Snook - Creepy Stories From Reddit

Episode Date: February 8, 2026

These are some creepy stories from reddit! These were some of the creepiest stories I have ever read! What was your favorite story? My favorite story in this video was the 6th and final story, it was so scary! But they are all amazing, so make sure to watch the whole vid! Thanks for watching, like and subscribe. CREDITS -athousandrows - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/8chsch/i_met_someone_who_claimed_to_be_the_devil_and_i/RyanMatthews_ - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/8w4gaz/my_girlfriend_talks_in_her_sleep_shes_been_saying/RobertMort - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/twijls/my_husband_insists_on_keeping_this_one_painting/flard - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/adt7vs/im_a_firewatcher_i_found_another_firewatchers/theoddcatlady - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/8zb8k9/under_the_back_porch/CR_Jones - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/9g6gg6/instructions_for_the_babysitter/TIMESTAMPS:0:00 | Intro0:48 | 1st Story - I met someone who claimed to be the devil... and I think I believe them35:33 | 2nd Story - My girlfriend talks in her sleep. She's been saying the most horrible things recently...44:33 | 3rd Story - My husband insists on keeping this one painting of a woman1:00:07 | 4th Story - I’m a Firewatcher. I found another Firewatcher’s unsettling journal at my new station.1:08:43 | 5th Story - Under The Back Porch1:18:40 | 6th Story - Instructions for the BabysitterSubscribe to my 2nd channel - ‪‪@Snook-lite‬ Podcast - ‪‪@Spook-Cast‬ IF ANY OF THESE STORIES BELONG TO YOU, PLEASE EMAIL ME AT - [e-mail] before filing a copyright takedown or anything. Please, we can get it sorted out through email or some other form of communication, thank you.NEXT SUB GOAL - 100,000 followers! And rate 5 stars!I love you. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys, and welcome to creepy stories from Reddit. This is one of the best videos I've ever put together regarding Reddit stories. All of these stories are so interesting, scary, and as the title implies, creepy. And all of these stories are perfect to listen to if you're studying, relaxing, just want something to watch, or anything else you might do while watching a video, and this video is perfect for that. And before we get into the video, please like the video and subscribe to the channel. It's the channel's goal to be at 500,000 subscribers, and I think we can do that sometime soon, so please subscribe to the channel. And all right, anyways, let's get into some of these great and phenomenal stories.

I'm really excited, and I hope you are too. So welcome to creepy stories from Reddit. I met someone who claimed to be the devil, and I think I believe them. Let me start off by saying that I'm not particularly religious. If you ask me if I believed in God, I'd probably just shrug. grunt out a few words about being on the fence about it and continue with my day. Of course, that was before last night. My friends are the kinds of people who like wild nights, crazy parties, snort a bit of C, take a bit of E in the bathroom, maybe hook up with someone

and leave a text on my phone at 10 past who the F knows telling me they don't need that ride I'm offering after all. Not to say I don't like to drink, I do, it's just clubs aren't my style lying low in a pub somewhere, drink in hand, listening to Zeevi drone on to whatever channel some scruffy guy in the back barked out for, I guess that's my idea of fun. So my friends tell me that they're going out for a night on the town, I say, sure. I hang on for the first club, buy a non-alcoholic beer in case my car is required, and try to pretend that I'm having fun. By the time I see them grinding on girls on guys, when they strike conversation with someone who definitely might be a dealer, well, I decide my services are no longer needed.

We aren't too far out. The night tube is on beck and call and I can always find my car the next day. That's when I wander out of the club, look for something a little more rustic. Not that it's hard to find, not at all. I found myself in a bit of a state inside of a bar called the ragged feather. Wasn't a fan of the name all that much, but the drinks were cheap and the largest demographic seemed to be middle-aged white men watching reruns of the football. I tried to pretend I hadn't just staggered out of a club with my ears ringing. I slicked my hair back, slipped my phone into my hand, and wandered over the bar. I took a double shot of whiskey and drank it in one hit. Just because I wasn't at the club didn't mean I couldn't have a good time.

I hung at the bar a while on my own, scrolled through my phone pretending I was doing something far more impressive than I really was. I kept an ear out for the guys on the sofas. They'd get vocal every now and then. I think the football was just running highlights, but they were incredibly dedicated to their teams. I got another whiskey and blood into the background. Of course, stragglers from clubs are commonplace. It wasn't long until some scantily dressed women staggered in, laughing, chuckling, pointing for where they wanted to sit. I saw a guy walking with his friend slung over his shoulder.

Catatonic, most likely. He threw his friend onto one of the leather sofas, ingrained with beer and smokes, and demanded two pints of water and all the peanuts the bar had in stock. The bartender seemed bitterly amused. Some of the girls were taking selfies, Snapchat and their friends who were still at the club. They're ordering shots, gearing themselves up for the next leg of their night. A couple of blokes wandered in with curies and takeout trays. I saw someone eat a big mac on the outside scene through the window. This was a night for the young and inebriated, and my mind was just dulled enough by the whiskey to enjoy the characters I could watch peacefully without interacting with. That is, until someone slipped into the seat next to me.

Do I look like a girl with daddy issues? She was of average height, although that wasn't apparent immediately due to the fact that she was leaning in her arms heavily against the bar. She was slim with short and astounding bright red hair. It framed her round face, a face that was marred with smudged eye shadow, smudged lipstick. Hell, it looked like her makeup was in the process of melting right from her face. There was a chip nodded into her curl in her hair just by her forehead. The drunk side of me was actually tempted to pick it out.

The girl was clearly drunk, and as I looked around the bar, I couldn't quite place where she had come from. She didn't belong to the crowd of selfie takers. She wasn't with the catatonic guys. I hoped for her safety that she wasn't with the middle-aged men. I tried to look out the window to see if maybe a group was missing when inebriated, bright-haired girl, but I couldn't. The window had fogged up. Too much heat inside, not enough outside. Are you okay, I asked her?

She pointed her finger at me. Answer my question. She slurred. I really wasn't sure what to say. I settled on staring at her awkwardly, trying to answer her with my bemuse expression on my face. The girl's lips curled into a drunken smile. She snorted, placing a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter.

It only really aided the deconstruction of her lipstick. I do. you know, she said, pushing herself up a little against the bar. Have daddy issues. I mean, in case that wasn't obvious, she gestured to herself. To the mused clothing that must have looked quite spectacular when she'd left home that evening. To the stains that looked like a lot of old food, the sticky residue on her neck and shoulders that was quite obviously a thrown drink.

What happened? I asked her. Her hair had curled around her neck. I realized it was sticky with the same substance. She was a wreck. I got on a couple of fights. No big deal, she said, shrugging. Didn't start any, of course. No, I don't do that, but my father.

Your dad did this to you? She smiled brightly. In a way. Do you need me to call someone? I already had my phone in my hand. The girl looked like she was probably in her early 20s. But that didn't mean she couldn't have been suffering from some kind of paternal abuse. The only number I knew of, the bat, was childline, which wasn't

quite appropriate. The police? Jesus, was I going to have to deal with the cops tonight? My friends were snorting coke, not two doors down? The girl pushed my hand down firmly. She was already shaking her head. No, she told me. I don't want you to call anyone. Now, her expression changed. It wasn't the attempted sultry look I'd seen on many girls of her state. It was open and wide and engaging. She wanted something from me and I felt compelled to give it to her. I want something else. What do you want? I asked her. To tell you a story, the girl said, before glancing to the bar, and for you to buy me a drink. The universe is pain sometimes, and I'm afraid I think I might have lost my wallet.

I laughed. I didn't know this girl, didn't know where she'd come from at all. My nights were generally about getting comfortably wasted and making sure my friends weren't dead in a ditch by the end of it all. I was used to getting hit on every now and then, but even as I was sat on that bar stool with a drink in my hand, I knew that this wasn't what this was. The girl had no intention of getting into my pants. All she wanted was to talk. I guess I was okay with that. What's your poison? I asked her.

Her lips quirked. A plentini. The bar offered a very limited cocktail menu, but by some miracle, I was able to order her an M. Plentini from the list. I ordered a cider to go with it, suddenly a little too aware of where this night could go. I had unthinkingly supplied this liquored-up stranger with even more alcohol and she had clearly had a rough night of it.

A part of my old instinct came back. The same instinct that had me texting my friends every few hours to make sure they hadn't wandered off to somewhere dangerous beyond the club. With no one but the bartender aware of our existence on these stools, I realized that I was suddenly responsible for this very drunk stranger. The girl coddled her drink, running her finger delicately over the rim of the muggy martini glass. This takes me back, the girl said amiably. She looked at me suddenly, her green eyes startling. You know what this was called originally? She smirked before I could answer.

In Adam's apple martini. I snorted. Yeah, I think I've heard that before. Of course it wasn't actually an apple, she continued. Eyes moving back to her glass. The text translated that part wrongly, mostly because people don't have a word for it anymore. The fruit was incredibly exotic, and to be honest, it doesn't exist in this realm of existence, only Eden. She laughed dreamily, and Eden's long gone.

I stared at her. Are you? Okay. It was more honest than the last time I'd asked her, mostly because I was beginning to feel a deep dread into my stomach. Of course, the girl said, grinning them wildly. Why do you keep asking? I mean, I stuttered. I just, now, don't take this wrong way or anything, but you look like someone poured their drink over me, the girl asked.

Like someone else threw their kebab on my dress and another unpleasant chap littered me with his fish and chips that I've been hit, slapped around a bit, and left in a gutter for the rats to find me. She held my eyes for an incredibly long time before her face broke out in a grin. Yeah, something like that. Why would they do that, I asked. Why wouldn't they? The girl shot back. People aren't that great, and alcohol makes them worse, she shrugged. Sometimes makes them better, nicer, a little looser in the sack, but mostly just annoying and a little smelly.

I looked at her. I watched her knock back her drink. She exuded the intelligence to know just how ironic her words were. but she was neither caring nor apologetic about them. The girl looked at me again. You bought me a drink now. You can listen to my story. I nodded wordlessly.

She smiled, pointing at the bartender and then at her drink. The bartender was already making her another. Eden, the girl said, reiterating her earlier babble as though the words had only just come out of her mouth. They always think that's my fault, you know. The reason Adam and Eve got kicked out of their perfect little nudist paradise, she shot me a knowing glance. Only at Eden can you sit on the grass butt naked and not get a pine cone stuck in your crack. I blinked. I'm sorry, I said.

I'm not following. Sorry, the girl said. My story won't make any sense without a proper introduction. She reached out her hand. Hello, my name's Lucifer. She winked. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting. Your story could be next.

If you've got the drive, they'll help you find your path to the Olympics. Let's see what you've got. Sign up for free at rbc trainingground.ca. You can call me Lucy. There's an uncomfortable heat that stretches through your veins when you first go into flight or fight mode. Adrenaline pounds through your blood and all you want to do is get up and go. It overrides everything else. A lot of things made sense when the girl told me her name, for starters, that she was crazy.

She had to be. She looked like she'd been attacked on four separate occasions, and one night and up until that moment, I hadn't known how that could be possible. Behind the melty makeup and dirty clothes, she was rather attractive, and her attitude hadn't come off as catty or rude. If she'd been going around telling people she was the devil, though, that gets a reaction out of people. I suddenly felt myself looking at her wrist, down towards her ankles.

Did she have some kind of cuff on from one of those mental institutions? Had she broken out of the hospital after a nasty bump on the head? Was any of this even happening at all? I really would have to call the cops. I know what you're thinking, the girl Lucy said. You're thinking that I'm crazy. He needs to get out of here. Maybe you even think I'm aggressive.

Are you? I asked her. Would I be here with you? Drinking aplenty's if I were. She asked, fluttering her eyelashes. Would you look the way you do if you weren't, I shot back? She grinned, hosting her new glass. Tushay.

Unthinkingly, I clinked my cider against it. Then I frowned. She chuckled, leaning closer. Let's have a little wager, she said. Let me tell you my story, and if you believe me when I'm done, you can't go about trying to get me locked away somewhere. I stared at her. If I ended up believing you, then why would I do that?

She smirked, sipping her drink. You'd be surprised what people do when they believe you're the devil. And you do this often, I asked. Tell people you're Satan? She snorted into her drink. Not as often as I should, but it's been a rough day in a hell of a long time. I'd like to have a chat if that's all right with you. I wave to the bartender for another whiskey.

The girl's eyes glinted with humor. I wasn't necessarily trapped with her, but a part of me didn't want to leave without first hearing what she had to say. Besides, at the end of it all, I couldn't just leave a crazy girl to wander around London alone at night. So, I said, taking this wig at my drink? Eden. Lucy laughed. Adam and Eve, I continued. You're saying that's true.

God created two humans, and we all came from then. God made two prototypes, Lucy corrected with a raised finger. my father created angels as his toy soldiers, but he had failed to make anything like himself. After us, it was his next big project, and he spent every waking hour of existence slaving over his two prototypes. He gave them a perfect utopia to live inside of, but he wanted to test them. He wanted to know whether they had free will. And did they? Lucy's face soured. No. My father could never bring himself to go that far. He tempted them with the idea of knowledge beyond their understanding and told them exactly what they could do to claim it as their own,

but to be able to create a being that could go against his law? Oh, my father is a very controlling being. He was afraid to unleash that ability unto them. Lucy was very adamant in her delusions. That was clear to me. She spoke about her father with such distaste that I began to feel bad for. Only someone who had been hurt very badly would have the first. the gall despite God himself.

And what? I asked her, entertaining her delusion. You were the one that tempted them in the garden? The devil had been a girl this whole time. She smiled. I dabble. Then she looked at me, raising a brow. All of humanity thinks that temptation came in the form of a snake. The snake's legs were taken away as punishment for drawing Eve towards the forbidden fruit.

She laughed a hard and short sound. Snakes never had legs, and it was not a sin to tempt those poor prototypes into doing what they did next. Her shoulders were very tense as she took her next sip, but her eyes were filled with exhilaration. She seemed thrilled to be telling me this. I was the favorite child. My father loved and adored me. He named me the Lightbringer. I was stood at his side during the creation of this earth, during the creation of humanity.

She pursed her lips slamming her empty glass against the table. The bartender eagerly went about making another. My father couldn't bring himself to go that extra mile, so he asked me to walk amongst the prototypes and tempt them myself. Draw out their desire for the forbidden power he had hinted at. You're saying God wanted us to know this stuff? I asked you skeptically. I'm saying God was afraid of his own power

and wanted very desperately to share what he knew with the creation he had made, right and wrong. left and right, all that stuff. Lucy shrugged. Are you familiar with the story of Prometheus? I frowned at her. Greek, right? They say he stole fire from the gods or something to help?

The whiskey was making things a little foggy, and I struggled with the direction I'd been heading. Lucy grinned. Correct, she said, couldn't off my attempt. Prometheus stole fire from the gods to ensure that humanity progressed. you'll find that every culture has an idea about where humans got their ability to evolve, to move forward, to create.

God was a creator, and he wanted to give that ability to his prototypes. I gave them that ability by attempting Eve to eat the fruit. She shrugged impassively. Now, the world sees me as the ultimate evil. If what you're saying is true, I said slowly, then God must be just like us. Lucy's lips thinned into a feral smile. My father is very egocentric.

He may have planned to create you in his image, but in the end all he managed was to mold your minds into his. He gave you autonomy, the ability to think for yourselves. His angels were his soldiers, and I was his most faithful. Until that day. Angels don't have free will? No, Lucy said. They don't.

And what about the devil? I don't know why I was suddenly so intrigued, but hearing religious ideals from someone who believed to have lived them herself was quite possibly one of the most interesting things that has ever happened to me. I may have only ever visited church to please my parents as a child, but suddenly I was reawakened to the idea. A part of me was aware of this and afraid of the outcome, but I was just drunk enough not to care at that moment. The devil has will of her own, Lucy said, tilting her glass towards me with a sign of the moment. appraisal. By guiding Eve to the tree, something woke inside me that day, and I realized just what I had been missing, just what my brothers and sisters had been missing. We are obediently following our father for the simple reason that he was our creator, but once I had been given free will,

I realized just how pompous and self-entiled he had become. In a lonely, passion-filled moment, he had decided to create his little human prototypes, only to very quickly realize what, giving them free will would mean. He wouldn't be able to control them, I said. Lucy nodded. Exactly. And after, he realized quicker still that he could no longer control me. So he sent you to hell?

Lucy choked on her drink. She smiled around her glass. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I sobbed a little, straightening him in my seat. The people in the bar were suddenly so quiet around me and I no longer cared what they had to say over the characters. that they portrayed. The only character I cared for was Lucy. I tried to explain to my siblings what had happened in Eden and what had happened to me by default. They wouldn't listen to me.

They didn't understand free will. How could they? I only knew it because I've been given it by the mistake. At that moment, I didn't even know that I had free will, only that I was suddenly aware of all of my father's flaws. My siblings couldn't see those flaws, and so they thought I was suddenly turned cruel. It was bending in our father by exposing him as a sham for the ruler we all thought him to be. Lucy sighed heavily. Adam and Eve and all the creations that followed were booted out of my father's perfect little utopia. Now they had his knowledge. My father was terrified of what he had done. And after what had happened to me, I could recognize his terror and understand the loneliness he had felt that had guided him into using me in the first place. Lucy's eyes were

heavy-lidded, her sadness was almost palpable. I thought that. I thought that he would want to spend even more time with me than before. After all, we were more alike than any of his other children, but he became distant, quiet. He played around with his little humans every once and a while, but mostly he condemned them. He blamed them for his weakness. She smiled weakly. He blamed me. Lucy's story was turning more and more into that of a child with a distant, somewhat abusive father. I'd known many kids with a background like hers, and now I was beginning to fear just how much of this story was rooted in truth. I'd heard that it was easier to sink into fantasy when he had been abused, and I wondered if that she was the reason for

her story, for her desperation to share with me, a complete and total stranger. I respected her wager. Whether or not I liked it, I felt compelled to let her tell me her whole story before I tried to judge or unravel it. I sat quietly, letting her come around as she played with the last of her drink. It became clear, Lucy said, after a long moment's pause, that I no longer belonged to where I was. I couldn't follow my father's plan because I could see that he no longer had one. My siblings refused to see reasoned, and so eventually I was met by many of them, headed by my father. He told me all that I feared. He told me that I no longer belonged to where I was. He told me that I no longer belonged to where I was. I wasn't an angel anymore. I was no longer his light bringer,

his Lucifer. I was a mutation of his will, and so he extracted me from the grace, and I fell. A long, silent stretch between us only interrupted when the bartender poured us two new drinks. Lucy drank hers reflectively. I didn't touch mine. I'm afraid, Lucy said quietly, that this is the part that generally makes people want to me in the face. Why, I asked. Because your dad threw you out? I paused, trying to abide to her metaphor.

That he put you in hell? Lucy laughed sadly. Aw, humans, my father gave you his way of thinking and look at you. She shook her head. No. Not because he put me in hell. Then why? I fell to earth, Lucy said.

Father gave me dominion of the one place he thought I would fit in. Humans had free will, so did I. What is it saying? A match made in heaven? She snorted dismayly. Of course, that's not quite right, is it? When I fell, I was faced with a humanity that was so different from my father's little prototypes.

Her tone had changed. There was an aggresson behind her words that began to unsettle me all over again. I saw emperors and kings, governments, and churches. I saw corporations who claim to be rulers, presidents, and big, fat dictates. haters, and I watched. I watched as humanity fought and lost, and finally, just finally, they gave up altogether. They were no longer able to rise up to all the greed and control set upon them. There was just too much to change, and humans soon realized they just weren't as free as they thought they were. Sure, they live under the illusion that they have free lives, but most of them

simply do not. She clicked her tongue. I grew to loathe you all. Then she took another hit of her drink. I can see what you mean, I said, allowing my gaze. For the first time since meeting her, to graze over the other individuals in the bar, at the girls playing with their phones, the boys trying desperately to sober up, the men enraptured with their game of football in the telly. We all led very different lives. We were all here to get drunk, to lose ourselves in entertainment. It hadn't been the first time that I'd wondered what we were hiding from by doing this. I knew then that I wasn't the only person to think it. You hide behind your alcohol and poor choices and pretend you have free will, Lucy said,

waving her hand across the room. No one paid us at any attention. It's true. My father gave you the will to make those decisions, but you squander it. The free will I fell to provide to all of you. The free will I was given by a twisted mistake, and you make a mockery of it. You follow senseless leaders without questioning them. You abide by laws made centuries ago that no longer makes sense.

You do these things because you've given up on the opportunity to follow the will on your own, not of others. That isn't all of us, though, is it? I asked her, trying for some reason to defend our species from the mad young woman, because you see it on the news all the time, don't you? People do rise up. We do protest. People can make a difference. Lucy laughed bitterly, nibbling the rim of her glass. Really, she said. You can sit here and say that it can't be all bad because of the few that refuse to inform. Those you call your rebels, they make up for it all.

She grinned around her glass. By that logic, I am the biggest rebel of them all. Am I expected to make up for all of your sorry mistakes? By your logic, I said, you should be punishing it, right? If that's what this metaphor is all about, I laughed. I couldn't help myself. I took a sip of my drink. Is this whole story just so you can tell me that you think we're all going to hell? If so, I think I can see why people want to punch you.

Lucy didn't say a word. Simply, she watched me. It felt unnerving to have someone like her watching me like that, with an intelligence that went beyond anything I'd come across at gone midnight in a cd bar. The drunkenness in her eyes was no longer present. Her face wasn't flushed like before, and even her memory. makeup couldn't represent the mess I'd seen when she'd first appeared on that stool by my side. It was like I was looking at someone else entirely, and I was afraid. Let's review what you've said, Lucy said slowly, articularily.

She wasn't slurring. Had she been slurring before? You think I'm going to tell you that humanity is going to help because you refuse to use the gift I gave you. Her nails curls into the bar. My father may have been the one to guide you. me, but I paid for his mistakes. I am the one responsible for your will in the eyes of your species. But that was never true. You're responsible for what you do here, not me. She pursed her lips,

tabbing the bar as a bartender, filled her drink again. Tell me, do you remember my mentioning hell at any point during my story, or was that just you? I opened my mouth to answer, but something faltered. My lips trembled and I slammed them shut. Lucy smiled, taking a sip. not. She looked away, eyes scanning the room lazily. What I did say is something that is indeed mentioned in your scriptures. My father gave me dominion of earth, a place filled with free will. Free will that goes to waste. Her lip twisted. Humans sin all the time. Not because of me. Not because of evil. Or my dominion over this place. Fact is, I don't lift a finger. I don't because I don't see the point. You make terrible decisions and follow mindless leaders. You do bad things and you make a mess

of your earth. Lucy's eyes lit up. Do you know how much suffering is happening all over the planet right now? How many people are dying of illnesses that could have been easily cured but aren't because of the selfishness of humanity? Do you know how many children are being abused, R-worded, forced into marriage? How many people have been forced to become soldiers in meaningless wars? How many humans have killed for ideals they don't believe in. I stayed very quiet. There was nothing I could say. Lucy's words were unbearably honest, and every sentence sliced into me like a blade. I felt cold and sick and terrified. War, famine, pestilence, death. These things are all present, and they have nothing to do with me or to do with any deity. They're all here because of you. Not because of your free will, but your

inability to use it. Lucy smiled at me, a grinned, so cold and unnatural that I felt like I should run all over again. But I stayed where I was, frozen to my very core, because I wanted to hear what she had to say, because I needed to. And here's the kicker, Lucy said. Because this is the part that actually enrages people enough to kick me. She winked, hell isn't what happens after you die. Hell is right here, right now.

Somewhere through the many scriptures, a few words got crossed over, and people, started thinking that hell was a punishment after you die. Fact is, hell is earth. My earth. God gave this place to me to do with it what I will and I. I refuse to do anything. Let's talk groceries, specifically your groceries. With Instacart, you want your groceries just the way you like them, right?

Well, the Instacart app lets you do just that. They have a new preference picker that lets you pick how ripe or unripe you want your bananas. Shoppers can see your preferences. up front helping guide their choices. Instacard, get groceries just how you like. What are you saying? I asked, because I was suddenly very desperate.

Exactly what you think, Lucy said, toasting her glass. I didn't reciprocate. And she laughed. A light and airy sound. I had so many plans for your species. I wanted for us to rejoice in our free will together to create a place that was free from the cruelty and power my father

exuded over the angels, his first borns. I wanted to make a real utopia. Unfortunately, you humans just don't want that. She shrugged. My father sent me down here thinking I had become one of you. All that I have learned is that he gave you much more of his image than he ever intended. Stop, I said.

This isn't funny anymore. Of course it isn't funny, Lucy said, grinning even wider to prove her sick irony. Humans punished themselves by sitting by and doing nothing. They have made their own hell. you know what's worse what's ultimately worse some of you are so blind to it they think your life is heavenly she didn't wait for me to ask what she meant she simply barreled forward the rich and powerful those in positions that steal from everyone else they get a taste of the good life that's very true then they die and they don't go to hell they come back here to earth which is hell she tipped her head are you

following. I reincarnation, Lucy said quickly. She practically purred the words. A neat little trick to make sure your soul stay here forever. You get a taste of the good life every once in a while, a handful of you at a time, and that's enough for you to believe that this is some kind of real middle ground. They aren't living hell every day. Then you die. You die for a moment, and then you're in the body of someone facing the realities of hell. But of course, you never remember the time. You never remember you spent in a better life. A part of you just has that inkling to hope. That's all. Hope makes you think that it can get all better. She slammed her drink so hard against the counter that it shattered. I didn't do anything, not even the flex of glass littered my hand. I could only stare at her.

A tightness in my chest constricting my very soul. No one else in this bar mattered in this moment, but of course that was what she had been saying this whole time, hadn't she? None of the noticed a scene. They were caught up in their own realities, their own hells. The bartender didn't clean the mess. The glass lay there. Remnants of Lucy's words line in a solid mass on the streaked wooden surface. It never gets better, Lucy spat. You were stuck in a loop, and until you do something about it, you will never be free, none of you, and I won't do a thing to stop it. How, I asked. I don't know when I started seeing the girl in front of me as more than a girl, but with a weakness threatening to pull me apart, I stared at the bright

haired thing in front of me. I saw something more than a human in her early 20s. I saw more than a girl suffering abuse from her father. I saw a fallen angel. I saw a being with scars buried so deep that they existed beyond the realm of seen entirely. I saw something that I would never be able to write down in words, no matter how long I lived. How do we change this, I begged? But Lucy didn't answer me. I didn't blame her for that. Blame gets thrown around so often, and I knew that she was sick of that, sick of being blamed for our mistakes. So I changed tactics.

Why me? It was an honest question. I think somewhere deep down Lucifer respected that honesty, which is why she said. When you first saw me, you were afraid for my safety. When I told you I was the devil, you wanted to lock me away. But still, you did so. because you were afraid for me and not for yourself. He didn't wish to harm me, not even when I told you who I was and what I could be capable of for changing your sorry lives. You're a good

person, but I am afraid that means nothing when you don't have the wheel to do anything about it. She smiled at me sympathetically. The devil. Showing sympathy for the humans that sat across from her at the bar. It was surreal and for a few heavy moments I truly thought I must be dead. There was no other way to explain what I was seen, who I was speaking with, what I had just heard. What am I supposed to do? Lucy reached out to me. She placed a hand on my shoulder. Her hand was cold and warm at the same time, and I felt my blood boil where her fingers scraped my skin. And I knew. Sharing a story like this isn't easy. Hell, it might be the hardest thing I've ever done. Good thing, there's no such thing as hell then, right? The fact of the matter is simple.

The world is a mess because we refuse to change anything. The devil herself walks among us, and she desperately wants to make our lives better, but she won't. She won't, because we won't. We have to prove our will to her before she is willing to do anything herself. We have to be good to each other, to help us all to be free. Of course, Lucifer told me one last thing before she left that bar. One thing, they'll stick with me until this body is nothing but rotten the dirt. You can tell as many people as you want, but take a good look at me.

I have told five other humans this night the same things I have told you, and this was their reaction. They have hurt me, burned me, thrown their food and drink at me. Humans are afraid of their free will, and they find it so much easier to hurt than to own up for their own inadequances. You will only be free when you stop seeing yourself in the same way my father sees himself, So that's what I will leave with you. Lucifer won her wager that night, and I let her walk out the door. And I beg you to do the same. If the devil approaches you one night, listen to what she has to say.

And listen to what I've been able to tell you of our meeting. The devil is real, and she doesn't want to torture us. No, we do that just fine on our own. My girlfriend talks in her sleep. She's been saying the most horrible things recently. I'm infatuated with her, utterly infatuated, and it wasn't at a healthy level, far from it. I would think about her every moment she was away. I would sometimes sit on my couch and just stare at my phone waiting for her to text.

I tell myself, don't contact her. Don't. It will come off as too strong. But then I'd still find myself clicking her name on my contact list before my inner voice would continue. You don't want her to know how desperately smitten you are with her. It's unattractive. It'll scare her off. No, you must wait for her to call you this time.

But it was excruciating and exhausting, almost unbearable. I once heard that the ancient Greeks believed that falling madly and irrationally in love with somebody was a curse that you could wish upon your enemies. I could never understand what they meant. After all, isn't falling head over heels and love the ultimate goal nowadays? But now that it's happened to me, I have to say, the ancient Greeks were right. This is a curse. I was barely in control of myself, almost as though my infatuation with her had possessed me. The two of us were sexually active together, but still in the dating phase.

We were at that make-or-break era of a blossoming relationship, where we would either have the talk informally be in a relationship or we'd start to slowly drift apart. the latter of which I don't think I'd be able to cope with. Honestly, I wouldn't be able to. Almost everything about her captivated me, the way she held her hand over her mouth when she laughed, how she'd caressed the pendant on her necklace when she was frightened, how she'd twirl her hair in her fingers when she was excited,

all of it, her smell, her smile, her eyes. Yeah, I know, it probably makes you sick reading about it. I feel the same way. I was never the hopeless romantic type, but now I can't stop fantasizing about her. I'd think about us doing the long three-hour hike up to that magnificent view from one of our first dates, to that kiss as we overlooked the lights of the city, but this time I'd get down on one knee, bring out the ring, and...

Well, you know what would happen next. All right, fine, I'll stop. Yes, this is a girl I'd only been casually dating for a couple of months. I shouldn't be thinking about proposing yet. I know that. I'm just barely able to control myself any longer. I feel as though I'm losing power over the decisions I make. And that brings me to why I'm here writing this out at the moment.

It started with the first real thing that troubled me about her. We'd never actually spent a night together, no matter how late she was over. Once either of us showed signs of being tired, she'd up and leave. She'd leave awkwardly or in anger, just a casual kiss good night, a smile, and a call me soon. It was something I didn't really even notice the first few times she did it, but after almost eight weeks of dating, it was becoming strange. I'd have to ask her about it. It took drinking almost an entire bottle of wine

before I had the courage to do it. She looked almost defeated when I asked and lowered her eyes embarrassment. I knew this talk would come eventually. She started. She took in a deep breath with a long, drawn-out exhale. Recently, she paused again. I've started talking in my sleep.

She shook her head embarrassment. It's called somniloquy. I looked it up. I shrugged and laughed out loud. my demeanor seemed to say, that's it? No. Stefan, listen, she said. She wasn't laughing.

It's bad. It's completely out of control. It's not just random words or gibberish. No, it's horrible. I say horrible discussing things. She was starting to raise her voice, breathe heavy, and tear up. I approached her and held her. I told her it couldn't be that bad.

I told her to spend the night. I told her she was. probably exaggerating. I was wrong. That night she stayed at my house, but she warned me of something before falling asleep. Whatever you do, don't wake me up. It makes me really scared and disoriented if that happens, and don't respond to me. Just ignore it. I nodded and agreed. If it becomes too much, she continued, just leave the room and sleep on the couch. I won't mind. I told her not to worry about it. I told her that it wouldn't be a big deal. I told her I wouldn't leave to the couch. I'd stay beside her in the bed.

But I was wrong. I couldn't even last one night. We both fell asleep without incident. I don't know how many hours passed, but I woke up in the dark with this sensation that someone was watching me. And then I remembered. She was with me.

She was actually spending the night. I smiled. But then I noticed a shadowy outline of her sitting up on the bed. She was looking down at me, staring. It creeped me out. I'll admit it. Her posture was entirely. different. It was as though it wasn't even her at all. Then she spoke. It wasn't her voice that I

heard. It was much lower and gravely, like something out of a horror movie. I'll chew the skin from her bone, she said. I froze. At first, I just kept looking at her. This was not at all what I expected. I thought it would be more like the way Tourette's is often portrayed, just random swearing and shouting. I honestly thought to myself, what will I do if she attacked her? me right now. What if she really does try to chew the skin from my bones? But then she just lied down and went back to sleep. I was creeped out. I tried to lie back down and ignore her, but I struggled. I couldn't even close my eyes without thinking, maybe she's sitting up again staring at me. And then one time I rolled over to look at her, and she was. Her face was pressed

right towards mine. Her breath was foul and rotted, something that was most certainly not normal for her. She spoke again in the same voices before. If you don't move to the couch, you'll be dead by morning. That did it for me. I sat up in a moment and headed for the living room. She made some sort of wheezing sound as I left. I think it was supposed to be laughter. I was lying on the couch, but I wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep.

I was far too shaken. I was staring out towards the window, hoping to see the first few hints of the sun rising. And then I thought I heard something. from the bedroom. I listened. And then I heard it again. Stefan, it was that same low and gravelly voice. It sounded like a witch.

I tried to just ignore it at first, and then it continued. Stefan. Still, I said nothing. I know you can hear me, Stefan. You're awake now. Why don't you come back into the bedroom? The voice barely sounded human. Or maybe you'd prefer if I could.

come to you. I still didn't say anything. I was told not to, but I listened. If I heard her start walking towards the bedroom door, I'm not even joking. I'd have run right out of the apartment. But she had asked me not to respond to her sleep talking. So I didn't. And then I heard her voice once more. Sorry if this spoils your plans, she began laughing. The two of you were supposed to walk that trail again, she started. I wasn't even remotely prepared for what she'd say next. You'd both be so tired when you reach the top, you'd look over the city. Then you'll get on one knee and bring out the ring. She began laughing.

And that's when I realized this wasn't just a problem with sleep talking. It was something much more, something supernatural. I had never told anybody about my proposal fantasy. There was simply no way she could have known anything about it. This was no longer about merely talking in one sleep. This was about possession. I can't go back into the bedroom. I have no idea what would happen if I did.

Instead, I'm going to have to wait it out, holding up in my living room until the sun rises. I have a couple more hours left. I can still hear laughing occasionally in the bedroom. It's still not her voice. Still that same low-pitch cackle. But as I sit on my couch writing this out, here's what scares me the most.

Maybe my infatuation and utter obsession with her wasn't normal. I said before that I felt like I was losing. in control of myself, more so I believe that in the typical falling and love story. No, I fear that the infatuation I felt was the entity slowly taking control of me. Of it controlling my thoughts, fears, ambitions, and anxieties. Maybe once I become completely absorbed, a transfer would occur and she would be free of it. I know I should leave, that I should open the front door, get in my car, and drive away from here.

But I can't. I can't leave her. I've already lost control. I'm infatuated with her. Utterly infatuated. My husband insists on keeping this one painting of a woman. When my husband and I first got married and moved in together, we had a few fights on personal space, on chores, and on decor.

Namely, my husband insisted on keeping this weird painting of a woman. Who is she? I had asked when I first saw it, leaned against a mountain of moving. boxes? Don't know. Got it at a rummage sale. It was an original painting, oil, I think, judging by the way the light reflected off the brushstrokes. It depicted a young woman standing in a dark room, looking over her shoulder at the viewer. She was actually rather beautiful, blonde hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall, a white cotton dress, a dainty, heart-shaped face that was somehow haunting rather than cute. She was illuminated brightly, but the room behind her was dark.

The contrast in her pose reminded me a little bit of a girl with a pearl earring, but it didn't feel classy, or pensive or beautiful. Instead, it felt creepy, especially because my husband insisted on hanging it above our bed. I mean, it's a beautiful painting, I said, but it just doesn't fit with the modern decor. Neither do your funkgo pops. Okay, but they're small.

The painting is enormous. For Pete's sake, the woman is nearly life-sized. I want to keep her where she is. It seemed like a big deal to him, so I dropped it. But it wasn't easy. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night with that horrible feeling that I was being watched. Then I'd look up and see her haunting gray eyes staring down at me. I didn't get much sleep after that.

And there was the one time I swear she moved. Was her hand always like that, I asked Eric, after getting into bed one night? Hmm? Her left hand. The fingers are kind of open, reaching out behind her, like she's waiting for her. like she's waiting for someone to grab her hand. Yeah, she was always like that. I could have sworn she wasn't always like that.

Then again, I generally avoided looking at the painting. It was so uncomfortably realistic. When I stared into those gray eyes, I almost felt like I was making eye contact with a person. I lasted two weeks. Then I begged Eric to move it. Can we please move the painting somewhere else? I really hate looking at it when I'm going to sleep.

It's the nicest piece of our we have. It belongs above the bed. What about the Sunflower One? That's just a print, he complained, and it's so basic. Come on, I'll move my Funko Pops out if you move the painting out. He had a long sigh. Fine, I'll move her. That was another thing.

He often referred to the painting as her. It was weird. So he moved it to the stairs, but honestly, that was worse. Every time I went downstairs, there she was, staring at me from above the landing, with those piercing gray eyes. At least when the painting was in the bedroom, I was usually asleep or facing the opposite direction. I hit my breaking point a few days after that.

For some reason, I couldn't sleep. After toss in and turning for an hour, I decided to grab a snack downstairs. I got to the top of the stairs, and there she was. I hadn't turned on the main lights, only the nightlight in the hall bathroom was on. With everything so dark, the background of the painting melted into the shadows,

but the woman still stood out, with their pale face and white dress. And my stupid, sleepy brain interpreted it as an actual person standing there. I jumped about a foot in the air. And I would have fallen all the way down the stairs, had not caught the bandister at the last second. Can me please get rid of that painting I asked the next morning? Eric turned away from the stove, set the spatula down. Why?

Last night, it scared the freak out of me. I nearly fell down the stairs. He stared at me, as if, unable to understand. She scared you? He asked slowly. Well, more like startled me. I thought it was an actual person standing there.

He looked at me. Then he broke into laughter. And after a few seconds, I started laughing too. It was pretty stupid now that I thought about it. I know I was sleepy, but still, I thought the painting was a person. What? Did I think we were being burglarized by a young, beautiful, blonde woman in a night dress? For now, I'll move her into my office.

then you don't have to look at her at all. That sounds good. And for a while after that, things were okay. I sort of noticed Eric spending more time in his office than usual, but he had also had a big deadline for a brief coming up, and what? How would that be related to the painting anyway? It's not like he was staring at her for hours on end.

Except that's exactly what I caught him doing. One night he didn't come downstairs to eat dinner with me. I called up to him a few times, no reply. So I went upstairs and walked into his office to find him staring at her. He was just sitting there with his computer closed, no papers on the desk. Swivel chair turned towards the woman in the painting. Oh, he said suddenly, when I walked in. Then he quickly stood up.

I was just about to come down, just sent in the brief a few minutes ago. They're really happy with it. He smiled broadly at me, as if nothing were wrong, and then slipped past me. I listened to his footsteps thumped down the same. stairs. Had he actually just finished working? Or was he just sitting in here, staring at her? I ultimately decided not to bring it up. The painting was out of my sight and that was great. Besides, I had bigger fish to fry, like my own deadline coming up for an article I hadn't even started. But then on Friday afternoon, I accidentally overheard him on the phone.

The voice was muffled through the thick wooden door, but it wasn't hard to hear him. He was shouting almost. I'll have it in by tonight. No, I knew it was doing Wednesday. Well, my wife fell down the stairs, I had to take her to the hospital. Those words sent a chill through me. I barged in. Why are you lying about me falling on the stairs? His face paled. He ended the call and turned towards me. I'm so sorry, Tara, but I needed an excuse. I missed the deadline on that brief, and it's my job on the line. The brief, you told me you finished it two days ago. He knew. He knew. He knew. He's not. He nodded silently. I crossed my arms.

Look, Eric, your work is your business, but we've spent like all of one hour together all week because you've been locked in here all day every day. I mean, are you even working? Or are you just sitting in here, staring at her? His dark eyes locked on mine, and then his voice grew soft. You're jealous of her. What? You shouldn't be Tara, he said, stepping towards me.

The painting makes her prettier than she was. I froze, stared at him. Then I finally found the words. Are you saying this is a painting of someone you know? No, he said slowly. Sorry, I misspoke. I meant whoever this is a portrait of, I'm sure it's a flattering likeness. All portraits are flattering like that.

I stared at him, my heart pounding to my chest. Who is that painting of, Eric? I told you it's not Eric. I stepped towards him. My legs felt weak, wobbling underneath me. Who is this a painting of? He only shook his head. I couldn't sleep that night. I know it sounds silly, being so worked up over a painting, but you have to admit it was weird. He was obsessed with this thing, for whatever reason. Why didn't I see the painting when we were dating? Did he hide it away in the basement?

That was the only one place I'd never been. Had he built a little shrine down there, paintings, handles, the whole nine yards? The thought of it made me sick. Is it an ex-girlfriend, an ex-wife even, that he never told me about? Getting a painting commission must have cost a fortune, especially a huge, detailed one like this. I mean, as much as I hated that thing, it was clearly done by someone incredibly gifted, the glint in those piercing gray eyes, the small dimple on a right cheek, but clearly he wasn't keeping it to appreciate the artistry. He knew her. and whoever she is, he's obsessed with her. And then I got the craziest idea.

I sat up in bed slowly, quietly, turned to Eric. He was fast asleep. Then I slipped out from underneath the covers, grabbed my phone from the nightstand, and tiptoed out of my room. My bare feet patted softly across the hallway as I made my way towards his office.

Then I pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside. The office was cold, much colder than our bedroom. Goosepumps picked up my bare arms, but I didn't waste any time. I reached over, fumbling across the wall, and hit the switch. The light flicked on. The blonde woman stared down at me from the wall. Her eyes seemed to follow me as I took Eric's leather chair and dragged it across the hardwood.

Once against the wall, I stepped onto it. We were staring at each other face to face. I'd never been this close to the painting before. My face inches from hers. This close I could truly appreciate the detail. Each individual eyelash painstakingly drawn, curving up from its follicle, thread-like strations of light and dark gray filling her irises. Her skin so pale and creamy, dotted with the tiniest of pores.

But I wasn't here to appreciate the artwork. I lifted my phone and took a photo. Then I brought up a reverse image search. It took a few minutes for me to find the right website and upload the photo, but when the results loaded, I gasped. I expected maybe one result if I were lucky, some sort of facial recognition that would match the painted face to a photo, or maybe the artist's website would come up and mention who the subject was,

but instead dozens of thumbnails filled the page of the exact same painting I've been staring at for weeks. Fingers trembling, I clicked on the first one. It led to a news article. Search continues for missing Franklin Art Student. My heart dropped. Little black dots danced in my vision. I collapsed into the chair behind me trembling and began to read.

Anya, Kelsing. 23. When missing after a hike with her boyfriend, the two became separated when they came upon a bear. Her backpack was found roughly a mile from where the sighting occurred, but no trace of Anya was found. In the caption under the painting, Kelsing is a third-year student at Franklin College majoring in final.

arts. She recently completed a self-portrait that was exhibited at Lake Kior, above. I clicked on the next article and then next, but they all said the same thing. Hike, bear, disappearance. All of them showed a photo along with her self-portrait. She looked strikingly identical to her painted likeness. None of them mention her boyfriend's name, but it had to be Eric. The most recent article from five years ago was a video clip of her parents begging for her search to continue. Sadly, judging by the news articles, he never did. I don't know how long I sat there. All I know is that I suddenly jolted from my thoughts by a loud thump in the hallway.

Footsteps. Coming towards the office. I shot up. He can't find me in here. I glanced around the room, looking for someplace, any place that I could hide, but it was probably too late. Surely he'd seen the light on from under the door. I ducked under the desk just as he stepped into the room.

"'Tara?' "'I clapped my hand over my mouth, "'trying to silence my ragged breath. "'He's going to see the chair out of place. "'He knows I'm in here. He knows. "'Tara, you in here? "'Why did I hide? I could have just said I came in here "'because I heard noise. Needed a pen. Couldn't sleep.

"'Why the fuck did I hide? Now he's "'k gonna know that I didn't know. "'Tara. But maybe it's fine. "'Maybe the bear got on you. Maybe Eric had nothing to do with it. "'Isn't that more likely than Eric being a murderer? "'There you are. I looked up and screamed. Eric was crouched there in front of the desk staring at me.

I was looking for a pen, I stuttered, lamely. I wanted to write down. I remembered I had to pick up groceries tomorrow and I needed to add something. He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips. I don't think that's the truth, Tara. Make a break for it. I started to lunge out from another desk. His hand quickly shot out and grabbed my wrist.

Hard. You figured out who she is, didn't you? That's the only reason you'd be. hiding from me. I trembled in his grasp. What did he do to her? I whispered. He let out a dry laugh. So you think of a murderer. How nice. That's the first conclusion you jumped to. No, no, no, I don't think you're a murderer I swallowed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If he killed her and he knows you know, then you're dead too. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Just what happened? They didn't find a body. Did the bear get her? He didn't reply. Just stared at me silently with those cold.

dark eyes. I was jealous. I continued desperately. But now I understand, I wish you'd just told me to lose someone like that. Of course you'd want to keep the painting. It's all you have left of her. You should have just left it alone, he said. His tone oddly emotionless.

I'm sorry you have to find out this way. I screamed and he lunged for me. It's over. His hands were clenched tight on my wrist as he dragged me out from another desk. I pulled back trying to wrench myself free, but it was no use. Thump. A loud crash down behind us. Eric whipped around it for a split second his grip released.

I acted instantly, pulled free from him and ran, pivoting around the desk, and racing towards the door. As I glanced back, I saw Eric, started even after me. But I also saw what had made the noise. The painting of Anya had fallen from the wall. It lay a skew on the floor, her gray eyes staring emptily upwards. I was always a fast runner. Eric was only halfway down the stairs by the time I was up at the bottom. bursting out into the cold air, I began to scream.

He grabbed me from behind and tried to pull me back inside, but it was too late. Lights were flickering on. Our neighbor rushed out of his house dialing 911. It was over. The police arrested Eric for assault. Once I told them in my story of his obsession with Anya's painting, their elders searched the house and hidden in his office drawer in a small box was a pair of gold earrings. The same earrings Anya wore on the hike that day.

The case is slowly mounting against him. I'm hoping. Praying, Anya gets justice and that a jury convicts him of her horrible murder. And would he have done the same to me if I hadn't escaped? If Anya's painting hadn't fallen off the wall? There was an explanation, of course. When Eric had moved the painting to his office, he'd mistakenly installed one of the hangers into pure drywall.

The weight of the painting had caused it to rip out and the painting fell. But sometimes, I think Anya was just watching over me, that her self-portrait carried a piece of her. And that night, she protected me from fallen victim to the monster who ended her life. The painting now hangs up in my foyer. Every day I walk by it, and new details pop out of me. The deep, shadowy green over the room behind her, a perfectly painted strand of blonde hair, the glint in her piercing gray eyes. And sometimes, I think she's smiling back at me. I'm a fire watcher. I found another. another Firewatcher's unsettling journal at my new station.

I'm a firewatcher. Upon moving into my station, I found the following pages typed on my desk. I'm not the author of the following. I'm transcribing exactly what I found dated, 1989. I've been located here for 185 days. According to my calendar, I'm stationed up in the northwest of the United States of two other guys, Clark and Thomas.

185 days. That's five days. longer than our stint here should have been. Normally, they rotate us out every 180 days. We were supposed to be picked up by helicopter five days ago. I started writing this logbook, journal, whatever,

because we're overdue for Evac. Or so we think. Maybe we messed up the calendar somehow. Our main radio stopped working on day 179. Get up. There's smoke. Bleary-eyed, I saw Clark standing over my bunk. I could see the orange slits of light reflecting on his torso, signaling

to me it was the early morning. Teddy, smoke. Smoke, huh? I said, still half delirious. Yes, smoke, I really small stream of it, maybe a mile southeast. His eyes were wide and brighter than the sunlight on his uniform.

I pulled myself out in the bottom bunk and headed towards the window. I didn't even need my binoculars to see the small sliver of smoke creating a shadow in the early sun's light. In 185 days, it's only the second time we've seen a potential fire. For those who don't know how

a fire watch tower looks like. It's basically a wooden cabin elevated about 100 feet in the air. Ours has a staircase that wraps around the structure beneath the cabin. I'm pretty sure the other towers use ladders, but that's beside the point. Clark and I bunk up in the watchtower. We have a little kitchen, our bunk bed, and a 360-degree view of nothing but woods. Thomas sleeps in a tiny little cabin at the base of our tower, which is also where our main office is. Office may be too loose of a term. It's one day. desk and a typewriter used for typing out reports of what we see out here. I rub my eyes and looked over to Clark. All right, let's just go check it out. No way, Teddy, no way, he replied immediately.

Clark has been afraid to go past the outhouse since day 180 past. He's afraid a helicopter will come and you'll miss a chance to be rescued. Rescued, Clark would say. But are we in danger? Did we miscalculated the number of days we've been out here? We still have plenty of food. Did they forget about us? Has the apocalypse come and gone, and we don't know because we've been so isolated? Okay, fine. I agreed. Radio down to Thomas and let him know. He should be up. Our main radio back to base isn't getting a sign of life from anywhere. And if it isn't receiving from anywhere, we assume we aren't being heard from anywhere. Luckily, we still have our own walkie-talkies to communicate with each other. Clark took out as walkie. Tom, there's some smoke about a mile southeast.

Can you go check it out? A few seconds, passed before Thomas responded. After I finished wiping my ass, I'll be on my way, unless you want to help me with that, Clarkie. Thomas, the oldest of us, is always picking on Clark, the youngest. He doesn't really dislike Clark. He's just easy to pick on. He's a 23-year-old college dropout. I think he's studied accounting or finance or something on his parents' dime. I don't think he left college to be a professional fire watcher. No, I think he left to come out here in the wilderness, be alone, and take a retrospective look at his life to decide what he really wants. Do you only sign up for 180 days of isolation if you're crazy,

or if you want to get away from something? I'm not sure which category Thomas falls in. He's a cryptic, brute of a man. His picture is probably in the dictionary next to Lumberjack. He's pretty quiet unless he has a joke to tell or something important to say. Either way, when he opens his mouth, I listen. As for me, it's not important why I'm out here. Head it out now, Thomas radioed.

Clark and I watched Thomas start. his trek into the tree line until we no longer could see him. Clark cocked his head towards mine. Teddy, he said to me. Thomas has been acting different. Weird. I didn't expect him to be so blunt. But I had noticed.

I knew Clark had noticed, but this was the first time we spoke about it. I know. He doesn't seem to be bothered that we are stuck out here. We don't know if we were stuck out here. We could have scratched off the dates wrong. You know, we thought we didn't scratch the day off yet, but we really did. So we accidentally scratched the next day, too.

I guess, Clark said softly. I knew what he was going to say next. At night, though. Shut up, Clark. Come on, Teddy, it's fucked up. He's fine during the day and then just changes. Does he have some type of illness? It happened so sudden.

Maybe he does. So what if the guy goes out at night to stare at trees? Trees? Stare at trees? I know you've seen it. He goes out near the tree line and stands there for a while, looking out, sometimes hours. Maybe he does have a screw loose, and maybe he shouldn't be out here. But I don't think it's the best idea to bring it up to him when we were trapped here with him,

especially if he is insane. Silence fell between us before Clark responded. I didn't know he stares out at the forest. He said to me in a soft voice and eyes wider than when he woke me up this morning. Oh, wait, what? What were you going to say? At night? At night? He stammered. He comes up with the stairs. I looked over to our half-open door leading out of the staircase, letting a cool breeze in. What? What do you...

What? He comes up the stairs and... And just looks at us, stares at us. Thomas left to go check out the smoke about an hour ago. It seemed to have vanished, so I figure he handled it. Clark spends his days using our walkie talk. He's trying every station possible to alert anyone nearby. I just watched the forest.

It's 11.30 p.m. Thomas isn't back. He left at about 7 a.m. He hasn't answered his radio. Tomorrow will be day 186. We do not know if Thomas is okay and one of us will most likely have to check the woods tomorrow. And since Clark is chicken shit, it'll end up being me. More disturbing, though, is something Clark told me a few minutes ago. The reason I went back to the office to type this. I was leaned back in my swivel chair, spinning slowly, making sure there were no signs of fires or lights in the dark expanse of trees and wondering where Thomas was. He must have been hurt. Even if he was lost, he'd reply on his walkie.

He always answers our walkies. They're with us at all times, even when we were shitting or showering. Clark stopped my chair mid-spend and mid-thought, before I could protest he spoke. Listen, I need to tell you something I've been thinking about recently. It's eating away at me. I wondered if it had to do with Thomas. Okay, I said. I'm all ears. It's going to sound crazy, he warned.

I bet I've heard crazier. He took a long yet stuttered inhale, then spoke. I don't remember coming out here. My facial expression didn't change, and it looked like he was waiting for a reaction, so he repeated. I don't remember coming out here. Do you? Do you remember applying for this job? Do you remember being interviewed or being flown?

out here? At first, I was almost amused. Then as he asked those questions, I froze. I didn't remember. He continued. You know how I said I decided to leave college? Well, now that I'm thinking about it harder, I don't know if I did. I mean, I must have, right? To be out here, I must have. But all I can remember is my last day of class for the semester and then I was here. I don't remember anything between coming home after class and meeting you and Thomas. I was listening. but it probably didn't show. I was still motionless. I couldn't remember. I tried and am still trying. Thomas is missing. Clark and I are losing our minds or something else. Either way, I can't explain it. There are more pages scattered about, but I haven't figured out the order. Some are ripped and some are faded beyond recognition.

But there is a more pressing and imminent problem at hand. About 30 minutes ago, I met Gary and Harold. We've been stationed out here for the next 180 days. I don't know whether to tell them what I've found. I don't know whether to tell them that I don't remember coming here. Under the Back Porch As a kid, I lived with neglectable parents at best. At worst, Dad would turn his screams and fists on me, but I learned quickly how to dodge the worst of it.

Mom wasn't much help. She'd just smoke in the kitchen and bitch at him for staying out so late. At the time, we lived basically in the middle of nowhere. Our nearest neighbors were a long walk away for a six-year-old, and we had trees between us. No one to run to for help. But I was pretty small for a kid my age. I learned I could fit pretty much anywhere. The closet.

Dryer. I think even once I tucked myself under the futon in such a way, I could still get some air but no one could see me. I was a master at hiding, but it wasn't for a good reason. One night, though. One night I chose to do something different. I could hear it in dad's yells. He was pissed and was about to get violent. Mom wasn't helping either, just piling fuel onto an inferno of a flame.

So I knew I had to find a good hiding spot. I'd gotten the idea a few days before when I realized the latest covering the bottom half of the back porch had a hole in it. Not big enough to fit a full-grown man, most likely, but it could fit a skinny six-year-old, no problem. So wrapping myself up in a blanket and grabbing my hippo stuffy, I snuck off. my window and ran into the backyard in the middle of autumn when it was 40 degrees out and the temperature was steadily dropping i crawled under the porch scraping my elbows and getting splinters in my palms but i fit inside it was actually quite spacious compared to most of my hiding spots i couldn't sit up all the way but i had plenty room to spread out my limbs of course i was also getting covered in dirt

it rained a few days ago so the mud was still a little wet i wrapped myself in my blanket the best i could and settled in for the night. But soon, even with my blankie and my hippo, my teeth were chattering so hard I could barely breathe. I didn't want to go back inside, though, knowing if my dad caught me, I'd be in the whipping of my life. So I had to tough it out. Honey? Are you cold? That voice was not the voice of my mother. Scratchy from all the smoking and screeching she did. It was sweet and like, honey. I turned over to see the dim outline of a woman lying on her stomach next to me. She had a pretty butterfly necklace and was just as dirty as I was. I nodded, not wondering how she'd been down here without me noticing. The woman belly crawled

forward and wrapped her arms around me and suddenly became warm, like I was sitting next to a campfire. I snuggled into her arms, not minding the mud. After all, we were both dirty. You've gotten so big, the woman said, examining my face. How old are you now, Alex? Six. How did I know this woman again? I didn't think I did. Six, the woman gas? You're all grown up then.

I'm so happy. She sighed pleasantly and stroked my hair. I never felt so cozy in my life. What's your name, I asked? She smiled. I could hear it in her voice. I'm Lily. What's your favorite thing to do?

I had to think for a second. I like board games and coloring. Lily, chuckled. Just like me then. Could never get enough scrabble, but I guess you're still too young to play that, huh? I nodded. Lots of words. I want to play it, though. I like the tiles. Would you play with me? I heard Lily sharply inhale. I don't think I can. Your daddy put me under here and I can't leave, but she thought for a second. Alex, could you do me a favor? Of course, this lady was oh so nice, why wouldn't I do her favor?

When you wake up in the morning, go to the police station. Ask for an officer by the name of loyal Joyce. Tell him where to find Lily, okay? Under your back porch. He'll come and you'll get me, okay? And then maybe you can play Scrabble. Yippie, I was too excited about the possibility of playing Scrabble to notice how Lily's voice caught at the end. I nodded vigorously.

I'll do it. We can be on the same team, right? Lily softly laughed. I hope you understand the rules. Good night, Alex. When I woke up in the morning I heard Lily's voice. Go now. Your dad's gone to work.

I'll tell you to get the restation. Rubbing my eyes, I crawled out from under the porch and went into the house to grab my shoes in a coat. I shivered in the frosty cold, but I thought Lily was right behind me. After my shoes and coat were on and I started walking. It was long enough to get on to the neighbor's house. I really can't remember how long it took to get to the police station. although I have no idea why no one pulled over to see what the hell a six-year-old and dirty pajamas was doing walking alongside the road. Lily kept guiding me onward.

Wait, okay, cross the street now. Turn right here. Keep going. You've almost made it. I nearly collapsed with exhaustion by the time I walked into the station. The guys out front chatting and having a good time didn't see me until I almost made it to the front desk. Whoa, kid, you okay? One of the officers knelt down to my level, eyes wide.

I nodded. I'm okay. Can I speak to loyal Joyce? I asked. One of the other officers picked me up. Sure, kid. Sure. Let's get you someplace warm.

Holy shit. Your lips are blue. I remember quietly scolding the man about watching his language. Shit was a bad word. I was given some warm cocoa and wrapped up in a blanket by the time an old man with a grain mustache sat by me. Hey, kid. I'm Sheriff Joyce. What's your name?

He asked. Alex. I sat down my cup and looked him straight in the eye. I was told to tell you that Lily is under the back porch. You need to go or let her out so we can play Scrabble. I'd never seen a grown man turn pale before. Lots of things blurred together at this point. I remember being taken back to my house and there were a lot of police cars and people around.

The back porch was surrounded by yellow tape, and someone was taking a black bag away when my dad was in handcuffs. After that, I lived with my grandparents. Sheriff Joyce and his wife. I tried to ask about what happened and who was Lily, but I always got shut down. I was too young to know. But life got better. A lot better.

Grandpa was the best man I could have hoped for in my life. He went on on weekends of the movies where he let me have the giant soda, even though I'd have to pee in the middle of the movie. When I asked if I could drink when I was 13, he let me try a beer. I spat it out and didn't touch it again. He never judged me for my love of art. letting me paint my old bedroom multiple times over the years. I felt safe around him.

He never laid a hand on me. My grandmother was amazing too. Over the week, she'd homeschool me along with teachings, me think that you wouldn't learn in school, such as how to respect others but not take their crap. In cooking, lots of cooking. I could make my own birthday cake by the time I was 12, but I usually just made them for my friends.

I got a lot of those, after I was free from my dad. When it turned 16, Grandpa took me back to my dad's house. The whole thing had been bulldozed over, but I could still see the yellow tape wound around a few trees, faded and torn. We sat together on the back of his truck. He opened a beer and drank half of it before setting it down and grabbing me in orange soda. After I drank it, he told me. Lily was your mother.

Good thing you didn't tell me as I was swallowing. I likely would have had it coming out. my nose. My mom, I questioned and confused. Your actual mom. The woman who lived with your dad was not your mother. My granddad grabbed another beer. Lily was my daughter. I loved her so much. When you're around six months old, she vanished. My stomach dropped. My dad just imprisoned her under the porch, I asked. Starting to feel sick. Grumby took a deep breath before sitting his unopened beer down. That's Something I've never been able to understand

Lily told you to find me And that she loves Scrabble Yeah, she kept me warm that night I probably would have frozen to death As she hadn't been there I was a stupid kid Even I knew that Grandpa went dead quiet

Before he opened a beer And slammed the whole thing Alex Lily had been dead the whole time she was gone When he dug her up She was bones Experts confirmed it and your dad confessed to what happened.

They'd gone into a fight, and he threw her down the stairs. She broke her neck. He clenched his fists. I knew he had something to do with her disappearance, but I never had proof until you walk into my station, covered in dirt and telling me she was under the porch. I was floored. I couldn't breathe.

All I could do was shake my head. But I saw her. She was alive. She had this butterfly necklace. I trailed off when Grandpa pulled an evidence baggie from his pocket. There was that butterfly necklace all right. Rusty and parts of the paint had been chipped off. But I remembered it as clearly as I remembered Lily's voice.

Grandpa took a shaky breath as he pressed the bag into my hands. Lily loves you so much. It's why she's stuck around that bastard. You were her whole world. She was constantly taking pictures and sending them to us in the mail. Sometimes a mother's love can accomplish things that no human can do. My eyes overflowed with tears, and I clutched the necklace to my chest, choking on sobs. I leaned against Grandpa.

He held me tight, and I swear I felt a few of his tears land on the top of my head. For just a brief moment. I swear I felt that warm love, I felt that night under the porch. Instructions for the babysitter. I've only been babysitting for about six months now. It was an easy way to make money, and it didn't require me to have any real applicable. skills. It was going slow at first, but a couple months ago I hit the jackpot after a young couple from the rich part of town asked me to look after their two kids one Friday night. They paid me

$200 freaking dollars to look after their extremely well-behaved kids for three hours in a house five times the size of mine. It was awesome. The young couple must have also thought that I had done a good job because word spread quickly around the rich neighborhood about the nice young lady who is willing to look over your children so you can go out for the night of drinking and fun. And when I say that this neighborhood is one of the richest in our state, I am not exaggerating. Most of the people living there are young couples who have come from a long line of wealthy families. Sometimes I'll babysit for a few hours and make a couple hundred bucks. Although times the parents want me to stay the night while they go off and get a hotel room so

that they can get away from their kids for a change. That is where I make the big bucks. A couple of nights ago, my husband and wife had texted me asking if I could stay the night at their mansion and watch their seven-year-old little girl for them. I happily agreed. If only I knew what I was in for. When the day finally came, I drove my beat-up Jeep Wrangler to the edge of the rich neighborhood and made my way up this private drive that I have never noticed before because this entrance was hidden back amongst the trees that surrounded the entire north side of the town. I drove up this deep, winding driveway for what seemed like 10 minutes before I finally saw that house come into view. One of all the houses I babysit at, this was hands down the most gorgeous one I've seen.

It was a huge Victorian-style mansion that was covered in dark brown bricks that making it blend perfectly into the wood surrounding it. I got out of my car and made my way up to the front porch where I knocked on this gigantic wooden door. A few seconds later, a beautiful woman in her mid-30s answered and introduced herself as Mrs. Collins. She called her husband down and shortly after, an extremely handsome man also in his 30s came walking down the grand stairway, holding an adorable little girl in his arms. The couple seemed very anxious to leave, and even though they were both gorgeous people, I could tell that underneath all their beauty, they're both extremely tired and haggard from having a keyhole with their seven-year-old. They're obviously very excited about having an entire night to themselves and couldn't wait to get out of there as fast as they could. Before Mr. and Mrs. Collins left, however, Mrs. Collins hands me several pieces of paper and told me that she had written down a couple of instructions for me to follow throughout the night. She stressed me how important it was to follow her instructions and I assured her that I'd give them a look.

I waved to the pretty young couple as they made their way down the driveway and their expense of Mercedes and then closed the door behind me. I gave the instructions a quick once over before folding the papers and stuffing them into my back pocket. I'll look at them later, I told myself, how stupid I was to do that. Mr. and Mrs. Collins' daughter, Samantha, was a very nice young girl who warmed up to me almost immediately. And we had spent the next few hours playing games and watching TV. After we finished our fifth episode of Teen Titans Go, I noticed I was getting late and asked Samantha what her bedtime was. She shrugged, not really giving me an answer, which is when I remembered Mrs. Collins' instructions. I pulled out the folded pieces of paper and scanned through them very quickly when I saw the word Samantha needs to be in bed before 8 p.m.

I checked the time to find out that it was almost 7.45. Well, it looks like your bedtime is right now. I said lift Samantha up off the couch so I could get her ready. She brushed her teeth and tucked her teeth and tucked her into her California king-sized mattress. I told her good night and was leaving her room when she said something that stopped me in my tracks. Don't forget to lock my door before you leave, she said. I stopped walking and turned back around towards her confused. What do you mean don't forget to lock your door?

I asked. Why would I need to lock your door? What if you have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? She looked at me in in in instantly and shrugged her shoulders again. I don't know, but Mommy always locks my door before I go to sleep. She says she does it to protect me and herself. I don't remember what happens after I fall asleep, but Mommy says that I always try to leave my room at night, which is a bad thing. I looked at her dumbfounded.

I didn't know what to say. Mommy told me that she would leave instructions for you, to follow and locking my door as one of them, she said. Oh, okay, Samantha. I'll lock your door. Good. Good night, sweetheart. Nice, Danbered. She gave me a big smile and rolled over in a bed.

I closed her door and noticed that there was a latch drilled into the door frame that would allow someone to lock you from the outside. I closed the latch and then walked back downstairs so I could read the rest of Mrs. Collins's instructions. When I had first seen the pieces of paper, I was under the impression that they were just instructions that told me what shows Samantha is not allowed to watch or how to operate their surround sound. After I started reading them, though, I realized that I was wrong. I was completely in other. utterly wrong. Hello, Annie.

I'm so glad that he agreed to stay the night and babysit Samantha for us. She is such an angel, and I am sure that the both of you will get along very well. I know that our house might seem old and scary, but don't worry because nothing bad will happen to you as long as he follows some simple instructions. One. Firstly, Samantha needs to be in bed in her room with a door locked before 8 p.m. Do not open up her bedroom door after 8 p.m. I repeat. not open Samantha's bedroom door after 8 p.m. She'll try to convince you to open the door in many

different ways. She'll scream, cry, and threaten you into until you give in, but do not listen to her. She can't hurt you as long as the door is closed. Two, between 8.30 and 9.30 p.m., make sure you remain in the living room with the lights turned on. Around this time of night, you may hear scratching and growling coming from Samantha's room or from other parts of the house. These noises or nothing to worry about, as long as you stay in the living room, watch some TV to pass the time. We have a lot of movies to choose from. Three, after 930, do not venture into any dark areas of the house. I'd recommend that you turn on as many as lives as you can before 930 so that you don't get accidentally tripe yourself. You might begin to see things hiding

in the dark areas of the house from time to time, and sometimes they will even try to talk to you, just ignore them. And they'll eventually ignore you as well. You might also happen to see a pair of yellow cat eyes looking at you through the darkness every once in a while. Do not stare at them for more than 30 seconds. 4. At around 10 p.m., it might begin to sound like there are several people walking around in the basement downstairs. Do not worry, because as long as you stay out of the basement, they cannot get to you. I know it sounds unlikely, but around this time, you will begin to feel an overwhelming urge to walk down into the basement.

If this happens, go into the kitchen and drink a cold. gold glass of milk. This usually helps. The urge will most likely pass about after 10 minutes. But if the urge is still there after 10 minutes, you don't think you'll be able to stop yourself from walking into the basement, then call either me or Mr. Collins and will tell you what to do. Five, when 1030 comes around, you will begin to hear something running back and forth in the hallway upstairs. Stay on the first floor of the house during this time. Don't worry about Samantha, as long as you locked her bedroom door beforehand, we won't be able to get there. If you start to hear him making his way down the stairs,

then lock yourself in the first floor bathroom with the lights on. He will knock on the bathroom door repeatedly and will try impersonating someone close to you, like your mom or your dad, in order to trick you into opening the bathroom door for him. He's really good at it. No matter what he says to you, and no matter who he sounds like,

do not open the door. He should go away about after five minutes. Check under the door to make sure that he is no longer there, before you open it. Six. Now this part is very important. You'll be sleeping in our guest room upstairs for the night. Before you go to bed, make sure that you leave a plate outside your bedroom door with a piece of raw steak on it. You can find the raw steak in our refrigerator and leave a glass of milk next to a plate as well. On a piece of paper, write the words, perchance mehi in red ink, and leave it on the plate with the raw meat.

Also, at some point during the night, you might wake up and notice that there's something standing in the corner of your room. Please refrain from looking at the figure as much as you can. I'd recommend wearing earbuds so that you don't hear it muttering to itself. And that's about it. There are also a few other general rules

that you should follow throughout the night just to make sure that nothing bad happens. Rule one, if the house phone rings at any point during the night, don't answer it no matter how long or how out of it. in my ring. Mr. Collins and I will call your cell phone if we need to talk with you. Rule two, if you feel something tap on your shoulder at any point during the night, don't turn around and wait at least 30 seconds before moving again. Rule three, don't eat meat after eight. They might see it as a threat and will most likely attack you. Thanks again, Annie. If you have any

trouble or questions, feel free to call me or my husband at any point during the night. If you do call us and a man with a very deep voice answers the phone, hang up immediately and try calling us again. P.S. throughout the night, you might hear a dog whimpering from somewhere off inside the house. We don't have a dog, so don't go looking for it. I hadn't realized what I got myself into. It is currently 8.31 p.m. As I'm writing this, and the growling noise he just started, it sounds like they're coming from every room in the fucking house.

I thought that Samantha screams from a couple minutes ago we're going to be the worst part. But now I can hear her muffled growls from upstairs, and I can assure you that this is worse. This is so much worse.