisfaction was the evenness of the number. 20 to zero. 20, 20, 2 slash zero. 2.0. 20. Even and smooth. My compulsion made it this way. 21 would have made it getting arrested a living hell. 15 would have been okay, but 20 was much cleaner. Increments of five, always increments of five. Sometimes during a shopping trip, I would grab a stick of gum so as to have 20 or 10 or 30 items even. However, in this case of the killings, it was much more intense. The problem was the itch I felt in between.

I was nine pain in my mind from 14 in 69. The itch was not as bad during fives, but tens were the best. However, that number will eventually attract attention. That number is practically what got me caught. But I had to scratch the itch, so to speak. It made me empathize with vampires in the old horror stories, the sensation of aching thirst that could not be quenched. It is nightmarish.

The same remained true for my age. 40. I finished at 40, which made me feel content. I hated not having an even age. I could force down the bad feelings my age ended in fives or even numbers, but I always had bad years with ones, threes, sevens, and nines. I digress. I understand it is an abnormal behavior, but it's a compulsion. I have it manageable so that most would never notice it in a day-to-day routine. I have to reminisce on these pages because I have no way of going back. It started many years ago, and the urge only grew from there. The first time I killed was interesting.

I should have felt the need to immediately kill again, as I did in later years, but I didn't. They say mental illness worsens with age. I guess that's what kept me from acting again so soon, but I'm not sure. The first time I killed was pretty lackluster. I was walking home from school through the woods where very few kids were bold enough to cross. While walking, I stumbled upon a man. He was clearly injured, and even at the age of, 12, I knew he had little time left. He sat holding his side, panting and labored breaths.

He didn't see me yet. From my vantage point, I could see a long, white bone jutting from his leg, which tells me the pain from what his ribs were doing was worse than that of a broken leg. That, or he was just in shock. Far above this section of woods was a road, and from what I could see, a vehicle burst through railing. The wrecked vehicle, a 69 Chevy C-20 truck, lay decimated, some 40 feet below the roadway in the brush and rocks. I remember this truck because I wound up purchasing one many, many years later, in a secret nostalgia for myself. Either way, the driver had pulled himself from the wreckage

and crawled in agony upwards of 50 feet to the nearest tree, where his strength was slowly failing him. I remember seeing a large shard of metal, which had been ripped from the side of the truck and picking it up. I walked slowly to the man, who reached pitifully towards me for help. help. I slowly shoved the sharp edge of the metal into the man's throat and watched as blood began to spurt from the wound and his mouth. He gargled like a drowning so on his own blood,

and after a time he ceased all movement, forever. It was a rush of which I cannot explain. The excitement of ending a human life is next to none. I was content for a fleeting moment. I stared at the body for some time before taking a bloody shred of his pant leg that was hanging by thread. I just wanted to have a keepsake. That was my first kill. I was never caught, nor even suspected. Growing up in the mountains of the South allowed much privacy, and it allowed me to get away with murder. As time grew, so did the feeling of power and accomplishment. I felt like God. No one even knew I was the way I was. I would never be a suspect because I knew to hide. I hid well because I knew how to hide.

From the time I was a boy, I knew how to blend in. Sometimes it was a challenge because of my appearance, but I learned a simple skill, how to hide in plain sight. I was able to work hard in the background. I made a few good grades and maintained very few close relationships throughout school, so no one would discover anything about me. However, I made sure everyone had a nice thing to say about me, carrying groceries, helping kids with studying, always using manners. I graduated in the upper ranks of

my class and soon attended the local college. After I earned a degree in business, I worked hard where I could raise and enough money to buy my own rig. I worked by riding the highways as a trucker for years and eventually bought two more rigs. By 35, I was a respectable business owner in my old town with a dispatch and a few drivers. I obviously still drove, even as the owner, because it kept me close to my only real passion. I hid well in plain sight because white people love an N-word. In a town of 90% white and 10% other, I learned to blend despite being a minority. Learn to talk like them, learn to walk like them, and you can manipulate them into whatever you want. I hate them, not white people, all people. My mother died shortly after I graduated high school

from heart failure, and I felt liberated, for I held her opinion highly. Her opinions often kept me in line and respectable. When she died, I was free to pursue my own interests. My father, while a good man in his own right, never held much weight in my actions. So I walked the path I chose for myself, despite what his feelings may be. Either way, I dwindled for some time after the first murder. The urge slowly grew. By high school, I kept my eyes peeled for another opportunity to stop. snuff out of life. Finally, that day came. The second time I murdered was equally uninspiring. I found myself at a graduation party and the whole senior class was drinking heavily. All except me, that is. We were at the home of a wealthier student who had maintained a spotless

record through both junior year and high school and wanted to go out in a way where she could get out of her proverbial box. I learned two things that evening. The first, that a well-mannered, well-educated young lady, was no different than anyone else in regards to having a darker side. She wanted to be remembered for a party. Not her good grades, not her generous deeds, not her modest manner of dress, but a party. Everyone has a dark side in some way. This was the first thing I learned. The second was that if everyone is drunk and dancing on the roof, you could bump a certain young lady discreetly enough to send her three stories down into the concrete and make it look like an accident.

She landed with a smack that can only be replicated in my dreams. This was the first time I was aroused by a killing. I'm not sure why. She was in a two-piece, which I assume her parents knew nothing about, and her skin was pale and smooth. Her deep brown hair flowed past her shoulders, and the look of utter confusion and terror in the face of innocence was priceless. Blood pulled from her head and seeped into the nearby swimming pool.

I fancied her. You could say that, but only because she represented something that does not exist. Human innocence. When her skull cracked hard against the pavement, I was instantly excited. I had to sneak away to handle it and steal a memento from the girl's room. Meanwhile, the remaining partygoers descended into madness trying to repair a situation that was far beyond broken. The chaos I caused that night only resurfaced my deep sense of accomplishment that only comes from death. This was the second time I killed.

18 years of age. By the time I hit my stride, I stood at 6.2 at 260 pounds. I'd always enjoyed lifting weights and working towards my overall health. A fat predator is a bad predator. I maintained this level of fitness for most of my adult life. I had to in order to pursue my passion. Of course, things would have a way of catching up with me. I was incarcerated with an unfortunate mountain of evidence.

I wouldn't say I covered every base perfectly to ensure not getting caught, but I felt like I was careful enough, I guess not in hindsight. I remember the day I was arrested. I turned 40, the month prior, and was on the road delivering a shipment of plywood. I was behind the wheel of my rig in rural Alabama. I was taking a back road because I enjoy the scenery, and when you're the boss, you can set your own schedule. At this point, I had killed 19 people and the itch was present. I would have to rub the back of my neck when I thought about it. It needed to be scratched.

I needed to take care of it. That's when I saw her. Miles from any structure or any living person was a broken down baby blue Volkswagen Beetle. The emergency lights were flashing and a woman was looking into her engine compartment. The height of my truck allowed me to scan both her car and the area surrounding us. It was all tall, uncut grass and trees covered in utter blackness due to the overcast night. There was no one for miles and miles. We could be alone together.

I pulled in behind her with my low light, says, not to scare her. When I stepped out of the truck, I addressed her. Pardon, me, ma'am, I said calmly. I know how to disarm. I've worked on my speaking voice for years in order to betray the security into my hands. Are you all right? She stepped out from behind her hood, and I saw her in better light. She was a young Hispanic woman.

Her clothes were tattered, but I think that was intentional. She had silky, dark hair to her shoulders and black librarian glasses. She was pretty, which was a bonus for me. Consider it like a dinner. You're going to get your meal, but when it includes dessert, then it is all the better. I also knew she could complete this cycle. She could be the 20th, and I could rest. Best yet, she was petite, so there would be a little fight.

I think the engine is shot, she said in desperation, that these dark woods certainly played well into. She just wanted to get out of danger. Little did she know. I can give you a ride. I own this company so I can make the time. I didn't want to sound presumptuous, but I knew by making myself a manager it would remove the creepy truck driver mentality. I don't know.

I promise, I edged. In my best Zippa-D-Doodah voice, I'll take you straight into town and we can find you a phone. My wife would kill me if I let a young lady stay stranded in the woods. I wasn't married, but that. is another way of disarming her. A spouse always makes a man less dangerous, or again, as she thought. Okay, she said with her fear betraying her skepticism, thank you. I'll get the door for you. As she walked to the passenger's side, I held the door open for her. As she took her first step up,

I grabbed her ankle and pulled her straight down with as much force as I can manage. Her jaw connected with a studded, metal stairs full force. I know some teeth were broken by the crunch that emanated from her skull. She fell limped to the dirt as I lifted her onto my shoulder. She didn't stir long enough for me to grab a large socket wrench for my rig. I could feel the warm blood from her mouth pouring down my shoulder. I carried her into the tall grass just out of sight. We made love then.

I made love before to some, but this was special. She was the 20th. She would complete the need. Halfway through she began to wake up and struggle. From there I had to act. I took the socket wrench and began to hit her. she struggled to scream due to her shattered jaw i hit her in her pretty face over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

and over. When I'd finished on all fronts, I took her wallet from her jeans off beside us. Hannah, I believe her name was. I took my glasses, and as they fell off from her face, collided with my truck, and avoided the wrath of the socket wrench. They had her name engraved inside the temple. I drove, leaving the scene entirely. I had to re-enter the highway sometime later and saw lights on my mirror. I'd been stopped before, once even with a body in the back, so I was not

worried. The officer walked to the side and called me out. You Williams? My last name. He asked with an unreadable demeanor. Yes, sir, I answered coolly, holding my ID and paperwork for the truck and delivery. He then spoke into his radar. Yeah, we found him. Officer, what's this about? I was cut short. Sir, please turn around and place your hands behind your back. Why, I demanded. I was not about to be cuffed and restrained for no good reason. He then turned me violently to my truck and slapped cops. cuffs around my wrist. From there, he sat me on the pavement and called for backup. When other Iraq officers arrived, one finally noticed the blood on my back. Then they found the glasses. They then found the poorly wiped down socket wrench. They then received word of a brutal

mutilation several towns over. They had stopped me initially because one of my drivers was caught with a brick of marijuana, and they wanted to stop all trucks from my dispatch to make sure we were legitimate. It would be funny if it weren't so infuriating. I was brought down on a technicality. My run lasted from 12 to 40. I was undetected for that entire time. I changed my MO. I killed strangers only.

I was so careful. A technicality was the only thing that could have done this. My simple home was turned around until they found my treasure box, a shoe box of souvenirs and news clippings. From there, it was easy to put me at every single murder. Every homeless person stabbed to death in cities, every transient prostitute with their heads missing, every unsupervised child in crowded streets. I was linked to them all.

Now, one may ask, why would you be so stupid as to keep mementos? To that, I would say I had to. It was my passion and the only thing that gave me meaning. I had to keep something around. They were the only memories I could have of those times. Like I first wrote, I deserve to be in prison, but I don't regret it in the slightest what I've done. The trial was grueling and irritating. Since I killed across state lines, there was arguments as to where to have my trial, but it became a federal issue, which only meant more bureaucracy.

My lawyer explained many of the killings would be circumstantial at best, but just as many have my now connected DNA to the scene and are going to be nearly impossible. to deny. I decided to throw in the towel. The media was out for blood, the public was out for blood, and the jury was out for blood. I had my fill, so now it was time to pay the favor forward. There was no way to avoid the life sentence, so I may as well come clean and get a regale to the tales of my exploits to a room of terrified jurors and family members burning with hatred. Despite the difficulties of finding some evidence of murders, I was convicted still of 18 of the 20. However, I was punished for them all regardless. The day of sentencing, I stood still and stoic before the judge.

I could feel the eyes of all those present, attempting to sear me, but failing. The judge looked down at me and rambled on about my cruelties and resentment for man. The entire time he droned, I stood with the thought that the death penalty was legal in this day. It was utterly satisfying to know the uproarious crowds calling for my head when the law wouldn't allow it. I snapped out of it when he got to the sentence. Seeing as how the death penalty is illegal in this state, I could only do the most with that in light. I hereby sentence you to one thousand in one life sentences. He was being melodramatic.

Not in history had there been such an absurd sentence. What's worse, the number was uneven. meaning the rest of my life I would have to stay one thousand and one when discussing my sentence. He knew this. My demeanor slightly shaken. I asked the judge, why? One thousand and one. The courtroom was silent.

The family's friends and jury looked at me with contempt, but that didn't matter. Even less now. The judge leaned over his podium. He smiled with a smugness that still boils my blood and he calmly replied to torment you. That's how I got where I am now. I don't interact with the other inmates or the guards. I just mind my business as best I can. I don't like to think about my sentence because it makes me itch. Similar to when you haven't paid a certain bill but don't have the funds, it's a wincing mental discomfort. I write the rest of this in a testament to what happened yesterday

in hopes it reaches someone on the outside. My day started normally, a loud, bell rang and I stood to my feet. From there, my door opened and I walked to the shower facility. I tried to find myself at the end of the line, so as to get the most time out of my cell. I also like my privacy. The inmates here are insufferable. They are uneducated criminals who would have no life outside of these walls. My fellow black inmates gave me hell for being crazy since African-American serial killers are considered such an abnormality. The other races tended to stay into themselves. Mine is a few Aryan brotherhood members, casting the occasional slur my direction. I entered the shower as normal, but I felt an innate sense of dread that I don't know how to

describe. I just felt unpleasant. I felt watched and alone at the same time. I felt completely hopeless and near despair. I quickly finished my shower and left the facility. The halls were quiet, and the stationary guard was not at his post in front of my cell. I was alone in this hallway. Suddenly I felt a large hand to grip my shoulder and order me forward. The only thing I knew I was being escorted to the warden's office. I was somewhat stunned, but complied. I walked the tight and closed halls until I reached the last room on the right. Inside was totally dark apart from a dim lamp illuminating a desk.

The hand shoved me in and slammed the door behind me. I saw the silhouette of a warden, and he beckoned me to sit. I sat across from him in uncomfortable silence. He didn't move and neither did die. I'd force him to make the first move. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke up. Let's go over foul. His voice carried and mild southern accent sprinkled in.

I'd not respond. He gave no indication as to why so I would just bide my time. From here, I will paraphrase what he said, as my memory can't perfectly recreate the entire conversation. Count one. Confest, not consider. convicted. Man falls off cliff and you assist him in passing. You were 12, so it wasn't including your final file, but it warrants mentioning. Count two, confessed, convicted. You confessed to

shoving a young woman off a roof and then robbing her home of a trophy. You were 18. Count three, confessed, convicted. Homeless man near your college, you stabbed them and cut out a tooth. You were 20. Count four, confessed, not convicted. You claim to have shot a prostitute in Texas. The souvenir you took could not link you to a crime, and she had no family. You were 24. Not convicted, but you know what you did. Counts five through nine. Confessed.

Convicted on all the counts. You killed five lot lizards before changing your M.O. Now is smart. They're all strangled, and you kept a lock of hair, left them on the highway. Counts ten? Confessed. Convicted. You took a lost 12-year-old and drowned them.

You kept his retainer. You're doing well in life by this point, but murder still called, didn't it? Count 11? Confessed, convicted. Ah, this one was special, wasn't she? That gas station employee who you stocked for a while, followed her home and broke in, took your time, and did it right. She broke your perfect streak, and you were going to make her pay, right? Kept her locket as a token of your affection.

Count 12, confessed, convicted. You took a young man to your house, from a local club in Missouri, strangled him the moment the door was closed, chopped him up, and kept his teeth. Counts 13 through 17 confessed, convicted on all accounts. The hitchhiker phase here seems you just wanted to close the gap. You got sloppy, left a lot of evidence behind. I guess because they were vagrants, it wouldn't have mattered. Count 18, confessed, convicted. You killed the housewife in Florida. You're on vacation at that time. You spotted her and just had to do something, waiting until her husband left and

had your time. Another R-word and strangling. You took her blood-soaked necklace. Count 19, confessed, convicted. You saw a jogger one morning and followed in your truck. When you knew your routine, and you waited in the bushes until he passed. You killed him with a hammer and took one of his shoes. Count 20. Confessed. Convicted. The one that brought you down. You couldn't resist her. You were too careless, too excited. Now you're here. You took her glasses and bashing her head in and assaulting her. He took a deep breath and his outline sat back. Do you know? You know what they call you? He asked me incredulously. I was living. He completely bastardized my work. I had done so much and he swept it over like an obituary column. I glanced at him in the dark before answering. The scavenger hunt

killer? I hated that name. They donned me in the scavenger hunt killer because my murder spanned so far and I collected odd, discounted items. Again, my works and efforts were reduced to a joke. It still makes me sick. The warden spoke up again. Are you sorry? I sat for a moment before responding. Would it matter? He chuckled in a deep, throaty laugh. No? He said, settling in. I guess it wouldn't. He continued. I don't really get it.

You're a highly intelligent, healthy, and well-spoken man. Why on earth would you throw that away? I sat in an angry silence. I refused to give this man the satisfaction of an answer. Do you believe in God? The Gordon asked. His tone now changed. I chewed my tongue before responding.

No. Pity. He responded. Lacked out. as if my response didn't really matter. I'll make what I'm about to tell you so much better. I waited for him to continue. Your sentence?

He's being commuted. I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Really? Yes, he sat, still shadowed, but I knew he was smirking. What does that have to do with God? I know I should have had much more important questions to ask in that moment, but I was curious. I assumed he meant I should be thinking.

thankful. Well, he said, his voice trailing, that would make this next part easier. You passed away this morning, son. Before I could respond to his hand tossed a few photos in front of me, it was me. I lay covered in blood on the shower floor. I had been stabbed from the looks of it. Yeah. The warden, or who I thought was the warden, spoke up. Some Aryan fellow wanted to prove his might by stabbing a serial killer to death in the shower. Didn't work, though, since he was cotton. Well, most likely, being solitary until it does irreparable damage if that's some comfort i stared at him i stared at the photographs i simple could not accept it this is absurd i felt insulted in the prospect i know it seems odd but hear me out he sat upright ready to make his case do you know what the universalists are no well he continued

without missing a beat basically it states that everyone gets into heaven even if you aren't necessarily in their denomination. This is heaven? I was ready to laugh. This was a joke. No. See, that's the bad news, he continued. Catholics, Muslim, some Buddhists. See, they believe in a temporal plane, so they're all sort of right. See, everyone does eventually move on, but before anyone can move on, they must resolve all their earthly obligations and judgments. Before I could remark, he caught his breath and explained further. You died this morning. You served only.

You served one of your 1,000-1 life sentences. Welcome to number two. I stood up. This isn't funny I'm leaving. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place, unable to use my body. My eyes felt like they were being pried towards the seat. Please, I heard the warden through his voice, was now much deeper, sinking my gut.

Sit. I returned to my seat with a sensation that was new to me. Fear. Now, he continued, his voice returned to normal. You are not dead. You just started another sentence. Everything will be back to normal when you leave, but when I dismiss you, you will leave here and return to your bunk. Do you understand?

I nodded. He still stunned by what I then knew as truth. His voice. The unexplained dread I felt that morning. I walked out of the warden's office that day, feeling a hopelessness I have never known. The prison was the same, but it wasn't. It was lonelier, darker. That feels like forever ago.

I learned since then, first, lifetime does not mean from your age you are incarcerated. I expected a 40-year life sentence, but after speaking with a few other inmates serving like myself, who I see sometimes sparingly, I learned that it varies somewhere from 80 to 120 years. It varies, but it is always at least. I guess the guards don't notice after a certain point. Also, I assume they don't register that we never seem to leave. Inexplicable, but that's what's happening. Second, each go-round changes you.

The prisoners don't notice you. The others like you have fewer words. The guards seemed always outside of the line of sight, even when they would interact. They were like fleeting shadows. I'm cracking mentally. Now I walk into the showers and see someone shaving, even speak with them at length. However, when I turn a corner or close the stall door, he'll be gone when I return. Next, I learned that S word doesn't work.

I learned the same way every inmate in here like me does. I asked my wrists and they just ached for a week. I swallowed bleach and had a miserable stomach ache, but no death. I ached myself where I choked and flailed, fully conscious for eight straight hours until a guard found me while bringing my breakfast the following morning. I learned that being murdered decreases time, but murdering adds to it. So no one on Life Row attempts murder here. Finally, escaping isn't an option. We have runners sometimes, men who just finished their first sentence. The guy just snapped. I guess he pulled maybe 60 years before dying into sleep. He just panicked and ran. The snipers

didn't even turn. He grabbed the fence and immediately fell to the ground. From there, he shook violently. He died right there of a heart attack. I saw him a week later. Third life sentence. Half crippled. I guess we just get punished if we try to leave. I don't know if it's permanent. He was a wreck upon returning. It reminded me of the cats in my neighborhood as a boy. The first time you heard it, the animal twitches and becomes neurotic, but given enough time it accepts its fate. The man now spends his day staring silently behind dead eyes at whatever light source is around. To some, this is limbo, where we remain trapped in prison, in which we are condemned until our body and soul have finished their sentences. To others, this is some kind of purgatory, where we all groomed for eternity in paradise.

Either way, we are forced to remain, forced to live until we pay our dues, never truly dying. I don't even know if time is the same now, but if you're reading this, I managed to successfully get these pages out. I have handful of plans, which I cannot record. I cannot risk any feature attempts should this fail. I'm leaving this journal for anyone who is a criminal or wants to become one. I have between 80,000 to 100,000 years left. I do not feel remorse, but I do wish I knew then what I know now. This is simply a warning.

A hundred thousand years on a concrete slab, a hard, unforgiving surface. A hundred thousand years with one hour a day in a dying earthscape I barely recognize. 100,000 years of sickly green floors and cold steel doors that move for nothing. 100,000 years of mopping floors or scrubbing toilets. 100,000 years of being monitored by beings I cannot fully comprehend as their burning horror erupts in the back of my mind. 1,000 in one life sentences. 1,000 to go. Only one small thing gives me comfort. With 1,000 life sentences at least, it's a nice, clean number. I hope I don't die too soon and ruin this nice, even lifetime because

the next one will be hell. Stay in your vehicle. Back in April of 2013, I went through something that I haven't been able to talk about. I was paid a significant amount of money to stay quiet. in return for signing a 10-year agreement to shut the hell up. Now that the time is up, I've considered my opinions. I could just let this go and never speak of it again. I won't gain anything from speaking out, and I got a lot to lose. But then, again, this is just an anonymous post online. Words have less meaning that way.

West Virginia. It was hotter than usual. Without a whiff of wind, I was coming home from a visit to my aunt. She'd broken her leg and couldn't leave the house. I was making my way back home, taking the I-64 out of Lewisburg. It started with the radio. It was playing that one Macamore song I'd heard a hundred times over. The sound was cutting in and out in a quick statico.

Then it disappeared completely. I could hear cars honking up front as the line began to form. There was a sway in the trees, as it was greater and greater pressure was being put on them. I could hear wind rushing against the left side of the car, focusing me to pull the other way to compensate. I closed a sunroof as a dust cloud blue pass, staining the windshield. Then a rumble. It sounded like thunder, but from what the ground, like a groaning below. Growing louder and clearer by the second.

As it reached its peak, I could see trees toppling over. A small kea got pushed off balance and swerved off the road. As the sound died down, the road dissolved into chaos. Some were desperately changing lanes, others were stepping on the brakes. I got my door scraped as the car behind me spent. had passed. The radio is playing an automated message, a local emergency alert, referred to as a geological event. We were asked to turn off all air conditioning, slow down, and divert to the nearest exit. It repeated in a monotone voice. Geological event. No air conditioning. Slow down. Divert to nearest exit.

Minutes passed, there was a line forming further down the road. Police officers blocking the lanes in all directions, leaving a highway exit as the only option. Some folks were trying to push past the barricades, but were forced back at gunpoint. I could see some officers wearing gas masks and riot shields. We were waved in. I followed the exit and got directed to the right. There was an open field that was used as a sort of impromptu parking lot. Cars were being waved in and parked in a way that boxed in, leaving no room for us to open our doors in either direction unless we got parked at the edge. Four lines of cars with about 10 to 15 vehicles per line. Surplus vehicles were directed further down the road. The place was packed. I got stuck in the second row, about six cars in.

Pretty much everyone around me were on their phones. I didn't have anyone to call, but there seemed to be an issue getting a signal through. The radio was still repeating the emergency message. Voices were getting louder. A man two cars to my left leaned out of a gap in the door, screaming at the officers to answer his question. They responded immediately with a warning shot straight into the air. Stay in your vehicle, they screamed. Lock your doors. I'm not telling you again.

A couple of folks were filming, but there seemed to be trouble uploading. We were losing bandwidth. It didn't take long until phone signals were completely blocked. I think a video or two of that officer firing into the air made it online. They were patrolling back and forth. We were told to stay in her vehicle was windows up, doors closed and locked, engines off. I could hear people talking in their cars. Someone said there'd be a natural gas leak from a geological event

and that combustion engines could spark an explosion. Others were talking about a terrorist attack, but there was no answers and the officers weren't eager to talk. After about an hour, things were getting ugly. People were hungry, thirsty, and restless. One officer stepped up on the front of the cars, handing out water bottles, crackers, and processed cheese slices. He had to step from one car to another, denting the hoods with his steel-tipped shoes. They're also handing out thick black, pastic hygiene bags for people who needed to relieve themselves. Use them, seal them, drop them out the door, then lock up and wait.

I'd crawled into the back seat, pulled down my cap, and tried to relax. I've been playing some games on my phone, but the battery was running low. I wanted to save some, so I settled for having a nap instead. The sweat was stinging my eyes, not because of how warm it was, but because of how nervous I was. No matter what I did, I felt trapped, and the car felt smaller and smaller. I couldn't get out if I wanted to when it physically hurt me to think about how little control I had. Is that what claustrophobia feels like? A couple of officers were discussing something by the front line.

One of them had a white cotton glove on, which he used to wipe off the hood of one of the front cars. The glove was taken off and put into a bag, which in turn was sealed with a hot air gun. I was getting the impression that our cars had been covered in something. I wasn't the only one considering it. There were two college kids in the car to my left, and they were discussing it too. Anthrax, one of them said, Gotta be. Nah, gold dust the other chuckled.

They don't want to share. You know what, the first groaned? I honest to God hope you're right. You're not, but I hope you are. Fuck you. I joined in the conversation shortly after. I offered another explanation, something combustible, something that might blow up if we started our cars.

They were willing to consider this. The car behind me couldn't hear us, but they driver held up a notebook with the text, If we don't know what it's got to be aliens, I couldn't tell if they were being serious, but they weren't laughing about it. A man in his 50s and what looked like his daughter. There were a couple of other folks in their cars. A man in a black shirt, sort of looked like a preacher without a collar, two middle-aged women with a kid in the back seat, a fat man blaring Johnny Cash from his stereo,

a couple with a teenage son who couldn't stop drumming on the windows. We'd been stuck for about two, maybe two and a half hours when a truck rolled in. One of those with a large water tank. It was unmarked, looked civilian. As it rolled in, they were calling out on the megaphone. We'll be hosing your vehicles down, they said. Keep everything locked and closed. Then we'll be covering your vehicle with protective plastic while we wait for it to dry.

After that, we'll start letting you go in an orderly manner. I repeat. Most of us were relieved. It was only a matter of time now. It was getting dark. They were getting up on their cars, hosing them down thoroughly. It smelled of chlorine, so maybe they'd mixed something to the water. As they came to my car, they stepped up on it and double-checked the sunroof making sure it was locked and secured.

They sprayed the car down, bathing it in a chemical stink, the kind that gets stuck in the back of your throat. It took a long time for them to finish, at least an hour or two. After that, they were rolling out a kind of plastic cover. at the short side of the lot, the kind you used to protect pools or rain covers for football fields. They use two squad cars to slowly drape the thing over the entire lot, securing the edges with large rocks. Please stay calm, they called out as the plastic crawled over us. I know this is uncomfortable, but this is for your own safety.

Once the cleaning is done, you will be free to go. Stay inside your vehicle at all times. I repeat. I did as I was told. I stayed inside, and I watched that plastic cover sweep over me. It felt like getting buried alive. All lights went out, leaving me in a complete darkness. Accompanied only by the vague, disembodied voices of the others.

The college kids were talking about where they were going to go after this. Someone was honking. Not sure if it was to show support or discontent. Someone else was cheering. I took my last wig of water washing down my final plain cracker. I got back in the driver's seat. I could hear as they finished moving the plastic cover and parking their squad vehicles. I waited patiently, figuring it would be maybe another hour or so.

They hadn't really given us a timeline, but I could breathe a little easier. Sort of. I was going back and forth between feeling empowered with my hands on the wheel and feeling like I was stuck in a metal coffin. It was so dark and everything smelled of plastic and chemicals like a car wash stuck in time. As the excitement died down, I paid more attention to the background sounds. I tried to filter out the various discussions from the nearby cars, and somewhere in the distance, heard raised voices. It wasn't coming from the cars, but the officers. Whatever they were talking about,

it was a heated discussion. An hour came and went, and people were getting impatient. More cars were honking, others were yelling, demanding answers. I couldn't get my leg to stop shaking. The more I thought about getting out of here, the smaller the car felt. I was hyper-focusing on things I couldn't control. I was a little thirsty, and I was out of water. I needed to use the bathroom. I wanted to stretch my legs and go for a walk. I wanted to breathe fresh air and get that awful chemical taste out of my mouth. I heard cars starting, accelerating, the truck was moving, somewhere off to the side. We need you to stay in your vehicle, voice screamed, over the megaphone. Do not leave for any reason. Stay in your vehicle. Car speeding off, not many but a couple, then quiet. The officers left us there.

Everyone was quiet. A couple of folks had opened up their phones using the must be. a flashlight to look from car to car, looking out at the sea of vehicles, all of us trapped under the dark cover. I could see a handful of lights cut off by the sharp silhouettes. I couldn't make out who was in the dark, it was just all people, anonymous. I heard a gasp somewhere in the back. There was a metallic clunk, like when the officers climbed to top our cars to get us our waters. There was a careful cheer as some folks figured they were taken off the plastic cover, but that wasn't it. Instead, there were more footsteps. The cheers slowly died down as more and more footsteps pattered across our cars. I stopped counting after a dozen. The silhouettes in the other cars were still.

We all held our breaths waiting for an answer to show itself. What the hell was going on? What was that sound? Somewhere off to my ride, I heard a voice. Who's up there? It sounded like an older man. I had seen a pickup truck that way earlier. Almost as a response, the footsteps stopped. There was a faint clicking sound like someone snapping their tongue against the roof of their mouth. Click, click, click. And from further away, a click in response. From somewhere to my left, another couple clicks. Then a cascade of clicks, dozens, maybe hundreds.

There was an awful metallic noise coming from my right, then breaking glass, a scream cut short, followed by several irregular taps of the car horn. One of the silhouettes in the distance turned into a blur as something passed through the windshield, cutting through the plastic cover. Somewhere in the front row, the roof of a car was cut wide open. Someone was pulled up out of their seat. Two cars back from where I was, there was more glass breaking. It sounded like a wild animal got in. I could see a weak hint of a red splattered against the passenger side windows. I wasn't getting any air. I could feel my heart being through my chest as my arms started shaking. My hands were cramped around the steering wheel, and I felt swept

dripping down from my shoulders. I couldn't control it. I didn't even see what was going on, but these sounds, these screams, they awakened something primal. This was danger. A threat. My body knew long before I did. The college kids in the other car were ducking down. One of them waved a hand at me as if telling me to get down.

I nodded. I scrambled into the back seat. I couldn't see where I was putting my hands or my feet. Everything is different in the dark. As I tumbled my way over, my foot accidentally tapped the car horn. It was a quick tap, a fraction of a second, but to me it was the loudest sound in the world. I was lying on my stomach in the back seat, and within seconds something heavy climbed onto the hood of the car.

I could feel my car buckling. It was much heavier than the man who'd passed out water bottles. I held my hands in front of my mouth to stop the panting, but I just ended up snorting up sweat instead. My nose stung as I bit my tongue, listening to every mettle groan as whatever was outside, moved and shifted. Click, click, and from behind my car I click in response. There were no lights being held up anymore.

Everyone was cowering, going quiet. I pushed myself up against the door behind the driver's seat, trying to make myself as small as possible. I could hear the frame of the car complain as something slowly moved. When it came to my sunroof, there was a slight crack. They made it stop. Another crack. I silently shook my head as if trying to ask the car to stop.

that thing was going to break, and it did. My legs were showered with glass as a big blob of plastic cover dipped into my car. Something big came tumbling into the front seat. Still covered in protective plastic, it twitched and spun around. It's clicking, turning from a careful question like noise to a never-ending barrage. It was calling for help, alerting others, and was cutting its way through the plastic. There were footsteps coming from every direction, some of them leaping from car to car, some of them leaping far enough to skip the car as they hurried.

I was going to be swarmed within seconds. I fumbled with my hands, accidentally cutting my thumb on the broken glass. I managed to open the passenger side door, but even at its widest, and even when pressing into the college of kids' car, it wasn't enough room to get out. Still, I had to try. I pressed myself into the gap and exhaled as much as I could flattening in my chest. While the thing thrashed around inside my car, I could feel my vision going faint. Black spots popped up at the edge of my vision.

My arms were going weak, and yet by some miracle, I made it through. As my face hit the gravel of this makeshift parking lot, I felt the burn of residual chemicals. I swallowed my instinct to run, instead staying on my stomach, forcing myself to crawl under my car. There were more of them, some climbing on, some off. My chest was pressed to the ground as my weight shifted. I heard breaking glass from the windshield and tearing fabric. Something was up there, and it was furious, like a trapped animal. I could hear the college kids mumbling to one another, trying to stay calm,

one assuring the other that all they had to do was stay low, stay quiet, and wait. Then something slammed into the passenger side door, the one I'd crawled out of. The door was pressed up against the neighboring car, then fell half-hazardly to the ground completely off the hinges. An ink-black, bird-like foot touched the ground right next to me. I've looked it up since. There were three toes forward, one toe backward, all clawed. Anesedactyl feet, similar to that of many birds of prey, except larger than a human foot and with smooth, oil, slick skin.

It must have been heavy, at least 400 pounds. If the clicking noise came from its mouth, I can approximate that it was somewhere around 6-7-6-9 or taller. It could have been hunched over. How it managed to walk in the gap between the vehicles is beyond me, but I suspect it was. was very thin. It daintly walked from my car to the others as if scanning for something. I could barely see anything in the dark, but this thing seemed to navigate it perfectly. It didn't bump into anything. There was a tap on the glass of the car behind me, to my right, and someone got startled. A short scream and the hunt was on. This time was different. It must have caused some kind of chain

reaction as all of a sudden the plastic cover was getting torn up left and right. People were clawing their way out of their cars. I heard someone kicking against their windshield. Another was trying to open their door. I could hear it slamming against the side of the car next of them, and off in the distance there was gunfire. Just a couple of shots. The college kids in the car next to me slammed their doors open and followed my lead. They rolled onto the ground and under their car. There was a little more light coming in as the cover had been torn above. Their faces were red from tears and one of them was desperately trying to call for help on his phone. The other grabbed the phone out of his hand. A short scuffle ensued, ending with them putting on a ringtone and sliding the thing as far to the left as they could.

Whatever car that phone landed under was demolished. Every window broken, every passenger, gone. I could hear the grinding as a seat was ripped in two and thrown away. In a matter of seconds, an entire vehicle was torn in pieces as a dozen of these things swarmed it. Shut up, one of the college kids repeated. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. Something reached under my car. It scraped against the soul of my shoe.

tearing a hole all the way to my big toe. I hurried forward, scurrying like a lizard. The college kids noticed and followed suit. I don't think they'd thought about it too much. It was just movement and they went for it. I made it two cars down before I got stuck. There was something that dark in the way, and I couldn't get around it without exposing myself.

I couldn't see what it was, but it didn't take long for me to figure it out. It was a meaty crunch as if someone was biting chunks out of a piece of meat. It was struggling to get through the fabric of their clothes, making a snapping noise as threads gave way. A pool of blood rolled under the car. Staining the tip of my fingers, it was still warm. One of those things were eating a victim. I hungered down trying to remember to breathe and I stayed there waiting for a chance. Any chance.

I must have stayed there for at least an hour, hearing every bite, every crack of bone and snap of sinew. Satisfied, clicking noises. As it finished its meal, it wandered off, dragging the remains along. They're moving forward. Something heavy walked over to the car, I was hind under, dragging a body along. Slowly the footsteps disappeared. It was quiet again, and in that quiet I found my footing. I made my way to the edge of the plastic cover. I listened one final time, pushed one of the weights away and slipped through. They were gone, and I was out. I could feel my chest growing lighter, allowing me. me to breathe. I wanted to cry from relief. A breeds was picking up, drying the swell

my brow and carrying the smell of grass. Stepping back, I turned towards the sea of cars to see how bad the damage was. And then I saw one. It was a bit off to the side, perching on top of an old Honda. At a glance, it looked like a tall person, covered in a slick black ink. But looking closer, you could see the strange bird-like feet, the pointed nails, the long row of shark-like teeth on its mouth that was far too wide. I froze. The thing rose to its full length, easily over seven feet tall. It looked ready to pounce on me. I had nothing to defend myself with. I couldn't make any sudden movements. I wouldn't even be halfway under the car before the thing would be over me. A hundred thoughts raced through my mind, but there was nothing I could do. I was out of options,

but the thing just looked at me. It raised a slice of raw meat, blood dripped on to the the plastic cover, it looked at me curiously, taking a bite. Then, as if nothing had happened, it wandered off, satiated. I was left there, shaking like a dry leaf. And with the last of those things gone, all that was left was the panic. It didn't take long for the officers to return. The plastic cover was removed, but we couldn't go home. Not after this. Some folks signed a waiver and were let go immediately. They weren't allowed to talk about what they'd seen, and in return, they could get a hefty sum of insurance money others demanded answers and were taken into custody for obstruction of justice a few others still were too panicked to make any kind of sense and had to

be checked out for medical personnel a total of 14 people died it was described by a combination of causes a traffic pile up carbon monoxide poisoning animal attack i think there was something about an escaped convict too excuses all over the place and the times are all wrong spread out through a couple days to more smoothly blend into accident statistics. And if you wanted to go home and get your insurance money, you had to sign a non-disclosure. I did too. I know the college kids did as well. God damn miracle they made it out, but I saw them. 34 cars had to be towed, 18 people wounded, six seriously so. Four people lost at least one limb. One guy had an arm ripped off halfway up his collarbone. I don't know how he survived. Most people never saw those things up close. They just remember the

screams in the breaking glass. Sometimes at night, that's all I hear too. Closing my eyes reminds me of lying under those cars, feeling the pressure as the weight shifted. I still get trouble breathing. I think a part of me is still stuck there. It stayed in my vehicle. They gave me pills to stop the hallucinations,

but only two of my three friends went away. Pop culture is the graveyard of words. Original meanings are lost when language is repurposed creatively. yet destructively. Of course, there's only really a problem when significant words are rendered meaningless, when, for instance, illnesses become adjectives, when a person is just a little OCD, depressed, bipolar, psychotic. And that final word is one I used recklessly in my adolescence, but its true meaning became awfully apparent when my very perception of reality unwound, when I became unbound.

The onset of my psychosis was unbearable. I was scared, confused, alone. Developing imaginary friends is endearing at the age of eight, but worrisome at the age of 18. I knew that. It's why I didn't let my loved ones know about my sickness. Of course, they noticed my change in demeanor, my general mental deterioration.

However, given the recent death of my father, this erratic behavior was tied to grief. The root cause was overlooked. I hid as many symptoms as possible, made sure that my real friends didn't know about my imaginary ones, didn't know about my all-knowing companions who, peculiarly, appeared wherever I went, I was lucid enough to realize that they weren't real, lucid enough to realize that none of it was healthy, first came Grant, then Shirley, then Albert. These three friends weren't always present, but one or more of them would typically be a stone's throw away.

It took very little time for me to realize that these imaginary friends were amalgamations of real people from my life. Grant reminded me of my late father. He was gentle but firm, grounded, trustworthy. Shirley reminded me of my late grandmother, a little lost in the clouds, but warm and wise, boundlessly wise. Her keen intellect compensated for her lack of common sense. Albert, however, was the anomaly. The Wally I never missed, despite my best efforts. To say that he unsettled me would not be doing the feeling justice, but I tried desperately to dispel the ache in my stomach. I told myself that Albert, like the others, must simply be a collage of faces and words that have shaped my life.

I would have told myself anything to dislodge the lump in my throat, the one that bobbed at the service whenever Albert entered the room. It always threatened to take the wind from my lungs, and I believed I would wake in the dark. place Albert inhabited when he wasn't watching me. It was a false belief, of course, Albert was always watching. Earlier this year, there came the inevitable nervous breakdown. After six years of suppressing a steady stream of emotions, the damn burst. I lost my job. That was the trigger to coming clean about the delusions. I'd been hiding the truth since I was 18, but I knew I would struggle to do so forever. I told my mother, my girlfriend, my friends, I revealed that I'd been seeing people who weren't there, that I buried the truth beneath a shallow mound of antidepressants

in strained smiles. But the thin coating had weathered away, as I had always known it would. There was something freeing about revealing this secret, and I reverted to my adolescent self, finally allowing myself to process everything that has haunted me since those late teenage years. As a result, I became a lot closer to my mother. It was a relief for her to finally understand and why I distanced myself for so many years. There had been more to it than grief, and it certainly had nothing to do with her. I know you'd rather have April with you right now, Mom said.

I smiled, patting her hand softly. I'd brought my mother to the doctor for emotional support, but she came for her sake too. Mom was frightened on my behalf, as I'd recently opened up about my S-word ideation. She didn't want me to lose in the same way. We lost Dad. Still, I'd reached out for help this time.

That was what I reminded her and myself as we sat in the waiting room. April tried her best to come, I said, but I'm happy that you're here, Mom. It's outrageous that her boss wouldn't give her the afternoon off work. This is important, Mom, Huffed. It's only an appointment with the GP, I reply, don't get worked up. You'll send your blood pressure through the roof. My mother nodded absent-mindedly. Will he prescribe antipsychotics?

That was what he implied over the phone, I said. This really isn't a big deal, Mom. I feel silly for asking you to come. In fact, he said I'd have to do an actual consultation alone. So there's nothing silly about it, Justin Mom, interjected with a gasp. You and I should talk about everything, big or small, day or night. I know, Mom, I said. I will.

I'm getting better at talking. Take a breath. Sorry, she exhaled. I don't mean to be overbearing mother. You're not overbearing, I replied. I'm very lucky to have you. I'm the one who should be sorry. Sorry that you have to suffer too.

Don't talk that way, Justin. Mom whispered tearfully. We're here for you. You know that, don't you? I frowned. It feels easier, sometimes to bottle up my problems, to not be a burden. It makes my mind a little quieter when I only have to worry about myself. My mother shook her head.

That's your illness speaking. No matter the lies it tells, never face it alone. Your father was the same. It wants you to be weak and alone. That's why it keeps you away from those who you love you. but Justin Woods, a voice called from an open door beyond the waiting area, that's me I loudly responded before standing and turning to face my mother. I'll be waiting right here, she promised.

So will I, Grant softly whispered. I avoided turning my head to face the gray-haired middle-aged gentleman sitting in the plastic chair beside my mother, the gentleman who did not exist. I didn't want to upset my mother, so I beamed at her, hoping that Grant would not know if it was a smile intended for Bolton. to them. Of course he knows, I thought. He's in your head. Come on, a fragile voice beckoned, scratching my earlobe. It's time. Again, I didn't have to turn my head to know it was surely, though I had fixed my focus on Dr. Rolland, who stood at the edge of the waiting area.

I sensed the old woman shuffling alongside me. Shirley always struggled to match my pace, yet never slipped too far behind. She was bound to me, and only me, my inner sage. A melancholic wave suddenly rushed up my body, leaving my throat with an acidic sting. I longed to properly say goodbye to my two dear friends, before the medication erased them from my brain. However, I didn't want to catch the attention of Dr. Rowland. It wouldn't have bothered him, of course, but I was self-conscious about my illness. Even in a place built to treat ailments, matters of the mind are not the same as matters of the body. There's a taboo with mental illness, a stigma that no matter how much we pretend otherwise is prevalent throughout the world.

That is why I hid my symptoms for so many years. That is why Albert emerged. It's okay, Justin Shirley assured me, placing a frail palm on my shoulder whilst, waving her free hand at my brow. We are up there, but I won't be able to hear you anymore, I thought Will's smiling convincingly at Dr. Rowland. We guide you even when you don't hear, as Shirley said soothingly. You are me.

You are all of those who have come before you, those who have shaped you." Don't worry about us, Champ, Grant said. Having abruptly appeared on the other side of me, you're allowed to let go, you're allowed to heal. I'm proud of you, pal, and he would be too. I nodded ever so slightly, but stopped when Dr. Rollin started to frown, having clearly noted the turmoil emblazoned across my vacant eyes. Are you okay, Mr. Woods? he asked.

I cleared my throat. Yes. just a little nervous. The doctor smiled, motioning for me to follow him into his office. Quite understandable, but I promise that I'm going to help you through this. I'm not here to write a prescription. Over the coming weeks and months, as you adjust to the medication, I will monitor your progress. I nodded, sitting beside Dr. Rollins' desk as he closed the door.

Do you have any questions, he asked, as he slumped into the seat opposite me? I paused. Is it really as simple as getting a referral? heading to the pharmacist? Will pills make the noise go away? Dr. Ryland smiled again. We're going to try olanzapine, Justin. Now, the effects of this medication vary slightly from person to person. Some notice a marked decline in symptoms of psychosis within a matter of days. For others, it may take a few weeks, but as I said during our phone consultation, I will be with you for every step of the way, Justin. I always have been, haven't I? I raised an eye. I

and the doctor laughed. Really? You don't remember me? I'm glad I had made such a big impression, Justin. Your parents have been bringing you here since you were a child. I know I said. It's not that. And I remember you, Dr. Rollin. It's just those were appointments for sickness bugs and minor injuries. I never thought I'd see a doctor about anything like this. For the past few years, I've been living in denial pretending that I haven't gone crazy. That's not a kind of way to talk to yourself, Justin. The doctor cautioned as he printed off a prescription slip. You're unwell, not crazy. You'd take antibiotics for a nasty infection just as you'd take antipsychotics for this slight hiccup in your mind. I suppose so, I uncertainly replied as I accepted the small strip of paper. Do I need to come back here

for repeat prescriptions? Dr. Rollin shook his head. I'd suggest using the patient-access website to order online. You just order. Go to the pharmacy and get a top-up. No need to see my annoying mug every time. That's it, I asked. The man nodded kindly. That's it, but I'll contact you to arrange a checkup appointment in a few months, just to see how you've been reacting to the medication.

And if you experience any side effects in the meantime, please contact me. Side effects? I gulped. It's a possibility with any medication, he said, but don't worry, Justin. We're just trying something out. and if it doesn't work, we'll try something else. Does that sound like a good plan?

I mumbled some words of agreement as I shakily rose to my feet, then I hurriedly slipped the paper into my coat pocket, jamming my hand deeply inside. I was afraid to lose my winning ticket. So I won't see people anymore? People who aren't there, I asked. The olanzapine should eradicate or reduce symptoms, the doctor applied, leading me to the door.

Of course, if it doesn't improve anything, You'll have to let me know. Let's just take it one day at a time. Everything is going to be okay, Justin. So everyone keeps telling me, I thought, as I shuffled out of the door that the doctor impatiently held open, as I passed through the hallway between Dr. Rollins' office and the waiting area, I felt that awfully familiar clump in my esophagus, an unwelcome visitor constricting my airway, and I knew what I would see before I even twisted my head to the right. At the far end of the corridor past the Roseva offices, there stood a man with arms stiffly clamped to his sides, a man whose features were always indistinct even when he stood so near. Albert

He wore forgettable attire, for all I knew it may have always been the same, may have been different every time. I struggle, even after seeing him so many times to describe his facial features, for he was murky and abstract, but I always knew his face when I saw it, to capture even a little. A glimpse of his uneven eyes and lips was a paralyzing nightmare. No other fear has been compared. The tall man was chained by unseen shackles to the clinic's tiled floor, and his entire body was practically convulsing. In inflating and deflating chest communicated his innermost fury.

Albert was not like the others. He did not support my desire to heal. He had made that clear after my initial phone call with Dr. Rowland. Since that day, the man had remained uncharacteristically silent, in spite of the unnerving things Albert had a tendency to say. I feared him most when he had nothing to say at all, when he soundlessly eyed me from distant crevices, rage frothing at the surface. He lurked in the clinic's corridor, teetering on the precipice of lunging forward at any moment.

His eyes revealed a desire to do something unspeakable. I didn't want to tempt him by watching and waiting, so I hurried along. Justin, Mom called? How did it go? I strolled into the waiting area with a fox smile. Mom, Grant, and Shirley were sitting in red plastic chairs, verging on tears as I approached. Come on, I said, helping my mother to her feet. Time to buy some drugs. Justin, Mom tutted, grimacing. Those first two weeks were hellish, yet emboldening. Being freed from my shackles did not invite some instantaneous moment of euphoria. As Dr. Roland had warned, the process took time.

He had not explained how messy would be, however, how excruciating it would be, at times to hear the jumbled words of Grant Shirley as they slowly drowned, scrambling to be heard above the rising tide. Thoughts don't die Justin Shirley choked. We're part of you. By the following Friday, I hadn't seen any of my friends for a couple of days, and that was my longest bout without hallucinations for years. To celebrate, I organized a dinner with Mom and April at our favorite Chinese restaurant, just the three of us. For the first time in a long time, there would be a no non-existent guess. That was what I planned.

You seem better today, my mother said, moments before tucking into a sticky rib. You had a good day yesterday, didn't you, April asked, turning and smiling at me. Sorry, I don't mean to speak on your behalf. Are you okay today, Justin? My publicist speaks the truth I nodded theatrically. happy and healthy. No further questions, please. Thank you. She rolled her eyes. There's one frustrating side effect, however. Bad jokes. Oh no, he's always told those, my mom said. Isn't this supposed to be a celebratory meal, not a roast? I asked, chuckling. It's both, my mother

smiled. That's the woods way. Your father would have had something funny to say right now, wouldn't he? I nodded, reaching across the table and clutching her hand. Funnier than anything I've said. My mother wiped a tear from her eye. No, you were both hilariously unfunny. Dad would be. He is so proud of you. Justin. I know that's a cliche, but cliches exist for a reason.

I'm just so happy that you've improved so quickly. Seeing you and April smiling at each other just warms my heart. He is pretty lucky to have me, April agreed, grinning. I know you're being faccheesis, but you're right, my mother said. You're the daughter she always wanted, I teased. After 20 years of disappointment and with a measly son, you came a long way to save the day. Thanks, April. Just then, my mother groaned.

I tittered as I climbed out of my chair, just nipping to the bathroom. I'll give you two some time to venture frustrations about me. Why, it's not as fun without you here to endure, April said. Hardy-har, I replied, startling her with a pinch of the shoulder as I walked away from the table. Will's be lining towards the bathroom door with a spring of my step and restaurant chatter in my ears, I barely noticed him. The nodding man sat alone at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and it was his laughter that drew my attention.

It rose above the roar of the dining area. He was amused by some unheard joke, so amused that tears trickled down his face. In my eyes met him as he motioned a hand towards the chair opposite, the man I'd hoped to never see again. Chest juttering, I ignored Albert and scurried into the bathroom with a smile well, and truly rubbed from my face. I pretended I hadn't seen him,

pretended that I still hadn't hallucinated in days, bracing against either side of the bathroom's sink, it took a minute for me to control my breathing. I reminded myself that the medication was not a cure. I was never going to be entirely eradicated my illness, but simply treat it, mitigate the worst symptoms. But why? Out of the three did Albert have to return?

I wondered, sweat, staining my flesh. Anybody else, please. As if responding, there came labored breathing from the lock stall behind me. My eyes unsteadily glanced at the mirror head, and I saw movement through the crack between the cubicle door and the wall. Saw a bloodshot eye peeking at me through the slim gap. Don't scream, Albert whispered, placing a finger on his lips as my mouth opened. You won't like what happens if he scream.

Then the man wagged his finger through the cubicle's narrow gap, urging me to come forward. I wanted to flee the bathroom, but there was no running from him. I knew that. Only obeying his commands would offer me the slightest respite. So I nodded and walked over to the locked bathroom stall with a gaping, quivering mouth. I've missed you, Albert whispered, panting heavily. I eyed his smile's unevenly sized teeth through the slight opening, felt the decaying breath escape his jaws and wash across my cheeks. My very body shrank in terror as his warmly finger stretched.

forward's threatening to tear into my cold cheek. I've been better lately, I croaked. Better? Albert asked, grin broadening. You were better before. They'll only burden you. Do you want me to make them go away? I'm going back to the table now, I whispered hoarsely.

I don't want to talk to you anymore, Albert. You're not real. Is that what Dr. Rollin told you, Albert giggled, revealing a haunting fragment of his face? I'm very real, Justin. Very, very, very, very, very real. I'm leaving, I stammered. Taking ginger steps away from the unstable man.

You're no fun, Justin. Albert sulked, his eyes mashing against the gap in an effort to follow my movement. It's just you and me, Justin. It'll always just be you and me. I'll help you. I'll free you. Jaw locked in a haunted gas by a scurried out of the bathroom door. Albert was no longer sitting at the darkened table in the restaurant's corner,

and I prayed he would stay in the bathroom cubicle, forever, preferably. Are you, okay, dear, my mother asked, frowning as I returned to the table with a white complexion? Yes, I muttered. Fiening and I smile. It's just been an overwhelming couple of weeks. April smiled, taking my hand. You're doing so well, Justin. I'm proud of you. I nodded weekly, but I was not present for the reminder of the meal. My eyes continually returned to the men's bathroom, squinting to search for Albert in the grimy corners of the room.

His awful face was nowhere to be seen, and that did not comfort me. The following night, I escaped from that primal, paralyzed in state of fear, told myself that I'd let a slight wobble affect me a little too much. To distract myself, I invited some friends to my home, April, Michael, and Jane. I revealed my interaction with Albert and my friends were fantastic, incredibly supportive. I felt foolish and reminded myself that I was stronger when I opened up to my loved ones. In spite of Albert's claims, people were not a burden, and isolation was not freedom. I'm starving, Michael said. Shall I head to dominoes?

Yes, Jane excitedly squealed. I'll come with you. Get us two margarita pizzas, please, April said. Thanks, mate. I added as the pair walked out of the door. There was a moment of silence in the lounge, followed by April twisting her head to offer a sultry, mischievous grin. And then there were two, she whispered, bouncing her brows.

Were you hoping for a quick game of Monopoly? I teased, motioning it at the stacks of board games in the cabinet. My girlfriend rolled her eyes and seized my hand. Yes, let's play Monopoly upstairs. We were, by no means, quick. I'll leave it at that. Shit, April gasped afterwards, eyeing the bedside clock. It's eight o'clock.

I frowned as I got dressed. Already? What time was it when they left? Seven, and there were no messages from them, she said. Eyeing the WhatsApp chat. It shouldn't have taken them an hour. Domino's is only around the corner. Are they okay?

They must be playing Monopoly, I grinned. April snorted, shaking her head as she slipped into her clothes, but the warmth fled my lips as my eyes wandered to the bedroom window, as I eyed a darkened figure at the back of my dog garden. Dimly revealed by solar lights, Albert was watching from the shade of an oak tree. I tried to conceal my horror, but I'd caught April's eye, and she followed my gaze to the garden. I expected her to console me, expected her to say that I should talk to my doctor about the

medication not working as well as I hoped. I certainly did not expect. Who's that? My body chilled as I processed April's question. Two unthinkable words. I told myself that it had been an auditory hallucination, but I knew better, knew when she frowned at me. Justin, do you know that man outside? she asked. That's your property, isn't it? I trembled. You can see him? April's face grew more fearful.

Yeah, I see him, Justin. Should we call the police or try telling him to leave? Do not go out there, I warn stormily. Grabbing April by the shoulders. We're staying in this room, okay? April shivered wildly. Do you know him? You're scaring me, Justin.

and let's just call the police. He'll just be some unwell man. He's not dangerous. Please tell him he's not dangerous. I realized we'd both looked away from the window, and when I turned back to the garden, I was unsurprised to find that Albert had vanished. I don't understand, I whimpered.

He's gone. April turned her head to the window, then back to me. He was real. Justin, I saw him. Let's call the police. Whoever he is, they'll... You don't understand I coldly interrupted. What don't I understand, April?

Ask, shaking. You're not putting me at ease about him, Justin. Please just let me call the... There came the click of my front door opening. Silencing and freezing the two of us in an instant. Michael? April yelled. Don't, I begged. Putting a finger to her lips.

It's not them. It's... What, Justin? What, she cried. You won't believe me, I said, tiptoeing towards the bedroom door. Then inching it open. Through the opening, I had a direct view of the stairs. The front door was swaying inwards and outwards, driven by a growing gust.

There's nobody at the door I whispered fearfully. Right, I'm doing it, April said, slipping her phone out, before her finger hit a single number, then came a creak from behind us. Our eyes were drawn to the in-sweet of my bathroom, drawn to shapes which lunged from the unlit room into the growl of my bedroom, long, slithering fingers one by one, the awful things curled around the wood of the N-suite door, tentatively pushing it open. April and I did not make a sound, whether frozen by fear or the shushing demon. You watched as the face pushed out of the darkness.

It squeezed through the doorway to reveal features no longer indistinct, still uneven, but horribly memorable. Albert's face was composed of moving wrinkles which sloshed and frothed across his skin like waves. His eyes were no longer hazy holes that I would soon forget, but hypnotic chasms of darkness. Endless pitch shielded by eyelids that blinked with unsettling frequency. As Albert reached his unholy fingers towards April, I screamed and pulled her backwards, screamed not only due to her near end, but due to her scream. What frightened me was that April saw Albert too, and that meant he had always been real. That might not have haunted me so greatly if he had been a man, but he was something else.

Albert violated the very laws of nature. I feared that I would never be able to distinguish between truth and fantasy ever again. April and I sprinted down the stairs, and I felt the house quake under the strain of some immense weight. When we reached the swinging front door, I saw Albert's reflection in the window pane beside it. He had bloomed to an extraordinary horrifying size, his dimensions filing the upper landing, and the man hunched as he was. he pursued us downstairs. After stepping onto the front lawn, I twisted slowly, but found that Albert had not followed us onto the front lawn. He had just disappeared. After taking a second to relish in the breeze battering my skin, I joined April and crying for help. Those cries were drowned, however,

by approaching sirens. Neither of us had managed to call the emergency services, but the reason for their arrival quickly revealed itself. At the end of the street, buried within the splayed bark of a tree, was Michael's car. He had not been drinking, had not swerved to avoid something in the road, as far as I as witnesses know. I knew what had done it. I knew who had panicked my two friends within that mangled heap of metal. April and I decided, without uttering another word to one another, that we do not speak of what we had seen. We rushed towards the paramedics and firefighters, but the fate of our friends was written on their grimacing faces. It was hours later that I thought of Albert's threat, thought of my mother. When we reached her flat, the place had been ransacked,

and she was nowhere to be seen. Months later, she is still missing, and my terror never dies. Not knowing what she endured, or continues to endure, is an agony, deeper than seeing the contorted corpices of my friends in that wreckage. I don't know whether I'll ever see my mother again. I don't know whether I'd want to see her, want to see the things Albert has done. April and I haven't stopped running, I still believe that this thing follows us, though I now know it lives outside of me. Allert wants me to be alone, for that is how it survives. It feeds on my separation from all others. I know I should leave April, if I isolate myself giving Alperwetti's desires that may well save her. On the other hand, even if I abandon April, this creature may well still hunt her, may still do something. unfathomably twisted to her. If I stay by her side, she has a chance. We both have a chance.

I must remember what my mother said. No matter the lies it tells, never face it alone. Stay out of the Ozarks. I've been a biologist ever since I was 22 years old. I grew up on a farm in rural Illinois, so nature has never been a stranger to me. Playing in the woods was how I entertained myself growing up, spending all my time in the forest as a child. People expect me to have stories about Bigfoot or strange noises or finding some weird shrine out in the middle of the woods, but no. The weirdest thing I have ever encountered was a bobcat screeching. It sounds just like a woman's dying scream, and yes, to everyone who's ever claimed to hear a skinwalker or goat man screeching in the woods at night, I promise you, it was just a bobcat. The truth is

often mundane and disappointing. You'd think this would mean I'd have gotten bored of the woods, but I never really lost my love for them. Nature is boring. That's why I like it. You know what to expect. That's why, after college, I decided to make studying nature my full-time career. I'm a biologist for the Sierra Club, specialized in the ecosystems of Midwestern America, fish, birds, deer, elk, bear, wolves, and the like. I spent five weeks in fire towers, cabins, campsites, always miles away from civilization. I'm usually gathering data on local wildlife, measuring for pollutants, determining whether the ecosystem is stable or if anything needs to threatens it. The work is not glamorous, but I enjoy it. In nature had still never surprised me until my last assignment. I was designated to be stationed

alone in a cabin in the Ozarks. The assignment was supposed to last three weeks in May. The Sierra Club was alerted to a steady decline in the local elk population over the last decade. Nothing drastic, but enough to raise concern. My job was to take census of the wildlife, measure for pollutants, the usual. These are my diary entries for my assignment, starting with my first night. I arrived in the evening in early May. Nothing was amiss the first two nights. like any other. The sounds of the forest were exactly what you would expect, crickets and owls hoot and the occasional elk call. I was sent here in May because that's their mating season. The elk are out and about looking for a date, and that makes them easy to count. Elk mating is

pretty straightforward. The female lets out a call and waits for a male to find her. Usually it's first come first served if you catch my drift, if only right? It was clear that love was in the area and for all the calling, you'd think I would start seeing elk, but by the second day, I still hadn't spotted a single one. The third night I was lying in awake in bed uneasy. Something wasn't sitting right with me. But I couldn't put my finger on why. I was about to nod off when a female call cut through the night.

I sighed. That was the second time that night I'd heard her. What? Are the fellas having a guy's night in or something? And that's when it finally hit me. I shot Bolt upright in my bed. For the last three nights I had heard nothing but female mating calls. That should have drawn every male within half a mile.

Now elk are not discreet and they don't beat around the bush. When that male gets the female, well, let's just say that the whole force will know about it. I sat in bed staring out into the night, pondering. There have to be males close enough to hear this female, so after three nights of her calls, why haven't I heard the main event? The third day I went out onto the trails, once again looking for some sign of elk in the fall. forest. What I found was not encouraging. About a quarter mile from my cabin, I was checking down the trail when I noticed something 30 feet into the woods, a large brown fuzzy mass lying in the brush.

I smiled. An elk taking a midday nap? I took out my binoculars to get a closer look. It was an elk all right, but my smile dropped when I realized that the brown fuzzy mass was completely still. I carry a hunting rifle with me for safety. I readied it and approached the elk carefully. It looked fine from where I was standing, but I nearly dropped my rifle when I found it to the animal's front. It was carnage. The poor creature had been completely gutted. What little remained of its entrails hung loosely out of its chest cavity. The ribs had been pulled apart, and huge claw marks scarred its flank.

Its head was barely connected to its body by a few weak strands of flesh. I heaved and almost lost what little breakfast I'd had. It was horrifying. I had to take a few moments to collect myself. This is the first time that nature had surprised me. What could have possibly done this? I've studied wild-eye for years. This is a bull elk in its prime.

It would have stood nine feet tall alive, a king of the forest. There is no predator on this continent that could have taken down a full-grown bull, pack or no-pack. Even a grizzly wouldn't mess with something this big, and bears are mostly scavengers anyways. My mind raced through possibilities, trying to think of an explanation. Maybe it had been sick. Maybe a predator came upon it sleeping? Took it by surprise? Yes, that must be it.

It couldn't have fought back, but this savagery, those claw marks were bigger than even a grizzlies and its ribs. No quadrupled could have exerted leverage on the ribs to split them like that. You could need arms. A chilling thought occurred. A human? Could humans have done this?

But why? Hunters would skin it or take the head at least to mount on their wall. Is some psychopath out here dismembering wildlife for fun? And that still wouldn't explain these gruesome claws. Whatever this was, it needed to be reported. I was sent here to investigate the elk population declining, and this had to be related. I fished out my camera to take photos. Having to document the horror from every angle was heart-wrenching.

The look in its eyes, the elk had been terrified when it died. I wanted to take one last shot. just as the shutter clicked, my ears registered something. A sound from behind me. Then my camera had nearly drowned out. I whipped around and had barely heard it, but it was there. A twig snapping. My camera hung from my neck and my rifle from my shoulder.

I dropped the one to snatch up the other. Idiot, I thought to myself as it pointed the rifle towards a sound. I've been so shaken by the sight of the body I had been completely overlooked one important fact. The kill was fresh. This corpse hadn't even begun to decay yet. This elk had been dead no more than half a day, and that means whatever killed it may still be nearby. With my rifle still trained on the spot, I backed away towards the trail.

My hike back to the cabin and was the only time in my life I felt scared of the forest. Trees surrounding me on all sides. No visibility. I jumped at the slightest sounds, never lowering my rifle, never going more than five seconds without looking behind me. I felt like prey, never knowing where the danger would come from, or when. I didn't relax until my cabin door was closed and locked behind me. I spent the rest of my day inside the cabin shaken.

I readed the photos and sent them to my supervisors. They would take a day or two to respond. Until then, my plan was to investigate. During the day and with my rifle ready, that night was my last night at the cabin. I was getting ready for bed when I heard a female elk call again, the first one that had heard that day, and close, very close. Wildlife don't like buildings. They smell of fire and metal and gasoline, all unnatural to them. They steer clear. What was this elk doing so close to my cabin? I peered out of my window into the dark of the forest. No sign of her. She must have been beyond the tree line. I grab my rifle, of course. I wasn't going to shoot the elk, but I might send a few shots into the air to scare her off. It would be nice to know the elk are breeding the tree. normally, but I could do without front row seats. I unlocked my cabin and took a step out onto my porch, rifle still in hand. My eyes scanned the tree line, looking out for the female. That's when

a pair of antlers struck out behind a tree, an elk's head followed them and turned right out at me. And this was a buck, probably attracted by the female's calls. This is promising, but all the more reason to scare them away. I raised my rifle to the sky and prepared to fire. That was when the elk flew into the air, or its head did. The buck's head sailed and an arc towards me and landed just feet away from my door. I stood there in shock, trying to process what had just happened. Something. Something where someone had been holding the head and had just thrown it.

I nearly pissed myself. I pointed my rifle at the tree where the buck's head had appeared. The light from my cabin barely reached. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? Had I just seen claws retreat around the trunk? I was frozen. I needed to reach behind me to open my door and get back inside, but I was too scared to turn my back on the forest,

or even take a hand off my rifle. After a few seconds, I finally gathered up the nerve to brace the rifle against my shoulder. My finger's still on the trigger. I groped behind me until my left hand found the doorknob, never taken my eyes off the tree. Thank God the door had not locked behind me. With my left hand, I turned the knob and pushed up on the door, then drew it back to my rifle.

I backed away quickly into the cabin, slamming the door, and locking it. I hurried to the windows, drawing on my blinds and making sure each was locked. Never laid in my rifle out of arms reach. The terror I felt as I approached each window, never knowing if there would be someone or something on the other side of the glass, staring back at me. There hadn't been, which was almost as unnerving. I rushed to the satellite phone to call the sheriff's office at the base of the mountain. The relief I felt when they picked up.

You need to get up here? I pleaded. Who is this? It was the sheriff's deputy on the other end. I met him in the sheriff before beginning my stay at the cabin. It's me. I'm the guy stationed up at the cabin on the mountain. Oh, sorry about that.

What's the problem? There's someone up here fucking with me. Get up here now. Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You mean like kids or something? Nobody's not fucking kids. someone up here just threw a decapitated elk head at my cabin in my panic i'd somehow kept the

awareness to use my phrase someone instead of something i didn't want this guy to think i was drunk or crazy i just needed him to get up here well what did they look like how many were there did they have guns i have no fucking idea man they killed a goddamn elk cut the head off and threw it at my cabin just get the hell up here oh shit okay okay lock yourself in there we're on the way man please stay on the line. I'm scared here. I really was terrified. I wanted someone to stay on the phone with me, even if it couldn't help me. The man replied, I can't get to you and stay on the line at the same time. I'm calling the sheriff now. We're on our way. Just lock yourself in and stay there. The man hung up. I swore. I was alone again. A female elk call rang out again. This time it was

even closer. It sounded like it was right outside now. I took up my rifle again. That's when the tapping started. While I was talking to the deputy, I hadn't been watching the windows. The sound was coming from the window to the right of my front door. My eyes widened in horror. A single gray claw was tapping on the right edge of the window. Just one claw. Whatever it was attached to wanted to stay out of sight. The claws stopped tapping.

Instead, it drew itself along the window and out of my sight, leaving a long, ugly scratch. The sound was horrible. but it didn't stop when it left the window. I could still hear it, dragging along the wooden walls of my cabin. The creature was scratching through solid wood. Could it break through my windows? Why didn't it?

My niece shook. I tracked the sound of the scratching with my rifle. My mind raced. Could this thing get in? How long until the sheriff showed up? I was high up on the mountain. The drive here took 45 minutes, even if they hurried, it might be half an hour.

Even if they did get here. Could they stop this thing? Should I make a run for my truck? No. Whatever this thing was, it could get to me before I got the truck up and running. Something nagged at the back of my head, but I could barely think the scratching was louder and louder. Whatever this thing was, it had torn a bull elk to shreds. How could I stop it? The bull.

That's when I realized it. The head. It was the same head as the bull I'd seen earlier. It had the same scar down its right cheek. This thing was taunting me. It must have been there when I found the dead elk. It had been watching me, and now it had thrown the head at me? Was it telling me to go away, to get out of its territory?

I gasped. With my mind racing, I hadn't noticed that the scratching had stopped. Where was that thing? My eyes darted from window to window, no sign of it, until the loud thud right above me. It's on the goddamn roof, I thought. Its footsteps echoed through my cabin between each step, came rhythmic taps, no doubt from its claws. Was it testing for weaknesses? Was it merely toying with me? It had only been a few minutes since I called the sheriff's office. I was

still far from safety. I hadn't moved since the call. The thing on my roof thudded from spot to spot. The shock was starting to wear off. Focus. Think, I told myself. The thing had probably seen me through the window. It was right above me. The bathroom. The bathroom was the save a spot. There were no windows. If it does break in, it would have to look for me, then break through the bathroom door. That might buy me an extra minute, and it might save my life. The creature knew where I was. I had to try to change that. I slowly slipped off my shoes, keeping my rifle train on the roof. I kicked a shoe towards my bed. Sure enough, the thuds on my roof followed, stopping right above the spot where my shoe had landed. It's tracking me. I slowly shuffled to the bathroom, not raising my

feet, afraid to make a sound, praying that the door would not creak. I opened the bathroom, preparing to lock myself inside. I was shutting myself in, hoping that I wouldn't die in this bathroom. When I heard a loud scratch, followed by a dull thud. It had jumped off the roof. It was on the ground again. Outside the cabin. Why? Was it going away? I was afraid to hope that maybe had gotten bored. Maybe it had found some other prey. That was when I heard the woman scream. I gasped and covered my mouth. How was that possible? No one else is here.

A hiker? A camper maybe? The scream again. Help! She cried out. I gripped my rifle, crying now. I was frozen in fear that thing was out there, chasing some poor woman,

and I was too cowardly to help her. I just wanted to stay in that bathroom hiding, hoping that every second that thing spent chasing that woman was another second closer to the sheriff getting here. I don't know how long I sat there. cowering. Another desperate scream. Help me. There was something in her terror. She was more scared than I was, and there I sat, letting her die. My shame overcame my fear. I gripped my rifle tighter and left the bathroom. I marched to the door, ready to face whatever this creature was. Maybe I could distract it.

Buy time for her to get away. Maybe the sheriff would find her, even if the thing got me first. Just as I was reaching for the doorknob, she cried out again. A pained, dying scream. I was too late. I think I had gotten her. I was a coward, and because of that, she was dead. The woman moaned in pain this time, just a few meters away from the door. This must be her final moments, and I listened, safe in my cabin.

She groaned once more. But this sounded different somehow. It was. My eyes widened and sharpened. and realization. I drew my hand from the doorknob as if it had burned me. I'd never unlocked it, thank God. The moan came again. This time, unmistakable. That was not a moan of pain or terror. It was an entirely different kind of moaning. I backed away from the door. You motherfucker I muttered. You almost got me. It all made sense now. There never was any female elk.

Mimicry is a common adaptation in all ecosystems, both for prey and for predators. This thing, it let out female elk cries to draw in males and then, well, I had already seen the result in the forest. That's why I never heard the elk mating. There was no female waiting for them. Only this monster. And now I was trying the same tactic on me. I nearly sobbed in terror.

It had tried to lure me with the sound of a woman in distress. It thought that might draw me out. When that didn't work, it switched to its tried and true method, a mating call. I aimed my rifle at the door. The moans continued. Louder and more intense, building into a climax. I was nauseous at the thought of whatever it was out there, squatting in the dark, mouth agape, emitting this perversion of a woman's voice. Trying to draw me out into the dark and rip me apart just like that elk. I stood with my rifle train at the door, not moving. I had resolved that I was going to stay there until the sun rose or until the sheriff came.

In the moment I saw this thing, I was going to shoot it. I don't know how long I stood there among the echoes of that sick creature. Eventually the moans puttered out and I was left in silence until the tapping began again. In the same spot as before. There was that single gray claw, tapping on that same spot where I had scratched the glass, but then a second claw joined in, then a third. It drummed then along the glass, slowly, ever so slowly. A patch of gray fur poked out from the edge of the window.

Time stopped, and the creature brought its face into full view. It was terrible, like a sloth. But its mouth and nose were caked in blood. It had tiny, beady eyes front-facing, a predator's eyes, large pointed ears almost like a bat thin cracked lips the monster looked right into my eyes it cocked its head and then it pulled those terrible bloody lips back into a smile its razor-sharp teeth still stained with blood and flesh i'll never forget them it pointed that hideous grin at me as it drummed those claws on my window shoot shoot shoot i told myself but i was frozen this thing was going to kill me

me. Light poured through the front window. The monster disappeared out of sight. The sheriff and deputy had arrived in their truck. The two of them sauntered up to my porch and knocked. I had to shake myself out of my stupor and opened the door. Both of them backed off and drew their weapons at me, screaming at me to put the gun down. I was still in shock. I think the only thing that kept me from shooting them was a terrified look in my eyes. They asked me what the hell was going on. I could barely speak. I just kept frantically repeating that they needed to get inside, that it was still out there. They eventually told me to come with them down to the sheriff station. At first, I refused to leave the cabin, then sort of half dragged, half walked me to the truck. They said I was like an owl

the whole ride down, my head and on a swivel, always scanning the tree line for it. I must have fallen asleep after I got to the station. I woke up the next morning in a cell. I was confused and disoriented. I nearly wept from fear when I finally remembered everything I had been through the night before. The sheriff and deputy sat me down in a room and asked me what the hell happened that night. I was silent at first. I didn't know what to tell them. If I told the truth, they'd think I was crazy. They asked me about the elk's head that I told them about during the call. It was gone when they got there, just a bloody stain on the ground where it had been lying. I made up a story, said that some kids were prowling around my cabin, making noises trying to scare me. I called the

sheriff's office because I thought I saw one of them with a gun. The sheriff only made me go over the story once. He seemed satisfied. He took me back up there the next day to collect my stuff, and broad daylight, of course. Sure enough, there were deep scratch marks along the side of the cabin. The sheriff didn't look at me. Kids, he said. We collected my things quickly and hurried back down the mountain. I reported to my supervisors that it was probably overhunting causing the population decline. They would never believe the truth. The sheriff saw me off while I was waiting for the bus to take me back home. He shook my hand and drew me in for one of them manly half-hugs.

He gripped my shoulder. Don't come back, he whispered. I gave him a confused look. He stared me right in the eyes. It knows you now. Has your scent. Seen your face. Heard your voice.

You got away once. It won't happen again, so don't ever come back. That was years ago. I burned the clothes that I'd worn that trip, so there's no way they'd end up near the Ozarks again. Never been back anywhere near the Ozarks. And anyone who's ever asked me, I always tell them to steer clear. I spent so much time trying to forget what I saw that night, but that face, I remember every detail. It's kept me up so many nights with so many questions.

What the hell was it? Some freak of nature? A mutant that somehow survived past infancy? something supernatural, an alien? Those ears perfectly crafted to detect minnote sounds just like a bat. That explains its mimicry. It grew up in that forest, hearing the elk calls. After a while, it learned to copy them.

I spent so many nights asking myself, How? How did it know that woman's voice? I dread to ponder the answer. When sleep finally comes, I have nightmares. nightmares about campers sitting around the fire, when all of a sudden they hear a voice calling out to them in the woods, crying for help.

The voice in my nightmares, calling them into the darkness of the trees, away from the safety of their fire. The voice. My voice. I found an abandoned Nissan in the Alaska bush. What happened afterwards haunts me to this day. Back in my 20s, I was what you might call an adventure girl.

About 10 years ago, give or take, something happened. I changed that. I moved to the city, got a boring job in a boring apartment, and became decidedly adverse to the outdoors. I haven't really told anyone about it in all that time. Save my now wife because, well, for one, they'd think I'm crazy. And for two, I don't want to think about it. I'm finally putting it here, though, because you all deserve to hear it.

After all, you probably saved my life. At the time, I had just graduated college and moved from Texas to Alaska out of a desire for, you guessed it, adventure. I had a job doing stuff I liked. It paid well and gave me enough vacation days to get out and do something really adventurous every once in a while. One thing I'd had on my bucket list since moving north was driving the Dalton Highway. For the unfamiliar, that's a generously highway that goes from Fairbanks to Prudeau Bay on the Arctic Ocean, is about 500 miles, 11-hour drive in the summer, but thanks to work realities, I wasn't able to get out there until early autumn. By early autumn, the snow had started, but the plows were still able to keep the highway pretty clear.

And I was driving a 95 Toyota land cruiser kidded out for expeditions. Besides that, I was an adventure girl. I was prepared. I had camping gear, emergency gear, a satellite phone, plenty of food and water, enough Jerry cans for the trip there and back. in Sam Colt's greatest invention in the setter console, just in case. For the unfamiliar, that's the 1911. I fucking love that gun. I was planning to make the trip in two days, sleeping in the back of the land cruiser halfway.

I had enough blankets to keep warm, and I had a nice, comfy space back there that I could fit in. I'd have to drive slower because of the snow. I wanted to enjoy the scenery, and the sun was setting pretty early by that time of year. I had a good start that day and the driving was fine. By the time shit went down, it had been dark for about an hour, and I was getting into the foothills of the Brooks Range. That's good scenery and all such a terrain I didn't want to be going through the dark, so I was just about ready to pull over for the night

when I saw caution flashers up ahead. For the unfamiliar, a hard rule for any Alaskan is that you always, always pull over when he sees someone in distress on the side of a remote road like that, especially after the snow starts. If they aren't prepared for the emergency, there's a very good chance that you could save their life, so that's exactly what I did. I pulled over next to a Nissan SUV,

not as nicely kidded out as mine, but not bad either. I figured they were doing the same thing I was, small world. By the jack under one axle, and the wheel sitting next to the car, they'd blown a tire. What I didn't see, though, were the people.

I got out of my land cruiser, crunching down into the snow and looked around. There aren't a ton of trees that far north, and there are quite a few patches of evergreens that, while not quite forests, can be pretty dark and thick on a heavy snow night. Hey, I called. My voice going dead a few yards away as sound does in snowy woods. Y'all need help?

No answer. Dead silence. Save the faint clicking over the flasher from inside their Nissan. I shouted again. Anybody there? I've got tools. No answer. Dead silence.

I considered myself a pretty brave bitch back then, but I'll admit that I was creeped out at this point. This vehicle definitely hadn't been there all that long, and there was no one to be seen. Besides that, the dead quiet and the darkness of the night were unnerving. It wasn't that weird for it to be silent on a snowy night like this, that far north, but still. Creepy. Creepy enough that I hop back in the car and grab my 45, storing it in one of the big pockets in my front of my jacket. just in case. There were bears up there. I approached the Nissan and saw footprints in the snow. Okay, not a ghost car. One pair had been crouched down at the roof tire, and the other had been

standing a couple feet away by the rear of the SUV. The latter pair had then, at some point, headed off towards the tree line. It stopped a few yards down, paced a bit, then continued into the woods. The pair near the tire had then, presumably later, gotten up and ran after the first. I was no tracker, but it's not hard to tell when someone was running in the snow. Now I was really creeped out. I was tempted to hop back in the car and keep driving for a good long while, but like I said, this could easily have been life or death up here. Besides, I had my 45.

It could handle Grizzly. Probably. That was the worst I'd find up here. Probably. So off I went, following those two sets of footprints into the woods. It was fucking dark, but don't worry, y'all. and a really nice flashlight. Sure fire, baby.

Adventure girl, remember? The dead quiet seemed to get even deadlier and quieter as soon as I passed the tree line. A sound does in snowy woods. Probably. The only thing comforting me was that I hadn't gone deaf with as the sound of my breath

and my boots crunching in the snow. Hey, I called again, maybe 20 yards into the woods. Is everyone okay? This time I got a response. It was a woman's voice and it sounded afraid. "'Over here,' it called. "'Help!' "'I got a spring of my step at that,

"'jogging towards the sound of the voice, "'shining my light through the trees "'and try and catch a glimpse. "'Over here, it called again. "'Much closer. "'Help!' "'Remember when I said y'all probably saved my life? "'This is one that happened.

"'I stopped. "'The hair on the back of my neck "'had stood on an end "'and a chill had run down my spine. "'Something was off about that voice. "'I couldn't put my finger on it, "'but it was slightly wrong. "'I pointed my light toward where I had heard it.

Are you hurt, I said, voice raised, but not quite shouting anymore. Help, the voice called again. Only it was even closer this time. I hadn't heard the crunch of any footsteps. Over here. My grip on my flashlight tightened and my heart started to hammer my chest. This was not right. I'd read a lot of no sleep back then, and watched and listened to my fair share of spooky stories.

At that time, I didn't think any of that stuff was real, but what was happening to me felt way too similar, and it was setting off alarm bells. Something about this exact situation was tugging at the back of my mind as something I should be terrified of. I tried one more time. What's your name? I asked cautiously. Help, the voice called, and it couldn't have been more than a few yards off. That was enough for me to swap my light to my left hand and bring out the col with my right. I pointed both in the direction of the voice and finally caught a glimpse of something besides trees. Off in the distance, barely visible, I could see a bundle of something laying in the snow. It was human-sized, and the snow all around it was stained dark. My head was in the middle of

processing what it was seen when I saw movement between me and the body. Oh shit, that was a body. I pointed my flashlight and gun at this horse of the movement. It was humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but it was all wrong. The limbs were too long, and it was too tall. Its hair was thin and wildly, it had antlers, fucking antlers in its face, which was also, I assure you, really fucking wrong. With staying dark with what I can only assume was blood, I fired two shots and hauled ass. I didn't know if the bolt slowed it down. I don't even know if I hit it.

I ran faster than I'd ever run before, and by the cracking branches and crunching snow behind me, it was given chase. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest, and my lungs burned from sucking and in frosty air. Once or twice I saw death flash before me as I nearly lost my footing in the snow, but I managed to stay upright. As I ran, I heard more snapping, more crunching, not just behind me now, but all around. There were more. I got really fucking lucky that night. I was lucky to have spotted the body, lucky to have run just fast enough and not falling on my face. Lucky none of whatever they were, I have a guess, but I'd rather not hazard it, were just a bit closer or faster. I was lucky that I had

dabbled in enough spooky stories that my alarm bells had gone off, and I was lucky that the poor couple, maybe, and that Nissan had gotten stranded there and suffered the grisly fate they suffered. After all, I was planning to stop just as I saw those caution flashers. I'd have been right there, in those same woods asleep. I don't want to think about what would have happened to me if that would have been the case. I made it to my car, which I was lucky to have left running, thinking I wouldn't go far. I left in, slammed and locked the door, and threw it in reverse as I saw dark, lanky shapes coming out of the trees. As I got moving, the headlights revealed that what had been chasing me.

I can't say exactly how many it was, at least half a dozen, all of them were similarly stretched, pale to the point of almost being white, with various forms of antlers and primitive-looking clothing. I reversed down the road as fast as I dared, without risking going off and dooming myself a certain death for a good half mile before I finally got the nerve to finally turn around, then I flew down the highway all the way back to Fairbanks. Only stopping once I found a nice, well-lit hotel in the middle of the city. The next day I went back to Anchorage. I thought about calling the state troopers.

Someone was going to find the Nissan, probably find the bodies. They'd find my casings, my tire tracks. I could end up a murder suspect. I decided against it, though. If I ratted myself out, I'd be a murderer suspect anyways. and they know it was me. Better to bet that no one could tie me to that scene, especially being as far from local as I was.

Over the next week, I packed my shit, bailed on my job and my lease, and moved back to Texas. I never ended up with police banging on my door, so I guess I made the right choice. I still have nightmares about those wrong, elongated things chasing me. I probably have PTSD,

but it's not like I can talk to a therapist about it without ending up in a looney bin. I'm not an adventure girl anymore. I never go anywhere at night, and I stay in the city as much as possible. I didn't get out of their unscathed, but I got out of there alive, which is better than can be said for the folks in the Nissan. I was lucky. The 72-hour sleep ban.

I've always associated my birthday with that depressing time of year where a cozy autumn turns into an early winter decay, where colorful leaves die, leaving a withered brown shell behind. Still, people are expected to sell. the birthdays. It's strange if one doesn't. I don't. My fiancé recently asked me why I never celebrate my birthday, and it's a hard one to explain. When you've been through something traumatic, everything sort of brings you back to that moment, one way or another. And while I'd love to tell her about it, I don't think I can without sounding like a maniac. I thought I'd start by telling

my story anonymously and sort of go from there. It was the year I turned 13. Since You've Been Gone was blasting on the radio every hour of the day. My friends and I were quoting how I met your mother religiously. It was a good time to be a kid. Since my birthday was in the middle of the school week, my big birthday plans were postponed until the upcoming weekend. Still, I couldn't complain. Birthday cake on a Tuesday didn't sound all that bad.

I got home, had a small celebration with my parents, and opened a few presents. Two new games from a PlayStation 2. score. I finished up my homework and browsed the net for a few hours ahead of my scheduled bedtime when there was a knock at the door. We rarely had visitors, so to have somebody knocking at our door at 10 p.m. was unusual, to say the least. My parents had already opened the door by the time I was halfway down the stairs. There was a man in a fancy jacket with a clipboard standing outside, along with two armed guards. I sort of fell into the middle of the conversation. So we need you

to sign the consent form and we'll get started. The clipboarded man said, any questions? This can't be legal, my mom said. On what kind of authority are you? Ma'am, this is an emergency. We've been authorized to bring anyone and everyone, if need be, but I promise you it'll be less pleasant experience than which you could achieve here in the comfort of your own home. As the discussion continued, the armed men pushed into the house. A subject of the service, a sort of had a checklist they were going through, asking questions as they poked and prodded. Someone mentioned a satellite phone, which we didn't have. I heard back upstairs. From my window, I could see them putting wheel locks on our car. They were testing some sort of electrical

equipment too, and as they did, I could see the internet connection on my computer disappear. My cell phone lost all bars, and while I didn't check, I suspected they'd done something to our landline as well. They were isolating us, putting us under some. some sort of lockdown. I still don't have the slightest idea of who these people were. There were no patches, badges, ranks, or symbols, just a bunch of serious-looking men in windbreakers with visible gunholsters. After a few minutes, one of the men entered my room.

My parents were worried, sick, but were told to wait outside. The man was about six-four and had the look of someone who could kill me with his bare teeth if need be. Without a word, he started to go through my things. You got any walkie-talkies he had? Any radio science projects, something like that? Nope, I said, shaking my head. I got a PlayStation 2?

That can go online, right? I never got the chance to answer before my mom added. We don't let him play online game, she said. It can't do that. As if to make sure he pulled the power cable and dropped it into a sealed bag along with various knick-knacks and keys they'd collected. They weren't taking any chances,

and I wasn't playing my new games anytime soon, it seemed. As they finished up their imprompt to house inspection, we were asked to gather downstairs. The fancy man with the clipboard clears his throat, and the room felt deathly silent. Even my dad, who was usually a very assertive man, didn't have much to add to the conversation. That's how you knew it was serious. For 72 hours, this and surrounding neighborhoods are under lockdown, the man explained. There was a localized problem related to a recent geological event which has caused some unexplained issue. I'm sure you've noticed some minor oddities as of late.

Like what? My dad added. Milk turning sour, house plants getting a strange color tint, swarms of frogs cluttering the roads. My parents said nothing but they nodded. Perhaps they'd seen something I hadn't. The man put his clipboard as he explained. Calmly. You've been exposed to something akin to a chemical.

It reacts violently to the release of certain hormones which are associated with deep, REM sleep. To ensure your safety, we are currently enforcing a temporary 72-hour ban of sleep. Excuse me? My dad took a step forward, but one of the armed men responded in kind. They both stopped before it had the chance to escalate. Exposure was approximately nine hours ago, meaning you have about 63 hours left to go. That'll be approximately 1 p.m. on Friday. There is no way we can. This is non-negotiable. This is a matter of your security, sir.

We have an emergency health service site, but I can promise you that it won't be pleasant. You will be chemically induced into sleeplessness for the full duration of exposure until the event has passed. It can cause long-lasting brain damage. We are handed a folder each explaining our responsibilities and rights. An unmarked red folder with three papers, one explaining their right to forces upon us, another explaining that we'd already signed the consent papers, and a third one was a form explaining exactly when we could go to sleep. There was also an inventory form explaining the items we were to have returned at the end of the containment. They left a box of 50 glass vials, some kind of four-hour

booster shots. The man explained how underage children were not to take more than once every several hours, and that my mother, if pregnant, shouldn't take any at all. Luckily, my mom wasn't pregnant. I'm an only child. We're also giving fiber bars with some kind of hormone supplement, unmarked and unbranded, but warm. Maybe they were made recently. The packaging was sloppy at best. The fancy man was trying his best to explain, and I could see my parents were eager to listen to him, but I barely understood half of it. Instead, I looked at the armed guards. They looked exhausted. Maybe they, too, weren't allowed to sleep. One of them had his mouth open and almost drooled, blinking one eye at a time. I could have sworn he nodded off for a second, which prompted him

to take a walk outside. I don't know if we can do this, my mother complained. It's a lot to ask. We've only just, if at any moment you can't do this, you need to call this number. It's the only number that works, the man said, pointing to the final line on the final paper of the folder. If someone falls asleep and can't be awakened within a few minutes, they're in terrible danger. If that happens, try to keep them awake by any means until we can get here to pick them up. And then they'll be taken to our site in McCanto, where they'll be chemically induced to stay awake. So what exactly happens if someone doesn't make it? My mom asked, if we all just fall asleep.

The man shook his head, tapping the clipboard with his pen. They will probably die. Others might too. While they went into the kitchen to explain some details, the angry-looking guard approached me with this sealed bag, handing me back my PlayStation 2 power cable. He gave me a pat on the shoulder. I checked with the tech team, he said. You're good to go.

And, uh, happy birthday. I'd almost forgotten that it was my birthday. I appreciated the gesture, but I just couldn't bring myself a smile. I had too many questions bubbling in the back of my head and I was too afraid to speak. They probably talked for another 20 minutes or so before the men left, leaving my parents and I alone in the kitchen. My mother was smoking under the kitchen fan. I'd only seen her smoke two times, once when she lost her job, and another time when my father got sick. Smoking in the kitchen was a surefire way to tell something was wrong.

Dad was sitting with his arms crossed, looking at the box of booster shots. This is no joke, my dad finally said. This is very serious. We're all going to need to help each other to get through this. Mom said nothing, but I could see her hands trembling. She'd been crying. She was shaking so much that the ash from her cigarette didn't reach the ashtray. It just plopped down on the stove.

We can't be alone, Dad continued. We're going to do our best to keep busy. You can play as many games as you want, but you can't fall asleep. It gave me back my power cable, I said. Does that mean it's okay for me to use the PlayStation? It's okay, my mom coughed. It's okay, honey. Play your games.

For those first few hours, I didn't understand what the big deal was. No more school for the rest of the week, no bedtime, and unlimited screen time. That didn't sound too bad to me. I gamed late into the night. Sly 2 and Ratched and Clank were on the menu, and I had a blast. I got some snacks along with one of those fiber bars. They tasted like twigs and raisins, but it made my brain calm. Not tired, but it made it easier to focus.

It also made it harder to shut my eyes, making my eyelids itch. All lights in the house were kept on all throughout the night. Mom and Dad kept playing music on the downstairs stereo, and they desperately tried to keep me engaged. I was engaged enough just playing games, so I think it was more of their benefit rather than mine. At 5 a.m., Dad took his first booster shot. I could hear it all the way from upstairs.

He was cussing pretty hard. Apparently, those things tasted like a mix of stale rice and death. Mom took her first boost about half an hour later, but she mixed it with orange juice. Apparently that helped. By 7 a.m. even I was feeling it. I'd never been up all night playing games like that on a school day before. Sure, I'd polled all-nighters with my friends, but it was usually something we'd prepared for, so by early morning I could feel myself nodding off.

My parents were checking in on me every now and then and decided to act. We were having family breakfast, pretending as if we'd already slept. You're always cranking, the morning mom said. Try to imagine this is just that, another cranky morning. I knew for a fact that they'd slipped one of those boosters into my cereal. I saw three empty vials on the counter, and I knew none of them had taken a second one yet. Still I had little choices but to try.

We weren't even halfway through the containment yet. As we finished our breakfast, we could hear commotion outside. I was upstairs brushing my teeth, watching through the hallway window. It was our neighbors, Larry Peterson, the 55-year-old man who worked the fishing supplies at the local mini-mall, crawled out his front door. He was throwing up something black and blue onto the pavement. I'd never seen this man do anything more physically straining than trying to start a lawnmower, and now he was crawling on all fours like his life depended on it.

I could hear his wife calling out from inside. She was screaming at him, but I couldn't hear what. Larry got up and almost leapt into the back of his pickup truck and a show of assleticism. had never seen from him before. It wasn't until his wife got out of the house that I could hear what she was saying. Larry, she cried. Larry, wake up. I saw Larry Peterson grab a wrench, get out of the truck, and grab his wife by the hair. Suddenly, a hand covered my eyes. As my father dragged me away from the window, I could hear a scream turned into a gargle, followed by a hearty laugh. One I'd heard a thousand times before. The same kind of laugh Larry Peterson,

would chuckle up whenever my dad tried to pull off a bad pun. My mind painted me a picture of what happened and it wasn't pretty. My dad spun me around and stared at my eyes. I could tell he wasn't himself. There were lines across his face that I hadn't seen before. Stay with me and mommy said, Don't look outside. People are getting sick.

Are we getting sick, Dad? I asked, a yawn escaping me. He shook me a little, as if to make sure I was paying attention. We'll be fine, he said. It's just a matter of time, but I don't want you to see people getting hurt. Larry isn't feeling well. There was a knock on the front door. Dad took point as Mom hit in the bedroom.

I remember standing on the top of the stairs, looking over the railing to the floor below. There was a violent, angry pounding on the door. Larry Peterson's soft chuckle coming from the other side. He didn't say anything. He just pounded on the door with his wrench, laughing as he tried to get in. He went around the house rattling our windows. He didn't get far before we could hear a car roll up. There was a popping sound, but not like a gunshot.

I think they tased him. By the time I could hear Larry Peterson get dragged off, my mom had come upstairs with a smile taped to her face, asking me to show her how far I'd gotten in my new fancy video games. She was clearly trying to keep me distracted, but I didn't mind. At that point, I wanted desperately to be distracted. I could imagine Larry Peterson on the other side the front door his white t-shirt stained with a strange black and blue goo he'd thrown up wielding that

wrench with a manic grip the thing was at large in my arms in solid metal i'd never considered it a weapon but thinking about it made my blood run cold had he really killed mrs peterson why mom and i spent the next few hours playing video games we also made a plan we went through our old dvd's and decided on my watching schedule She'd originally planned a walk, but now we weren't to leave the house. She didn't want to say why, but I had the feeling that there was something outside the Peterson's house as she didn't want me to see. Bloodstains, maybe. I was too afraid to find out.

My parents tried their best to keep the mood up, but I could tell it was getting to them. My dad was mostly just standing there, leaning against the door, staring straight ahead like in a trance. Mom tried to occupy herself by playing games and watching DVDs with me, but she was just, was counting the minutes until she'd could get her next booster shot. I wasn't eager to take one. They made my stomach all queasy. We made it all the way until noon. Dad was having trouble staying up and kept washing his head with cold water. He tried to keep busy doing housework that he'd keep for a rainy day. But there was like constant distractions. We could hear sirens in the distance and at one point there was someone spraying our front door in windows with a high-pressure water hose, probably

to wash away the last traces of Larry Peterson. There were dog patrols going up and down the streets along with the occasional phone call, the one number that still worked, where someone called to make sure we are all awake and accounted for. By dinner time, mom was having stomach troubles, her shaking had gotten worse, and she was having trouble with sudden change of smells.

Dad kept rubbing his eyes and checking his watch, getting up every 10 minutes or so just to move around. We decided that we were going to play board games after dinner, but mom was having trouble keeping herself from throwing up. We ended up just reheating a lasagna from a few days back. I didn't mind. Mom made amazing lasagna, but my appetite was quickly lost when I saw my mother barely keeping it together.

She kept drooling and making this weird chugging sound. She was blinking slower and slower. Dad tried to get her to eat one of those fiber bars, but she just ran out of the kitchen, locking herself in the bathroom. It was touch and go for a while. I could feel my heart racing as dad tried to convince her to unhunk the door, but she just couldn't do it. After a while, she stopped responding. Dad had to break the handle with a hammer, but it was too late.

She was already sleeping. I could hear it through the front door. As the door burst open, Mom had only been asleep for a couple seconds, a minute at most. But she was sitting on the toilet, her head leaning back and something was coming out of her mouth, black and blue fingertips, poking out over the edge of her lips. Her throat eutelated. The moment Dad grabbed her, she tipped her head forward, coughing. Dad washed her face in the sink while yelling at me to wait in the other room. For a few minutes, I was just sitting there, ready to run or hide. Must have been too late, I figured. She could have already been affected, like Larry Peterson.

I could hear them arguing in the other room, and as their voices went from angry to desperate, To sad, I didn't know what to do. When they finally returned, they sat me down to explain that we were going to be fine, that we were almost halfway through, and that we were in the home stretch. They were so kind, warm, and careful in the way they explained it. But my mind was a thousand miles away. I had trouble focusing. And all I could think about was that strange noise I kept hearing in the background. Something outside.

Dad was halfway through explaining how we weren't going to lock our bathroom door. anymore when something in me screamed at me to react. It was just a slight click, but it was clear as day. Maybe it was those booster shots, but I kept hyper-focusing on little details rather than big-picture stuff, like an actual conversation taking place in front of me. I closed my eyes, and no less than a second later, there was a loud bang. Someone was shooting at us. It was only a couple of shots, but we dropped to the ground.

One shot got lodged in the front door, while the other cracked the kitchen window. There were loud voices outside laughing hysterically. They were talking but barely making any sense. One of them sounded like she was trying to talk with food in her mouth. Mom and Dad kept quiet as two more shots popped off. One of them hitting the kitchen light. When an electric spark it gave out, blocking out most of the kitchen. I could hear someone running and laughing as they continued down the street.

In the distance there were more gunfire, maybe someone responding in kind. We can't stay here, Mom whispered. We got to call them. You want to go to where they put Larry, Dad answered? To be put in a hospital full of these people? They're shooting at us. We can't just... Mom quieted down and looked at me.

She and Dad excused themselves to talk in private while I was asked to move upstairs. I was to stay away from windows and I couldn't sit or lie down. It'd be up to check on me in a bit. But of course, I was too curious. While still hearing them argue downstairs, I checked an upstairs window. I could see pretty far down the street, and in the distance I could make out a car stalling on the side of the road. The headlights were still on, but it was surrounded by at least six people. Two of them were dressed like the armed guards we'd seen earlier.

It took me a while to realize there was an old man sitting in the car. I'd seen him around a couple of times, but I didn't know his name. The surrounding people were trying to crack the car windows with various weapons, tire irons, bricks, hammers, lead pipes, whatever they could get their hands on. It didn't take them long to break through. They reached in to pull the man out, who was far too off for me to hear the screams, but I could vaguely see what they were doing. They held him down and covered his face with their hands,

his eyes, his mouth, his ears, leaving only his nose to breathe through. Then they just sat there. It took me a moment and realized what they were doing. They were forcing him to sleep. After a few minutes, they let go of him. The old man slowly stood up, leaning against his car, and started to dry heave.

After a while, the same blue and black goo that I'd seen from Larry Peterson started pouring out of his mouth, stopping only as he coughed up some kind of clot that could barely fit in his mouth, a clot that moved. As he straightened his back, he looked at this strange group, and they walked down the street together. Some jogged, some sprinted. One of them crawled, but it looked like he held onto something with his teeth, either to that or something was coming out of his mouth, something long. As they hurried down the street I could hear more gunfire

In the distance coming from another way I could see another group of people At least a dozen but heading in another direction Roaming gangs of sleep-deprived sick people God knows how this thing affected them long term When my parents were done discussing they sat me down to explain that we were Going to stay indoors and keep away from the windows just in case We were locking all doors and windows closing all curtains

and not playing anything louder than necessary We were to draw as little attention as possible. Of course, I agreed. What choice did I have? That night I could tell things were deteriorating. Dad almost took a double dose of booster shots as he forgot he'd taken the first one, but Mom stopped him. There were no phone calls coming in.

They'd stopped checking in on us. Mom even tried calling, but the line had been disconnected. The gunfire outside was further away, but more frequent. We could hear cars honking, but no sourcing. Then there were fires at least two, somewhere downtown. We could see the smokestacks from afar. Mom wasn't doing well. She couldn't eat, and at times she could barely stay on her feet.

She kept talking out loud even if no one is in the room with her. She had to lean against things to stay upright. She couldn't keep the fiber bars down, and she walked around with her head bobbing back and forth. Dad tried his best to keep her active, but he was having trouble as well. No matter how many cold splashes he took to the face, he just couldn't stay attentive. I wasn't doing well either, but nowhere near as bad. I still had my appetite, and I took my booster shots, but I could feel the side effects. My hands kept shaking, and I had a nasty headache.

There were these pinches down my neck like someone was shocking me with a wet battery. I'd imagine things moving just outside my vision. I kept turning around to look at the windows, as I'd start to hallucinate that there were screens. By morning there was a new problem. Both the power and the water had been cut. There was a small lake, a short walk from the house, and we had no choice to try and get some water by hand. We had some drinking water stocked in the kitchen,

but we needed some for the bathroom. Mom volunteered to go, but that was out of the question. She could barely stand or make a coherent sentence. There was no discussion. Dad had to do it. We watched him from one of the upstairs windows. The sun had just risen, bathing the withering landscape in long, sharp shadows, and a sickly bright glow.

Mom was just staring blankly ahead as if trying to remember what was so important. Isn't it your birthday soon, she said out loud? That was Tuesday, I responded. Did you wish for you to get older? she asked. I wish, I wish for that. I want you to be, be able to get older. She looked at me and laughed manically. She blinked one eye at a time, her left eye lingering a little longer than her right.

Her eyes were sunken and dark. She kept giving me cross-eyes. I think she meant well, but that look she gave me was nothing short of terrifying. It was like she had been reduced to her most basic self. My mom was still in there somewhere, but most of it was just gone. After about an hour, I spotted dad coming back. Mom and I were both relieved, but it didn't last long. I noticed he wasn't carrying any water.

Moments later, I could see he wasn't alone. There were about two dozen more people coming with him. Mom didn't seem to react. She just looked out the window and nodded to herself. For a moment, she was almost fallen asleep standing up, her mouth moving up and down on its own like a bass out of water. I could see something moving in her throat. I shook her, and in a moment of clarity, she looked out the window again.

As I heard something, pound against the door downstairs, Mom pushed me into the closet. She ran downstairs to get the remaining booster shots and dropped it all on me, along with a rich watch and a couple of fiber bars. Someone, someone will get you, she said. Just wait. Just wait, and stay awake. I'll try to think of something.

I didn't have the time to protest before she slammed the closet shut. I could hear a key slide into the lock downstairs. Dad may have forgotten something about who he was, but he hadn't forgotten how to use the house keys. I just sat there in the dark listening. I curled up into a ball, but I didn't want to get too comfortable. I could hear furniture being turned over, unfamiliar voices yelling obscenities or incoherent nonsense. A fight broke out, and I could hear someone throwing something. Another person ran up the stairs and into the bathroom, repeatedly kicking the bathtub.

A woman screamed. than a man. There was a gunshot, followed by windows being broken. I could hear a muffled scream as if someone was held down, maybe like they did with the old man outside the night before. I must have sat there for hours. In the dark, it was hard to tell if my eyes were open or not. I couldn't tell if I was really hearing something outside

or if I was just imagining it. I could hear voices and whispers, but they didn't seem to make sense. Sometimes I imagined them standing just outside my door, asking me for the cheat codes for the games I'd played. All I had to keep my waning sanity company was my mom's wristwatch, and I could barely make it out. Time passed so strangely I could be wrapped, and I thought for what felt like hours, but only minutes passed. Then I'd catch myself staring straight ahead, and two hours could disappear. I kept repeating the next scheduled hour for the booster shot like a mantra, but things were getting stranger.

The clock would go backwards. I'd imagine someone sitting across from me, a pair of white eyes staring back at me from the dark. There were little voices telling me to go to sleep, and I found myself nodding off. I could feel something moving in me, like a hand trying to fit into a glove. I finally gave up and got out of the closet. I could barely stand as I dragged the booster shots and fiber bars along in a plastic bag. I didn't care if there was anyone downstairs. I needed to see something.

I needed light or some kind of stimuli. The whole house was trashed, every piece of furniture broken, every light smashed. There was blood splatter on the walls, and the front door was hanging on a single hinge. Every window was smashed, and our picture frames had been thrown across the room like ninja stars, but the strangest thing was, was an awkward smell coming from the kitchen. At first, I didn't understand what it was. It looked like a person, but there was something wrong with the limbs. After a few seconds of adjustment and trying to force myself to clarity, I realized it was a dead body.

A young man with a knife sticking out of his chest, splayed out on the kitchen floor. His jaw was extended and broken on one side. There was a black and blue arm reaching out of his throat, reaching upwards to grab his own head. Something in me stirred. Something in me didn't like what I was looking at, and I wasn't sure if it was me or something else. I tried to push it down with a fiber bar, which strangely worked. I made my way outside in a day's. I didn't know what to do.

Part of me wanted to find my parents, and another part of me wanted to just get out of town. I wanted to look for a bike or just start walking or catch a bus. Of course, there were no buses to catch, but my sleep-deprived mind couldn't separate fact from fiction anymore. That entire night was one long-living nightmare. I kept imagining things coming out of the dark, I could hear voices telling me to turn around, to stop, to run all at once, and none at all.

I could barely keep my balance and stopping even for a moment would send me straight to sleep. I had to keep going. I even took an extra booster shot which just gave me this sharp joint pain and made me sweat. I could tell I'd done something stupid. I took a shortcut through the park. I could see faces coming out of the trees. I saw a man lying face down on a gravel path, being pulled forward. by an arm coming out of his mouth.

I saw a man out by the lake, repeatedly slapping his arms against the cold water surface, like a manic child trying to get as high a splash as possible. Some of it was real. Some of it wasn't. I couldn't tell which was which. Not anymore. When I finally reached downtown,

I saw at least a two dozen people gathered outside a burning building, all of them with black and blue arms, reaching out of their mouths, stretching towards the flames, as if slowly wafting, air towards them like human kelp, moving against an invisible current. They leaned back and forth in unison, praising whatever chaos they'd caused without a word, or sound. And yet I could hear them, welcoming me, beckoning me, all voices unique carried to me by an unfelt wind. Come closer, it begged.

You belong here. I turned away and the voices grew louder, desperate, screeching, demanding my attention, my devotion, some of them coming from outside, some of them coming from the rumble of my stomach. It's already here I laughed. It'll never go away. It'll never sleep. It'll never stop. Hands reached for me. A face in every window. Voices reaching from beneath the concrete. Gunfire. Broken windows. Glass cracking under my rubber boots as I shuffled past burnt out cars. It was dark. then bright and dark again. And at some point I succumbed. I felt concrete against my cheek,

but I couldn't bring myself to get up. My legs wouldn't move. My eyes wouldn't open. Yes, the voices laughed. Come, come to us, come burn with us. And then, darkness. I don't know how long I was out, hours, maybe half a day. I woke up to see a man running towards me,

asking me if I was okay. A car had pulled over, bathing me in warm light. By the side of the road, a colony of frogs looked at me. In the distance, my eyes landed on a discolored sunflower. It turned blue. Strange how you don't notice, the most obvious changes until they stare at you in the face. Turns out, exposure had happened at least six hours earlier than the man with the clipboard had predicted. And I had been awake long enough for most of the effect to pass through my system.

I was found unconscious by the slide of the highway, about nine miles from my house. While I did have an uncomfortable, dreamless sleep, the effects it had on me were nowhere near as bad as what happened to most of the neighborhood. I'm sure you've heard of it. Riots, they called it. Just another mess up in a low-income area. I don't even think it reached national news. Some of the people who succumbed to it early had permanent brain damage. Larry Peterson was never the same, but it was hard to tell if it was because of the emotional trauma or the sleep thing.

Either way, he had to have a nurse come looking. after him for a few weeks for the rest of his life. Mom and dad weren't completely unharmed either. Mom developed some kind of narcolepsy after that night, spontaneously nodding off at the most inopportune times. Dad lost his sense of taste and smell. To this day, they're having a hard time explaining what exactly they experienced. To them, it was just like going to sleep and having the most horrible nightmare, only to wake up in a hospital bed. Sometimes I wonder if I did fall asleep. Some of the things I saw were so strange that there was no way to tell me if they're real or not. I vividly remember that scene of hands waving back and forth outside that burning building downtown.

It had to be real. That building did burn. As you might imagine, I have a hard time looking back at this, thinking too much about it gives me this icy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like a small part of me believes that this was all just a big nightmare, that I'm just still like clocks tick away. from waking up in that closet, with someone standing just outside, waiting for me. Or maybe it's something inside of me, still waiting to grab the reins.

Maybe it's just a night away. Don't do jobs off the deep web. This all started a week ago. When I lost my job and was running behind on bills, I lived in a simple house, and that job was all that held my life together. After a night of drinking and watching TV, I started looking for a new job.

Most of them looked boring, just nine to five office jobs, but one caught my eye. It was an ad to the side of the screen that read, High paying jobs for hire. This isn't just your normal nine to five job. In desperation, I clicked on the shady ad. Slowly, but surely, a new website loads, with multiple links to different jobs with different descriptions. Deep web jobs.

House sitting. $100 per share. shift stay in a camera room watch all rooms keep the house safe rules and link seems easy i thought to myself god do i regret that crop harvest 150 dollars per field harvest a field of corn tools are provided rules and link reading down all the jobs the house sitting seemed the easiest so i clicked on the link eager for the $100. On the screen, I sign-up sheet popped up, asking for my email. I typed it in quickly and was met with a message.

We hope to see you soon. Satisfied with that, I hopped in bed and turned off the lights. I start to drift off when I hear a buzz from my phone. Irritated, I get up and check my phone. A new email. I thought to myself. I clicked on the notification. Your application has been accepted.

Thank you for applying to the house-sitting job. You will stay at the house from 12 a.m. until 4 a.m. and you must follow these rules. Your money will arrive at 6 a.m. after your shift. Always, no matter what you hear or see, stay in the camera room. Either don't bring your phone, or if you do, do not turn it on, even if you get a notification. I will not email you during your shift. Make sure to bring something that can play music fairly loudly. Arrive at 12 or a little before 12.

If you arrive past 12, do not enter the house, and send me an email. From 12 until 1, you are allowed to roam the house, but make sure to be in the upstairs camera room by 1. Turn all lights off, lock the doors, and close the blinds. From 1 until 2, watch the cameras. If you see a man in the living room watching TV, turn that camera off. Until you hear the TV turn off from downstairs, ignore any sounds you hear around the house. If you feel anything touch you, stop moving and close your eyes until the feeling goes away. From 2 until 3, 3,000, 3, open the blinds in the camera room. If you hear a voice from the window, do not look at them.

The conversation will be normal, and once they say goodbye, it is safe to close the blinds. This event can happen any time in the hour. If you see a woman cooking in the kitchen, you have a blue button on your desk that turns on a loud sound in the kitchen. Press and hold that button until the woman disappears. From 3 until 30, 33, turn on your music device as loud as possible. Cover your ears. close your eyes and ignore any sounds or movements around you. If the music stops, make any sound of your own to drown out what is happening around you.

After 333, you are allowed to roam the house until 4. Do not leave before 4 and do not leave more than 5 minutes after 4. If any rules are not completed correctly, hide under the desk and do not move until 4. That is all. Your shift starts from tomorrow night at 4.71 Peterson Drive. Sincerely, Mr. Salazar. I must have read that email ten times over, thinking this was a prank or something. No way do I have to actually follow these crazy rules, I thought to myself.

Entranced at how specific the rules were, I put my phone back down to charge and went to sleep. Still confused by that email. All I could do the next day was thinking about what that email said. Man in the living room, woman in the kitchen, conversation with a person, in the window. It all just seemed so crazy to be true. But I couldn't help but to find myself 15 minutes before 12 with an old iPod in my pocket, standing at 471 Peterson Drive. I entered the house. It had a sort of old but still livable vibe to it. The house was dusty, but the kitchen and living room were spotless. I made my way upstairs and at the end of the

long hallway stood the camera room. It was barren and small, but nothing but a chair, camera monitor and a couple windows in it. I sat down in the chair. Man, I hope this is worth it. It wasn't. Looking at the computer's clock, it's 1203. I have one hour to look around the house. First, I head back to the living room, closed blinds, locked doors, and turn lights off. Repeat that for all rooms and at 1256 I was back to the camera room. As soon as it hit one o'clock, I felt a sudden dread, telling me to get up and leave right now. I turned on all the cameras, and on the back of my neck, it felt as if a feather was resting on it. I froze. Keep calm, Chris, keep calm. I closed my eyes as I remember the rules.

It felt like hours, that feather tickling the back of my neck, but I held out, not moving and keeping my eyes closed. The feather went away. I opened my eyes, relieved, and heard behind me slow coordinated footsteps. I whipped around, the footsteps went away, and a slow chuckle came from the camera speaker. The man was watching TV. The TV was lit up with some cooking show, and the man was chuckling while watching the show. I turned that camera off and hoped I had done it fast enough. The sound from the TV echoed up the stairs, chilling me to the bone. What the hell is this place I thought to myself? Feeling queasy, and how is it only 120? The next 20 minutes were creepy as can be.

Unknown sounds bounced around the house, the man laughing at the TV, watching all the cameras, until the silence hit me hard. The TV had been off and dread had fell upon me again. The noise from the TV had been a constant for the past 20 minutes, but now that is off. The silence felt threatening. I slowly turned on the camera and found the room to be empty. I sighed in relief. For what felt like an eternity, my eyes darted around the cameras.

on edge until the clock made a quiet beep, and it turned two o'clock. I rose from my chair and opened the blinds revealing the pitch black lawn outside. I sat back down as the clanging of pots and pans ringed in my ears. I looked down at the blue button beside the monitor. Then, at the lady, now cooking black eggs in the kitchen, and I was about to press the button. Hi, Chris. A woman's voice came from the window. I froze, gluing my eyes to the monitor, forcing myself not to look away at the window.

Huh. Hi. How was your day? My voice was shaky. It was obvious that I was scared. I was just trolling around the neighborhood, saw you were here, and I just wanted to say hi. The window she was talking to me through was high enough up the ground to need a large ladder to get to. How was your day? My day was, it was fine. Thanks. The woman in the kitchen started to get louder. Okay, well, I have to go. It was nice to meet you. It was nice to meet you too.

Bye. I wanted to get up. I wanted to just close the blinds and never hear her voice again, but something just told me that she should not get up. Wow. You're a smart one. I thought that would get you. Hmm.

Maybe next time. Goodbye. I waited a few seconds. The last thing I wanted to see was the face of that lady talking to me, so I waited until I was sure she wasn't there anymore. Then close the blinds. Once that ordeal was over, I realized that the lady in the kitchen was gone, even though I never pressed the button. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, I thought.

I'd broken one of the rules and it was only 2.30. Now I'm sitting under the desk, typing this on my iPod, and there's a lady with a ragged apron on. Walking in, circles around the room. I'm scared to make any noise, so please, if you see an ad for dark web jobs, don't click it. Update. It's 4.30 now. I made it out of the house and I'm safe. left leg is a hurt a little, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what happened.

The lady from the kitchen walked around the room, making soft groans and drooling everywhere. I kept as silent as I could, freezing time she turned in my direction. A small beep came from on the desk, notifying me that I had turned three o'clock. The lady in my room melted into the floorboards, screaming a scream of the utmost agony and pain. What I was supposed to do at this point was turn on the music on my iPad, close my eyes, and cover my ears, but hiding under my desk. I didn't know if I still had to do that. I waited and waited on silence was all I could find until the walls and floors of the house started to contort. The house shifted and moved into what looked like faces popping out of the walls. The only

description of the sound I can think of is a scream of terror itself. I couldn't take it anymore. My mind told me to get up, to run, to get out as fast as I can, but I knew I couldn't. I closed my eyes and turned the music on. The screams were drowned out, and it seemed almost calming, but in the back of my mind, I knew what was happening around me. The music blared loudly, and my eyes stayed glued shut. Then the music turned off. I opened my eyes and the house was normal again.

Shakily, I stood up and looked at the clock. 3.34. I got back under the desk and lay there terrified, but nothing happened and I was sitting there for 35 minutes until the final beep from the clock came, telling me I could finally leave. I got up, walked down the hallway, down the stairs to the front door, and finally the sweet, cool air of the night hit my face, and in that moment I felt a relief that was almost euphoric. I walked home and picked up my phone,

and when I was to email Mr. Salazar, his email was gone. The website was gone, and there was no trace of him at all. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn't get the faces out of my hands. head. The look they had can't be explained. I don't know if I'm going to get my money back, but at this point I don't care. I just want to never go back to that house again. Update. It's 6 o'clock now. A package somehow appeared at my door and inside was $80 in a letter. The letter is as follows. You can't escape. Hello again, Chris. I see that you showed up for your shift this morning. I appreciate that, but during your shift you broke one of the rules. I've taken $20 off of

your pay because of that. I'm pretty sure you're already aware, but I can tell you, you don't want to go back. Most people don't. And I'm here to say you can't escape. By entering that house, you pretty much signed your soul away. No matter what you do, you will always be at that house by 12. That is all, sincerely, Mr. Salazar. Part 2. My sleep last night was horrible. I couldn't stop thinking about what happened on my first shift the whole day I stayed in bed terrified for midnight to come, but it had to come eventually. 11.57. I begged that nothing would happen to me. 11.58. I put my iPod in the trash.

1159. I lay in bed and close my eyes. I feel pressure on my feet and my soft bed disappears from under me. I open my eyes and find myself inside that cursed house again, with my iPod and a printed paper of the rules in my hands. What? How is this possible, I think, to myself? I ran to the door, slamming my fists against it, wanting any way out, but to no avail I couldn't leave. I defeatedly walked up the stairs and sat in the camera room chair. I sat there, crying for an hour until one came, and with it came the man laughing at the TV.

I turned the camera off and continued to sob, not caring about the sounds around me, but then I felt a hand wrap around my neck. I froze, closed my eyes, and tried to control myself. The grip closed tighter and tighter until I could bear it. breath. Then it finally left me alone. I gasped for air and grabbed the printed paper of rules given to me at the start of my shift. I looked at the printed sheet of rules and at the bottom was a handwritten message from Mr. Salazar himself. Good luck. I looked back up at the cameras and composed myself. Okay, Chris, you can do this. You've already been here once pulled together.

I listened, not hearing the TV anymore. I turned the camera on and the clock let out a small beep. It had turned two o'clock. I stood up to open the blinds but hesitated. Did I really want to talk to her again? Regardless, I pushed the thought away and opened the blinds to be met with a face only insane people would call a woman. It looked as if she hadn't eaten once in her life. Her skin looked like it was air-tight to her bones, and she had no meat in her body. Her smile was literally ear-to-ear.

Her skin sagged down at least two feet, and her eye sockets had large, black, bloodshot. eyes with tiny beady yellow pupils. Hello again, Chris. I closed the blinds as quickly as I could and went to hide another desk, but the desk is just a block, no space to hide under. I don't know what to do. I hear slow footsteps coming up the stairs. Oh God, the doorknob is turning.

The door is locked. Oh, thank God I remember to lock it. She's screeching from behind the door. She's slamming her hands on it. It's only a matter of time until she breaks the whole door down. What do I do? That's where your body will be within half an hour. I was raised in a fairly strict but loving Christian household in a Bible Belt section

of the states. My parents weren't at all unreasonable in their rules and were well-intentioned, but I broke a few along the way like most teenagers do. This summer before I started college, I began a relationship with a slightly older guy. I knew him from high school and he was attending to college I would soon be at. Johnny was a cat. She was exceptionally handsome, had been on the football team, and he was a kid. was on a full academic scholarship, funny, talented, and very personable.

There was little to not like about him. We bonded over our teetotalism and love of pranking. The best part, he had his own apartment at the college, which was a four-hour drive from my parents' house. I could easily sneak up there under the guise of visiting one of my other friends or spending the night at a local girlfriend's house. My parents didn't even know I had a boyfriend. Now, I'd just turn 18 and enjoyed my rebellious streak and newfound.

freedom, but I was still happily lived under my parents' guidance and rules for a large part. They always encouraged me to be a free thinker and to ultimately figure out my own morals and values, and I ended up much like them, because they're honestly that awesome. My mom wisely encouraged me not to just sleep with anyone, and it was something I actually held to quite strongly, so while I had no qualms having sleepovers with my good boyfriend, I was intent of not having sex with him. He took it pretty well and seemed to respect my decision. One week, smack dab in the middle of summer, I had three days off in a row at work. I drive up to see Johnny was in order, and I began my travel early in the morning. He was excited

to see me and we had a great day. Nerf gun wars, reading Stephen King, making out, we went out for dinner and returned for a night of shenanigans, or so I thought. Upon entering his apartment, Johnny produced a box of condoms. He had tried this before, so I wasn't faced and adamantly told him I wasn't happening. The events that unfolded, of following this seemingly unimportant interactions still haunt me to the day. Johnny's smile disappeared and his eyes went cold. Hauntingly cold. I was sitting at his dining room table with my back against the wall.

He was standing at the other end of the small table. You make me sick. I'm sick of you. You play me. All you do is play me. We were serial pranksters and sarcastic in every sense of the word. While his countenance made my skin crawl, I knew he was joking. I had known Johnny for you.

years after all. I've thought about this for a long time and you're dead. I'm not doing this anymore. You make me so sick. I hate you and you're dead. He was unnervingly calm and his voice portrayed a slight hint of anger I'd never heard before. I noticed him clenching his fist, popped out veins tracing up his arm. For the first time in our entire relationship I felt unsafe with him. He held my gaze unblinking. His second floor apartment was on campus. It was summer. I'd seen nobody else in the building, no other cars in the parking lot, even if I could get past him, which I couldn't. My two options were unlocking the balcony door and jumping, or racing 15 feet down the hallway to the dead bolted front door, which opened inwardly and getting down a flat of stairs. Either scenario led to an empty parking lot.

I would have to get to my car or run into the woods nearby, while athletic I had no chance against him physically. I focused on him. Half of me just knew he was kidding. He had to be. break into laughter any second now, and he would return to our beautiful day. He continued talking. I can't repeat what he said. It was too graphic and specific to our location to write out in a public forum. He detailed the SA he had in store for me. If I survived, I'd be strangled in the nearby woods that carted off and dumped at a secluded spot we had explored together. He motioned to some

bags he had on this counter. That's where your body will be within an hour. I had enough. His plan was too well thought out to be impromptu. I'm a sense. small but I'm stubborn and would fight to the death if I had to. I also have a wicked straight face when I need to. It was my turn to hold his gaze with all the ferocity I could muster. I stood up and said the first thing that came to mind. I'm still proud of the unflinching calm I presented. Inside I was begging God not to let me die. You're real funny. I always believed to you for a second. Wouldn't you have worked anyways because what I was going to tell you before all that happened as my dad asked me to come home tonight. He needs help first thing in the morning with the

garden for my mom's birthday because Kyle, my brother, hurt his back and I told him I'd call him as soon as I was on the road within half an hour. It was a lie and not a particularly good one, but the delivery was convincing. I dangled my phone in his face and told him he could explain to my dad why I wasn't coming home tonight if he wanted me to stay. Johnny's mouth was agape as he stared at me. I was just kidding, he mumbled. Fist still clenched. See ya, yeah, I chirped, pushing back. him. My gamble paid off. I grabbed my purse and shuffled down the hallway. I could feel his eyes burning through me in the electric energy in the room as I internally screamed at myself to move slowly. The deadbolt disengaged. I walked down and fought every urge to run down the stairs. I was too

far from my car if he chased me to beat him, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of seen me scared. I walked the entire length of the car park. I've always had a habit of parking as far out as possible. Next to the woods he told me he would murder me in. I knew he was watching me the entire time. I could feel his eyes follow my every movement. As I drove out past his apartment, I saw his shadow in the balcony window. I waved, he stared. I drove a few miles to the nearest Walmart.

It was only eight and the sun was just starting to set. People milled through the park and not blissfully unaware of what I had just gone through. I collapsed onto my steering wheel and broke down, bawling my eyes out. Then I drove the four hours back home. Stupidly, I didn't know how to process what happened and banished it. to the recesses of my mind. I spent the next few years avoiding Johnny. The few times I thought about it,

I blame myself for being so naive. I finally told my mom four years after the fact and was able to process through it. So, possible murderer, ex-boyfriend, who thankfully now lives about 10,000 miles away from me, let's not meet again. The blood-curdling scream that woke me up at 3 a.m. It was Christmas time.

My wife and I were staying at her childhood home where her mother now lived all alone. Well, not if you include the cats. Meow. The house was on a quiet cul-de-sac in the suburbs. If you're picturing freshly mowed lawns, American flags, and empty sidewalks, you're picturing it right. It's a single-story home with an attached garage out front. The garage has two doorways, apart from the electric garage, of course. One leads to the garden and backyard. This had an old doggy door from their days with old dear Macs, Rip Max, that they covered with a piece of nailed in wood. That it at old age made me slightly uncomfortable before, but I figured it had been that way for a year, so what's the worst that could happen? The second door

leads to the kitchen. Hollow core. It could stop a mouse, but not much else. Definitely not something that wanted it in or someone. We are asleep in my wife's childhood bedroom at the front of the house. 3 a.m. I was in that deep, dark, recess of sleep. You know, you're in the diving bell, and you're submerged. hundreds of meters below the surface in black water protected from the real world by miles of nothingness. Then I heard it. The scream. What are you doing? It was my mother-in-law's voice echoing down the hallway, to me, lost in a sea of sleep.

It sounded like a jet engine roaring past my eardrum. I bolted up. What happened next happened in a matter of seconds. But about that scream, even though I was dead asleep, I heard enough of it to sense an urgency behind it. This wasn't an, oh, you scared me type of scream. This was different, and I knew it. Not consciously, but my lizard brain, that piece we retained from our primitive ancestors, knew something was wrong. I watched and read a fair amount of true crime, and this scream awakened that horrible fear.

The one that says, this can't really be happening to me, can it? Honestly, in that second of the night, it sounded like someone was about to be murdered. You ever wonder if you're a fight or flight type of individual? I always have, and I came to know something about myself after this night. I'm a fighter. I leaped out of my bed, growled. Yes, growled in the manliest voice I could muster. I'm going to kill you, motherfucker, and took off running. I tore open the bedroom door and ran into the hallway. There, at the end, I saw my mother-in-law, nightgown on, look of utter shock on her face, standing still. We make eye contact as I continue towards her. Then she turns her head, looks directly into the kitchen.

I hurry past her and round the corner into the kitchen. The hollow core door is obliterated, shards everywhere. I look through the open frame and see the electric garage door is open. I push ahead. As I run into the garage, I hear it. The sound of someone hopping into a running car just out of view, just as I make it onto the driveway. I see a car peeling out from the sidewalk adjacent to the house. But the adrenaline is still pumping.

And who am I to say no to adrenaline? So like an idiot, I run, barefoot after the car. I give a good go, but I don't know Michael Johnson, and even he couldn't catch a speeding car. It soon vanishes down the street, and I'm left all alone. The police showed up within three minutes, which I have to say makes me feel a lot more at ease with my mother-in-law living there. They took our statements.

My mother-in-law said she heard a voice, or noise, and the hollow corridor being kicked in and walked into the kitchen where she encountered the burglar, a small, framed woman. The police theorized she was working as part of a team. Her job was to squeeze through the doggie door, kicking the hollow core, and open the electric garage door for her accomplice. According to the police, the burglars most likely thought nobody was home. Fortunately, my mother-in-law must have caught her off guard and scared her, in addition to my manly growling, of course. But it feels good to know that everyone was safe, and to learn that, I guess, I've got a little fight in me. And for the record, we bought the heaviest goddust.

damn wooden door you've ever seen to replace that holocor. I'd like to see a mouse try and get through that. I'm the stalker. TV shows movies usually depict up ductors driving white or black vans. I didn't realize this until I decided to buy a white 1994 Dodge Ram cargo van to haul some of the gear I needed for work. While driving it, I've been pulled over by cops and searched three times for no reason, but that is another story. The point is some people see vans as suspicious. One day, while returning home, a woman pushing a stroller stared at me for a long time while I drove along my home street. We have speed bumps and I had a lot of expensive, delicate gear in the van, so how I was driving very slow. She stared at me, wide-eyed the entire time, so I smiled at her like a friendly neighbor

does. She was staring so intently, she almost walked the stroller right off the edge of the curb. I thought it was funny and almost forgot about it. A week later, our HOA email, Thread heats up when a resident sends out a notice that his wife and toddler were being stalked by a man in a white van. Fearing a pitchfork and torch mob, mistaking me for the creeper, I replied to all, saying I live in the neighborhood and also drive a white van. I even provided my license plate number and home address. Big mistake.

Jokingly, I added that I also witnessed a suspicious person in the next. neighborhood, a woman with a stroller who was staring at me for so long and hard and made me uncomfortable. I provided the date and time of the incident to see if their alleged stalker was actually me. It was. Dude got triggered. He started sending email after email, c-seeing everyone on the list telling me he can read between the lines of what I was saying. His accusations became more and more ludicrous and turned into personal attacks. Several neighbors on the email list replied that he was behaving badly. The emails eventually stopped, but things got even weirder.

On several occasions, while out walking my dog, a 10-ish-year-old girl, would come up out of her house, run over to me, awkwardly chat me up about my dog, and give me strangely intimate details of her life. I wondered why this child was talking to strangers, but thought maybe she would just knew me from the neighborhood, so I politely played along. Then one day the girl shows up at my house. She said that she was angry because her dad wouldn't let her have a dog like mine, so she wanted to visit my dog for a while. I told her I needed to talk to her parents before I could ever let her visit my home like this. She said okay and left, and I never saw her anymore. I have two daughters, and one of their friends told me the girl who is chatting me up is the daughter of the triggered dude from the HOA email list.

He'd been sending her out to talk to me and taking pictures. My daughter's friend was friend with this bait girl. The poor girl's dad was making his own daughter uncomfortable, which is why she confided in her friend. The dad was sending her daughter out to chat with me so he could accuse me of, I don't know what. One detail I forgot to mention. I have dash cams in all of my vehicles and CCTV monitoring my front door, so the initial incident with the wife, as well as the girl coming to the door were recorded. I emailed the trigger dude and kindly offered him copies of the videos of each incident. I also told him I was concerned that his daughter was behaving inappropriately towards strangers.

Apparently this scuttled his plan and as I never talked to him again. Creepy kid who tried to get my five-year-old to walk off with him at the park today. Okay, this just happened today and it really messed with me. I've been thinking about it all day long and all evening. I took my five-year-old son and three-month-old daughter to the playground today to meet a friend and her daughter. It's got regular playground equipment, a huge parking lot, and a big grassy area, and trees surrounding the play area. On the other side of the trees is some sort of development thing they're working on the area this school is in is pretty rural. It's just a bunch of twisty roads and random buildings.

I've never thought about it or notice this until today. We get to the park and meet up with my friend. another mom that we know is there with her two girls too. The only other people there is a dad with a little girl and a boy that looked to be somewhere between 10 and 12. So the moms are all sitting, chatting, playing with my adorable daughter, having a good time. The kids are playing together. Everything is good. Eventually, all the kids from our group kind of wander off through the playground doing their own thing. The seesaws are in a shady area.

Next to them is a big stretch of grass. Then the trees with the semi-developed area behind that. My son wants to see-saw, but nobody wants to do it with him. I get up to go help him, and the 10-ish-year-old boy comes over and says, hi. Do you want me to play with him? Which was a little strange that he asked me and not my son, but I just said, sure, bud, go ahead. So he gets on the other side and starts s-s-on with him.

His demeanor was so strange. He didn't smile. His voice was completely flat. He didn't say a word to my son. He just seesawed with him. My son was oblivious and chatted away at him. After a few minutes, I started walking back to my bench, and I hear the boy start talking with my son.

Okay, so maybe he's shy around grownups. I sit down and start talking to my friends, and the dad walks near us to probably go up to his car and say, hey, it was really sweet for your son to offer to play with mine and smile at him. He looks at me and goes, he's not my son. I don't know who he is. He walked over and asked if I wanted him to play with blank daughter's name, and then just kind of followed us around until you guys got here. He sort of laughed like, weird, right? And shook

his head. I got a very uneasy feeling in my stomach and looked over to the seesaws. They're gone. I jump up, hand my daughter to my friend, and run in that direction yelling my son's name. I see them walking almost to the trees. The trees are not close. I'd guess a football field or so away from the play area. I got this awful feeling and ran as fast as I could yelling my son's name. He turned around and started trying to walk to me. and the little boy grabs his arm and tries to pull him towards the trees. He gets upset and starts saying, hey, let go with me. Now, usually this is not a quality about my son that brings me anything but trouble,

but he does not like to be grabbed, pushed, or pulled, and he has ADHD, so when he gets frustrated, it usually comes out in aggressive ways. I was so thankful for this today. He starts punching the boy and headbunning him like a little crazy person. The boy lets go as I get to them and runs to the trees. My friends are finally realizing something is going on, so they're standing at the edge of the play area looking confused. My son is crying. I'm shaking.

I don't know what the fuck just happened. I asked my son where he was going, and he said his friend wanted to take him to see Ryan from Ryan Toys Reviews. It's his favorite YouTube channel, and he talks about it nonstop. He told the boy about Ryan, and apparently the boy told him that he knew where Ryan lived in. Did my son want to go visit and play? So, of course, my son said yes. I don't know what the intention was. It was a kid.

I don't understand why he would lie to my son, why he wanted him to go into the woods, why he was so weird. Maybe it was innocent, but I just don't think it was. Edit. Just so everyone knows, I did call the police and report it this morning. I don't know how much good it did. They listened and asked me questions, but they didn't want me to come make a formal statement or anything. I'm going to call the school tomorrow too. Beware of small towns in Florida.

This is a long time ago, late 90s. When I was 19, I moved from Oregon to Florida to be with my boyfriend at the time. Don't ever do that. I was thinking, white sand beaches and Mickey Mouse, but instead I got the swamps, bugs, and dirt roads. It was a huge shock to the system. We lived in this stinky little town called Hawthorne just outside of Gainesville. Don't ever go there. Very small, one-stop light, and...

four stores, Dollar General, Steve's Market, Eckerd's Pharmacy, and Sunny's BBC. Whoopi. Anyway, I got a job at the now defunct Eckerds in the middle of town. It was next to the grocery store, so everyone's shopped there. After about three months or so of working there, I walked in to start my shift one day when the manager pulled me into his office. He laid out on his desk was about 30 to 40 open letters, all addressed by hand, to me. Do you know this person?

My manager asked, no. Read one. So I picked the cheerful yellow one inside were two handwritten letters and a magazine cut of a woman with long blonde hair. Just like me. As the Eckerd manager watched on, I read the letter. I skipped around a lot of confusion, desperately trying to find out why I'm in this room. From what I read, it was mostly someone imagining what spending time with me would be like. A lot of it was S word in nature.

There were descriptions and comments about my hair, washing it, smelling it, and something about the moonlight. A few sentences were highlighted, others were underlined. My first thought was, am I getting fired? Do you know this David Eldrod? Hair? I said yes, I think so. The tall, lanky guy with thick glasses and frizzy, dark blonde hair, the regular who comes in a couple times a week to pick up Diet Coke and medication for his mom. late 20s and obviously socially or mentally challenged.

On rare occasions, he would make small talk as I rang up his soda. Once or twice, he would linger at my register or stare at me, but I figured he was just trying to adjust his eyes or had some poor social cues. Harmless compared to some of the other people I had met in Florida, so I didn't pay him any mind. Until that day in the Eckert's office, I knew he wrote the letters because of the strange encounter two weeks earlier. While working, he came up behind me and touched or caressed my hair.

I had to remove it from his hands and he apologized. Weird, but no harm, I went back to work. After telling me my manager this, he informed me that the customer was going to be banned from the store and I was being sent home while they worked out the details. What details? Confused, I walked out of the store and drove home strange. Two hours after I got home from my non-stop. on shift at work, there's a knock at my door. I look out the windows and see what resembles a

SWAT team. What the fuck? I saw men in tactical gear with large weapons, two men dressed in suits, and several uniformed cops in what seemed like slow motion at the time I opened the door. A female officer holds up a fewly odd familiar letters. Can we come in and talk to you about these. Realizing everyone in town has read the letters, I wanted to pass the fuck out. I don't even know the guy. We have a seat on my couch and she began to speak. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my boyfriend shooting me dirty looks from the bedroom. The female officer mentions getting the letters from Eckers and attempting to issue a

trespassing notice. They wanted to speak to him directly, she says, because her whole department is aware of David. The officers confronted him at his residence and attempted to evoke the trespassing notice from Eckerd's store. Apparently, he was not happy about this. He insisted for over 45 minutes how this was all a big mistake, and I wanted to talk to him. He was so combative and persistent, they decided to pursue stocking charges.

Stocking charges? She continues, you need to be aware that David killed and partially dismembered his mother when he was 12 years old. He was released from a juvenile psychiatric facility less than four years ago. Diet Coke. We found disturbing materials at his home. She continued. We believe he's been stalking you. My mind kept wandering.

It's my mom's favorite drink. David was arrested the next day for stalking after he was found in the Eckert's parking lot, but the last official word was he went back to the psychiatric hospital, at least temporarily. I didn't have the chance to read the letters and full before they were entered into some vault of evidence, nor did they explain what they found at his house, so I never had the complete picture of what was happening. My boyfriend at the time was a huge dick about the whole thing, so I moved back to Oregon a week later. Besides, who wants to hang around when Norman Bates is fixated on you? A stranger knocked on my door for 20 minutes.

Last night, my 22F husband, 25M, woke me up at around 1150 to tell me that someone has been knocking on our door and ringing our apartment doorbell for about 10 minutes on and off. He woke me so I could possibly ID the person. Once I looked out our upstairs apartment window, I saw the man walking to his car in our apartment parking lot across the street from our unit. He was wearing blue jeans and a gray t-shirt. He was a medium build, possibly 30-year-old blonde man. He wasn't covering his face or anything,

but the thing is he was carrying what looked like resistance bands or ropes. He sat in his car for about three minutes, while I was on the phone with dispatch, then he came back to our door and knocked hard for another few minutes. Dispatch advised me that the police were on their way, and they hung up. I started videoing the vehicle. I read out the tag number and make and model, and just watched as he put his car in park and reverse over and over again. Out of seemingly nowhere, he backed out of the parking lot and started rushing away, but not before the officer arrived and pulled him over. My downstairs neighbor knocked on my door and told me that he had been peering into her little children's windows and was pounding on her door as well.

She said that her husband had left only one minute before he started knocking at her door. She said he saw her children through our window and that's why he continued knocking. Our doors are right next to one another so he probably didn't know what door he wanted open. He was watching us as well through our upstairs windows, so I turned out all the lights at. out and shut the blinds while I call a dispatch. The police never contacted us for a statement. I've reached out to dispatch with an update and I'm waiting to see if any action was taken. We're keeping our eyes peeled to see if he's been following us. I'm replacing my porch light bulbs with motion detectors and putting bars in our windows into our attacks. My neighbor and

our families are panicked to say the least. He was outside for about 25 to 30 minutes. To the knocking man with bad intentions, let's not meet. Update. I am trained in firearm usage and now live in a state where I can open carry and the background check is really quick. We are going this weekend to get a firearm. My husband will be taking some classes as he came from somewhere where owning a gun is illegal, so he's never handled one. I'm still waiting on a call from the responding officer. I have his badge number and name, so if they don't reach out to me today or tonight, he might work third shift. I will call the substitution. If they don't do anything, I will go ahead and make his suspicious person's case for the paper trail. We had no odd encounters last night. However, while I was looking at the video I took, I remember that car.

I was walking my dog at 8 p.m. a week ago for him to pee, and this car was driving really slow through the parking lot and parked a few spots down from where I was letting my dog sniff. They just sat there with the car running. When I tell you, my ears started ringing and I got an awful feeling, I'm not a lot of joking. I turned around and went home, didn't give my dog the chance to pee, and shut every door and window. I think this man has been stocking out our apartment building, me and my neighbors. I think he wanted to get in where those children are. I'll update more when I have new information. Update number two. It's been a week since the incident. I called dispatch today because I never

received a follow-up from the responding officer. A sergeant from the PD called me back to give me more information. He said that they pulled the man over, ran him to make sure there were no warrants, and asked him what he was doing. He told the officer that he was meeting up with an acquaintance. The officer let him go with no further questions. Not only that, the responding officer is also a sergeant. I almost lost my mind. The sergeant I spoke to today stated that he should have looked into it more. It was obviously an attempt at burglarely. Sexually. motivated and or with an intent to commit a felony. The responding officer is supposed to call me tonight when he gets on duty. I'm livid, honestly. Zero due diligence for this case, but there's not even a

case, no case number, just a documented police contact. I'll give more info when I have it. Final update. The officer finally called me. Here's how the conversation went. Hello? I answered grogly. It was well past midnight. miss, I was told you might have some questions about an incident a few nights ago. Yes, about Thursday. I wanted to know what that man told you he was doing, you know. He was looking in windows and carrying potential restraints. I'm not sure if that was relayed to you. I stopped him, ran his tags, and he told me that he was meeting up with a guy from a dating app. He seemed forthcoming and opened with his motive for being there.

Meeting up with, wait. He was meeting up with someone by looking in windows, knocking on two different doors for 20. minutes, I was shocked and still not fully awake. Like I said, he seemed forthcoming and honest with me. So was Jeffrey Dahmer was the first thing that came to mind. With resistance bands like workout bands, he had lots of belongings in his car, so he probably just had them in there. Right, but bringing them to a hookup, knocking on multiple doors, he saw the little girls through the window. He waited until my neighbor's husband left until knocking. That's on tape officer. I changed. I just a little girl's checked in with the apartment management after the incident. Well, I'm familiar with his individual, and I've been doing drive-thrus of your complex to make sure he doesn't come back. I haven't seen

anything. If you don't have any more questions, I'll let you go, ma'am. Doesn't make sense to me, but thank you. Goodbye. And I hung up. I don't have much else to say. I just feel so icky about that conversation. Nothing new has come out of the situation. I haven't seen the man or the car. My mind is just blown at the lack of follow-up or due diligence. I live in a suburb. It's not a busy one either. The PD has a small jurisdiction. Guess I'll have to just protect myself. I dodged being murdered by my psychotic roommate just by a hair with real news articles. I'm a 36-year-old female in Sweden. I have worked in mental health care for the last 18 years, mainly with people with psychotic illnesses like schizophrenia. I was working in

at a group home for nine years, and we're very close with my co-workers there, especially two females. The last few years I worked there and other females started working there, let's call her M, and the four of us grew very close. She was very timid, shy, friendly, and we got along well. She was however often on long-term sick leave because of her own mental health issues, so we didn't meet much at work. But she always showed up at our after-work dinner, so we continued to stay in touch even when she wasn't well enough to work full time. She told us that she had a history of schizophrenia herself, just like the patients we were treating,

but that she was medicated and hadn't had any psychotic episodes for years. Since I have an education in psychiatry and a long experience with schizophrenia, I have no judgment towards people suffering from the illness, and I didn't bother me being friends with someone who had a diagnosis like that. And even after what I will tell you, I still feel the same way. In the summer of 2003, I had moved on to work at a new place, also within mental health, but this time forensic psychiatry, like a halfway house for mentally ill murderers, etc.

The four of us stayed in touch and still met every now and then for dinner parties. M told us that she had been evicted from her apartment because of an incident where she had accidentally entered her neighbor's apartment in the middle of the night. She told us that in the huge apartment complex, the doors all look exactly the same. and that she simply walked in the wrong door by accident, and that the neighbors had created a scene out of pure drama and reported her to the police. I somehow felt that while that sounded out of proportion to evict someone just for that, perhaps the landlord took the kind of action because he judged her base on the medical history,

and I felt bad for her. I questioned her if something else happened, and she claimed that it didn't, and that was the full story. In Sweden, it's very difficult to get a contract for an apartment, when you have gotten evicted. You pretty much get blacklisted. Em asked me if she could move in with me since she was literally on the street, literally homeless. I said, of course you can. I've always gotten myself into uncomfortable situations by saying yes instead of thinking about myself, and I had no idea how severe the situation would get when I said yes to M. I live in a pretty small apartment. It's one bedroom that pretty much only fits a bed and a desk, a living room that fits a couch and

a TV, no room for an extra bed, a small kitchen and a small bathroom. I have two cats. We decided that M was going to live in the living room and I offered her to throw my couch out so she could have a bed there. And she said that she was fine with sleeping on the couch since it's comfortable enough. I insisted on giving her a bed, but she declined. There's a door between the living room and a bedroom, but between the living room and hallway, there's just an open arts, so she wouldn't have total privacy. I hung up a thick velvet curtain covering the arch so it at least gave her the sense of a door and more privacy than nothing. There's another door from my bedroom to the kitchen, so I have two doors to my bedroom.

I have to have one of them open at night since my cats wants to go in and out. And they also have their litter boxes in the bathroom and food and water in the kitchen. I naturally kept the kitchen door open and not the living door open, since that's where M lived and we wanted to keep our privacy somehow. She wasn't working at this time because she was on one of her long-term sick leaves. While I was working shifts, so sometimes I had to get up at 6 a.m. And sometimes I didn't get home to like 11 p.m. I have really severe insomnia and need to combine Zolpm, which is Ambien slash Still Noct,

with Largen, which is Prometazine. And even with this, I still wake up easily. I told her that I would appreciate if she could try to stay quiet those nights when I have to get up at 6 a.m. But that it's fine if she's loud when I'm off work or when I do the evening shifts. She was a heavy smoker and a coffee drinker, so I bought her a coffee machine. Yeah, I know, I'm a weirdo who don't drink coffee very often so I didn't have one to make her enjoy her living situation more. The coffee machine and the sink is placed right outside my bedroom door.

The kitchen is very small. So the first night together, I had to get up at six for my shift. As usual, I had a hard time falling asleep. M had been up several times that night to go out to smoke, and I woke up every time. At 5 a.m., she started making coffee, and since it's literally outside my bedroom door, I got wide awake from the sounds of it. I asked her in the nicest way possible why she was up this early, asking if she had any plans today. I mean, she's on sick leave.

Why not sleep at 5 a.m. if you can. And she just said that she couldn't sleep. I said, oh, I'm sorry. I would just appreciate if he could wait with making your coffee till 6 a.m. since I really need this last hour's sleep because of work. Adding to why I need my sleep is that I have epilepsy that gets really bad when I don't get enough sleep. I usually get a lot of seizures when I don't get at least four hours of sleep.

I knew that I'd probably get seizures at work now, meaning that this day would be both stressful and potentially dangerous for me since there's a huge risk that I fall asleep and hurt myself. And it's not a good thing to get cramps and seizures among mentally unstable criminal clients who you were supposed to care for. I know that it's an ideal situation to work in that field with my condition, and I can inform you all that I did quit after only six months. She said that she really wanted coffee with her cigarettes, but that she would want to try the wait next time I have to work. I accepted it and went on with my day, but things didn't get better.

She continued to wake me up early in the morning and through the nights and continued to promise to stop, but insisted that she really wanted coffee with her cigarettes. I suggested making the coffee the night before or drinking iced coffee or Coke instead, but she didn't want to. I may add that she demanded for me to be silent at 10 p.m. because that's when she wanted to sleep, and I respected that. She used to get these moments of binge eating where she would empty my fridge and pantry from everything I had. I remember this one time when I had bought a big loaf of bread, and she texted me 30 minutes after I left the apartment saying, hey, I'm sorry, I ate your loaf of bread. I'll buy it back once I get the money. Like an entire loaf of bread in 30 minutes. I told her when she moved in to feel at home and what's mine is yours, so I couldn't really get mad, but it started to annoy me for two reasons.

It was getting kind of expensive since it was such huge amounts, and it was always an inconvenient times of the day, like after an evening shift when the store was closed, and I came home hungry, and she had emptied the kitchen from everything I'd bought the same day. M had long black hair. That was everywhere. All over the sink, the floor, the bathtub. I'm no clean freak, but I think anyone could understand that this isn't the nicest thing to step in or see everywhere in your house. She also left her fingernails and toenails on the bathroom floor. It was also pee drops on the toilet seat every time she had been to the toilet. I saw a silverfish on my bathroom floor. Never ever seen one before. And they eat hair and skin and nails. so I figured this fella probably enjoyed life because of the new dirty condition my bathroom was in. At first, I didn't want to say it straight out because I thought it would hurt her and I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. So I just put a broom and shovel in the bathroom to imply that we needed to sweep the floor more often.

This didn't seem to work, so after a while I told her in the nicest way possible with a smile on my face. Do you think we could try to clean the floor in the bathroom more often? We tend to lose some hair when we brush it off, and I'm afraid to be my careful. get pests. I saw a silverfish the other day. I don't want it to get worse. I always make sure to say we instead of you so she wouldn't feel attacked. She promised to think about it but never changed. I started dating the guy and was head over heels for him. He was also in a roommate situation so we had a tough time getting any alone time. I asked M if there's any chance that we could get one night to ourselves every now and then in the apartment, and that she, of course, would get the apartment to herself as

well. She didn't like the idea and claim that she had nowhere to go. No friends or family. Now, I wasn't asking her to leave the apartment for 24 hours, just a few hours, so we could get just some quality time together. She could just go to the library or take a walk or whatever. I was at work for 8 to 10 hours, five days a week, so she got a lot herself. One of my old co-workers realized that this was really tearing at my mood to never get any time for myself, and I started feeling really suffocated. She offered that Em could stay the night at her place. After all, they were friends too. Em said they didn't want to bother her, but we told her that she didn't. They're friends. She's more than welcome. And I really just want one night to myself and my guy.

I didn't understand why she made such a big deal over leaving me in the apartment for just one night. She eventually accepted and spent the night there. I spent the night away the next week so she could get more alone time too. When I came home the next morning from my night away, I saw that my cat's water bowl was completely dried out. There was no spill on the floor and it looked like it had been wiped out with a towel or paper. I had filled it to the brim just the night before. I asked her how this was possible and she said that the cats must have tipped it out.

But there was nothing on the floor like I said. My cats are overly social and usually cuddle up with strangers after just a few minutes. I noticed that the cats withdrew from her more and more over time. In the last couple of weeks, they never left my bedroom except from when they ate or used the litter box. It seemed like they were scared of her, which I couldn't figure out since she was so timid. I had this old saucepan from the 60s that meant a lot to me. You probably wonder how a saucepan can mean a lot to someone, but it was my grandmothers, and it's the only thing I have that belongs to her.

My mother used to cook for me with it when I was little, so it was a great nostalgic event. value to me. She burnt it one day and made no attempt to clean it. She just left it on the stove and went out to smoke. I found it ruined and cried. She didn't even say I'm sorry. She also broke dishes several times and didn't bother to replace them or apologize. This added to my frustration with her naturally. It had been probably gone two months now and she kept waking me up at night, kept binge eating my food, never cleaned, never left the house, scared my cats and ruined my things. I realized she stole my prescripted sleeping pills, lots of them as well, and I only get one per night, not more or less, and as you already know, I really need them. I had 20 of them in my nightstand

when I left for work. When I came home, they were gone. She denied, which is pretty hilarious, since no one else could have been there. My frustration was getting heavy. The summer heat was strong, and I felt locked up in my tiny bedroom with my two cats, never getting any time to myself, never any alone time with the guy I was dating, except for once every 14th day. My apartment was messy, and she was stealing from me, etc. Out of nowhere, my old elementary school classmate texted me on Facebook asking me how I know am. He had seen that I had posted on Facebook that we are roommates now. I told him that we were old coworkers and that she needed a place this day because she got evicted.

He said, I know. Do you know why she was evicted? Yeah, she accidentally went into her neighbor's apartment. He said, that's not the full story. She broke in and snuck up to their sleeping baby with a knife in her hand. But luckily, the father woke up and wrestled her down and managed to save the baby. I felt sick to my stomach. Could this be true?

It would certainly explain why she was evicted, but it just sounded so horrible and she is such a timid, nice girl. I had so many questions, but my friend had the full police report. Apparently the couple that Emma had broken into was his ex-girlfriend in her family. It seemed that Em had a psychosis during the break-in, but those parts weren't public. It was however clear to me that she'd been lying to me about what had happened and about how long she had been mentally stable. I started getting quite paranoid now, and I was already frustrated with everything and really wanted her to move out. We did, however, have a contract that she had 30 days notice. I knew that if I asked her in a harsh way, it would mean 30 days of chaos until she moves out.

So I wanted to handle this as nicely as I could. I started looking for cheap hostels for her that I could suggest to her so she wouldn't be on the streets. I sat down with her and told her that I loved living with her and I feel really horrible for this. But I just missed my alone time that the apartment is too small for two people. I said it wasn't personal, and that I wouldn't want to live with anyone right now, that I wished it would have worked out, that I am really sorry and hope you were made friends. She looked crushed and said that it wasn't possible. I showed her the hostel I found and said that I understood that it wasn't the ultimate situation,

but I really needed her to move out because I felt suffocated, and also the summer heat was making it, though, to always have the door to the bedroom closed, and that it was tough for me to not get my sleep, etc. She was okay. She was going to try to move out, but not until 30 days had passed, and I said, of course. The first night after a talk, she got up and made her coffee at 2.30 a.m. I nearly had a mental breakdown. I was going to get up at 6 and couldn't go back to sleep. I asked her in the morning for probably the 10th time to not make coffee until I get up, but she didn't even answer me. She just sat in the sofa and stared out the window. I said, M? And she just kept staring. I was freaked out but left for work. She kept being weird,

kept making no mess, kept waking me up, kept eating my food. And all I could think about was the incident with her and the baby in the knife. I eventually got so pissed off about being woken up by the coffee maker, so I plugged it out and stored it in my attic, which she had no access to. It may be childish, but I was getting so tired at this moment. My sleeping pills were stolen and I was starting to feel like Edward Norton in the beginning of Fight Club. Well, the next night I woke up at 4 a.m. by her making coffee in a saucepan. Not my grandmother's saucepan, though that one was ruined. I tried talking to her again, explaining the situation, but she just stared and didn't reply. Me being frustrated and on the tipping point took the saucepan and stored it in the attic as well.

I know, I know, but I was going crazy and just wanted her to stop at these nightly coffee routines and get the hint. The third night, I had the guy I was dating, sleeping at her place because I was getting really paranoid now over her weird behavior. Not speaking with me, just staring into space. I woke up from my very light snooze by him poking me. He whispered, look, in the doorway. M was just standing silently staring at us. This was like a scene from a horror movie with her long black hair over her face. I kid you not. I didn't say anything at first because I wanted to know if she just stood there for a second doing something by the door, but I realized after a while that she was actually just standing, like, staring at us. It reminded me of the ending of paranormal activity when Katie just stares at Micah in the

final scene. So I sat up and said, what are you doing? But before I could finish the sentence, she slammed the door shut and I heard the sound of something metal falling on the floor and her running into the living room. I yelled out, you need to leave and started crying hysterically because this was turning it into a fucking nightmare. Of course I didn't go back to sleep and I was really happy that I had company that night. I just kept asking myself, had she done this before? Stared at me in my sleep. The next day when I got out of bed, I opened the door and she had slammed shut and saw a kitchen knife on the floor. So that was the metal sound I had heard before she ran off. I took all my knives and locked in the attic as well. I then asked a friend of mine to come to my house and be here

when I tell her that she has to move out immediately. That I can't wait 30 days, 27 days. During the conversation, I really tried to stay calm. I know she has a mental illness. I know she means no harm, even though I was so frustrated I couldn't hate her. I was mostly scared and tired. She, however, didn't even answer when I talked to her. She just kept staring out the window. She left the apartment and sent me a text and said saying that I was disrespectful for bringing a friend over to her place. Nighttime came and I thought this would be a quiet night finally. No coffee maker or sauce pans. But at 3 a.m. I woke up by her burning dry coffee powder in a frying pan.

At this moment, I just felt terrified of her. Her face was dead. Her eyes were black. I suspected that she had gone into a psychosis. I stopped the fire and just ran off into the living room in silence. I knew she had an appointment with her psychiatrist the next day, and while she was away, I packed all her things. I then sent her a text telling her that she needed to pick them up and give me the keys back, and that I will give her money for a hostel to the upcoming 26 days.

She didn't reply. The guy I was seen came to keep me company in case she would fight about it. She didn't. She left the keys without looking at us and left. Our coworkers who were friends with us both told me that she moved in with the guy she was dating. and she stayed there for a few weeks till she somehow amazingly got an apartment of her own. She started working again and I was really happy to hear this. She seemed to do well.

Then in January of this year, one of our old co-workers told me that M had called her and told her that everything must burn, that she had a baby that she must save, and other delusional stuff. She had called 112, Swedish emergency number like 911 about this, but they hadn't taken it seriously. M had then proceeded to burn her entire apartment down because the voices in her head was telling her that she has to burn everything to save her friends and family. Her neighbors had tried to rescue her from the fire, but she had fought them off and ran back in and poured liquor on the fire to make it burn more. She was arrested and sentenced last week for aggravated arson.

She will serve her time in a mental institution slash prison for a long time, possibly forever. What's ironic is that she will probably be in the facility where, I used to work and end up where she used to work herself. My old co-worker was a witness at the trial and apparently she had stopped taking her medication because she thought it made her feel numb and she thought she was stable enough to function without it. Apparently not. She had also stopped taking her medication the last few weeks when she stayed at my house. So when she stared blankly into space, she was going into psychosis. When she stared at me with a knife in her hand, when she burned the frying pan that last night. It's disturbing to think about what would have happened to me

and my cats if she would have stayed, or if I would have been a heavy sleeper. I also think about what would have happened to that baby that she snuck into before she was evicted. And yeah, I know, it's crazy that I didn't just throw her out by then. It was complicated. The reason why I haven't been able to talk about with my friends is because they sympathize with her and have minimized my experience, and they think that I make a bigger deal out of it, and I believe it has been. I sort of understand it since they have never seen the darkness in her eyes and I saw those last couple of days. Update, May 16th.

I just remembered some other things that I wanted to add it to the post. There were several times when I was going to work early in the morning, as she occupied the bathroom by taking long baths. I patiently tried to wait till the last minute before knocking and asking her if she could get up and get back in after I had gotten ready and left for work. Just another thing that added to my frustration. I felt really ill one time when she was staying there.

I didn't know at the time what it was, but I woke up early in the morning one day feeling very nauseated. On my way to the bathroom, I literally shit myself and threw up at the same time. It takes like 10 seconds to get to the bathroom, so you can imagine how bad it was when I didn't even make it, LMAO. I had a really high fever and kept throwing up and shitting myself all morning, and anyone who has been this ill would understand that you want the bathroom. to yourself. Actually, I think it's pretty understandable that you'd want to be completely alone

when you're this ill. My head was spinning and I was nearly hallucinating from the high fevers. One random thing I laugh about today is that it was Eurovision Week and for some reason the flute solo from Naldova's song was stuck on repeat in my head when I was in and out of fever dreams. I have a hard time listening to it today, ha ha. Anyway, working in healthcare, I also have a natural instinct of not wanting to spread infections, so my first thought was that besides wanting to be alone, I didn't want to risk giving whatever this was to M. So I begged her the moment I noticed I was ill to please leave for her own sake. I could barely speak because it made me throw up that easily. Our friend in common had asked her to water her plants that week, so she had the keys to her place

and could have been alone there. M refused to leave, and I swear if I had the energies to slip out of the window and fall to my death, I would have, but I couldn't. I was half sitting slash half laying on the toilet with a bucket in my lap, my head sort of resting in the bucket of puk because I couldn't hold it up of the high fever, and I just begged through whispers for her to leave, so she wouldn't be ill. I told her, what if you get sick soon to? We can't share the toilet. I'll be here all day. You just go to her place before it's too late, please. Eventually she left. Pissed at me. It turned out at a subpoena. It turned out at a severe case of food poisoning and I was well again after two days, but my God, the fact that she refused to leave is something I felt I had to add to the story because it made me so frustrated too.

I also went through her conversations and saw me asking her how long the door had been closed. That reminded me that she used to shut my cats inside my bedroom while I was away at work or whatever. So they couldn't eat, drink, or use the litter boxes. She claimed she'd just recently closed it because she was trying to sleep, but I remember she did it in the middle of the day one time, the last few days too. My daughter had been prying at the door handle every night. It's gone from adorable to disturbing. I remember the first time I heard it.

Click. Click. Honey, what's that? I asked my wife, Carmen. After waking up in the middle of the night to a strange sound, what's what she replied in a groggy state, frustrated that I had woken her so late. But the sound had stopped.

The next night I heard it again. Click. Click. What could that possibly be? I wondered as I woke my wife again. This time she heard it. It sounds like the doorknob. But by the time we walked over to it, the sound had stopped. Luckily for me, back when I lived in the city,

I'd always gotten into the habit of locking my bedroom door. And that tradition continued well into moving into my wife's apartment and even our current home in the suburbs. The following night, we didn't hear the sound. Perhaps we were both in too deep of the sleep. Or maybe it didn't happen that night. But either way, we thought the strange occurrence was behind us, until the next night, when we heard it again. Click.

Click. Is that what I think it is, Carmen asked? Most certainly as I replied, a chill going down my spine, as the recurring sound was beginning to genuinely terrify me. This time I tiptoed over to the door careful not to alert whoever was turning it and opened it quickly, only to find my eight-year-old daughter. Just standing there, staring at me. Christy, I asked. Yes, Dad, she replied. What are you doing, dear?

She nearly scared me to death. I missed you and Mommy. It was so adorable that I nearly forgot how creepy the sounds of the previous nights had been. That's all? But then she simply turned and walked away. Good night, Daddy. I climbed back into bed and let out a sigh of relief, relieved that my daughter was the source of the sound.

But the next day, I started to think about it more. about the number of times it had happened, and how, after claiming to miss us, she simply walked away. So when it happened again the next night, I didn't open the door. Instead, I simply tiptoed over to it and listened. Click. Click. I heard my daughter tugging at the door handle, twisting and turning in it, and knew a clear attempt to pry it open while we were sleeping. Or at least she must have assumed. That's when the whole thing began to act.

actually terrify me. If she was trying to open the door, get into the bedroom, while my wife and I were asleep, what did she intend to do? I became obsessed with that thought, to the point where I couldn't fall back asleep that night, and had to stay planned to get to the bottom of it. So the next night, I did what any rational parent would do when their child was uncharacteristically twisting at the bedroom door every night and left the door unlocked. And so after pretending to fall asleep, I lay in bed, waiting, passing the time on my cell phone so as to not fall asleep. Until a few hours later, when in the middle of the night, I heard a new sound. Not that of the door handle twisting and turning back and forth, no, this time I simply heard the sound of the door handle

turning, followed by the squeaky door opening. Click, screech. I immediately turned off my cell phone and shut my eyes, just far enough so that I could see. see through them and pretend to sleep. What happened next still haunts me. While I'm there in the dark, my eyes squinting, I saw the blurred shape of my daughter open the door, closed it behind her, and slowly walk over to my wife's side of the bed. She must miss her mother after all, I thought to myself, giving her the benefit of the doubt, until I carefully turned my head just slowly enough so that my daughter didn't realize I was looking and saw my eight-year-old daughter reach behind her and removed from her pajamas a kitchen knife.

She held it up above her head and swung it towards my sleeping wife. Not before I'm able to reach my arm out and catch the blade in my hand, letting out a large scream. Ah, Christy, what are you doing? But she didn't reply. She simply let out a loud hiss and seemingly slithered away out of our bedroom door through the hallway and back into her bedroom while we heard her own bedroom door slam. We locked Christy in her bedroom that night.

before my wife drove me to the hospital as I relayed the night's events, my impaled hand more than enough evidence to convince her of what had happened. I would like to say that after we got back, my daughter returned to normal, the sound of the door handle stopped, and we went back to being a family, living out our lives happily ever after. But when we got home early that morning, Christy had broken through her bedroom door and escaped from the house. Never to be seen from her.

again. Still to this day I wonder where my daughter might be. Still locking my door each night. I can only hope that others do the same. I moved in with my girlfriend recently. I don't feel safe anymore. I met my girlfriend Victoria seven months ago in a bar. We felt an instant connection and started dating three days later. She brought nothing but happiness, the perfect definition of a soulmate. So when I graduated from university, we both agreed to move in together. She's two years older than me and I was already working, so I moved into her house. However, after moving in, everything went downhill. The first incident happened on the first night of moving in.

Victoria works night shifts, so she was getting ready to head out. Babe, I'm off to work now, just to tell you again the neighbors next door get a little cranky at night, so just ignore them, she said sweetly. Yeah, yeah, I get it, I responded. I gave her a kiss goodbye and she left, leaving me alone in her house. sat down on the kitchen table and got to work. For context, I work remotely as a character designer for a video game company. It was peaceful for a few hours until the clock hit 2 a.m. The cranky neighbors began screaming profusely. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but sounded like an

intense argument. I tried ignoring it for a while, but eventually the sound became unbearable. Banging was heard on the walls, glass shattering on the roof, followed by more screaming and arguing. So much so, it sounded like a multiple voices overlapping each other. I tried blasting music in my headphones, but that didn't even help. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore, so I called it a night and stopped working. The next day passed in by in a flash. I chose not to tell Victoria about the neighbors since it was apparently normal, and I didn't want her to think that it bothered me so much. It was her house after all. Nighttime came and I was watching TV in the sofa when the arguments from the neighbors came again.

Thumping, glass shattering, furniture being thrown around. You'd think their house is a W.W.E. ring. Jesus Christ, I muttered to myself. Suddenly, I started hearing banging on the door, followed by a blood-curdling scream. What the fuck I said, while pausing the movie I was watching. The neighbor was trying to break into the house. That's it. That was the last draw.

I got up and went to the back door where the banging and screaming was being heard from. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen table in case the man would break the door. Thank God it was locked. Just in case I leaned against it, each punch crushing my back. My heart was racing, my hands were shaking, I didn't know what to do, for all I knew, the man could seriously hurt me. It felt like an eternity before what I'm assuming is a man stopped banging on the door. Concurrently, the screaming stopped and it was silent. The fuck I muttered him under my breath?

There was no way I was going to live in these conditions. I decided that I was going to confront Victoria about it when she got home. With that of mind, I made sure all the doors were locked, windows shut, and went to bed. A few hours later, at 6 a.m., my girlfriend got home and laid down in bed next to me. She hugged me from behind and gave me a kiss on the nape, waking me up. How's everything, she asked softly? Were the neighbors loud? I grunted and turned my head to face or rubbing my eyes.

What? Victoria giggled. How did it go with the neighbors? I found it strange that she asked me today, but not yesterday. Maybe it was me being tired. The husband tried breaking in, I said. He banged on the door for at least two minutes screaming. I thought this was the end for me.

Seriously, Victoria, I don't think this house is safe for us to live in. As long as the door is locked, you'll be fine. She smiled, sweetly. I gave Victoria a serious look. Listen, I can't live under these conditions. I've tried to say it as nicely as possible. I didn't even feel safe in this house last night. You're telling me this is going to happen every single night?

Victoria looked down her eyelids drooping down in discomfort. I felt sorry blaming her for something that wasn't her fault, but we obviously needed to do something about it. I can't fear for my life every night. I'll call the wife tonight and see if anything had been done. She hugged me tightly. Okay? I smiled and kissed her forehead.

Thank you, baby. I know it's not your fault, but it's impossible to live in fear in your own house every night. On the following evening, Victoria left for a night shift. Once again, I was left alone in the house. She texted me around 15 minutes later, telling me that the problem was solved and that it should be better tonight. I thanked her and laid down on the sofa to wind down. I ended up falling asleep while watching a movie. I woke up a few hours later at 4 a.m. to screaming from the psychotic neighbors once again. Furious, I got out of bed and prepared my for confrontation. I was ready to finally get to the bottom of this. However, as I walked closer to the door, something fell off. I noticed the voice isn't banging a little closer than usual,

as if they were in the same house. It was the first time I ever really paid attention to where the sound was truly coming from, but it was still unexpected. Settled, but unexpected. Following the traces of the sound, the screams didn't take me to the front entrance or to the house next door. took me to the basement door. The only part of the house I hadn't gotten into yet. My heart began racing. This has to be my hallucinations. The sounds can't be coming from my girlfriend's basement, right? With my legs trembling, I tried to push the basement door open, but it was locked. It only resulted in even louder screams coming from downstairs. They sounded like a cry for help. What the fuck is down there, I muttered. The thought alone sent shivers down my spine.

Thankfully, or unthankfully, my uncle taught me lockpicking when I was younger in case I was in a dangerous situation when I needed it. Thanks, Uncle Will. So if there has ever been an opportunity to use this skill, it would be now. I took two paper clips and started fidgeting them inside of the lock. In just a few minutes, the door unlocked, but it still wouldn't open. I looked around the house for anything I could use until I found a crowbar. Using all my might, I pushed the door open, looking back I wish I had. hadn't. Instantly I heard loud, blood-curdling screams piercing my ears, screams that you'd only

hear in horror movies. Covering my ears, I forced my way downstairs. What I saw was horrific. Dead bodies of dozens of guys were organized and a line on the floor across the basement. Worst of all, every guy there looked to be around my age, many looking like the exes Victoria had talked about in passing. Above them was ajar. Inside them, it looked to be their faces with a large glow surrounding them. They were screaming in absolute agonizing pain. From what I saw it looked to be their souls. The sealed, trapped souls of innocent men facing endless pain in their afterlife. The stench was unbearable. The bodies were bled out, as if everything inside of these men were sucked out to leave only their pure skin. Despite that,

their faces were somewhat recognizable. Every body neatly placed to keep its original shape. Their names written in blood in front of each body. Jack, Noah, Michael, etc. Their screams sounded more like loud gasps from up close. The room was so loud I was getting dizzy, the screams only got louder. It sounded loud enough to screech into my brain. My mind went blank. My body's shaking of the thought that this was my girlfriend's creation.

It got even worse when I got to the end. Another name written in blood, with no body behind. behind it, as if it was still prepared. Dylan. That was my name. I then got a notification on my phone, a message from Victoria. My heart stopped just by reading it. Hey, babe, on my way home.

Sorry about yesterday. Let's have some fun tonight. I listened to a true crime podcast about myself. Every night on my walk home from work, I listen to true crime podcast, even though my favorite podcast already released their episode for this week, the app said there was a new one. Excited, I hit play. It was a small town, the kind that still has mom-and-pop shops lining the street,

the kind where everyone knows your name. But little did the residents know that they would soon be rocked by a horrible crime. I stopped out of the traffic light. The red glowed in the darkness glinting off the wet street, a black SUV sloshed by. across from me, eerie blue refrigerator lights glowed from inside a corner deli, the chairs all up on their tables, feet in the air, the signal turned to walk. That chilly September evening was no different for the young student.

She left her shift at the local store and walked back home, except she never made it home. Young student, local store. Damn, this was soon close to home. I was a part-time student at Franklin Community College and worked at the local convenience store. And of course I was walking home. I glanced behind me, looking at the alleyway behind Alessandro's pizza, which was dark except for the neon light spilling from the sign. Her boyfriend reported her missing the next day. The town conducted a volunteer-led search, and after two days they found something. Dread formed to my stomach, anticipating a body, but what he said next was so,

so much worse. Washed up on the shore of Warrington Lake, they found a pair of of size nine red converse sneakers. I stopped and looked down at my red converse sneakers, damp from the rain. What the hell? My heart began to pound. The shoes were sent to a forensic analysis, who would compare its wear patterns to another pair of her shoes to try and determine if they belong to the victim.

A rumbling sound made me jump. I turned to see a dark SUV turning left at the intersection. Didn't I see that car a few minutes ago? Maybe it's following me, and the car passed me and disappeared into the darkness. Come on, Sarah, get a grip. Converse are popular sneakers, a little out of fashion, but still, Nine is a common woman's shoe size, and what college student doesn't have some sort of job? What?

You think you're listening to some kind of prophecy of your own death? Yeah, right. After a few weeks, the results came back. The analyst was certain. The shoes belong to none other. than Sarah Campbell. The blood drained from my face. Sarah Campbell.

My name? What the fuck how? I didn't have time to think. I forced myself to move. I broke into a run. The small shops turned into a colorful blur. Searching the lake came up empty. Without a body, a crime is hard to solve, but police didn't give up.

And finally, a witness came forward. Someone had seen a car parked at the lake that night, around 2 a.m. A black SUV with darkened windows. No, no, no, what the hell is going on? I whipped around, the street was empty. No people, no cars, no witnesses, said the little voice in the back of my mind. The one that's watched way too many crime shows. My eyes scanned the shops.

All closed. There were six black SUVs matching the witness's description in the Franklin area, but one of them, in particular, caught Detective Nolan's eye. It belonged to John Kelly. A registered S-offender. Vroom. The sound was so soft I almost didn't hear it over the voice of the podcast. I whipped around and there it was.

Two blaring white headlights behind me coming from a black SUV. I forced my legs to pump faster. The car didn't speed up. It crawled along, slowly taking its time, like the driver knew he could catch me, no matter what. I glanced back trying to make him out behind the darkened window. shield but the headlights were too bright to see anything. Kelly wasn't just a registered ex-offender. He'd been convicted of assaulting a woman he worked with, who had multiple piercings and short dark hair,

just like Sarah. The car crawled down the road, stalking me like a lioness stalks or prey. I veered left onto our dark residential street, just a few more steps. Headlights flashed across me, illuminated my running shadow on the pavement. I didn't look back, I just ran as fast as I possibly could. The little brown house with the yellow shutters came into view. I sprinted across the grass, grabbing my keys from my pocket. Click. I threw the door open and slammed it shut behind me.

Then I turned the deadbolt, collapsed against the door, and began crying. I heard the rush of the car passing our house, continuing down the road. But I wasn't safe. Gabe wasn't home yet. I was alone. In a dark house, with someone driving down the street. street who knew exactly where I lived. Still sobbing, I checked all the locks. Then I called Gabe, who assured me he was five minutes away. I made my way down the dark hallway and headed into the

bathroom. Then I set my phone on the counter, grabbed a clump of tissues, and began to blow my nose. Click. I jumped, whipped around, but it wasn't coming from outside the door. My phone screen lit up. The podcast was still playing. I must have hit it when I put the phone down. It had skipped several minutes forward according to the play indicator. What do you think of it did Sarah? The baritone voice asked. I reached for it to turn it off. Well, she told me she wanted to run away before.

I stopped dead. It was Gabe's voice clear as day coming from the speakers. She did. Why, the voice asked. She wasn't happy with her grades, her job, her parents. She told me sometimes she'd dream of just... moving to some random state and leaving all behind. I froze, staring at the mirror.

I never said that. Never. Gabe was lying? I mean, that was hurtful to me as her boyfriend, you know. I thought we were going to get married someday, but apparently she didn't feel the same way. My heart pounded in my ears. So you think she just skipped town and is happily living her life out somewhere else? Rather than being abducted or murdered? A pause.

Yes. That's exactly what I think. That's all for now. Thank you to our listeners. The outro played. I stared at my reflection. Everything coming down all at once. My mind trying to race and catch up what it met.

The front door creaked open. Footsteps sounded outside. Sarah, I'm back. I backed away from the door. Sarah? My eyes fell on the window. I ran over to it. Turned the lock.

Push. I popped the screen out, and I swung a leg over, pulled myself through the window, and ran as fast as I could. I found a 4,600-year-old document describing a humanoid species named Sigil. I've been researching Mesopotamia my whole life. I remember being fascinated by that civilization ever since I was a preteen. Unlike my friends and schoolmates, I spent my time daydreaming of Samarian kings in the Euphrates River. I then grew up, went to college, he became a summer researcher. I'm not a particularly prominent historian, but I'm one of the very best when it comes to translating Sumero- Acadian, Kunaforma writing, especially from around 2,800 to 2,500 BC.

I wasn't expecting a lot when I was invited to translate some newfound tablets. I mean, I was personally excited, but was sure the contents would be mundane enough. My employer was a little private museum in Instant Bull and specialized in artifacts from the Gilgobamash dynasty and prided itself from having snatched these new items from the British Museum. I was welcomed at the airport by the owner's second assistant, a flamboyant and clever Arabic man who spoke English with almost no accent. I've been assigned to your company you during your stay, madam. Please inform me of your every need. Iman was a pleasant man around my age, the Turkish version of an English butler.

He gave me space to work, but politely reminded me of making at least two meals a day when I was too deep in my work. His presence helped me so much with my productivity. Still, no matter how great an experience it was, I'm terrified of my findings. The following is my translation of one of the tablets. We humans are being killed daily. The sigil are an inferior species in every way, but they have something we lack, something that should be a curse and yet somehow is their biggest strength. They don't know when to give up. They surprised us with their resistance, and they are so numerous.

The sigil took a habit of procreating like the rats or ants, and now they are as numerous as the stars in the sky. They always had plenty of children, but most of them would die of disease. or being attacked by the predators on their precarious houses. That way, their numbers were always around the same, unless they were on war between themselves, which happened constantly for simple resources like water. But now some of the sigils merely through observation and the trial and error method learned of our medicine and architecture,

and they started to flourish and prosper too much. After invading and overpowering their fellow sigil from other tribes, a group reached our empires and slaughtered us. We hit them back, with our better horses, better weapons, better built men, and we slayed them, but despite that, they never, never stopped. They are indefatigable. I wish I could understand why. We're taller, stronger, and dotted with brains they would think only a god could possess,

and still they fight. Just because they learned how to walk on two legs a while ago, they think they can rule the world, despite the fact that their reasoning is puny and their sciences are non-existent. They don't even know how vast the world is. That's laughable. Like their ancestors, even inferior hominids, their life is only worth after procreation. So their children dead before mating age are useless and forgettable. This primitiveness is what enrages me about them the most. The sigil wants all our secrets, our king. They want to be us.

Tired of seen my sisters and daughters die, I am utterly ashamed to admit that I was scared and reached out to the king. I advised him to strike a deal with his sigil. At first he refused, but after a lot of our blood was shed, and only around a few hundreds of us remained, our king, Gilgamesh, finally decided to surrender to the inferior species so the rest of us could be safe. We would retreat to our underground city and live safely for generations. to come. The king would stay with them on the surface to rule them and develop their society

and stay with them for precisely 4,560 years before we fiercely take our world back. Of course they agree. They don't even understand how much time that is, but it's not a lot for us. We never die. We are simply reborn on a new body on a new generation. Every time wiser, stronger, purer. We are more We are moving to our fortress deep inside the earth by the ending of the forthcoming Ara Abdur Arqu month. We'll make no mistake this time. We'll keep the sigil under constant surveillance and learn all their secrets. Next time, we won't have any weaknesses, just like they almost did to us.

We'll destroy them all mercilessly. I was shocked to realize that we are the sigil. There's a way more advanced civilization living underground on this planet as you reach. This. By chemical testing, the museum expert was able to determine the age of this tablet with incredible precision. The Sumerian calendar is very alike to the Gregorian calendar we use nowadays. It has 12 months, alternating between 29 and 30 days following the moon cycles, which have 29

and a half days. There's a 13th month with 33 days called Aura, Adaru, Arku, that only happens every three years. It was added to compensate for the discrepancy. It wasn't hard for me to convert 4,560 years for them to our Gregorian calendar, using the tablet's age as the year zero. And I found out that the real humans, with their superior brains and hatred for us across millennia, are coming back to reclaim their land soon? How soon? According to my calculations, the 4,560th Sumerian year is next year.

There is no such thing as Area 51. For several years, I've been an avid reader of no sleep, but because of my profession, I was never permitted to submit content to it or to anywhere. Occasionally, an Area 51 story pops up. I used to work at Area 51, or I snuck into Area 51, etc. These stories always made me want to so badly to finally jump in here, but I always held my tongue until now. Using a series of proxies and all kinds of networking jibber jabber, I think I'm in the clear making this post.

I won't bore you with the details. I came here to no sleep after years of lurking to correct a lot of the misapprehensions and legends about the most infamous military installation in the world. I'm doing this now because even if I get caught, I have a really useful insurance policy. I'm seriously ill and not likely to recover, and I've got no family. that I'm in contact with that could be retaliated against. There's nothing anybody can do. Uh, I think. There's no such thing as Area 51.

Sorry, and the fact that it's the golden egg of conspiracy theories worldwide is exactly what the U.S. government wants. I'm writing this in a bit of a rush, and I don't have any of my thoughts organized, so I'm just going to break it down as follows. Groom Lake, Paradise Ranch, Edwards A.F. Extension. Restricted training facility, U.X.104. These are a few names of the place you may know as Area 51. I don't know much about its history, but essentially it was intended by the U.S. Air Force to be a secret weapons testing facility during the Cold War. It had a few on-site extensions, one of them for developing experimental rocket and jet engines. One was for training,

contingence of troops for nuclear warfare and post-apocalyptic survival, etc. But much like the third Star Wars movie, the Sight-Anthe-Purpose got out around the time of the Roswell incident and a media frenzy popularized the base. The government tried at first to quell speculation about it but then adopted another strategy, feed into the hype, and simply moved the base a few dozen miles away. Today, Groom Lake or Area 51 is a small but functional military airport. and base. It's got a bunch of bunkers, mostly housing low security servers, and some munitions tests are performed there. Staff are regularly moved in and out, mostly folks who are low on the

totem pole and trying to climb up the ladder to the real facility. There are some very outdated nuclear fallout shelters that are still maintained and used for storage. The facility consumes an enormous amount of power, and everything possible is done to make it look like a well-guarded military base that is engaged in some huge secret operations. The employees really do fly there every day from Las Vegas on conspicuously inconspicuous jets marked as Janet sometimes referred to as just another non-existent terminal. And they want you to notice and wonder. They want you to wonder where those jets are going.

And they never want you to spend one second thinking about where they came from. The real Area 51 This is the most exciting part because as far as I can tell in my very limited and Gladysstein researching, nobody has ever divulged the real secret before. It's pretty highly guarded and they straight up murder people who are stupid enough to share it. Murder isn't even the right word. They erase people from existence, sometimes entire families. That's why the government freaks out when they find out that,

one of their employees is terminal and has nothing left to lose. It's why if you're an employee there, you only see their doctors so that they know about your health before you even know about it. They want you to die real quick of a sudden heart attack so that you never have a moment to think about how you might do a public service and air their dirty laundry. And sometimes they induce those heart attacks when they determine you to be a HMT or health-motivated threat. But I didn't need a doctor to know that I am suffering from the some malignant tumor that killed my father. Glyloblastoma multiforma. Every three months we get a health evaluation and every six months we get a cat scan.

I simply didn't report the very damning symptoms this past avowal. And I'll probably be gone before they scan me next. I really wanted to do this instead. Maybe just to be the first, I guess. The only other thing I've ever done with my life is fixed computers, the real security military base in Makaran International Airport in Las Vegas. The history of the airport was always bound up in military involvement before and during World War II.

The Army Corps of Engineers in the Air Force were building storing, training, and doing all sorts of things there. Basically, the government, and its corporate benefactors in the military industrial complex, of course, acquired full ownership of the airport around the time Area 51 slash Groom Lake exploded in the public eye. It was a rushed job and a simple solution. For all intents and purposes, Mick Keran is an airport. It moves civilians in and out all over the world just like any other airport on Earth. But its subterranean operations are really something else entirely.

First of all, you have to understand the structure of this military base because it serves, ostendably, as a business of public transportation. Every single aspect of the base has dual functions. This is called masking, and it is deployed with remarkable effectiveness at McIran. To name a few examples, the constant takeoffs and landings of airplanes provide sound camouflage for cutting-edge engine tests. The public completely ignores these sounds and dismiss them as the standard cacophony of airports. Some of the Jepts themselves are even equipped with the airmen.

technology under test, while others are used to transport hundreds of government employees dressed as vacationing civilians. At any given time in Micron, of the six of the gates, corrected by Reader, I initially said terminals, are filled with employees of the highest echelons of the U.S. military and government. They sit around on their iPhones, dressed as college kids in their pajamas or wary businessmen, and they're paid to look the part. The entire base is heavily guarded by plain-closed soldiers, military police, tactical specialists, counterterrorism forests, and all kinds of soldiers scurry around the airport dressed like cops, airport security, and desk attendants. Their weapons are usually concealed sidearms. The real firepower is packed

by the boys waiting around underground. Assault rifles and armor-piercing weaponry is stored around the airport's public spaces in various places. It's not hard to do because nobody's looking for it. And of course, they hire a good number of civilians. civilians to work the TSA in other positions. This is called mixing and it's necessary. What kind of airport would never post any job listings? Have you ever watched the mechanics ducking in and out of the planes outside or seen your luggage loaded onto the plane as you board? Well, all that cargo transport actively acts as a cover for the mass movement of special forces, lab equipment, military hardware, exotic building materials, etc. It's not hard to do. They drive one of those rigs by

with all the luggage spilling out of it, and then you instinctively don't question what's on the other four rigs behind it. We even have mix-ups and spills occasionally, and nobody bats an eye. You're always exposed to some kind of radiation while flying, and McCarran, by the way, is why the standard of safe exposure is set where it's at. But excess radiation from weapons testing is vented into the earth and out of the nearby desert. Having an airport to explain the radiation is an effective means of rating the base of nosy folks with Geiger counters, but the true genius of this top secret military installation is at the larger scale. The base was built under an airport because of the enormity of its power consumption.

But it consumes a lot more power than a regular airport, so it was built in a city that consumes a tremendous amount of power, Las Vegas. So the base is hidden from view, even on the electric power grid. Area 51? Not so much. And that's on purpose. Inside the base. So if Area 51 is the distraction, what do we call the real one?

It has many names, but it's usually referred to as the nexus. That's an acronym, but not many people know what it means. Not even me. Everything about the nexus, from its operations to its structure, is compartmentalize. That means everything is need to know. And virtually, nobody knows anything more than there's sort of. specific task. You could work in an office in the nexus doing something like accounting and never have one single clue what the woman next to you does, or the guy down the hall. They say not even

the president knows exactly what's going on there, just a few generals and some dudes in the CIA. The business culture here is insane. It's like North Korea. Everyone is smiling, everyone is fine, and everyone is happy to say just a few phrases about what they do, when we're allowed to socialize, which is not much. Every line is bugged. Every room has a camera in it, and nobody knows who's watching or listening or when. So that makes you think. Nobody here is telling the truth about anything, not even the guy I share an office with. I wonder if any of us know why we are even here.

People you've worked with for a long time will suddenly get reassigned or have a medical emergency, and you'll never see them again. And nobody will remember that person, no matter how many people you ask. I actually got hired to do some programming for the Navy when I was in my early 20s out of college, and they got sent to groomleg to do server tests. They liked my IT-slash-networking skills, so after a series of strange psychological tests and mountains of nondisclosure agreements and background searches, I got offered a job at a facility near Las Vegas proper.

Here are a few stipulations of that job. By the way, it's a $1.5 million after tax lump sum plus a $220,000 a year stipend, housing, car medical paid for, but psychological break. breakdowns, anxiety attacks, grave health conditions, and family issues void the contract. I also sign approximately two new non-disclosure agreements per week, most of which read under penalty of death somewhere. Employees aren't allowed to leave the grounds for five years, and we all live underground. Terms of service is five years, then four in debriefing, wherein we get to live in Las Vegas, but report to another facility four days a week.

We are discharged and observed for the rest of our lives. Our passports are permanently void. We cannot ever leave the continental U.S. I heard a statistic that 20% of former employees commit S-word. I don't know if it's true, but if it is, I bet it's actually, quote, S-word. The base is underground. It's a network of large structures called hives,

which form what is called the colony or the nexus. We make lots of Resident Evil jokes, by the way. Except unlike in the movie, the government doesn't try to make its employees feel comfortable with fake forests and windows overlooking digital cityscapes. It is dark, dreary, Soviet-style labyrinth of halls and bunkers, replete with all sorts of submarine-like features, water and airtight hatches, trap doors, reinforced blast doors, etc. The only exception are the office buildings inside where chair moisteners like me work. They look just like the office he worked in, except the men with gun standing guard 24-7 everywhere, looking over your shoulder. Oh, in the beautiful, almost surreal, glow of the cutting-edge laboratories that palk the lower

levels of each building. I've never been in them, but I've passed by a few times. There are four hives to my knowledge, although I wouldn't be surprised if there were more. I work in hive one. I run some of the servers with a few other guys on one particular floor. There are 16 floors in our hive, but we monitor and maintain all of the servers in Hive1, so we move around a bit. I've gone to skim some of the data that passes through, and from what I can tell, we're the most

boring hive. I've compiled the following list based on the things I've intercepted on our network, and also from hearsay from other coworkers. The Nexus has multiple networks, and they're all decentralized, but there are some ways in which they communicate, and it is via those lines of communication that I am privy to some sensitive information. Here's what I know. Hive 1 is finance accounting operations slash organization divisions, troop training slash housing, and some scale weapons testing. Hive 2 is chemical engineering, some nanotech research, and advanced psychological fitness, whatever that means for elite military

forces, probably black ops stuff and how to survive 30 years of solitary confinement at a Siberian prison. I also have reason to believe this is the hive where the big wigs meet and live. Hive 3 is the upper levels, bio-weapon and disease research testing. If the government has zombies, they've got to be here. I've wanted to make so many fucking zombie jokes over the years, but I never know which of my coworkers is a rat. Lower levels equals advanced space travel and space warfare technologies. Particle engines and gravitational beams and the like, guessing no real evidence science fiction stuff and what's on email with all sorts of coded language marked a b which is widely believed to refer to astrobiology that's alien life maybe just

some single-celled organisms or fossilized plants from some meteor or maybe it's something much more advanced whatever it is there must be some reason it's not on the upper levels with all the biologists high four total informational blackout there are encryptions and firewalls and network security features protecting this hive that I've never seen before, not even on top secret Navy projects I worked in the past. I'm being very nonspecific in the language I used to describe our server clusters and networks because I don't want to tell them exactly who I am. They'll eventually find out anyway. But there's a widely whispered rumor about Hive 4. Allegedly, the most terrifying thing in the world is in that structure on Floor 15. There are a few unusual things about Hive 4. First of all,

none of the top brass has clearance to get in there. They access it remotely via video feed in their conference rooms and materials are often transported from four to two for physical review. I don't know why our bigwigs won't go into four, but maybe it's because it's too dangerous. There was one guy who worked in four a few years ago when I first started, and he caused the first nexus-wide lockdown I've ever seen. He was being escorted through one thumpers,

what we call the squads of black-booted soldiers that grant access to different hives, and he started shrieking about IDAs. I didn't hear screams, but I heard the gunshot while I was eating lunch. They put a bullet in the back of his head before he could finish his sentence. IDAs, by the way, are interdimensional anomalies. I have no further information on what those are. Another thing I've read minimally about are the twins. I don't know who or what these are, but they're the above top secret gem of high four.

It is a treasonousness to even correspond about them. on our secure networks unless you are clear to do so, and only four employees are. I've only seen a few things about them. One was a medical record, no vitals, unusual vocalizations that manifest hallucinations and psychosis in nearby employees, and skin that produces violent nausea when touched. The document was basically speculation about the skin functions much like the Australian stinging tree or a jellyfish. I read documents about people who worked with them as well.

In four, a woman who was reprimanded to the psychological ward after being in the same room with them and a soldier who stood outside of the laboratory where they are kept basically committed S word. Specifically, he peeked inside during a routine access, then began bashing his own brains out with the butt of a pistol while singing an Irish folk song. The woman who was reprimanded to the psych was even weirder. During breakfast with her colleague, she grabbed a fork, stood up, walked out of the mess hall, stripped all of her clothes off, blinded herself in both eyes, then somehow managed to make her all the way up to floor one where the access corridor to Hive 3 is located.

How she managed to operate the dozens of key card readers, passcode boxes, and retinal scanners is still under review. Last email regarding her was sent in 2012 and how she sits in the dark of solitary on floor 11 psych ward with a permanent and blissful grin on her face. One of my colleagues whom I trust told me that he saw the twin, once through hacked access to a video feed. He said they are a woman-like, about twice as tall as a full-grown man,

with unidentifiable black growths dangling from their heads, like hair but thicker, and they basically float a few inches off the ground and drag their toes lightly as they move. They're utterly pale. He never saw the faces, but he claims that they appeared to distort reality, or at least the video feed, in such a way that space looks bent around them. Perhaps these are the IDAs that earlier dude was screaming about. This is all I have for now, but hopefully the world knows the truth someday about what goes on down here. We are all basically prisoners.

We have very limited and supervised access to the internet, so if you don't hear from me again, assume they figured me out. My friend turned out to be an internet predator. This is a long story, so sit back. To give you some background, I'm from a city in the northeast of Scotland in the UK. What happened here didn't just affect me, but... also two close friends, who for the purposes of the story, we will call Debbie and Joe. We all used to work for a Virgin Megastore. I started there back in 2003.

Debbie joined in 2006, and Joe joined us in 2007. The entire staff of the store, for the best part, were all close friends. We were all music and movie nerds, so shared the same interest and sense of humor, etc. Every year, over the Christmas period, we would take on temporary staff as extra help for the volume of customers. we would get during that time of year. In 2007, one of our attempts was Rory. This is his real name. Most of us hit it off with him brilliantly.

Young guy seemed really passionate about music, especially Pink Floyd, which was a big win with Joe, who is one of the greatest guitarist I've ever met, and myself who grew up on Pink Floyd through my parents. Plus, Rory was a budding filmmaker, and his love of movies seemed to match his love of music, so we would have a lot of chat about,

and became friends very quickly. It was rare to keep in touch with the work temp's post the Christmas period, but Rory was an exception. He didn't live in the same city as the rest of us, but kept plenty of contact through text and social media, and would come through the city and hang out from time to time. Moving forward to Christmas time 2008, by this point Virgin Megastore had become Zavi Entertainment.

Remember them? And Rory came back to work with us as a temp, and particularly with me. I ran the stock room in the store room in the store. store, which was the busiest place at Christmas time, and had a history of not great people to help for how much work it would need done. So I was happy to get to be working with someone I knew who would work hard, and that I could have banter with. He could be a bit annoying trying to force different live versions of the same Pink Floyd song he'd found on the internet. As I said,

I love Pink Floyd, but I love a lot of music. Nevertheless, I just figured, ah, he's young and he's passionate, but he's cool. Around this time, he started to put together a self-made Pink Floyd documentary, which he interviewed me and Joe 4. And to be honest, he did a fucking great job, given the limited tools that he had. Zavi closed in February 2009 due to the global credit crunch at the time. All the Zavi staff and Rory kept in touch. We'd all become very close working there, like I said. Fast forward to summer 2010. We had a Zavi reunion night out, which Rory organized. Most of us that still lived in the same city managed to make it along. Joe had moved to Glasgow at this point. Was a really fun night out and Rory stayed at my place. I should point out at this

point Rory was preparing to go to America for a second year working as a camp counselor for Camp America at Camp Wigwam and Maine, Ohio. Since Zavvy closed, I'd gotten a new job doing the same thing at another entertainment retail store and that Christmas. Rory came into work. there was a temporary, which I was initially fine with. Moving into 2011, and Rory starts to raise red flags, although at the time I didn't see it clearly. He claimed that while in America, he'd gotten a new job, helping with editing and camera work on the show Burn Notice.

At the time, I was like, oh, wow, that's cool, man, well done. It didn't seem unbelievable given a, I knew he had a talent in filmmaking. To coincide with this, he claimed that he was, working for Camp American Florida, which is what led to him working on burn notice, where it was at the time filmed. Then where he was back in Scotland, in 2011, it was time for another Zavvy reunion, which Rory had to be in charge of, which bothered me as he technically didn't work there when he closed, and like I said, was only a temp. I got sickened with him posting constantly on Facebook about essentially what just some old friends going to the pub. Again, I was just like,

Like, yeah, he's young and he's excited. He's harmless, though. Then another red flag was raised. Rory and another friend who shared an interest in filmmaking were talking about doing a film in the city. They spent the whole day looking at locations. And afterwards, when I spoke to Rory, he was like, yeah, we're going to do this, this and this, making it sound like they had some exciting ideas. Then when I spoke to my other friend about it, he told me, all Rory did for the whole day was asked me about my favorite directors. It was a complete waste of time.

Made me think, ah, he's young and excitable and has a tendency to exaggerate, but he's harmless. Move into 2012. Debbie, who I mentioned at the start of the story, became a closer figure in his life. Debbie is a nearly six-foot-tall blonde bombshell. At the time, one of the nicest people you could ever meet with an amazing sense of humor. We became super close when we worked together, but was always totally platonic. I always looked at her in a more sibling way. She would come around to my place for dinner and to watch movies,

and I knew all her close friends and a few family members. Herself and Rory went to the seminar a few times and hung out afterwards. Absolutely nothing wrong with that. For now. Move on to Christmas time. Rory is back as a attempt for the third year in a row, and by this time he has started to annoy the other staff. Whilst on lunch, he'd sit and brag about all the TV shows he worked on during his summers in the States.

burn notice, criminal minds, and the wire. Unfortunately, I didn't hear about this at the time, because people knew I was friendly with them. They didn't want to seem like they were talking shit about him. As the staff in this job also got along famously, on a personal note, talking with him at work became a bit weird. He started talking to me in a really smug and condescending tone, which, given that I'm six years older than the dude, and had a hand in him getting his temp jobs every year and thought I was his friend, didn't appreciate it. Then around the same time there's another Zavi night out due, Rory, Debbie, Joe, who's visiting from Glasgow, myself, and a few others. The day before, this said get together,

keeping in mind I'm pissed about how Rory is behaving, I get a text from him saying, Hey man, the plan for the night out tomorrow is to go to the pub quiz, your favorite. Now, I don't go to pub quizzes for tedious personal reasons and all these friends knew this. so Rory was essentially implying the rest of the guys had planned to go to something I wouldn't go to, which I didn't, as I wills, super pissed off about that text. I kept quiet about it from the others, even though I should have known how devious he was, because as it turns out, those guys didn't go to the pub quiz, and there was no intention to. The next day, Joe comes into the shop to speak to me since I'd missed the night out.

The whole time I'm talking to him, Rory is standing next to him in a defensive stance answering everything I asked Joe, like he was his fucking spokesperson, which was infuriating because I was at work, I couldn't lose my shit, and Joe was happy to go lucky. He didn't even notice what Rory was doing. Rory was obsessed with Joe because of his talents as a guitar player to the points of it becoming unhealthy. It was around this time that Debbie started to sense I was having a problem with Rory, and it was true. contact with him would trigger me to get anxious or angry because I knew there was something amiss, but Debbie and Joe were constantly just fooled by his false charm, and that's why I kept tolerating him because I loved these guys and didn't want to be the cause of drama.

In early 2013, Rory makes out his dad had a life-threatening stroke, which he survives but leaves him incredibly disabled. This subsequently turns out to be a lie and a tool to get sympathy from Debbie and Joe. Moving forward to 2014, Joe moves back to town from Glasgow into Debbie's spare room. And this is where Rory really starts to phase me out from the group, despite having recently hung out with me and me having put him up at my place, which I had done several times over the years at this point. He takes Debbie, Joe, and another ex-Zavi friend to three different price gigs around the country. Initially, I was super pissed, but in hindsight, I am relieved. It was Rory that paid for all the tickets for those gigs, which,

was another red flag. Have to point out that when he wasn't working with me as a temp over Christmas or in America over the summer, working for Camp America and various TV shows, he was making out he was a freelance photographer and video editor, which would be fine, but he didn't have a website, a Facebook page, or anything else as far as I could see to contact him to do said work. Taking that into account and the fact he's throwing cash to go to concerts around the UK, Hey, I was concerned about where his money was coming from.

Following the Prince gigs, I had blocked him on social media, as his posts and comments on other people's posts were just annoying, constantly undermining people on what they're saying or arguing with folks having a different opinion to him. Debbie took issue with me blocking him and stuck up for him. With hindsight, she'd been groomed by him and had rose-tinted glasses on when looking at him. I caved and got back in touch with him, even though I know now I should have walked away from

them all. But like I said before, I dearly loved Debbie and Joe and didn't want to lose their friendship. Even though I knew deep down, there was something bad about Rory. Throughout 2014, Debbie and Rory got super close. Anyone that didn't know them seeing Facebook pics would think they were a couple. Over the next two years, my contact with those guys started to drift. Rory would come around to my place for a bit and then would leave and be like, I'm a way up to darling Debbie's. I would invite you, but you're not one of the three. three amigos. A lot of the time he wasn't actually going there, it would turn out. He even came to my place to stay the night once, saying he needed to catch a flight to the States in the morning to

a video editing job. Then it would turn out he was just going back to the village he lived in at his mom's house. Eventually I walked away, quietly. I took Debbie, Joe and Rory off of the news feed and hid any Facebook posts I made hidden from them. I figured if I see any of them in the street, I'll be polite and just get away ASAP. I started to investigate Rory's claims about his time in America. I relayed them all to a friend and his flatmate, who himself had lived in America for a long time. They both told me, nah man, there's no way he could be doing all that shit, which is true. If you go to America to work for Camp America, that's all you're allowed to do. And with a bit of research, I found that Camp Rory actually worked at, proving he never did Camp America work in Florida. During this time, I had

friends who would still follow him on Facebook out of intrigue they would ask me where is his money coming from rory was going to stadium and arena concerts around the uk at least once a week some of these gigs cost as much as 200 euro a ticket not to mention travel costs and accommodation i knew something was up i knew he wasn't involved in drugs he would claim he made money from youtube but his channel barely had any subscriptions and plus all his vids were of copyrighted material so there was no way he was making any money from that way. I did wonder if he was making money from editing. He was avoiding paying tax. That's the only thing I could think of. Believe me, if I could have afforded a private detective to investigate this guy, I would have. During all this time, Debbie and Joe are hanging

out with and posting how great he is on, et cetera, on Facebook. Despite the fact that I found Rory had a second Facebook account where his profile pick was of him and Debbie. This was a secret account. And I took a screenshot and showed Debbie, but she was just like, oh, isn't that his American account? Sorry, Debbie, but you know, you're really fucking stupid. Now let's fast forward to October 2018. By this point, I've severed contact with Rory completely, missed Debbie's wedding the previous year with Rory was a bridesman, haven't seen Joe in a good while either. I'm back at work after lunch for about five minutes. Then my friend who is on her lunch and in the staff room comes running through to where I am. Hey, hey, hey.

Have you heard Roy was in court? Which in itself was initially shocking. I was like, what for tax evasion or copyright infringement? No, she said, for making videos of little kids. Between January and November 2017, he was pretending to be a girl online using YouTube and Omegel to groom young boys. I shall leave links to newspaper reports once I was told. what he'd done. I was an adrenaline-fueled rage for about 17 hours. Just so pissed off that I've

been right. He was a bad guy, but I just couldn't prove it. I knew my friends had been duped, not to mention all those poor kids that got abused by him. As for his expendable income, I really think he was selling the videos he was making on the dark web for Bitcoin profit. He was the first person ever to mention the dark net to me, but in a way of like, oh, never go to the dark net. He pled guilty and got three years and nine months, along with a five-year S-harm prevention order, and will be on the S-offenders register for the rest of his life. Thanks for listening. I'm still in touch with Joe, although he's a super busy guy these days. Debbie, unfortunately, I'm not in touch with now. I know she was mortified by the revelations, but she's

happily married, so I'm just glad she saw the truth eventually, even though it took something so heinous to do so. He just wanted a girlfriend. When I was about nine years old, female, my family used to live in a remote area on the outskirts of town, considering the location of the suburb, that area was surrounded by warehouses and such. At the time, my family did not have a phone in the house and neither did our neighbors. There were no cell phones back then, or they were a luxury and not everyone could afford one. This took place in the end of the 90s, so if I needed to call my mom,

was used at work, I had to either go to my dad's work or company next to his, which was closer to make a phone call. My dad's work was a relatively short walk from our house, probably 30 minutes or less. My dad was working at a huge unloading dock for metallurgical slash natural resources shipments. In order to get to my dad's work, I had to walk past another adjacent company, just like the one where my dad was working. I will call it docks two. My dad's work, as well as Docs 2 had a sort of watchtower. It is just a cabin mounted at the top of a tall platform, and you need to go up a decent amount of stairs to get to the top. There was always a guard inside overseeing the whole yard from the top during the day and night to make sure no one is in danger

slash no break-ins. The phones were located only on-site watchtowers at the time. Docks 2 were much closer to our house, only 10 minutes walk. One day, as I've done many times before, I went to the docks too to make a call. I climbed the stairs, knocked on the door, and was welcomed in by a guard, and used to see what quite often and knew well. However, that day he wasn't alone. New guy, 28 at the time, was there. Apparently, he was a new employee hired to work shifts. He was this very tanned white guy, always wearing military-style outfits. I was just an average-looking child looking exactly my age. My hair was very blonde, which made my cheeks appear rosy red, and gave me more child appearance. When the new guy saw me that day, he wouldn't take his eyes off me. As soon I was

about to finish my call with my mom, it's just one room so everyone can hear my conversation with her. The new guy went outside to smoke. When I came out, he smiled at me and asked me, what my name is, and whether I came there often to make calls. I don't remember what I said, but I felt very shy because he was just staring deeply into my eyes. I will call him the creep. Fast forward, and I came to that tower again to make a call, and there he was again. But that time, he was alone. I spoke to my mom, and as I was about to leave, he asked me if I wanted any tea to which I refused. He then proceeded to ask me how school was going and things like that.

He offered to help me with my homework, however, I told him, I've got it all sorted. Harmless, but strange. On a side note, I just want to say about that what gave me shivers when I was near him is that whatever he looked at me, he looked drunk, which was very unsettling. Mind you, he wasn't actually drunk, but his eyes would just get so hazy, and his face would flush red. Sometime later, I saw him again. That time I was walking to my dad's work with my friend, and he was doing some digging in the docks too. When he saw me through the metal fence that was separating us, he just leaned against his shovel and just stared at me. He didn't say hi or anything

like that. After those encounters, for quite some time, I took alternative routes to see my dad, or play with puppies at my dad's work, or make calls to my mom because he really creep me out. However, one day I had to call my mom urgently. My dad's work phone didn't work, so I had to go to the Docks 2 tower, hoping I won't see him. The creep was there. And oh boy, he was so happy I came. He was complaining how I don't come anymore to see him. As I was making a call, he grabbed another chair and sat right next to me.

Very close. It took a while for the call because my mom was busy with something and someone went to get her whilst I was on the line. It felt like hours waiting and the creep was just sitting next to me, looking at me and smiling. When my mom finally got to the phone, he got up and went to make some tea and brought some biscuits. When I was done talking, he insisted I have some tea with him. I didn't, and he just kept on trying to strike a conversation, but this time, the tone of the conversation was different. He asked me how old exactly I was and I told him 12 or 13. I have no idea why I lied when I was older than nine. He told me his age and although I knew he was much older, I felt really weirded out

that he wanted to talk to me so badly or had any interest in being my friend. My alarms do go off every time I was around him, but my guess I didn't feel overly in danger. He then proceeded to tell me that I was so beautiful and asked me whether I had a boyfriend. He asked me if I had already dated boys and what type of boys I liked. I was just so uncomfortable and so eager to leave at that point, and he would just keep dragging me into these weird conversations so I could tell he was drinking that day. When I began moving towards a door, he followed me. Eventually, we were both outside. However, in order to get down from the tower, you need to walk this narrow path towards the stairs. He stood blocking it so that I couldn't leave. He got very close to me, and I freaked out.

The only escape tactic I could come up with as a child was to pretend that I'm seeing someone from the top of the tower, so I began waving my hand at the road down the bottom, and horse houses in the distance pretending I see someone and I know and say like, oh look, that's my uncle. He's waving at me. The creep looked in that direction, but either he didn't care or could tell that I was lying. I kept on telling him that my uncle who waved is a big angry man, and if I won't come home down this incident and go home, we both are going to be in trouble. The creep didn't budge. He got even closer and eventually pressed me against the railing. He kept on asking me his weird questions whilst I was terrified to move because I didn't want to move my body against his, if that makes any sense, so I just froze.

He asked me if I could go on a date with him and that he is looking for a girlfriend. And at that particular moment, someone was coming up the stairs to the tower, so he let me go, but asked me to come back. I've not told anyone about this encounter at that stage because I was afraid that my parents would get angry. I also just felt embarrassed and thought that people would judge me for with. happened. Sometime later I was home and it was around 9 p.m. I know the time because it was my bedtime. Suddenly a car came into our driveway. I came to see who it was through the front room door and I could see it was the creep but this time with other guys, blasting music in his car and shouted my name. I have no idea how he knew where I lived. He must have followed me one day. My dad was outraged. He

asked me who these people were but before I could even answer he rushed outside. Apparently the creep asked me for me to go out to him and his friends. My dad obviously refused, saying that I am a child and too young to hang out with them or go out at this time of night, and that if he sees any one of them ever again, you'll beat the living daylights out of him. So they drove away. I was so upset with my dad that he called me a child in front of them, so stupid. I think because we live so far away from everything, I was really keen to make friends as there were no kids around and such. For a while after that, the creeper heard of him. Significant time later, I was walking to my dad's work again, and I've completely forgotten about the creep. He was working in the docks too with his friends.

Maybe those that came with him that night in the car, maybe these were just his co-workers. I got scared when I saw him and even thought he shouted hi. I pretended not to know him. He said something to his friends, and I remember so clearly how one of his friends explained loudly, her? I guess he told them about me or his interest in me, but no one expected me to be a child. I looked at the guy that exclaimed. He was staring at me in utter disbelief. He must have been 20 or 25 or so, I think. And the creep was saying something to him. His friend screamed at him, have you lost your mind? Clearly the creep didn't see me as a child like everyone else did. Fast forward again, maybe half a year later. One day I was home alone in the evening waiting

for my parents to come back from work. We lived in a very safe community. We lived in a very safe community. so sometimes I'd be home by myself for a little bit after school until my parents got home. I was playing a game whereby I was a singer. I had this stage created in the living room and I was performing in front of chairs pretending there were my live audience. It was pitch black outside. At some point during my performance, I see someone staring at me through the living room window. That person must have been crouched down as only top of the face could be seen from the bottom.

As soon as that person realized I saw them, they ran away. I was so embarrassed that someone saw me performing, scared and shocked at the same time, that I was literally glued to the floor. I didn't know whether that was him. Our dog didn't react at all, maybe because music was playing very loudly. I was scared to go outside the house to check, but peered through the window, however, no one was there. That person had to climb over the wooden fence to get to our living room window. I told my parents about it. I've also asked my friend whether it was him who came around, but he said it wasn't him.

I don't know if my friend felt shy to admit he was watching me or whether it was the creep. To finish this up, one day I went to docks too with my dad, as my dad needed something from there from work. I saw the old guard that I knew well and asked about the creep and was told that he doesn't work there anymore. I don't know what happened of him. I never told my parents about what's happened. So even though I know our past will never cross, let's not meet. God said you're my wife. A few years ago, my boyfriend and best friend of four years had just dumped me.

I was using this website Meet Me to Meet People in my area while I was in college. My profile clearly stated that I was not explicitly looking for anyone to date, just wanted to meet new people. I had just been dumped, so I was really trying to put myself out there and I'm not really the type to go out. In my area, there was a giant dance-thon that my university did every year. to raise money for a children's hospital. I had someone messaged me and asked if I had heard of it. I told him my dance team usually performed at it every year. He told me he was actually one of the children that was supported by the event when he was younger.

I thought that was really cool, so I asked him a little about his experience with that and genuinely thought it was interesting. After a while, that conversation was kind of dead and I didn't really have much else to say. Plus, it was getting late and I kind of wanted to go to bed. I told him so, and after about 10 minutes of lying in my bed trying to sleep, I get another notification. I glanced at it real fast and this dude had just sent me a novel. After this event, I swiftly deleted the account so unfortunately, I don't have access to the exact messages, so I'm just going to do my best remember. The first one went a little something like,

look, I'll be honest. I really want to keep talking to you. In fact, I'd actually really like to take you on a day sometime. You seem like a really nice girl and very sweet and interesting. I think we would get along extremely well. kind of alone in this world. Insert long-winded commentary about his loneliness here. He also did not use any punctuation so it took me a long time to dissect this. I responded and told him I wasn't interested in and was about seven years older than me. I was 20 at the time and tried to say goodnight again. Then he responded with another novel along the lines of, I don't think you understand you are perfect for me. You were made for me. I'm sure of it. God speaks to me, you know. God

wants us to be together, and we will be. One day, you will be mine. I'm trying to be polite because he was so nice earlier, and I guess I'm naive. I don't totally know, but I kept responding, trying to let him down easy. Here are some more highlights. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But God has decided this. Who are we to deny him of his plan? Some day in the future, we will end up together. You will realize it soon. We're going to have three choices. We're going to have children. I know their names. Two boys, one girl. God spoke their names to me. I wrote them down when I was seven years old and I still have the paper. Do you know how I know you're going to be my wife because I wrote your name down on it? You will be my wife. Don't make a mistake. God is talking to me now. He's saying

your name to me. I can't let you leave. At that point, I blocked and reported him. Nope, the hell off the site and went to bed all creeped out. Morning came and he had found me on Facebook and he was going on and on and and on, starting with comments along the lines of, where did you go? How could you do this to me? You're denying your fate. He did it all night. I freaked out, told him to leave me alone pretty aggressively, and blocked him. I deleted all the social media apps off my phone for the next few days. I asked my roommates to stay at home with me. They agreed after I told him what happened. I was actually genuinely afraid of this dude was coming to get me. I mean, he was local and I had made nice conversation by telling him my major and some clubs I was in. He could have showed up

anywhere. But thankfully, he didn't, and that was the end of that. So creepy, meet me, dude, let's not meet. People can be absolutely creepy. Hi, I'm a 24-year-old lad living in the UK. I work as a pharmacist at a hospital, and I usually do night shifts. My workplace is just a few lots away from home, so I just walk every night. A few months ago, while I was on my way to work at around midnight, a car stopped in front of me and rolled down his window. The guy inside, was wearing a scrub suit, so I'm assuming he's a nurse. Have dark hair, chubby, and it's probably around my age. Hey, where are you heading?

Let me drive you to work. I politely declined. The guy looked harmless and I guess being polite wouldn't hurt. He looked pretty normal, but there's something in his eyes that unsettles me. He didn't go away after that and kept insisting to drive me to work. That's when I snapped and told him that I was waiting for my boyfriend, which isn't true because my boyfriend is in the U.S. miles away from me. He seemed to believe in it and just drove away. Days have passed when I got a

chat request. I tried to check the profile and saw that it was the creepy lad offering to ride me to work. How he got my name? I have no idea. I didn't pay his chat any attention and just went on with my pretty busy life. Two days after that, I got another message from him saying, you were smiling earlier. You look cute. After reading that message, it felt like I had been splashed with an ice-cold bucket of water. Was he at the hospital? I don't want to know.

I told him to stay away from me and eff off. Days have passed and I've almost forgotten about this guy when I saw him, staying on the hallway looking at me while I was exiting the room doing rounds. He tried to approach, but I beeline my way to the other hallway and went back to the pharmacy. That's when I started freaking out and told my boyfriend. He advised me to just drive to work instead of walking. And I did right after that night. I also blocked him to avoid any unwanted future creepy messages.

So far, I haven't seen him in months and I want to keep it that way. So to the creepy lad who kept on insisting in driving me to work and stalked me at work, let's not meet again. Small town mentality. Lock your doors. I grew up in a small town. the type where people don't really lock their doors, at least they didn't used to. When I was about 14 female, I got a call to babysit for one of my regulars who had three daughters.

It was December, so a lot of Christmas work parties were going on. I arrived, and we went over to the usual rules. She mentioned the TV upstairs was out, so once I put the girls to bed, just head down there to watch the TV, and so after playing with the girls for a while, I sent them off to their bed and headed downstairs. I spent a few hours channel surfing. It was around 1.30 a.m. I remember grabbing the phone, though I can't remember who I was calling.

Maybe my mom or my sister to let them know I would be really late. But I heard the door open upstairs, which sort of surprised me. The mom enjoyed the nights I babysat, as she knew I was a night owl who could be there super late, like three in the morning, provided she held the cab for me. It was a small town, but I live on the other side of it. As I headed upstairs, I heard someone stumble, so I picked up my pace to make sure she was okay, only to find three people I had never seen before. There was a clearly drunk woman lying in the doorway in two guys. The guys looked as surprised to see me as I was them. I asked why they were there.

The girl had slurred out that they were there for a party. I was confused and asked if they knew Helen, the mother. One of the guys looked me up and down and I began getting even more uncomfortable at the whole situation. He asked if I was here alone. I remember not wanting to answer, because all I could think of was the fact that there were three little girls sleeping in the house. I decided, instead of answering him, I would simply state there was no party here that they needed to leave.

The girl was adamant that she was here for the party. The guy who had asked me the question took a step forward. I demanded this time they leave, and we all heard the sound of a phone button being pushed. I'd forgotten it was even in my hand, but it seemed to be enough to startle the guy who thought I pushed it on purpose. The guy I quickly told the other guy they were leaving and helped the woman up. As soon as they were outside, I slammed the door and locked it and quickly ran to the front window and watched them. They continued up the block so it wasn't merely messing up the house numbers for them. The mom returned home two hours later and was confused why the door was locked.

She was too drunk, so I just told her it made me feel safe. I feel stupid for not telling someone, but they didn't really do anything. to the three drunks that one winter night, let's not meet again. The Tip Jar, a scary encounter working at a bikini coffee stand at 4 a.m. I'm not willing to share the evidence that earned the verified flair with anyone else except the mods for obvious reasons. The tip jar. Against the advice of my parents, I started working at a bikini coffee stand when I was 17 years old and continued working there until I was 20.

If you were unfamiliar with bikini coffee stands, they are little drive-thru espresso stands, usually painted in some neon color, or the employees all wear lingerie or bikinis while they serve coffee. I know this sounds strange, and believe me, it is strange. However, the money was good. It was fun at the time, and my parents couldn't really afford to pay for college.

There is no loudspeaker where customers place their order. They simply drive up to the stand, order coffee and make small talk as they ogle you in your skimpy assemble. Anyway, it's kind of hard to explain, so maybe just Google it. The Seattle area has them all over the place. Within a matter of months, the boss gave me the bus the busiest shift. The shift began at 4 a.m. and ended at 9.30 a.m. Though the coffee stand was not officially open until 4.30,

I had to count the till, grind the espresso beans, fill up the sinks, take stock, clean if needed, etc. The coffee stand was situated in the corner of a large parking lot, sharing the enormous empty lot with only one other retailer. The other retailer didn't open until around 10 a.m., and so when I arrived, the lot was completely dark, save for one dim street lamp above the stand and another in the far corner of the lot. I pulled up to the stand as I normally did, only this time it was my first shift alone. Normally I worked with one other girl, as the shift would get far too busy for just one person. I had the routine with regular customers,

as I literally worked every single day. The boss didn't believe in time off unless requested. While I worked, I could see cars approach the stand and know immediately what drink to prepare, based on my recognizing a regular customer's vehicle. After almost a year on the morning shift, it was rare to see a new vehicle or meet a new customer. My boss was extremely strict about being fast and efficient.

It would have us prepare drinks in advance. for our regulars while they waited in the line of cars. My boss was so strict that for the first six months of my working there, he would watch constantly on his camera system and call me on the business phone to scream at me for the lack of efficiency. After this, I became so fast in preparing drinks. I guess he decided he would save money by having me work alone in the very early morning hours.

He was stingy too. So like normal, I approached the stand and punched in the access code. I went inside and turned on some music right away to keep myself company. The street lamp directly above the coffee stand had burnt out a few days before, so it was rather dark outside, coupled with the tinted sliding windows of the coffee stand and the knowledge that I was completely alone. I felt a little creeped out, though not nearly as creeped out and terrified as I was about to feel in a few minutes. Even though the stand was technically open at 4.30, I wouldn't expect my first customer until about 4.45. usually arrived at four, but since it was my first shift alone, I came in at 3.30 to give myself enough time to complete all of the opening tasks. My first customer was always Dave. He drove

a red sports car and ordered a double cappuccino, heavy on the foam. He worked for the local Boeing plant and would brag about his high-ranking job in between awkward remarks about my body. You'd get used to the sort of thing after a while. But nothing could prepare me for the sort of thing that happened to me on this particular dark morning. Though many of the customers were pervy men like Dave, most of the early morning customers weren't as lecherous as one would expect. They simply needed coffee and no other business was open as early as ours. In fact, many of my early morning customers were married men in soccer mom vans,

in desperate need of caffeine. I glanced up at the clock as I opened the money in the till. 3.50 a.m. I finished the count and walked from the back of the stand onto the main floor. There were two steps separating the back of the stand from the main floor. The back of the stand had no windows and containing a bathroom, large refrigerator, washer, dryer, etc. This is the area where many of my coworkers and myself would get ready and drove around where customers couldn't see us. As soon as we walked onto the main floor where customers could see us, uniform was required, meaning lingerie or bikini, as well as heels.

That morning I was wearing a matching pink laundry set with knit stockings. The lingerie fully covered my breasts and buttocks and provided more coverage than a typical bikini you would see at a beach. I counted all of the syrup bottles. I opened the fridge and took stock inside. I turned on the espresso grinder and robotically poured in a bag of espresso beans. I started filling up the large commercial sink with soapy water. Music played softly on a stereo.

Then I heard it. Over the noise of faucet, coffee grinder, and the music, I wasn't sure I heard anything at first, so I just ignored it. Then I heard it again. Tap, tap, tap. Someone was tapping on the sliding glass window of the stand. I wiped off my wet hands and grabbed my cell phone. 4.15 a.m. We weren't open for another 15 minutes. I checked the light switches to make sure I didn't accidentally flip on the open sign, along with an open sign, the stand. The stand was a was equipped with bright floodlights to illuminate the presence of the stand due to the sheer darkness that morning. I'd contemplated turning on the floodlights when I first arrived, but it was strictly forbidden to do so until the stand was open. Without the floodlights on and through the tinted

glass, I could not see who was on the other side. I stood there, staring at the window. Maybe it's just Dave, I rationalized to myself. Tap, tap, tap. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears, the tapping and had definitely grew louder. I picked up the business phone and punched in my boss's number. He had an extensive camera system, complete with night vision, and could see in real time both inside and outside of the stand. In the very least, he could tell me who was outside. The phone rang and rang no answer.

I flipped on the floodlights. I walked over to the window and saw the man, now illuminated by the bright lights. His head was pressed up against the glass, hands cupped around his eyes as he tried to see in. I jumped back. Hi, he yelled through the glass. Can I get some coffee? We aren't open for another 15 minutes, I replied. My boss will be mad if I open early. Oh, well, I can wait. The man then walked away from the window and stepped into a small black Honda. I continued my opening duties, warily eyeing the black Honda. At the time, I felt a

false sense of security, lulled into the daily routine of my shepherding. shift. However, this was different. At 4.30, I dutifully turned on the open sign and watched as the man in the black Honda drove up to the window. He was wearing a dark red baseball cap, a thermal shirt, in plaid pajama pants. I opened the sliding window. Hi, sorry about that. What can I get for you this morning? I said, trying to sound as normal as possible. The man looked at me for what felt like an eternity. What I want doesn't appear to be on the menu, he said, not looking up for my crotch. Okay, so. I know what you're thinking. What did I expect working in this profession? Gentlemen? I brushed this comment aside with a laugh. We have a great white chocolate mocha.

I looked around frantically. What the fuck was the usual morning guy, Dave? I silently prayed another customer would pull up behind the sky. He looked away and stared at his steering wheel. I want you to be my maid. Excuse me, I said. Not sure if I heard him correctly. I want you to be my maid. I want you to come over to my house wearing a maid costume with nothing underneath. I want to watch you.

If you don't clean correctly, I'm going to do whatever I want to you. He paused and gripped his steering wheel tightly. I am not a nice guy. He looked up at me and smiled. Until that point in my life, I had never seen a tree. truly sinister smile before. I slammed the long-serving window shut. I ran to the back of the stand hyperventilating at this point. I picked up the phone and called my boss repeatedly, no answer. I stood on the steps and peered out the window. The black Honda was gone, replaced by the familiar red

of Dave's sports car. I never thought I would be happy to see Purvey Dave, but here I was, rushing to the serving window to tell him what had happened. I opened the window all the while frantically relaying the story. Dave just laughed and muttered something about the guy dreaming. He told me that I was just being paranoid and the guy just had no filter. For some reason, this put me at ease. Dave reached his hand out of the window to place a $5 bill in my tip jar. He tipped this amount each morning. Wow, he explained. You just open and your tip jar is already full. I didn't make good coffee, but it's not that great. Huh? I said, slamming the register shut. The tip jar rested on the outside window ledge so customers couldn't reach it. I made it a habit of just leaving it outside

in between customers as it could get very busy. I leaned over and looked into the metal canister. Inside the tip jar was a long white envelope that appeared to be stuffed to its capacity. My stomach turned, as I knew it had to be from the guy in the black Honda. Dave, I said cautiously. It's from that guy I just told you about. I'm not opening that. Dave sipped his cappuccino and suddenly his goofy demeanor turned serious. You're right, let me open it. I have gloves. It was late fall and rather cold out. Dave put on his gloves in a dramatic manner laughing about my paranoia

and proceeded to step outside of his car. He took the envelope out of my tip jar and opened it. Holy shit, he said. His eyes widening. He held up a stack of $20 bills held together by rubber band. On the back of the stack was a folded-up piece of paper. He unfolded the paper and began reading it. His eyes grew even wider. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. What? What does it say? He simply said. Get dressed and called the police. I snatched the note from him. His jaw is slightly agape.

The note was laden with spelling errors and looked as if it was written in a child's hand. Oddly, there was rather long words that were attempted but spelled incorrectly. It said some. It said some, it was written in a child's said some very deranged things. There are some things too sick to mention here, but I'll relay the basic message as best as I can recall. Some things you just never forget, even if you want to. So, here it is, without the spelling errors in the length. It was two pages long, front and back. You will come to my house. When you arrive, I'll examine you thoroughly. I'll then tie you to the post, and you'll be punished for what you do. Every inch of your body will be bruised and sore.

Afterward, I will untie you and use you in every way possible. Used a different term, but it is extremely graphic, it includes the words hogtied. You can scream, but no one will hear you. This is your first payment. Upon reading this note and taking this money, you have agreed to follow through. If you do not follow through, you are a stealing, lying whore, and you will be punished more severely than if you cooperate to this initial agreement. will clean every inch of my house.

There will be no mistakes or there will be more punishment to follow. I got dressed and called the police and my boss who finally answered. The police arrived and I went to the station to explain in detail what happened. I handed them to the note, along with the money for evidence. The female police officer who appeared to be in charge nonchalantly told me that I should probably quit my job, that this behavior was to be expected from customers. I told her that I have never experienced anything like this before. My boss reviewed the outside videotape footage.

The footage showed a man, standing outside of the coffee stand, window just staring inside. Occasionally it showed him leaning his head into the glass and cupping his hands around his eyes for a better view. It also showed him rubbing his crotch. Apparently, he'd been standing outside the window since 3.40 a.m. 10 minutes after my initial arrival. At one point, it showed him going back into his car only to reemerge several minutes later and finally tap on the window. I was shocked to realize that the man had watched me for almost a full hour without my knowledge. I felt stupid and most of all scared.

The footage also revealed that the man had his license plates covered with what appeared to be white paper. After reviewing the footage and the note, the police decided that the man posed a potential threat, and that this behavior was not normal. Duh. They sent an undercover cop back to the stand with me. I was shocked that they wanted me to go right back to work, not even two hours after the incident. The cop sat outside in an SUV while I worked.

The plan was this. If the man drove through again, I was to flick the open sign on and off to alert him of the man's presence. I worked serving all of my regular customers, trying my best to pretend nothing happened. I was told not to recall the incident to any of my coworkers or customers that morning in case they knew the man and warned him of police involvement. The man did not return that day.

But he did return. Little did I know the day was only the beginning of a year-long nightmare. Edit number two. To all of those who asked, this happened well over six years ago. Final update and conclusion. I have been unindated with messages for a part two. Unfortunately, I'm unable to post the rest of the story for LNM because series posts are no longer loud. I posted part two on Nostly, but unfortunately the guidelines do not allow users to continue.

stories from LNM over on No Sleep. I'm sure you can find part two in a pace bin somewhere. But I will keep it simple and relay a short version of the conclusion. I fully intended to complete this series. Unfortunately, I no longer wish to invest the time nor the energy to keep posting the rest of the story, only to have it removed by moderators, which I understand, rules are rules. So I will end this with letting you all know that I am fine now. I'll give you a quick synopsis of how things turned out.

The stocking continued for a while, about a year. The stocker left endless creepy gifts from me, both at work and at my place of residence, all of which he signed off on as Turner. He got to a point where I could improve it was him because it would often be sent by a courier or a third party. He continued to come by the stand, and at one point, he even promised to leave me alone. My coworker was there. We actually managed to have a very brief discussion in which he apologized and agreed

that his behavior was inappropriate. However, he resumed his creepy behavior just days later. The police were of no help and kept insisting me that it would all go away if I just quit my job. I had his license plate, which was out of state and vehicle description, but apparently the car wasn't even registered. I did not even know this was a possibility. Despite taking a leave of absence, the stocking continued. I didn't want to quit my job, as this was shortly after the recession. My mom, the sole provider of a family of five, had lost her job, so I wanted to chip in and help her so they wouldn't lose the house. Other bikini stands in the area were not hiring due to the being embroiled in prostitution scandals, all of which were heavily covered by the national media. You have no idea how hard it was and maybe still is to get a normal job after having worked as a bikini barista.

Employers don't like it on your job history too much. The few of the scariest incidences were, being assaulted at an ice freezer outside of the coffee stand. Thankfully, he didn't harm me physically, just grabbed me and touch me inappropriately. Turner coming through the drive-thru completely naked and J. Owing into a pair of women's underwear. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to say all of this on L&M and a quick snook note. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to say this on YouTube, so I kind of tried to, you know, censor it a bit. But anyways, back to the story. have previously omitted this from my story due to the explicit SA nature.

If this is in violation of the guidelines, please let me know before removing my post. I will remove it. Another incident occurred when my friend gave me a joint a customer had left for me on her shift. Crazy as it may sound in my regulars fairly often would leave joints in my tip jar instead of money. I like to smoke a lot at the time. I asked my coworker for the customer's name, but she didn't get a chance to ask for it. I was told by my friend slash coworker that he had long hair and looked like a hair. hippie. This fits the description of a customer who'd regularly leave joints in my tip jar.

I smoked the joint before I went to sleep one night, only to have a massive freak out, full of hallucinations, hysteria, etc. I literally thought I saw ghosts, demons, and fire. I ended up in the hospital. I found out in the hospital that, in addition to having marijuana in my system, I also had a bunch of PCP in my system as well. Later on, Turner would take credit for this joint by sending a text in my phone, letting me know that if I wanted him to smoke me out, that we could get together sometime. I guess he thought this weed was enjoyable. Ha. Of course I gave his number to the police. I feel like I gave them enough information to get this guy, but I was just never taken seriously or they had bigger fish to fry. They did find, however, that the phone he used was a burner.

Again, I did not plan on and not previously include this in my story. Just typing this out is giving me horrible flashbacks to that time on PCP. I do my best to never think about this or bring it up. In this period of time, it was evident that one of my coworkers were sharing my personal information with Turner in exchange for money, or maybe just because she didn't like me. This coworker was later arrested on prostitution charges. I ended up relocating and changing my last name, which is surprisingly easy to do. I did this primarily to get away from Turner, but also so I could get a fresh start with a new employment history and get it. away from the negative energy that had circled my life. I had taken nude photos of myself or my

boyfriend at the time, and after we broke up, he leaked them to everyone on my contact list, including my coworkers, of course. This meant Turner most likely got a hold of the photos as well. It may seem strange to you, but after a while, the stalking becomes part of your life. It's kind of like living around a bunch of rattlesnakes. You may feel constantly on guard and on edge, but eventually you work your daily routine around trying your best to avoid the snakes so you don't get bitten. When it happens, you do your best to move on. I have recently found out, within the last few months, that a man fitting my stocker's description was incarcerated some time ago for doing something even more frightening to another barista in the PNW. There were also

similar incidences in reports of a man driving through bikini stands naked or with women's underwear. I suspect that this man was most likely Turner. I could not be sure if it is the same person, as I never was able to find out this person's true first and last name, but I'm hopeful that it is him. He'll be locked away for a very long time. I was almost cooked alive. When I was 10, my parents and I went to visit my grandmother for spring break, my cousin also came to visit, and we decided we wanted to go to the YMCA for the day. My grandmother dropped us off and said she would come and pick us up in four hours. On that day, the YMCA was empty. There were a couple of adults in the exercise room, but that's it. We went to the basketball court, and after two

hours of playing tag and shooting baskets, we were bored. I've never been the biggest fan of swimming, but this YMCA had a pretty cool pool, so we changed into our bathing suits and headed in there. The pool was empty, except for the lifeguard. We played a bunch of games and swam laps, but after about an hour, there wasn't much left to do, and there was no one except us to hang out with to keep things interesting. So we decided to play a game of seeing how long we could hold our breath under water. We stood in the shallow end near the clock on the wall so we could time ourselves. Instead of fully submerging, we just took our heads face down in the water. We did this a couple of times and I was winning. On our last round, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I figured it was my cousin giving up

and telling me that I won, but instead it was a lifeguard who told me to knock it off or she was going to have to ask us to leave the pool. Since we were tired of, tired of being in the pool, we figured we'd get out, get dressed, and go back to the basketball court until my grandmother picked us up. We only had an hour left anyways and the water was freezing. As we got out, the lifeguard stopped us and asked if we wanted to go into the sauna to warm up and dry off. The sign said 18 years or older. So of course, we were super excited that she allowed us to do that. She walked us to the sauna and locked the door. The door was glass and the interior was made of entirely out of wood. Inside, above the door, there was a clock, probably to help make

sure you were not in there for an unsafe amount of time. The lifeguard stand was adjacent to the sauna, but if you looked out the door, you could clearly see it. She followed us in and went over to the thermometer encased in plastic, and unlocked it so she could crank up the heat. I figured that she must have to turn it on each time, so I didn't think anything of it. Both my cousin and I were very short girls and so we couldn't see the temperature that was printed on the thermometer, nah, but I know she was turned up the heat. Then she left and shut the door behind her. I thought I saw her lock the door too, but I thought to myself, why would she lock the door when we might want to get out? I checked the clock and decided we should get out in 10 or 15 minutes.

It was already pretty warm in the sauna, but now the room was blazing. It felt nice because I was so cold from the pool. After about 15 minutes, it was starting to get a little bit too high. hot and my cousin agreed that we should leave so we can get dressed. I wanted to turn the knob on the door but it wasn't budging. I thought maybe it was jammed so I shook it but it still wasn't opening and then I let my cousin try. She couldn't get it open either. We figured the lifeguard would be back in a couple of minutes so we sat back down and waited. The room was getting hotter now too and I really wanted to leave. I got up and started banging on the door and shaking slash twisting the knob trying to get the lifeguard's attention. My cousin got up and joined me. We started screaming at the top of our lungs

for her to let us out, but she just stared straight ahead. I don't think there's any way that she couldn't have noticed or heard two little girls banging and kicking the door and screaming. Now we had been in there for about 25 minutes. It was so hot in the sauna that it hurt to breathe. It felt like my lungs were on fire. My eyes and skin were burning. We sat back down and put our towels over our heads because they were still a little damp and it made it easier to breathe. I was so worried about my cousin as she is a couple of years younger than me. I looked at the clock and saw that we've been in there for 35 minutes. I got up and walked to the door again and saw the lifeguards still just staring straight ahead. Again, I tried to get her attention by screaming that we needed it out

and banging on the door as hard as I could, but still nothing. I was starting to get pretty dizzy, so I went to go sit back down, but the wooden seats on the sauna were burned my skin. My towel was completely dry, so I put it underneath me to sit on. My hair was also dry, but I wrapped it across my face to cover my nose, and I squinted my eyes so that they didn't burn as bad, but I could still watch if anyone walked past the door. It helped a little bit. My cousin was laying face down with the towel over her head,

not moving or saying anything, so I nudged her to make sure that she was still okay. She was, but I could tell her that we really needed to get out of her. there soon because she seemed a little bit disoriented. It had been 45 minutes now, and I was extremely nauseous. There was no way that the lifeguard would forget that we were in there, and I thought she would have to come back soon, but there was this little voice in my head telling me that maybe she purposely locked us in there. Finally, a man walked past the door towards the pool, but for some reason I just couldn't get up. My whole body was on fire, and I felt so dizzy.

Luckily, this man wasn't going to the pool. He wanted to be let into the sauna and came back with the lifeguard. I saw them walking this way and immediately jumped up to grab my cousin. I knew now that for sure she had locked us in there because she pulled out her keys to unlock the door and let the man in. I didn't want to take any chances of us being trapped in there any longer, so as the man was trying to walk in, I was trying to shove our way out. As we were going out, the lifeguard started trying to shut the door and push us back in.

The man was clearly confused about what was going on and said, I think they want out. The lifeguard let out a sigh and opened the door fully as we ran as fast as we could into the changing room. We only had about 10 minutes before a grandmother was supposed to pick us up. We were both so shaken by what just happened that we didn't say anything to each other as we got dressed on the car ride home. When we got back to the house, my parents were making us dinner.

I told them the story of what just happened. They thought that I must have been exaggerating, and they didn't believe me. I truly think that woman was going to let us cook alive in there. The only bit of doubt that I have is what would have happened if we actually died. She obviously would have gotten the blame. What was her end game? I'm 21 now, and I think about this interaction all the time, and when I'm in small spaces or I get too warm, I still have panic attacks.

No one believes this story, and I get it. It's pretty absurd. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to ask for opinions, but do you think that this could have been some crazy misunderstanding, or do you think that she really just left us in there to die? And why? So, to the lifeguard at the YMCA, please, let's not meet again.