Snook - The Creepypasta Collection

Episode Date: November 9, 2025

Thank you guys for watching, let me know if you would like to see more content like this in the future! This video is different than anything I've done before, so let me know what you think!TIMESTAMPS:0:00 | Intro1:10 | Jeff the killer22:37 | Russian Sleep Experiment35:42 | Laughing Jack1:10:39 | The Back Rooms1:15:09 | Eyeless Jack1:18:35 | The Smiling Man1:23:45 | The Strangest Security Tape I've Ever Seen 1:38:56 | Noend House2:06:40 | Mr. Widemouth2:15:27 | Chat Room 982:26:04 | The Harbinger Experiment3:01:28 | Never go in the woods alone3:18:29 | Room 7323:57:01 | Stay in bedMy editor - kirin66 I luv you guys, thanks for watching. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Creepypastas, something that took over the internet in the early 2010s. These creepy pastas and stories cover a wide range of interesting and creepy topics. And in this video, I'll be covering some more of the iconic and well-known ones such as Jeff the Killer in the Russian Sleep Experiment. But I'll also be covering so many more in between that, so not just those two, but tons. And I'll also be covering some more niche ones and less popular ones that are equally as good. so make sure you stick around and listen to all of them. But these stories are awesome, and I wanted to cover a ton of them in just one video, so I will be pulling a lot of these from this iceberg, but in no specific order or tier listing.

And I'll also be reading the entirety of these creepypastas, of course, so some might be long, but they're all super interesting for sure. But anyways, I'm excited to get into it. So welcome to the creepy pasta collection. And quickly, before we get into the first story, please subscribe to the channel. We're trying to become one of the biggest scary story and scary channels on YouTube. I appreciate all of you. Please subscribe and join the community.

And thank you for watching. And now on to the first story. Jeff the Killer Excerp from a local newspaper. Omnis Unknown Killer is still at large. After weeks of unexplained murders, the ominous unknown killer is still on the rise. After little evidence has been found, a young boy states that he survives one of the killer's attacks and bravely tells his story. I had a bad dream and I woke up in the middle of the night, says the boy.

I saw that for some reason the window was open, even though I remember being closed before I went to bed. I got up and shut it once more. Afterwards, I simply crawled under my covers and tried to get back to sleep. That's when I had a strange feeling like someone was watching me. I looked up and nearly jumped out of my bed. There, in a little ray of light, illuminating from between my curtains, were a pair of two eyes. These weren't regular eyes. They were dark, ominous eyes.

They were bordered in black and just plain out terrified me. That's when I saw his mouth. A long, horrendous smile that made every hair on my body stand up. The figure stood there, watching me. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he said it. A simple phrase, but said in only a way a madman could speak. He said, go to sleep. I let out a scream. That's what sent him at me. He pulled up a knife aiming at my heart. He jumped on top of my bed. I fought him back. I kicked, I punched, I rolled around, trying to knock him off me. That's when my dad busted in. The man threw the knife. It went into my dad's shoulder. The man probably would have finished him off if one of my neighbors hadn't alerted the police. They drove into the parking lot and ran towards the door. The man turned and ran down the hallway. I heard a smash, like glass breaking.

As I came out of my room, I saw the window that was pointing towards the back of my house was broken. I looked out of it to see him vanishing into the distance. I can tell you one thing. I will never forget that face. Those cold, evil eyes and that psychotic smile, they will never leave my head. Police are still on the look for this man. If you see anyone that fits the description in the story, please contact your local police department. Jeff and his family had just moved into a new neighborhood.

His dad had gotten a promotion at work. and they thought it would be best to live in one of those fancy neighborhoods. Jeff and his brother, Lou, couldn't complain, though. A new, better house? What was not to love? As they were getting unpacked, one of the neighbors came by. Hello, she said. I'm Barbara.

I live across the street from you. Well, I just wanted to introduce myself and to introduce my son. She turns around and calls her son over. Billy, these are our new neighbors. Billy said hi and ran back to play in his yard. Well, said Jeff. Jeff's mom? I'm Margaret, and this is my husband Peter and my two sons, Jeff and Lou. They all introduced themselves and then Barbara invited them to her son's birthday.

Jeff and her brother were about to object when their mother said they would love to. When Jeff and his family are done packing, Jeff went up to his mom. Mom, why would you invite us to some kid's party? If you haven't noticed, I'm not some dumb kid. Jeff, said his mother, we just moved here. We should show that we want to spend time with our neighbors. Now, we're going to that party, and that's final. Jeff started to talk but stopped himself knowing that he couldn't do anything.

Whenever his mom said something, it was final. He walked up to his room and plopped down on his bed. He sat there looking at a ceiling when suddenly he got a weird feeling. Not so much a pain, but a weird feeling. He dismissed it as just some random feeling. He heard his mom call him down to get his stuff, and he walked down to get it. The next day, Jeff walked downstairs to get breakfast and got ready for school.

As he sat there eating his breakfast, he once again got that feeling. This time it was stronger. It gave a slight tugging pain, but he once again dismissed it. As he and Lou finished breakfast, they walked down to the bus stop. They sat there waiting for the bus, and then all of a sudden, some kid on a skateboard jumped over them, only inches above their laps. They both jumped back in surprise. Hey, what the hell? The kid landed and turned back to them.

He kicked his skateboard up and caught it with his hands. The kid seems to be about 12, one year younger than Jeff. He wears an aeropassal shirt and ripped blue jeans. Well, well, well, it looks like we got some new meat. Suddenly two other kids appeared. One was super skinny and the other was huge. Well, since you're new here, I'd like to introduce ourselves. Over there is Keith.

Jeff and Lou looked over to the skinny kid. He had a dopey face that you'd expect a sidekick to have. And he's Troy. They looked over at the fat kid. Talk about a tub of lard. This kid looked like he had an exercise since he was crawling. And I, said the first kid, I'm Randy. Now, for all the kids in this neighborhood, there was a small price for a bus fare. If you catch my drift, loose it up, ready to punch the lights out of the kid's eyes when one of my friends pulled a knife on him. Tisk, tusk, tisk. I'd hoped you'd want to be more cooperative, but it seems we must do this the hard way. The kid walked up to Lou and took his wallet out of his.

his pocket. Jeff got that feeling again. Now, it was truly strong, a burning sensation. He stood up, but Lou jestered him to sit down. Jeff ignored him and walked up to the kid. Listen here, you little punk, give back my bro's wallet or else. Randy put the wallet into his pocket and pulled out his own knife. Oh, and what will you do? Just as he finished a sentence, Jeff popped the kid in the nose. As Randy reached for his face, Jeff grabbed the kid's wrist and broke it. Randy screamed and Jeff grabbed the knife from his hand. Troy and Keith rushed Jeff, but Jeff was too quick. He threw Randy to the ground. Keith flashed out at him, but Jeff ducked and stabbed him in the arm. Keith dropped his knife and fell to the ground screaming. Troy rushed him too, but Jeff didn't even need a knife.

He just punched Troy straight in the stomach and Troy went down. As he fell, he puked all over. Luke could do nothing but look in amazement at Jeff. Jeff, how did you? That was all he said. They saw the bus coming and knew they'd be blamed for the whole thing, so they started running as fast as they could. As they ran, they looked back and saw the bus driver rushing over to Randy and the others. As Jeff and Lou made it to school, they didn't dare tell what happened. All they did was sit and listen. Lou just thought of that as his brother beating up a few kids, but Jeff knew it was more. It was something scary.

As he got that feeling, he felt how powerful it was, the urge to just hurt someone. He didn't like how it sounded, but he couldn't. help feeling happy. He felt that strange feeling go away and stay away for the entire school day. Even as he walked home due to the whole thing near the bus stop, and now he probably wouldn't be able to take the bus anymore, he felt happy. When he got home, his parents asked him how his day was, and he said, in a somewhat ominous voice, it was a wonderful day. Next morning, he heard a knock at his front door. He walked down to find two police officers at the door. His mother looked back at him with the angry look. Jeff, these officers tell me that you attacked three kids, that it wasn't

regular fighting, and that they were stabbed. Stabbed, son, Jeff's gaze fell to the floor, showing his mother that it was true. Mom, they were the ones who pulled the knives on me and Lou. Son, said one of the cops, we found the three kids. Two stabbed, one having a bruise on his stomach, and we have witnesses proving that you flood the scene. Now, what does that tell us? Jeff it was no use. He could say him and Lou had been attacked, but then there was no proof it was them being attacked first. They couldn't say they were fleeing because, truth be told they were. So Jeff couldn't defend himself for Lou. Son, call down your brother. Jeff couldn't do it since it was him who beat up all the kids. Sir, it was just me. I was the one who beat up the kids. Lou tried to hold me

back, but he couldn't stop me. The cop looked at his partner and they both nod. Well, kid, looks like a year in juvie. Wait, says Lou. They all looked up to see him holding a knife. The officers pulled their guns and locked them on Lou. It was me. I beat up those punks. Have the marks to prove it.

He lifted up his sleeves to reveal cuts and bruises as if he was in a struggle. Son, just put the knife down, said the officer. Lou held up the knife and dropped it to the ground. He put his hands up and walked over the cops. No, Lou, it was me. I did it, Jeff said. Tears running down his face. Huh. Poor bro.

Trying to take the blame for what I did. Well, take me away. The police let Lou bowed to the patrol car. Lou, tell him it was me. Tell him. I was the one who beat up those kids. Jeff's mother put her hands on her shoulder. Jeff, please.

You don't have to lie. We know it's Lou. You can stop. Jeff watched helplessly as the cop car speeds off with Lou inside. A few minutes later, Jeff's dad pulled up into the driveway, seeing Jeff's face and knowing something was wrong. Son, son, what is it? Jeff couldn't answer.

His vocal cords were restrained from crying. Instead, Jeff's mother walked his father inside to break the bad news to him as Jeff wept in the driveway. After an hour or so, Jeff walked back into the house, seeing that his parents were both shocked, sad, and disappointed. He couldn't look at them. He couldn't see the thought of Lou when it was his fault. He just went to sleep trying to get this whole thing off his mind.

Two days went by with no word from Lou at the JDC, no friends to hang out with, nothing but sadness and guilt. That is until Saturday, when Jeff is woken up by his mother, with a happy, sunshiny face. Jeff, it's a day, she said as she opened up the curtains and let light flood into his room. What, what's today? asked Jeff as he stirs awake. Why, it's Billy's party. He was now fully awake. Mom, you're joking, right? You don't expect me to go some kids party after? There was a long pause. Jeff, we both know what happened. I think this party could be this thing that brightens up the past days. Now get dressed. Jeff's mother walked out of the room and downstairs to get herself ready.

He fought himself to get up. He picked out a random shirt and a pair of jeans and walked downstairs. He saw his mother and father all dressed up, his mother had a dress and his father in a suit. He thought, why would they want to wear such a fancy clothes to a kid's party? Son, is that all you're going to wear? said Jeff's mom. Better than wearing too much, he said. His mother pushed down the feeling to yell at him and hit it with a smile. Now, Jeff, we may be overdressed, but this is how you go if you want to.

to make an impression, said his father. Jeff grunted and went back up to his room. I don't have any fancy clothes, he yelled downstairs. Just pick out something, called his mother. He looked around in his closet for what he would call fancy. He found a pair of black dress pants he had for special occasions and an undershirt. He couldn't find a shirt to go with it, though. He looked around and found only striped and patterned shirts, none of which go with dress pants. Finally, he found a white hoodie and put it on. You're wearing that, they both said. His mother looked at her watch. Oh no. Time to change. Let's just go. She said as she handed Jeff and his father out the door. They crossed the street over to Barbara and Billy's house. They knocked on the door

and at it appeared that Barbara, just like his parents way overdressed. As they walked inside, all Jeff could see were adults. No kids. The kids are out in the yard. Jeff, how about you go and meet some of them? said Barbara. Jeff walked outside to a yard full of kids. They're running around in weird cowboy costumes and shooting each other with plastic guns. He might as well be standing in toys are us. Suddenly, a kid came up to him and handed him a toy gun and a hat. Hey, want to play? He said. Ah, no kid. I'm way too old for this stuff. The kid looked at him with that weird puppy dog face. Please, said the kid. Fine, said Jeff. He put on the hat and started to pretend shoot at the kids. At first he thought it was totally ridiculous, but then he started to actually have fun. It might not be

super cool, but it was the first time he had done something that took his mind off Lou. So he played with the kids for a while, until he heard a noise. A weird rolling noise. Then it hit him. Randy, Troy and Keith all jumped over the fence on their skateboards. Jeff dropped the fake gun and ripped off the hat. Randy looked at Jeff with a burning hatred. Hello. Jeff, is it? He said. We have some unfinished business. Jeff saw his bruise nose. I think we're even. I beat the crap out of you, and you get my brother sent to JDC. Randy got an angry look in his eyes. Oh, no, I don't go for even. I go for winning. You may have kicked our asses that one day, but not today. As he said that, Randy rushed at Jeff. They both fell to the ground. Randy punched

Jeff in the nose, and Jeff grabbed him by the ears and headbutted him. Jeff pushed Randy off of him and both rose to their feet. Kids were screaming and parents were running out of the house. Troy and Keith both pulled guns out of their pockets. No one interrupts or got the will fly, they said. Randy pulled a knife on Jeff and stabbed it into his shoulder. Jeff screamed and fell to his knees. Randy started kicking him in the face. After three kicks, Jeff grabs his foot and twists it, causing Randy to fall to the ground. Jeff stood up and walked towards the back door. Troy grabbed him. Need some help? He picks Jeff up by the back of the collar and throws him through the patio door. As Jeff tries to stand, he has kicked down to the ground. Randy repeatedly

starts kicking Jeff until he starts to cough up blood. Come on, Jeff, fight me. He picks Jeff up and throws him into the kitchen. Randy sees a bottle of vodka on the counter and smashes the glass over Jeff's head. Fight! He throws Jeff back into the living room. Come on, Jeff, look at me. Jeff glances up. His face reddle with blood.

I was the one who got your brother sent to the JDC. And now you're just going to sit here and let him rot in there for a whole year. You should be ashamed. Jeff starts to get up. Oh, finally, you stand him fight. Jeff is now to his feet. Blood and vodka on his face. Once again, he gets that strange.

feeling, the one in which he hasn't felt for a while. Finally, he's up, says Randy as he runs at Jeff. That's when it happens. Something inside Jeff snaps. His psyche is destroyed. All rational thinking is gone. All he can do is kill. He grabs Randy and pile drives him to the ground. He gets on top of him and punches him straight in the heart. The punch causes Randy's heart to stop. As Randy gasped for breath, Jeff hammers down on him. Punch after punch, blood gushes from Randy's body until he takes one final breath and dies. Everyone is looking at Jeff now. The parents, the crying kids, even Troy and Keith,

although they easily break their gaze and point their guns at Jeff, Jeff sees the guns trained on him and runs for the stairs. As he runs, Troy and Keith let out a fire on him. Each shot missing. Jeff runs up the stairs. He hears Troy and Keith follow up behind. As they let out their final rounds of bullets Jeff ducks into the bathroom, he grabs a towel rack and rips it off the wall.

Troy and Keith race in, knives ready. Troy swings his knife at Jeff, who backs away and bangs the towel rack into Troy's face. Troy goes down hard, and now all that's left is Keith. He's more agile than Troy, though, and ducks when Jeff swings the towel rack. He dropped the knife and grabbed Jeff by the neck. He pushed him into the wall. A thing of bleach fell down on top of him from the top shelf. They burned both of them, and they both started to scream. Jeff wipes his eyes as best as he could. he pulled back the towel rack and swung it straight into Keith's head. As he lay there, bleeding to death, he let out an ominous smile. What's so funny, asked Jeff. Keith pulled out a lighter and switched it on.

What's funny, he said, is that you're covered in bleach and alcohol. Jeff's eyes widened as Keith threw the lighter at him. As soon as the flame made contact with him, the flames ignited the alcohol and the vodka. While the alcohol burned him, the bleach bleached his skin. Jeff let out a terrible screech as he caught on fire. He tried to roll out the fire, but it was no use. The alcohol had made him a walking inferno. He ran down the hall and fell down the stairs.

Everybody started screaming as they saw Jeff. Now a man on fire. Dropped to the ground, nearly dead. The last thing Jeff saw was his mother and the other parents trying to extinguish the flame. That's when he passed out. When Jeff woke up, he had a cast wrapped around his face. He couldn't see anything, but he felt a cast on his shoulder and stitches all over his body. He tried to stand up, but he ran.

realized that there was a tube in his arm. And when he tried to get up, it fell out, and a nurse rushed in. I don't think you can get out of bed just yet, she said as she put him back into bed and re-inserted the tube. Jeff sat there with no vision, no idea of what his surroundings were. Finally, after hours, he heard his mother. Honey, are you okay? She asked. Jeff couldn't answer, though. His face was covered, and he was unable to speak. Oh, honey, I have great news. After all the witnesses told the police that Randy confessed of trying to attack you, they decided to let Lou go. This made Jeff almost bolt up, stopping halfway, remembering the tube coming out of his arm. He'll be out by tomorrow, and then you two will be able to be together again.

Jeff's mother hugs Jeff and says her goodbyes. The next couple of weeks were those where Jeff was visited by his family. Then came the day where his bandages were to be removed. His family were all there to see it. What he would look like. As the doctors unwrapped the bandages from Jeff's face, everyone was on the edge of their seats. They waited until the last bandage, holding the cover over his face was almost removed. Let's hope for the best, said the doctor.

He quickly pulls the cloth, letting the rest fall from Jeff's face. Jeff's mother screams at the side of his face. Lou and Jeff's dad stare, all struck at his face. What? What happened to my face, Jeff said? He rushed out of the bed and ran to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and saw the cause of his face. of the distress. His face. It's horrible. His lips were burnt to a deep shade of red. His face was

turned into a pure white color, and his hair singed from brown to black. He slowly put his hand to his face. He had a sort of leathery feel to it now. He looked back at his family, then back at the mirror. Jeff, said Lou, it's not that bad. Not that bad, said Jeff. It's perfect. family were equally surprised. Jeff started laughing uncontrollably. His parents noticed that his left eye and hand were twitching. Uh, Jeff, are you okay? Okay. I've never felt more happy. Look at me. This face goes perfectly with me. He couldn't stop laughing. He stroked his face feeling it, looking at it in the mirror. What caused this? Well, you may recall that when Jeff was fighting Randy, something in his mind, his sanity snapped.

Now he was left his crazy killing machine. That is, his parents didn't know. Doctor, said Jeff's mom. Is my son all right, you know, in the head? Oh yes, this behavior is typical for patients that have taken very large amounts of painkillers. If his behavior doesn't change in a few weeks, bring him back here, and we'll give him a psychological test. Oh, thank you, doctor. Jeff's mother went over to Jeff.

Jeff, sweetie, it's time to go. Jeff looks away from the mirror. His face still formed into a crazy smile. smile. Kay Mommy. Ha, ha ha. His mother took him by the shoulder and took him to get his clothes. This is what came in, to the lady at the desk. Jeff's mom looked down to see the black dress pants and white hoodie her son wore. Now they were clean of blood and now stitched together. Jess' mother led him to his room and made him put his clothes on. Then they left, not knowing this would be their final day of life. Later that night, Jeff's mother woke to the sound coming from the

bathroom. It sounded as if someone was crying. She slowly walked over to see what it was. When she looked into the bathroom, she saw a horrendous sight. Jeff had taken a knife and carved a smile into his cheeks. Jeff, what are you doing, asked his mother. Jeff looked over to his mother. I couldn't keep smiling, Mommy. It hurt after a while. Now I can smile forever. Jeff's mother noticed his eyes, ringed in black. Jeff, your eyes. His eyes were seemingly never closing. I couldn't see my face. I got tired and my eyes started to close. I burned out the eyelids so I could forever see myself.

My new face. Jeff's mother slowly started to back away, seeing that her son was going insane. What's wrong, Mommy? Aren't I beautiful? Yes, son, she said. Yes, you are. Let me go get Daddy so he can see her face. She ran into the room and shook Jeff's dad from his sleep.

Honey, get the gunweed. She's talked as she saw Jeff. the doorway, holding a knife. Mommy? You lied. That's the last thing they hear as Jeff rushes them with the knife, gutting both of them. His brother Lou woke up, startled by some noise. He didn't hear anything else, so he just shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

As he was on the border of slumber, he got the strangest feeling that someone was watching him. He looked up, before Jeff's hand covered his mouth. He slowly raised the knife ready to plunge into Lou. Lou thrashed here and there trying to escape Jeff's grip. Shh, Jeff said, just go to sleep. The Russian sleep experiment. Russian researchers in the late 1940s kept five people awake for 30 days using experimental gas-based stimulant.

They are kept in a sealed environment to carefully monitor their oxygen intake so the gas didn't kill them, since it was toxic in high concentrations. This was before closed, circuit cameras, so they had only microphones and five inch thick glass porthole-sized windows into the chamber to monitor them. The chamber was stocked with books and cots to sleep on, but no betting, as well as running water, a toilet, and enough dried food to last all five for over a month. The test subjects were political prisoners deemed enemies of the state during World War II. Everything was fine for the first five days. The subjects hardly complained, having been promised falsely that they would be freed if they submitted to the test and did not sleep

for 30 days. Their conversations and activities were monitored, and it was noted that they continued to talk about increasingly traumatic incidents in their past. The general tone of their conversations took on a darker aspect after the four-day mark. After five days, they started to complain about the circumstances and events that led them to where they were and started to demonstrate severe paranoia. They stopped talking to each other and began alternatively whispering into the microphones and one-way mirrored portholes. Oddly, they all seemed to think they could win the trust of the experimenters by turning over their comrades, the other subjects in captivity with them.

At first, the researchers suspected this was an effect of the gas itself. After nine days, the first of them started screaming. He ran the length of the chamber repeatedly, yelling at the top of his lungs for three hours straight, at which point he continued attempting to scream, but was only able to produce occasional squeaks. The researchers postulated that he had physically torn his vocal cords. The most surprising thing about this behavior was how the other captives reacted to it, or rather, didn't react to it. They continued whispering into the microphones until the second of the captives started to scream. The two non-screaming captives took the books apart, smeared page after page with

their own feces and pasted them calmly over the glass portholes. The screaming promptly stopped, so did the whispering into the microphones. After three more days passed, the researchers checked the microphones hourly to make sure they were working, since they thought it was impossible that no sound could be occurring with five people inside. The oxygen consumption in the chamber indicated that all five must still be alive. In fact, it was the most amount of oxygen five people would consume at a very heavy level of strenuous exercise. On the morning of the 14th day, the researchers did something they said they would not do to get a reaction from the captives.

They used the intercommon side the chamber, hoping to provoke any response from the people. They were afraid were either dead or vegetables. They announced, we are opening the chamber to the test the microphones. Step away from the door and lie flat on the floor or you will be shot. Compliance will earn one of you immediate freedom. To their surprise, they heard a calm voice respond in a single phrase. We no longer want to be freed. Debate broke out among the researchers and the military forces funding the research,

unable to provoke any more response used in the intercom. It was finally decided to open the chamber at midnight on the 15th day. The chamber was flushed on the stimulant and filled with fresh air, and immediately voices for the microphones began to object. Three different voices began begging, as if pleading for the life of life. loved ones to turn the gas back on. The chamber was open and soldiers were sent in to retrieve the test subjects. They began to scream louder than ever, and so did the soldiers when they saw what was inside. Four of the five subjects were still alive, although no one could rightly call

the state that any of them in life. The food rations past day five had not been so much as touched. There were chunks of meat from the dead test subjects' thighs and chest, stuck. into the drain in the center of the chamber, blocking it and allowing four inches of water to accumulate on the floor. Precisely how much of the water on the floor was actually blood was never determined. All four surviving test subjects also had large portions of muscle and skin torn away from their bodies. The destruction of flesh and exposed bone on their fingertips indicated that the wounds were inflicted by hand, not with teeth as the researchers initially thought. Closer examination of the position and angles of the wounds indicated that most, if not all of them,

were self-inflicted. The abdominal organs below the rib cage of all four test subjects had been removed, while the heart, lungs, and diaphragm all remained in place. The skin and most of the muscles attached to the ribs have been ripped off, exposing the lungs through the rib cage. All the blood vessels and organs remained intact, but had been taken out and laid on the floor, fanning out around the eviscerated but still living bodies of the subjects. The digestive tract of all four could be seen to be working, digesting food. It quickly became apparent that what they were digesting was their own flesh that they had been ripped off and eaten over the course of days. Most of the soldiers were Russian special operatives at the facility, but still many refused to

returned to the chamber to remove the test subjects. The subjects themselves continued to scream to be left in the chamber and begged and demanded that the gas be turned back on, lest they fall asleep. To everyone's surprise the test subjects put up a fierce fight in the process of being removed from the chamber. One of the Russian soldiers died from having his throat ripped out, and another was gravely injured by having his testicles ripped off and an artery in his leg severed by one of the subject's teeth. Another five of the soldiers lost their lives, if you count the ones that committed S word in the weeks following the incident. In the struggle, one of the four living subjects had a spleen ruptured and bled out almost immediately. The medical researchers attempted to sedate him,

but this proved impossible. He was injected with more than 10 times the human dose of morphine derivative and still fought like a cornered animal, breaking the ribs and arm of one doctor. His heart was seen to beat for a full two minutes after he bled out, to the point there was more air in his vascular system than blood. Even after it stopped, he continued to scream and flail for another three minutes, struggling to attack anyone in reach and just repeating the word more, over and over, weaker and weaker, until he finally fell silent. The surviving three test subjects were heavily restrained

and moved to a medical facility, the two with intact vocal cords continuously begging for the gas, demanding to be kept awake. The most injured of the three was taken to the only surgical operating room that the facility had, in the process of preparing the subject to have his organs placed back within his body. It was found that he was effectively immune to the sedative they had given him to prepare him for the surgery. He fought furiously against his restraints while the anesthetic gas was brought out to put him under. He managed to tear most of the way through a four-inch-wide leather strap on one wrist, even though the weight of a 200-pound soldier holding that wrist.

It took only a little bit more anesthetic than normal to put him under. In the instant his eyelids fluttered and closed, his heart stopped. In the autopsy of the test subject that died on the operating table, it was found that his blood had tripled the normal level of oxygen. The muscles that were still attached to his skeleton were badly torn, and he had broken nine bones and his stroke. to not be subdued. Most of them were from the force his own muscles had exerted on them. The second survivor had been the first of the group to five to start screaming. His vocal cords

were destroyed. He was unable to beg or object to surgery, and he only reacted by shaking his head violently in disapproval while the anesthetic gas was brought near him. He shook his head yes when someone suggested reluctantly that they should try the surgery without anesthetic, and did not react for the entire six-hour procedure of replacing his abdominal organs and attempting to cover them with what remained of his skin. The surgeon proceeding stated repeatedly that it should not be medically possible for the patient to still be alive. One terrified nurse assisting the surgery stated that she had seen the patient's mouth curl

into a smile several times, whenever his eyes met hers. When the surgery ended, the subject looked at the surgeon and began to whee's lap. loudly attempting to talk while struggling, assuming this must be something of drastic importance. The surgeon had a pen and pad fetched so the patient could write his message. It was simple. Keep cutting. The other two test subjects were given the same surgery, both without anesthetic as well, although they had to be injected with a paralytic for the duration of the operation. The surgeon found it impossible to perform the operation while the patients laughed continuously.

Once paralyzed, the subjects could only follow the attending researchers with their eyes. They paralytic cleared their system in an abnormally short period of time, and they were soon trying to escape their bonds. The moment they could speak, they were again asking for the stimulant gas. The researchers tried asking why they had injured themselves, why they had ripped out their own guts, and why they wanted to be given the gas again. Only one response was given. I must remain awake.

All three subjects' restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber, awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers facing the wrath of their military benefactors for having failed the stated goals of the project considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, an ex-KGB, instead saw potential and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected but were overruled. In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again,

the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long-term confinement. To everyone's surprise, all three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point, all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake, One of the subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously. The mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might,

first left, then right, then left, again for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head off the pillow and blinking rapidly, having been the first to be wired to the EEG machine. Most of the researchers were monitoring his brainwaves and surprise. They were normal most of the time, but sometimes flatlined and explicitly. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death before returning to normal. As they focused on paper scrolling out of the brainwave monitor, only one nurse saw the man's eyes slip shut at the same moment his head hit the pillow.

His brainwaves immediately changed to that of deep sleep, then flatlined for the last time as his heart simultaneously stopped. The only remaining subject that could speak started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwave showed the same flatlines as the one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber with both subjects inside, as well as three researchers. One of the name three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander point blank between the eyes, then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well.

He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to abed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. I won't be locked in here with these things. Not with you. He screamed at the man's draught at the table. What are you? he demanded. I must know. The subject smiled. Have you forgotten so easily? The subject asked. We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind. We are what you hide from in your beds every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go into the nocturnal haven where we cannot tread.

The researcher paused. Then, aimed at the subject's heart and fired. The EEG flatlined as the subject's weekly choked out. So nearly free. Laughing Jack. It's Christmas Eve in snowy 1800s, London, England, and in a small house at the edge of town there lived a lonely, seven-year-old boy named Isaac. Isaac was a sad child with not a friend to his name. While most children were spending time with their families and eagerly looking forward to opening the presents, they were placed with care. beneath a beautifully decorated Christmas tree, little Isaac spent this most holy of nights alone in his cold, dusty attic room. Isaac's parents were very poor. His mother was a strict crow of a woman

who stayed at home and schooled Isaac. His father worked long hours down at the London Harbor to support his family, although a large portion of his earnings went towards purchasing and consuming copious amounts of alcohol at the end of his shift. Sometimes he would come home drunk, after being thrown out of every bar in London and shouted his beloved wife, Isaac's mother. Occasionally, it would escalate to violence and he would beat her savagely. Then, when he was done, he'd force himself upon her in a drunken, S. Rage. As it so happens, this particular night was one of those occasions. Isaac just remained quiet, quivering beneath his soiled bedsheets until the screams and loud bangs subsided.

Once poor frightened Isaac was finally able to fall asleep, he'd dream of what he'd be be like to have a friend to play with, so maybe he could laugh and be happy like those other children of London. Luckily for little Isaac, this Christmas Eve marked a big change, when his abysmal loneliness caught the attention of a guardian angel, who then crafted a very special gift for the sad little London boy. As the sun rose on that Christmas morning, Isaac opened his eyes to find a strange wooden box sitting at the foot of his bed. With eyes widened in awe, he stared at the colorful hand-crafted box, wondering who had left it. He was not used to receiving gifts, especially toys.

What little toys Isaac did have were ones he'd found abandoned in the streets or washed up in the gutters. Isaac scooted up to the front of his bed in front of the mysterious box and picked it up with wool hands. The box was beautifully painted and colorful styles with carvings of happy clown faces on the side. There was a tag on the box that simply read, For Isaac. On the top of the box was an engraved, text. Isaac squinted his eyes as he sounded out the words. La laughing jack in a box. He paused. Laughing jack in a box. Isaac had heard of a jack in a box, but never a laughing jack in a box.

His mind spun with curiosity as he grasped the box's metal crank. Isaac turned the crank in the song, Pop Goes the Weasel, chimed in rhythm. with the crank's gyrations. As the song came to its climax, Isaac sang along with the final verse, Pop goes the weasel. But nothing happened. Isaac lit out a sigh. It's broken. He placed the box back down on the edge of the bed and shuffled across his small dusty room to his dresser where he changed out of his soiled sleepwear and into his usual tattered clothes. Suddenly, Isaac heard a loud rattling noise coming from the bed behind him. He spun around to witness the wooden box violently shaking. Then without warning, the top of the box swung open and a parade of colorful

smoke and confetti bellowed out. Isaac rubbed his eyes in disbelief of what he has seen. As the smoke cleared, there stood a tall, thin, multi-colored man with bright red hair, a swirly rainbow-colored cone nose and featherly shoulders that sat atop his raggedy and colorful clown outfit. The Technicolor clown spread his arms and excitedly announced, Come on, come all, whether big or small, to see the best clown of them all. The one, the only, laughing Jack in a box. Isaac's eyes lit up.

Who, who are you? He asked. The colorful car and he stepped down off its bed and with a happy grin said, I'm glad you asked. I am laughing Jack, you're a new friend for a life. I'm magical. I never get tired of plane. I may whiz at the accordion, and I adapt and develop with your own changing personality.

In other words, whatever you like, I like. Isaac looked up at the mysterious clown man. We're friends? He stuttered. Jack looked at the boy while cocking an eyebrow. Friends, we are best friends. I was especially created to be your not-so-imaginary friend, Isaac. Isaac's jaw dropped.

You know my name? Jack let out a whimsical laugh. Of course I know your name. I know everything about you. So now that the introductions are out of the way, how would you like to play a game of I-spy? Isaac grinned from ear to ear. Really?

We can play games? I'd love to. I... Oh, he paused. I... I can't. I have to go downstairs to see mother for homeschooling and chores. His smile faded into a look of disappointment.

Jack placed his hand on Isaac's shoulder and with a warm smile said, It's okay, I'll be waiting right here for you when you get back. Isaac's smile returned as he looked up at his new friend. Just then he heard his mother's shrill voice calling him from downstairs. Well, I gotta go. I'll see you after I'm done, okay, Jack? He said as he headed towards the door, Jack smiled. Absolutely, kiddo.

Oh, and Isaac. Isaac looked back at Jack, who gave him a wink and said, You should wear that smile more often. It suits you. Isaac grinned happily as he turned and walked out the door. All day, Isaac told his mother about the amazing, colorful clown man who came out of a magical box that appeared on the foot of his bed. His mother, however, did not believe a word of it. Finally, he persuaded his mother to follow him up to his room so she could behold laughing Jack for herself.

They walked up the stairs and Isaac swung open the door to his room. See, Mother, he's right. He, Isaac paused as he scanned the room that contained neither magical dancing clown man nor mysterious wooden box. Isaac's mother was not amused. She gave Isaac a glare so menacing and made his knees weak and his stomach sick. But, but mother, he was smack. Isaac's mother delivered onto him a swift, hard smack across his face. His eyes began to tear up and his lip began to quiver as he could feel himself about to break down. You stupid! "'Insolent child! How dare you lie to me about such a childish edicy? Who would want to be friends with a useless worm such as you? You shall remain in the room for the rest of the evening and shall receive no dinner. Now what do you say, you ungrateful wretch?' Isaac managed to swallow the knot in his throat and order mutter a reply.

"'Thank you, ma'am.' His mother glanced down at him for a moment before leaving the room and disgust. Isaac kneeled over, burning his face in the side of his bed. Streams of tears ran down his cheeks as he began to weep. What's wrong, kiddo? A voice called out. Isaac looked over to the edge of his bed. We're laughing Jack was now suddenly sitting beside him. What?

Where were you, Isaac murmured. Jack ran his hand through Isaac's hair to comfort him as he softly replied. I was hiding. I can't let your parents see me. Otherwise, they won't let us play anymore. Isaac wiped the tears from his eyes. Look, kiddo, I'm sorry I had to hide, but I'll make it up to you. Because tonight we can play games and have tons of fun, Jack said, smiling.

Isaac looked up at his vibrant pal and silently nodded as a little smile began to form in the corners of his mouth. That night, laughing Jack and Isaac played so many fun games. With a wave of his hand, Jack made all of Isaac's tennis soldiers spring to life and march around the room. Isaac was amazed as he watched his toys move around the room on their own. Then, laughing Jack and Isaac, told each other spooky ghost stories. Isaac asked Jack if he was a ghost, but Jack explained that he was more of a cosmic entity of sorts. At the end of the night, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out of an assortment of delicious candy. Isaac was in ecstasy when he popped the first colorful tree in his mouth,

as it was his first time tasting something so sweet. Isaac had so much fun and laughed so hard that night that things seemed to be finally looking up for this little Isaac. At least until the incident that occurred three months later. It was pleasantly warm and sunny in London that day, which was a bit of a rarity, so with the help of a certain not-so-imaginary friend, Isaac was able to finish his chores early

and was allowed to go outside and play for a bit. Things started simply enough. The duo were back behind the house playing pirates, when Isaac spotted the neighbors, cats sneaking into the garden. Yarg! We got an enemy spy off the starboard bow, Isaac yelled, captivated by fantasy and imagination. Yo-ho, I'll get him, Captain Isaac, exclaimed first mate Jack, in his best hearty pirate accent.

Laughing Jack's arm stretched out across the garden and snatched the unsuspecting feline, who began to strungle quite vigorously. Don't let him get away, Jackie, or I'll make you walk the plank. Isaac antagonized. Jack's grip on the cat tightened, and his arms grew and extended like anacondas, wrapping themselves around the wildly feline as it struggled for dear life. Jack's arms just kept squeezing the animal, pressing the air out of its lungs.

As the once-deer house pet's eyes began to bulge out of their sockets, there came a loud, snap. Jack quickly released the creature from his grasp as its lifeless, furry husk thudded against the ground. There was hush silence as the two observed the cats now twisted and mangled corpse. The silence was finally broken by an uproarish laughter, coming from Isaac. Ah, ha, ha, wow, I guess cats really don't have nine lives. Ha ha, ha. Isaac exclaimed nearly teary-eyed from laughter. Laughing Jack began to chuckle as well.

Yeah, but won't you get in trouble if your mother finds out your neighbor's cat is dead in her garden? Isaac's laughter quickly subsided. Oh no, you're right. I'll just throw it back into the neighbor's yard. Isaac panicked as he grabbed a nearby shovel and scooped up the broken cat cadaver before lobbying it over the fence back into the neighbor's yard. They quickly went back inside and up into Isaac's room. About an hour later it came.

The ear-piercing squawk of Isaac's mother shrieking his name from downstairs. Neither Jack nor Isaac said a word as he crept down the stairs alone to feel. face whatever horrible fate was coming to him. Jack could hear much yelling from downstairs, but couldn't make out what was being said. After about 30 minutes, a teary-eyed Isaac ascended the stairs back into the room. Well, Jack asked nervously. Isaac just stared at the ground as he spoke. I... I tried to tell her it was you heard the cap. She didn't believe me. Said you weren't real. Jack frowned, knowing this was all his fault. Isaac used his sleeve to wipe away his tears.

I'm being sent off to boarding school. I'm leaving tonight. And you can't come with me. Laughing Jack's face turned to shock. What? I can't come? Where will I go? Isaac said nothing but pointed over at the beautiful colored box from where his friend had originated.

Back in there? But I won't be able to get out until Jack paused. Isaac looked up as his only friend with tears streaming down a second. his face. Jack, I promise I'll come back for you as soon as I can. Jack looked at the box, then back at Isaac. And I'll be right here waiting for you, kiddo. Jack smiled as a single tear ran down his cheek. He walked over to the box and, with a puff of smoke, was sucked back in, unable to be free until once again opened. That night, Isaac was sent off to boarding school. For the first time, laughing Jack felt what it was like to be lonely, even when trapped in his box.

Jack was able to see the things going on around it. So each day, he waited for his friend to return, and each day the room grew older and dustier. Laughing Jack's one purpose was to be Isaac's best friend for life, and now he had to wait day after day, month after month, to reunite with his special friend. Isaac's parents still lived in the house but never came to the upstairs room. The only time they made their presence known was

when Jack would hear them fighting. Still, Jack's life became one of solitude, loneliness, and disappointment. As years went by, Jack's once bright, vibrant colors began to fade into a monochrome blur of pitch black void and stark white emptiness, trapped all alone, eternal, and hopeless. Thirteen years passed until the night Isaac's father came home particularly drunk and got into an argument with his wife as per usual. Things escalated to physical violence once again, however this time she didn't back up. Isaac's father had beaten his wife to a dead, bloody pulp, and was sentenced to hang at the gallows the next day. With both his parents dead, this meant that the now 20-year-old Isaac inherited the dusty old house he spent the earlier half of his childhood in.

Laughing Jack was quite surprised when he heard his old friend's footsteps walking up the stairs to the attic room for the first time in 13 years. However, it was not the reunion Jack had hoped for. Isaac looked different. Not only was he older, but he also seemed to possess this odd, grim look on his face. No longer was he the hopeful and curious young boy Jack first met all those years ago. Jack eagerly awaited Isaac's releasing him from the prison. He had waited in for so many years, but still Jack's box sat there, untouched and unnoticed on a shelf in the corner of the room with all the other dusty, unwanted knick-knacks.

Isaac had completely forgotten about his old friend, dismissed as some sort of early childhood fabrication. Surprisingly, this made laughing Jack feel nothing. He was hollow. Thirteen years of waiting and disappointment left the monochrome clown void of sorrow and self-pity. Jack remained in his box, colorless and without emotion. The next day, Isaac went off to work out his job as an upholster, doing furniture repairs for the good people of London.

Jack waited in captivity. Hours later, a drunken, Isaac returned home and stumbled up the stairs to his room, but this time he had a friend with him. It was a lady friend Isaac had picked up at the bar earlier that evening. She was beautiful with flowing blonde hair, sapphire blue eyes, and a smile that could make hearts melt. Laughing Jack's attention was drawn to Isaac's guest. Who is this? A new friend? Why does Isaac need new friends? I thought I was Isaac's only friend. Jack thought to himself from within his hellish confinement.

Isaac and his lady friend sat down on the bed and chatted about life in London. Isaac made a joke about the weather and they both laughed. Laughing Jack hissed with envy over Isaac's new friend. Isaac and the girl looked deeply into each other's eyes as they leaned in for a kiss, locking lips with a passionate swirling of tongues in one another's mouth. Jack was perplexed by this strange display of affection, for he had never seen kissing before. As the kissing grew more intense, Isaac ran his hand along the girl's smooth thigh and up her dress, however, his guest just brushed his hand away. Isaac was persistent, though, and once again ran his hand along her smooth thigh and up her skirt, this time placing his hand upon her silky undergarments.

The woman took great displeasure with Isaac's as advancements and pushed Isaac away before delivering a heart smack across his face. Isaac's eyes darkened as he glared at the woman. His once drunken passion turned into booze-fueled anger. The woman's heart sped up as she saw Isaac's face boil with rage. Stupid horror, Isaac yelled as he smashed his fist into the girl's face. Laughing Jack's eyes widened as he witnessed the long streaks of red liquid gushing from the girl's nose. What game is this, he thought? His eyes a virgin to such violent sights. Isaac firmly clutched the girl's wrist with one hand as he tore her panties off with the other.

The terrified girl tried to fight back, but Isaac was overpowering her. He roughly fondled her breast before savagely grabbing her hair and forcing his tongue down the sobbing young woman's throat, who responded by chomping down as hard as she could on Isaac's tongue. Jack watched with wide and curious eyes as his old friend released his new playmate and clutched his mouth as it filled with warm red blood. The frightened girl fell off the bed and dropped down on the floor as she scurried towards the exit. Isaac quickly lurched forward and was able to catch his fleeing plaything by the end of her dress. Reaching back, he wielded a lead candlestick off the nightstand beside him, and with all of his might bashed in the back of the young woman's head, which burst open like a ripe one.

watermelon. Thick blood splattered across the room as the girl's body convulsed on the ground for several seconds before going completely skill. Blood was everywhere. Some droplets even managed to get on the Laughing Jack's box, who was very much enjoying the show. For the first time in 13 long years, a smile began to creep across Laughing Jack's face, and all of a sudden a chuckle escaped his cold lips, then another, and another, until Jack was cackling and howling with laughter from inside his sealed box. What a wonderfully fascinating game, Jack thought, as he watched the motionless girl's golden-blot hair flow red with blood. As the adrenaline began to mellow, Isaac realized he had to dispose of the body. He picked up the girl's lifeless corpse and plopped it on the bed.

He then left the room closing the door behind him and locking it before leaving the house. He returned almost a full day later and re-entered the room bringing with him a metal garbage can and his bag of upholstery tools from work. He then cleared everything off the wooden desk on the wall opposite the door and then dragged the bed with bloody corpse into the middle of the room. This not only gave Isaac room to work, but it also gave laughing Jack a front row seat to the whole spectacle. Jack watched with a big, unfading grin as Isaac played his new game with his soiled corpse. Once Isaac was all set up, he got to work. First, he dumped out the contents of his big black tool bag onto the work table behind him, an assortment of knives, hammers, pliers, pliers, and other tools who now laid out before him.

His first pick was curved upholstery knife, which he used to carefully skin the body. That skin was then placed on racks to be stretched and turned into the leather. Once that was put in place, Isaac then used a hand saw to saw. the arms, legs and head, disturbing the home of several families of maggots in the process. After filling the garbage can with bleach and other vile chemicals, he submerged the limbs until the meat was stripped from the bones. Isaac fished the bones out of the soupy corpse juice and placed them on the work table. Then, in the cover of night, he brought the trash can outside and dumped the rotten remains into the London sewers to be swept away into the harbor.

For the next three days, Laughing Jack watched with wonderment, as the inspired Isaac crafted the once human anatomy into a grotesque armchair abomination. The femur was made into the back legs of the chair, while the tibia, with the feet still attached, of course, was made into the front chair legs. A wooden frame was used for the base and backing of the chair. However, the rim of the backing was crafted using the spinal column. The arm bones were used as the arms of the chair and were fastened in place by some ribs. The now leathery flesh was sewn onto the thick. seat and backing of the chair, and the golden blonde hair was braided into a lining for the

base. Atop this armchair from hill sat the skull that once belonged to the girl who had the golden blonde hair, the sapphire eyes and the smile that could melt hearts. Isaac was quite pleased with his work and laughing Jack too was impressed by his old playmate's profound creativity. After that night, Isaac never touched another drop of alcohol again, for he now possessed a much more Machabray thirst. In the following weeks, Isaac made several improvements to his little workshop of horrors. He removed the mattress from his bed and put a row of thick wooden planks in its place, and then he fastened arm and leg restraints at the bottom and sides. This would mean he would be able to entertain his guests for a longer period without them trying any route escape attempts. Isaac needed only one.

Final thing before planning another grotesque party. He worked on it for a week straight, hand carving it out of wood. After a coat of white paint was applied, Isaac's creation was complete. It was a wooden mask, resembling something one would wear at a Venetine masquerade ball. It made a furrowed brow and a long troll-like nose and would allow him to strike fear in the hearts of his beloved guests. With his new face complete, and the room transformed into a bloody murder nest, it was finally a playtime for Isaac Lee Grossman to bring home a new playmate. That following, a night laughing Jack watched as the masked Isaac Grossman stomped up the stairs carrying with him a large burlap sack with the newest guest writhing within. He dumped the bag out onto his torture bed

and outplopped a bound, gagged, and very frightened young boy, probably only five or six years old. Isaac quickly undid the boy's bindings and held him down as he restrained his hands and feet to the steel bed frame. Tears streamed endlessly down the boy's helpless little face. As Isaac laid out his tools on the workbench, Isaac returned wielding a pair of rusty pliers, and wasting no time he slid the bottom jaw of the pliers under the boy's fingernail on his right index finger and clamped it tightly. The child's eyes quivered as he began muttering through his gag,

begging Isaac to let him go. Isaac smirked as he slowly bent the pliers backward, painfully prying off the first fingernail. The boy screamed through his gag as he writhed in agony on the wooden board, his finger beginning to gush with blood. Isaac then moved on to the boy's middle finger, firmly grasping the nail with the rusty pliers. Once again, he jerked the pliers back, but this time the nail only tore off halfway. The boy yelped in pain as his fingers twitched and shot with blood. Clamping the half-pried off nail, Isaac gave it another yank. The nail tore off,

but not without taking a good deal of skin tissue with it. Even Isaac was a bit rebuffed by this painful sight. Unlike the spying, laughing Jack, who was cackling with joy, as the disturbing action as he watched from within his old dusty box. Isaac returned to the workbench and swapped the pliers for a large iron hammer. He then made his way to the foot of the torture bed, where, with one hand, he held down the boy's left leg. He raised the hammer high above his head as the boy cried and pleaded for mercy through his dirty gag. Then with all his might, Isaac slammed the hammer down onto the boy's bare kneecap, shattering the bone into gravel with a loud crack. The child convulsed in pain with shrill screams, muffling through the cloth gag, tied tightly to his face.

As the child struggled with intense pain, Isaac placed the hammer down on the wooden bed and returned once more to the workbench, where he equipped himself with a long, sharp knife. Without delay, he began carving the words, useless worm into the child's quivering chest. When he finished the boy was barely conscious. Isaac knelt down and whispered into the boy's ear. This is what happens to rotten children who make nasty faces at people. The child's eyes filled with tears one final time as Isaac began to carve the skin off the boy's face, but to Isaac's surprise, the boy still clung to life.

The mutilated child just stared up at Isaac with his big round eyes, which filled Isaac's black heart with rage and hatred. Even without a face, you're still an ugly little shit. Isaac shouted as he picked up the hammer from the foot of the bed and began to bash the poor boy's skull in. He smashed it in over and over until it was nothing but a bloody caved in mess of flesh, pouring with thick, red blood, and oozing out chunks of brain matter. From across the room, laughing Jack, leaffully observed the grand finale,

which had lived up to his expectations quite wonderfully. Isaac's next guest was a blind old woman. who he invited over for some tea. It took her almost five minutes to realize the chair she was sitting on was crafted using human remains, and another six minutes to find the stairs, only to topple down them flailing and screaming like a loon. Isaac decided to end the cruel joke there with a simple ice pick through her eye socket. After that, he brought over a little girl whom he forced-fed broken glass before using her stomach as a punching bag. As the weeks went by more and more unlucky souls met their end in Isaac Grossman's attic. And as the mad Grossman's personality became more

dark and sadistic, Laughing Jack's personality followed suit while he rotted within his dusty box until one very cold December night. The rusty nails that were holding up the shelf of forgotten knick knacks finally gave way and the whole thing plummeted to the ground. Isaac heard the loud thud from downstairs and decided to climb up to the attic to investigate. He walked across the blood-stained wood floor of the attic over toward the fallen shelf. Isaac brushed aside some of the trinkets that broke in the crash, when he finally came across the jack-in-a-box from his childhood. Isaac barely recognized the old, tattered box as he picked it up and blew off some of the dust.

Then, for whatever nostalgic reason, he decided to grasp the box's rusty clank and begin turning it. A horribly off-key pop goes the weasel. clanked from the worn-out old box. And as it reached its climax, Isaac sung along with the final verse. Pop goes the weasel. The top of the box swung open, but nothing happened.

It was empty. Isaac expected as much as he tossed the old box in the garbage with the other broken knick-knacks. After the mess was cleaned up, he went to the open door to go back downstairs, but it was stuck. Isaac pulled hard, but the door wouldn't bud. Just then he heard the most horrible raspy voice call out from behind him.

Isaac! A cold jolt ran down Isaac's spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up as he slowly turned around. All the way across the room by the garbage can stood the nightmarish laughing Jack. He was completely monochrome. His mangled black hair hung down and twisted locks. sharp, jagged teeth decorated his twisted grin, and his arms hung down like a rag doll with his grotesquely long fingers, nearly scraping the floor. Then, with a bone-chilling, raspy voice, the fiendish clown spoke,

How nice is it to finally be free? Did you miss me, Isaac? Isaac was paralyzed in fear. But, but, but, I, I thought you weren't real. Imaginary, Isaac stuttered. Jack replied with a long, horrifying cackle. Ha ha ha. Oh, I'm quite real, kiddo. In fact, I've been waiting such a long time for this day to finally come

when I can play with my best friend for life. One last time. Before Isaac could reply, Jack's long arm stretched across the room and wrapped around Isaac's legs. The twisted clown began pulling him closer, dragging him onto this wooden torture bed as Isaac's fingernails scraped along the floor. Ignoring the restraints, Jack, swiftly grabbed four three-inch-long iron nails from his workbench and pressed them straight through of Isaac's hands and feet,

nailing him to the wooden torture bed. Isaac growled in pain as he shouted at his captor. Oh, fuck you, goddamn clown-nose freak! Laughing, Jack just chuckled as he forcefully held Isaac's head in place stating, If you can't say something nice, then don't say it at all. Jack reached his long, crooked fingers into Isaac's mouth, firmly grasping his tongue and stretching it out as far as it could. The clown then reached back and grabbed a long, sharp knife from the table and slowly began to slice through the meat of Isaac's tongue. Once lobbed off, Isaac's mouth began to overflow with blood.

Jack responded by shoving a small syndrical metal tube through Isaac's throat to act as a temporary breathing hole. At this point, Isaac was already in great pain and had his eyes clenched shut to avoid seeing the sickening. horrors that are being performed upon its body. Come on, it's no fun if you don't watch, laughing Jack said playfully, but Isaac kept his eyes tightly shut. Laughing Jack sighed, suit yourself. Jack then forcibly held open one of Isaac's eyes. He reached back with his big arm and took out some long, pointy fishing hooks from the

boik bench. Slowly, Jack pushed the sharp end of the hook through the top eyelid, straight through the bottom of the eyebrow, and out of the top, permanently, pinning it over. open. Then he took out a second hook pushing it through the bottom eyelid and pinning it to the cheek. Jack repeated the process to the other eye, and before long, a series of sharp metal hooks made sure Isaac didn't miss out on any of the action. Laughing Jack then took the same knife he had used to lob off Isaac's tongue and began to focus on the removal of Isaac's lips. Jack carefully sliced two long strips of flesh off of Isaac's upper and lower mouth, causing

his teeth and gums to be completely exposed. Hmm. Looks like someone hasn't been flossing regularly. Laughing Jack cackled under his breath as he reached back and grabbed the hammer. Isaac attempted to mutter some kind of beg for mercy. However, only gurgled moans escaped his throat. Jack raised the hammer into the air and with a twisted grin, he slammed it down giving a loud crack as the iron hammer shattered Isaac's teeth like brittle, clay.

Jack dropped the hammer. and began to howl with laughter as he tore open Isaac's shirt, taking the sharpest knife. Jack cut straight down Isaac's chest all the way down past the stomach. Isaac groaned with sharp stinging pain as the monochrome monster warmed his wretched fingers underneath the skin on Isaac's chest, peeling it back as he was about to form his horrible live autopsy. First, Jack began to pull out Isaac's intestines in the same manner a magician would pull a series of colorful cloth out of his pocket. Then, after sniping off a small length of intestines,

Jack pressed one end against his cold, black lips, and began blowing air into the foul organ. Once inflated, he twisted it up into the shape of a poodle, with a loud chuckle, explained, I can do drafts too. Isaac remained still in pain and shock, as the clown creature gently placed the makerai balloon, animal beside Isaac's head.

For his next trick, laughing Jack, reached deep into Isaac's open stomach cavity and yanked out one of his kidneys, holding it in his hand, Jack turned to his captive friend and shrugged, stating that, kidneys really are my thing. Tossing the organ aside, laughing Jack noticed that Isaac was beginning to drift into death. Feeling tired already? Why, we're nearly at the grand finale. Laughing Jack exclaimed as he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a long adrenaline needle. This is not a perky ride up. Jack shouted as he slammed the needle into Isaac's retina and injected the liquid right into his right eye socket.

Jack wiggled and twisted the knee further into his old playmate's eyeball, as Isaac was reeled back into life to the feeling of a sharp needle scraping the back of his eye socket. With a sinister chuckle, Jack yanked the needle out, pulling the eyeball out with it. Isaac's right eye now hung out of its socket by the eye stock as it dribbled down the side of his face. Jack smirked. Well, now that I have your full attention. The incidious clown then took his long, crooked index finger and poked a hole in Isaac's stomach.

Jack lowered his head down towards the open chest cavity and stretched his mouth wide open. Within seconds, a torn of filthy cockroaches started crawling out of the clown's gullet, spilling onto Isaac's open chest. Each vile roach crawled and pushed its way into the small opening in Isaac's stomach, filling it from within of disgusting right. bugs. As his stomach began bloated with bugs, the roaches began to scurry up his throat, squeezing their way out of his mouth and nasal cavity. Isaac was inches from death when his captured kneeled beside him and spoke into his ear. It's been a blast, kiddo, but it looks like

our time together is about up. No need for tears, though, because I plan to spread my friendship to all the lonely kids of the world. And with that said, Laughing Jack reached into Isaac's chest and yanked out his still beating heart, as his life bled out on that cold wooden bed. Isaac's life flashed before his eyes. He saw his mother, his father, the boarding school, his victims, and the last thought that fluttered through his mind was of that very special Christmas,

where he woke up to find the beautifully handcrafted wooden box that contained his very first friend. There are rumors that, when the police finally found Isaac Grossman's rotten, maggot-infested corpse weeks later on Christmas Eve that even though his face had been bashed and torn to bits, he almost looked happy. The Backrooms It was approximately 1215 when I entered the Johnson County Community Health Clinic. I was there for an appointment I had set up weeks ago, just a routine checkup.

It wasn't a new place for me. I've been there a couple times before. However, the place had an odd, nostalgic feel to it. it as if it were a location from my childhood or something. I could never pinpoint exactly what this feeling was or where it came from. As I walked in, an overwhelming feeling of deja vu swept over me, the hum of the flickering fluorescent lights, the white tile flooring, the muted beige paint that colored the walls, I noticed that there was a TV mounted in the corner, a smaller flat screen that was playing a short PowerPoint slideshow on loop of ads and events that were being held

by the clinic. I passed the empty waiting area, a small section of the main room with magazines, children's playthings, and blue cushioned chairs, and approached the woman at the front desk. She was sitting in a blueish gray office chair looking at a spreadsheet on the same Windows XP desktop they'd had since 2008. There was a sign-in sheet on this counter in front of me. I have an appointment with Dr. Pebbins, I asked. What time? 12.30, I replied. She began typing something on her keyboard.

Ah, yes, she responded. Gary Johnston? Mm-hmm. Yes, I'll tell the doctor, please fill this out. She handed me a clipboard, which held a simple fill-out form. I walked back to the waiting area, took a seat, and began to complete it. I was about halfway done with writing down my information, when I slumped back into my chair.

I hadn't gotten much sleep the night prior, and I was just exhausted. As I slumped back, I noticed something very peculiar. My head never hit the wall. In fact, it felt like it went in. I got up, quite frightened, and looked at the wall. Nothing. Not a single hole, more dense, had been made in the wall by my head,

so I reached to touch the wall, and my fingers went through it. I recoiled in shock. What the hell was that? I thought, as I reached to touch the wall again, only to find that my fingers clipped through once more. Then suddenly I lost my balance, tripped and fell directly through it. I landed face first on some dirty, tan carpeting. Upon getting back up, I realized that I was in a completely different room. Well, not really a room per se, more so a set of rooms, all of which were connected by openings. The walls were covered in gross, tan-powdered wallpaper. There was also an overwhelming

stench of moist carpet. I turned back around and tried to put my hand back through the wall and it wouldn't go through. Okay, what the fuck I muttered? I looked back into the room. There were no windows, no doors, and nothing on the walls. Other than that disgusting wallpaper, of course. It was completely empty aside from a singular plastic blue school chair. At this point, the only thing going through my mind was fear, and the repeating thought of, I need to leave, on loop in my head. I started running through the rooms, desperately trying to find an exit, but to no avail, there was no exit. Was this my permanent location until I died? No, there had to be a way out. I wasn't just going to be left here, right? Eventually, someone would notice that I was gone,

nobody did. Then, in the distance, I heard footsteps, but not those of a humans, at least not a normal human. Alongside the footsteps were as a gurgling snarl, like that of an angry animal. I began to run. I ran as fast as I could from whatever the hell was approaching me. I didn't want anything to do with it. I ran for what seemed like forever, but I was always back in the same room I started in. At least it looked like the same room. Not that I could tell them. them apart, so I sat down, defeated. A feeling of dread filled my body, so I started to cry. I was going to die here. I'm still there. I haven't left. I've accepted my fate. In fact, I can actually hear footsteps. I wonder who that is. Iles Jack. Hello, my name is Mitch.

I'm here to tell you guys about an experience I had. I don't know if it was paranormal or whatever stupid words people used to describe supernatural phenomena, but after that thing visited me, I believe in that paranormal trash now. A week after I moved in with my brother, Edwin, after my house was foreclosed, I finished unpacking. Edwin liked the idea of me moving in since we had not seen each other for 10 years, so I was excited too. I soon fell asleep. after I moved in. After that first week, I heard rustling noises coming from outside at about one in the morning. I thought it was a raccoon, so I ignored it and tried to fall asleep. The next morning I told Edwin about it, and he agreed. The next night, however, I thought I heard my window opening in a loud

thump as I heard something entered my room. I darted up and looked around my room, but I saw nothing. The next morning, Edwin dropped his coffee cup when he saw me. He held up a nearby mirror, and I saw myself. I had a large gash in my left cheek. After I was rushed to the hospital, my doctor told me that I must have been sleepwalking, but then he showed me something that made my blood turn cold. He lifted up my shirt to reveal a sewn-up incision where my kidneys were. I stared into his eyes, mind-widening. You somehow lost your left kidney last night, my doctor told me. We don't know how, though. Sorry, Mitch. The next night was my breaking point.

Around midnight, I woke up to see a truly horrifying sight. I was staring face to face with a creature, with a black hoodie, in dark blue mask, with no nose or mouth staring down at me. The thing that scared me the most was that it had no eyes, just empty black sockets. The creature also had some black substance dripping from its sockets. I grabbed the camera from the nearby mantle and took a picture. Immediately after taking the shot, the creature lunged at me and tried to claw open my chest to get to my lungs. I stopped it by kicking it in the

face. As I ran out of my room, I grabbed my wallet, I would need the money. I ran out of my brother's house into the night. I eventually ended up in the woods near Edwin's house and tripped on a rock. I fell unconscious and woke up in the hospital. My doctor, the same one who treated me before, room. I have good news and bad news, Mitch. My doctor started. The good news is that you had minor injuries and your parents are going to pick you up. I side with relief. The bad news is that your brother has been killed by some thing. Sorry. My parents took me back to Edwin's house to collect my remaining belongings, which I did. Upon entering my room, I was scared, but remained calm. I grabbed my camera and then stopped dead in my tracks.

In the hallway leading to my room, I saw Edwin's body and something small lying next to it. I retrieved it up and entered my parents' car, not mentioning Edwin's corpse. I looked at the thing I had picked up and nearly vomited. I was holding my stolen, half-eaten kidney with some black substance on it. The Smiling Man. About five years ago, I lived downtown in a major source. city in the U.S. I've always been a night person, so I would often find myself bored after my roommate, who was decidedly not a night person, went to sleep. To pass the time, I used to go for long walks

and spend the time thinking. I spent four years like that, walking alone at night, and never once had a reason to feel afraid. I always used to joke with my roommate that even the drug dealers in the city were polite, but all of that changed in just a few minutes of one evening. It was a Wednesday. somewhere between one and two in the morning, and I was walking near a police-patrolled park quite a ways from my apartment. It was a quiet night, even for a weeknight, with very little traffic and almost no one on foot. The park, as it was most nights, was completely empty. I turned down a short side street in order to loop back to my apartment when I first noticed

him. At the far end of the street, on my side, was the silhouette of a man, dancing. It was a strange dance, similar to a waltz, but he finished each box with an odd forward stride. I guess you could say he was dance walking, headed straight for me. Deciding he was probably drunk, I stepped as close as I could to the road to give him the majority of the sidewalk to pass me by. The closer he got, the more I realized how gracefully he was moving. He was very tall and lanky and wearing an old suit and danced closer still until I was. I could make out his face. His eyes were open, wide and wild, head tilted back slightly,

looking off at the sky. His mouth was formed in a painfully wide cartoon of a smile. Between the eyes and the smile, I decided to cross the street before he danced any closer. I took my eyes off him to cross the empty street. As I reached the other side, I glanced back and then stopped dead in my tracks. He had stopped dancing and was standing with one foot in the street, perfectly parallel to me. He was facing me, but still looking skyward, smile still wide on his lips. I was completely and utterly unnerved by this.

I started walking again, but kept my eyes on the man. He didn't move. Once I had put about half a block between us, I turned away from him for a moment to watch the sidewalk in front of me. The street and sidewalk ahead of me were completely empty. Still unnerved, I looked back to where he had been standing to find. him gone. For the briefest of moments I felt relieved, until I noticed him. He had crossed the street and was now slightly crouched down. I couldn't tell for sure due to the distance and the

shadows, but I was certain he was facing me. I looked away from him for no more than 10 seconds, so it was clear that he had moved fast. I was so shocked that I stood there for some time staring at him, and then he started moving towards me again. He took giant, exaggerate, tip-toed steps as if he were a cartoon character sneaking up on someone. Except he was moving very, very quickly. I'd like to say at this point I ran away or pulled out my pepper spray or my cell phone or anything at all, but I didn't. I just stood there, completely frozen at the smiling man crept towards me.

And then he stopped again, about a car length away from me, still smiling his smile, still looking to the sky. When I finally found my voice, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind when I meant to ask was, What do you want? In an angry, commanding tone, what came out was a whimper. What? Regardless of whether or not humans can smell fear, they can certainly hear it. I heard it in my own voice.

That only made me more afraid. But he didn't react to it at all. He just stood there, smiling. And then, after what felt like forever, he was. turned around very slowly and started dance walking away just like that not wanting to turn my back to him again i just watched him go until he was far enough away to almost be out of sight and then i realized something he wasn't moving away anymore nor was he dancing i watched in horror as the distant shape of him grew larger and larger he was coming back my way and this time he was running i ran too

I ran until I was off the side of the road and back onto a better lit road with a sparse traffic. Looking back, behind me, he was nowhere to be found. The rest of the way home, I kept glancing over my shoulder, always expecting to see his stupid smile, but he was never there. I lived in that city for six months after that night, and I never went out for another walk. There was something about his face that always haunted me. He didn't look drunk. He didn't look high. He looked completely and utterly insane.

And that's a very, very scary thing to see. The strangest security tape I've ever seen. I work at a gas station in rural Pennsylvania. It's a boring job, but it's pretty easy and it pays all right. A few weeks ago, this new guy started. I'll call him Jeremy. Jeremy is weird. He's about 25 or 26 and he hardly speaks.

and he's got the creepiest laugh I've ever heard. My boss and I have both noticed this, but it's never been a problem, so there's not much we can do about it. Customers have never complained about him, and he's always done his job fairly well, up until a few weeks ago. Anyway, that's when things started going missing.

Employee thefts can be a problem at any business that sells consumer goods, and there's only one person working at a time at this gas station. It's a pretty small place. About two weeks ago, my boss started noticing that we were short on motor oil. At first, it was a few containers at a time, then entire shelves and boxes from the back room. Pretty soon, entire shipments would be gone the day after we got them, and he'd always be right after Jeremy shifts. My boss had checked the security camera tape from every single night he worked, but he could never catch him in the act. Jeremy would always lock up at closing, then the motor oil would be gone the next day.

My boss usually takes the tapes home with him to try and catch Jeremy stealing, but his daughter had a softball game last night, so he asked me to watch the tape for him. He offered to pay me overtime under the table, so obviously I took that after. There are three cameras, so he gave me three different tapes to check. I figured it would be a long night, but I'm trying to save up for vacation, so I really needed the money. I took the tapes home, popped them in an old VCR, and sat back. Two days ago. The last time he worked, Jeremy started at 4 p.m.

Everything seemed pretty normal at first. He counted up his drawer, switched off with a girl who has working before him and waited for a customer. The first person who came in was Mrs. Templeton. The timestamp of the video read 403, a regular. She picked up her cigarettes and he did. newspaper and paid with a 20. Nothing unusual there. The next customer was some local guy named Ron. He drives a motorcycle usually comes in every few days. He filled up his tank, got a bag of beef jerky, paid with his credit card, and then left. Next was some guy with a cowboy hat. I'd never seen

him before, but we get plenty of strangers passing through, just like at any gas station. He got $40 worth of diesel fuel, paid with a $100 bill and went on his way. I sat back inside. The only thing more boring than doing this job is watching someone else do it. My boss's offer was enough to keep me watching, though, so I left the tape on. Everything seemed pretty normal. I had a feeling that if Jeremy was stealing motor oil, he knew we were suspicious of him now. I didn't expect him to be dumb enough to let us catch him on camera. Things stayed boring and routine until about 5 o'clock.

At 503, Mrs. Templeton came back in. She must have forgotten something, but... She didn't. She bought the same pack of cigarettes as before and the same newspaper. She paid with another 20. That's odd, I thought, but then again, she's a little absent-minded. I thought Jeremy should have told her she already got her smokes, but it's not against the rules to sell somebody the same thing twice. That's when Ron came in again. He bought another tank of gas for his motorcycle again. I later checked the outdoor camera because I thought maybe he had another car he wanted to fill up. in the same pack of beef jerky.

He paid with his credit card again. No big deal. I figured this was just a weird coincidence. Missile's Templeton is forgetful, and Ron probably owns more than one Harley. That's when the guy in the cowboy hat came back in. I felt a chill run down my spine. Don't get diesel. Don't get diesel.

I found myself whispering to my empty living room, but he did. He got $40 worth of diesel fuel. and paid with another $100 bill. Every move he made was identical to his first, right down to the way he scratched his nodes before he walked out. Either this guy is rich, owns a lot of trucks, and just moved into town, or something really bizarre was happening, and I kept watching. Every customer for the next hour was the same as before.

Every single one. I was seriously freaked out. And then at 6.03, Mrs. Templeton walked back in. She bought her cigarettes and newspaper and paid with a 20 again. I thought I was going to lose it. I only watched another half an hour before I started fast-forwarding through the rest. It was all the same. Every customer would come in at the exact same times, exactly one hour apart.

Now I know what you're thinking. That sneaky motherfucker Jeremy had messed with the tapes. He had run a loop of his first hour of business over and over. That wasn't the case. There are windows around the cash register area that the camera covers, and I watched the sunlight fade as time ran on. Jeremy's routine didn't loop over. He swept, mopped, restocked, and did all his duties exactly how you would expect. But the same customers kept coming in. I was panicking at this point. Something was seriously wrong with what I was seen, and I had no explanation for it.

I skipped ahead to see when he locked up and walked out of his car. He hadn't stolen anything, but I just kept watching just to make sure. I fast forwarded one last time to about midnight. At exactly, 1203. Out of nowhere, Jeremy's face pops up on camera. I don't mean he moved his head into view. I mean that one second, the story was empty, and the next his face was all I could see.

He wasn't looking at the camera. He was looking at me. I was sure of it. I screamed and fumbled for the remote. By the time I grabbed the camera, it he was gone, just as soon as he had left. One frame he was there, the next he wasn't. My hands were shaking like crazy, but I popped in another tape. The other indoor camera shows the back area by the cash register, and I'd be able to see how he got up to put his face in the camera like that.

I skipped ahead to 1203, but there was nothing. I would have been able to see him standing on a chair or something on this tape, but he wasn't there. I didn't see him enter the store at all. I didn't see him enter the store at all after he left. It's like he wasn't really there. He doesn't know the security code and no alarms were triggered that night after he locked up. What I did see, however, was that at 1203, the motor oil vanished off the shelf, all of it. Same as Jeremy's face. One second it was there and the next it wasn't. I turned the tape off and went to bed, but I didn't get a wink of sleep. My body is exhausted right now, but my mind is racing. That tape was undoubtedly the creepiest, most disturbing thing I've ever seen in my life. I work in a few hours. My boss asked me to bring the tapes back in and let

him know what I found, but really what the hell am I going to say? Jeremy works the night shift tonight directly after me, and the plan is for my boss to come in just before I leave and confront him with me, as I'm supposed to be the one who caught him stealing. I have no idea what I'm going to do. I suppose I'll have to show my boss the tapes, but I don't want to watch them with him. I never want to see something like that again. I can't get the image of Jeremy just smiling directly into the camera out of my mind. It was the creepiest look I've ever seen on another human being's face. Anyway, I'm going to try and get some last minute sleep before I have to go in and deal with all this.

I'll let you guys know what happens. Update. 2.49 p.m. Updating from my phone. apologies in advance for any errors. My boss just finished watching the last of the tapes. I told him what to expect, but you really can't prepare someone for something like that. He's scared shitless.

I still am too. And Jeremy is due to come in at four. You've got a little over an hour to get our shit together, but neither one of us know what to say to him. Is he just a fucked up guy who likes to steal motor oil and scare the shit out of people? Or he's something else. I don't know if this is crazy, but does anyone think he could have... had anything to do with this time loop. My boss said he never noticed anything like that in the other tapes,

but the way he popped up in this one made me think he knew I would be watching. It's like he wanted me to see what he would do, like he was showing off or something. The way he smiled into the camera was like a little kid showing you, a sandcastle they just built or something. I don't know. I probably just sound crazy. I sure feel the part.

I'm going to talk to my boss some more. We have to calm ourselves down and figure out how to handle this. I'll update again tonight, but I have a really bad feeling about this is going to play out. Update 4.33 p.m. No sign of Jeremy tried calling him, but his phone had been disconnected. We're calling the police. Update 533 p.m. No sign of Jeremy tried calling him, but the phone had been disconnected. We're calling the police. Update 6.33 p.m. No sign of Jeremy tried calling him. but his phone has been disconnected.

We're calling the police. Update 7.33 p.m. No sign of Jeremy tried calling him, but his phone has been disconnected. We are calling the police. Update 833 p.m. No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling him, but his phone has been disconnected. We're calling the police.

Update 10.58 p.m. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. I just got home and saw my previous. updates. Things make less sense now than ever. Here's what I can tell you. I went to work. Jeremy never showed up. My boss and I decided to call the police as you're well aware. When I picked up the phone to call though, the sun went out. I shit you not. That's what I thought happened. Apparently I blacked out for exactly five hours because when I looked at the clock, it was 933. I think I got stuck in Jeremy's time loop and then I snapped out of it at the exact point I blacked out, if that makes sense.

but that's when things got really weird. My boss was right next to me when I blacked out, ready to corroborate my story to the cops. When I came to, the phone was in my hand, but it was dead. Not even a dial tone. My boss was still right there, but he wasn't moving. He was standing up, but frozen. I looked at the clock again, but it wasn't moving. The second hand was stuck on the 12.

It was 933 exactly. The clock on the register computer screen wasn't moving either. My phone was frozen. There was even a customer at the register, waiting for my boss to get him cigarettes. I'm betting that would have been his fifth pack of the day. I got the fuck out of there, didn't lock up, didn't turn the lights out, and sorry, guys, I didn't grab the security tapes to upload on the internet. Believe me, that was the last thing on my mind.

The gas station is on a major highway, and cars were parked all along it, except they weren't parked, they were frozen. The people inside were sitting still as wax statues. I got in my car and prayed that it would start. Thankfully, it did. About halfway home, time started up again. The static from the radio turned into music like it's supposed to be. And from what I could tell, by listening to the host talk in between songs,

no one noticed the time freeze or whatever it was. I was the only one. Well, I'm sure Jeremy noticed as well. I still have no clue where he is or what he's doing. I'm hiding in my room and calling the police again in the morning. I don't know if I ever got through to them. before, or if I did, whether they took me seriously. I'm scared for my life at this point. I'll update tomorrow, if I can. Final update, 1033 a.m. I finally fell asleep last night around

four. I have no idea how I did it. I got exhaustion finally got the best of me. This morning I woke up with my phone ringing. It was my boss. He'd been calling me since about six. He woke up when time turned back on last night and immediately called the cops. They came by to see what was wrong and he told them everything. The police around here are all small-time guys. They are more concerned with the missing motor oil than anything, but my boss figured he would take it, as long as he had their attention. They decided to go looking for Jeremy. We keep all of our employees' applications on file, and since Jeremy just started working here, his was easy to find. They checked the address on it and headed over to his house. You're not going to believe what they found. The address Jeremy listed

on his application was an empty lot, or at least now it is. There used to be a house. There used to be house there, but it burned down in 1993. Being a small town, almost everyone remembers that fire. A family of four used to live there way back then. Rumor has it that they had an estranged son who they never really talked about, but I can't say for sure if that's true. What I can say is true is that after an insurance investigation, the fire was ruled in arson. The entire house was soaked in oil and torched with a Molotov cocktail. The entire family was sleeping when it happened. None of them survived. They never caught the guy who did it. Rumor has it that when they tried to contact the estranged son, no one could find him. Anyway, my boss called and told me this, and I freaked out.

Then he asked me to come to the gas station. What are you crazy? I said. But he assured me that the cops were there with them. Then he dropped a bomb. The FBI were also in town and they were going to talk to me one way or another, so I might as well come in. It was about 7.15 and I wanted to go back to bed, but I figured I wouldn't be able to sleep much more anyway, so I went down. Four men in suits greeted me and told me to have a seat. We went over everything two or three times until they got all the details down. I told them about Jeremy, the security tape last night at work, everything. Finally, after I finished, one of the agents said, oh Christ, we've got another one on our hands. Then they made me sign a bunch of papers saying I wouldn't tell anyone about what happened,

so I can't say much more. I might be breaking the law just by posting this, so now I'm home. I'm not sure what to do with myself. That agent's words, when I told him the story, are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Anyway, I've got to go. I have some errands to run today. And then I have to go back to work to pick up some of the tapes. My boss, and I think this new guy, Jeremy, he's a complete creep, is stealing motor oil,

and I have to watch the security footage to see if I can catch him doing it. I have better things to do, but my boss is. paying me overtime under the table. And I'm trying to save up for vacation so I could really use the money. It should be pretty simple. The oil always goes missing right after his shifts. I figure I'll just watch the tapes, catch him in the act, and that'll be that. No end house. Let me start by saying that Peter Terry was addicted to heroin. We were friends in college and continued to be after I graduated. noticed that I said I. He dropped out after two years of barely cutting it.

After I moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment, I didn't see Peter as much. We would talk online every now and then. A.m. was king in pre-Facebook years. There was a period where he wasn't online for about five weeks straight. I wasn't worried. He was probably notorious flake and drug addict, so I assumed he just stopped caring. Then one night, I saw him log on. Before I could initiate a conversation, he sent me a message.

David, man, we needed to talk. That was when he told me about the no-end house. You got that name because no one had ever reached the final exit. The rules were pretty simple and cliche. Reached the final room of the building and you win $500. There were nine rooms in all. The house was located outside the city, roughly four miles from my house. Apparently, Peter had tried and failed.

He was a heroin and, who knows what the fuck addict, so I figured the drugs got the best of him, and he wiggled out as a paper ghost or something. He told me it would be too much for anyone, that it was unnatural. I didn't believe him. I told him. I would check it out for the next night. No matter how hard he tried to convince me, otherwise, $500 sounded too good to be true. I had to go. I set out the following night. When I arrived, I immediately noticed something strange about the building. Have you ever seen or read something that shouldn't be scary, but for some reason a chill crawls up your spine. I walked towards the building and the feeling of uneasiness only intensified as I opened the front door. My heart slowed and I let a

relief sigh leave me as I entered. The room looked like a normal hotel lobby decorated for Halloween. A sign was posted in place of a worker. It read, Room won this way. Eight more follow. Reach the end and you win. I chuckled and made my way to the first door. The first area was almost laughable. The decor resembled the Halloween aisle of Kmart, complete with sheet ghosts and animatronic zombies that gave a static growl when he passed by. At the far end was an exit. It was the only door besides the one I entered through. I brushed through the fake spider webs and headed for the second room. I was greeted by fog as I opened the door to room two. The only room definitely up the ante in terms of technology. Not only was there a fog machine, but a bat hung from the ceiling and flew in a circle. Scary. They seemed to

have a Halloween soundtrack that one would find in a 99-cent store on loop somewhere in the room. I didn't see a stereo, but I guess they must have used a PA system. I stepped over a few toy rats that wheeled around and walked with a puffed chest across the next area. I reached for the doorknob, and my heart sank to my knees. I did not want to open that door. A feeling of dread hit me so hard I could barely even think. Logic overtook me after a few terrified moments, and I shook it off and entered the next room. Room three is when things began to change.

On the surface, it looked like a normal room. There was a chair in the middle of the wood-paneled floor. A single lamp in the corner did a poor job of lighting the area, casting a few shadows across the floor and walls. That was the problem. Shadows. Plural. With the exception of the chairs, there were others.

I had barely walked in the door and I was already terrified. It was at that moment that I knew something wasn't right. I didn't even think as I automatically tried to open the door I came through. It was locked from the other side. That set me off. Was someone locked in the doors as they progressed? There was no way. I would have heard them.

Was it a mechanical lock that's set automatically? Maybe. But I was too scared to really think. I turned back to the room and the shadows were gone. The chair's shadow remained, but the others were gone. I slowly began to walk. I used to hallucinate when I was a kid, so I rode off the shadows as a figment of my imagination. I began to feel better as I made it to the halfway point of the room.

I looked down as I took my steps and that's when I saw it or didn't see it. My shadow wasn't there. I didn't have time to scream. I ran as fast as I could to the other door and flung myself without thinking. into the room beyond. The fourth room was possibly the most disturbing. As I closed the door, all lights seemed to be sucked out and put back into the previous room. I stood there, surrounded by darkness, not able to move. I'm not afraid of the dark and never have been, but I was absolutely terrified. All sight had left me. I held my hand in front of my face,

and if I didn't know what I was doing, I would have never been able to tell. Darkness doesn't even describe it. I couldn't hear anything. It was dead silence. When you're in a soundproof room, you can still hear yourself breathing. You can hear yourself being alive. I couldn't. I began to stumble forward after a few moments, my rapidly beating heart the only thing I could feel. There was no door in sight.

I wasn't even sure there was one this time. The silence was then broken by a low hum. I felt something behind me. I spun around wildly but could barely even see my nose. I knew it was there, though. Regardless of how dark it was, I knew something was there. The hum grew louder and closer. It seemed to surround me, but I knew whatever was causing the noise was in front of me, inching closer.

I took a step back. I never felt that kind of fear. I can't really describe true fear. I wasn't even scared I was going to die. I was scared of what the alternative was. I was afraid of what this thing had in store for me. Then the lights flashed for a second and I saw it. Nothing. I saw nothing and I know I saw nothing there. The room was again plunged into darkness and the hum became a wild screech. I screamed in protest. I couldn't hear this goddamn sound for another minute. I ran backwards away from the noise and fumbled for the door handle. I turned and fell into room five.

Before I describe room five, you have to understand something. I am not a drug addict. I have no history of drugs. I have no history of drug abuse or any sort of psychosis, short of the childhood of hallucinations I mentioned earlier. And those were only when I was really tired or just waking up. I entered the no-end house with a clear head. After falling in from the previous room, my view of Room 5 was from my back, looking up at the ceiling. What I saw didn't scare me. It simply surprised me. Trees had grown into the room and towered above my head.

The ceiling in this room were taller than the other. which made me think I was in the center of the house. I got up off the floor, dusted myself off, and took a look around. It was definitely the biggest room of them all. I couldn't even see the door from where I was. Various brush and trees must have blocked my line of sight with the exit. Up to this point, I figured the rooms were going to get scarier, but this was a paradise compared to the last room. I also assumed whatever was in room four stayed back there. I was incredibly wrong. As I made my way deeper into the room, I began to hear what one would hear if they were in a forest, chirping bugs and the occasional flap of birds seemed to be my only company. That was the

thing that bothered me the most. I heard the bugs and other animals, but I didn't see any of them. I began to wonder how big this house was. From the outside, when I first walked up to it, it looked like a regular house. It was definitely on the bigger side, but there was almost an entire forest in here. The canopy covered my view of the ceiling, but I assumed it was still there, however high I was. I couldn't see any walls either. The only way I knew I was still inside was that the floor matched the other rooms with standard dark wood paneling. I kept walking, hoping that the next tree I passed would reveal the door. After a few moments of walking, I felt a mosquito fly onto my arm. I shook it off and kept going. A second later, I felt about 10 more land all over

my skin. I felt them crawl up and down my arms and legs and a few made their way across my face. I flailed wildly to get them off, but they just kept crawling. I looked down and let out a muffled scream, more of a whimpered, to be honest. I didn't see a single bug. Not one bug was on me, but I could feel them crawl. I heard them fly by my face and sting my skin, but I couldn't see a single one. I dropped to the ground and began to roll wildly. I was desperate. I was desperate. I was I hated bugs, especially ones I couldn't see or touch, but these bugs could touch me and they were everywhere. I began to crawl.

I had no idea where I was going. The entrance was nowhere in sight, and I still hadn't ever seen the exit. So I just crawled. My skin wriggling with the presence of those phantom bugs. After what seemed like hours, I found the door. I grabbed the nearest tree and prop myself up, mindlessly slapping my arms and legs to no avail. I tried to run, but I couldn't. My body was exhausted from crawling and dealing with whatever it was that was on me.

I took a few shaky steps of the door, grabbing each tree on the way for support. It was only a few feet away from it when I heard it, the low hum from before. It was coming from the next room and it was deeper. I could almost feel it inside my body like when you stand next to an amp at a concert. The feeling of the bugs on me lessened as the hum grew louder. As I placed my hand on the doorknob, the bugs were completely gone, but I couldn't bring myself to turn the knob. I knew that if I let go, the bugs would return and there was no way I would make it back to room four. I just stood there.

My head pressed against the door marked six in my hand shakily grasping the knob. The hum was so loud I couldn't even hear myself pretend to think. There was nothing I could do but move on. Room six was next, and room six was hell. I closed the door behind me. My eyes held shut and my ears ringing. The hum was surrounding me. As the door clicked into place, the hum was gone. I opened my eyes in surprise and the door I had shut was gone. It was just a wall now. I looked around in shock. The room was identical to room three. The same chair and lamp, but with the correct amount of shadows this time. The only real difference

was that there was no exit door and the one I came in through was gone. As I said before, I had no issues in terms of mental instability, but at that moment I fell into what I know now was insanity. I didn't scream. I didn't make a sound. At first I scratched softly. The wall was tough, but I knew the door was there somewhere. I just knew it was. I scratched at where the doorknob was. I clawed at the wall frantically with both hands. My nails being filed down to the skin against the wood. I fell silently to my knees. The only sound in the room, the incessant scratching against the wall. I knew it was there. The door was there. I knew it was just there. I knew if I could just get past this wall. Are you all right? I jumped off the ground

and spun in one motion. I leaned against the wall behind me and I saw what it was that spoke to me. To this day, I regret ever turning around. There was a little girl. She was wearing a soft white dress that went down to her ankles. She had long, blonde hair to the middle. of her back and white skin and blue eyes. She was the most frightening thing I had ever seen, and I know that nothing in my life will ever be as unnerving as what I saw in her. While looking at her, I saw something else. Where she stood, I saw what looked like a man's body, only larger than normal and covered in hair. He was naked from head to toe. But his head was not human and his toes were hooves. It wasn't the devil, but at that moment, it might as well have been. The form had the head of a

ram and the snout of a wolf. It was horrifying and it was synonymous with the little girl in front of me. They were the same form. I can't really describe it, but I saw them at the same time. They shared the same spot in that room, but it was like looking at two separate dimensions. When I saw the girl, I saw the form. When I saw the form, I saw the girl. I couldn't speak. I could barely, eat. see. My mom was revolted against what it was attempting to process. I've been scared before my life and had never been more scared than when I was trapped in the fourth room and that was before room six. I just stood there, staring at whatever it was that spoke to me. There was no exit. I was trapped here with it. And then it spoke again. David. You should have listened. When it spoke,

I heard the words of the little girl. But the other form spoke. through my mind in a voice I won't attempt to describe. There was no other sound. The voice just kept repeating the sentence over and over in my mind and I agreed. I didn't know what to do. I was slipping into madness, yet couldn't take my eyes off what was in front of me. I dropped to the floor. I thought I had passed out, but the room wouldn't let me. I just wanted it to end. I was on my side, my eyes wide open and the form staring down at me. Scaring, across the room in front of me was one of the battery-powered rats from the second room. The house was toying with me. For some reason, seeing that rat pulled my mind back from whatever depth it was

headed. I looked around the room. I was getting out of there. I was determined to escape the house and live and never think about this place again. I knew this room was hell and I wasn't ready to take up a residency. At first, it was just my eyes that moved. I searched the walls for any kind of opening. The room wasn't that big, so it didn't take long to soak up the entire layout. The demon still taunted me, the voice growing louder as the form stayed rooted where it stood. I placed my hand on the floor, lifted myself up to all fours, and turned to scan the wall behind me. Then I saw something I couldn't believe. The form was now right at my back, whispering into my mind about how I shouldn't have come.

I felt its breath on the back of my neck, but I refused to turn around. A large rectangle was scratched into the wood, with a small dent chipped away in the center of it. Right in front of my eyes, I saw the large seven I had mindlessly etched into the wall. I knew what it was. Room 7 was just beyond that wall where Room 5 was moments ago. I don't know how I had done it. Maybe it was just my state of mind at the time, but I had created the door. I knew I had.

In my madness, I had scratched into the wall what I needed the most and exit to the next room. room seven was close i knew the demon was right behind me but for some reason it couldn't touch me i closed my eyes and placed both hands on the large seven in front of me i pushed i pushed as hard as i could the demon was now screaming in my ear it told me i was never leaving it told me at this was the end but i wasn't going to die i was going to live there in room six with it i wasn't i pushed and screamed at the top of my lungs, I knew I was going to push through the wall eventually. I clenched my eyes shut and screamed, and the demon was gone. I was left in silence and turned around slowly and was greeted by the room as I was when I entered, just a chair and a lamp. I couldn't believe it, but I didn't have time

to waste. I turned back to the seven and jump back slightly. What I saw was a door. It wasn't the one I had scratched in, but a regular door with a large seven on it. My whole body was shaking. It took me a out to turn the knob. I just stood there for a while, staring at the door. I couldn't stay in room six. I couldn't. But if this was only room six, I couldn't imagine what seven had in store. I must have stood there for an hour just staring at the seven. Finally, with a deep breath, I twisted the knob and opened the door to room seven. I stumbled through the door, mentally exhausted and physically weak. The door behind me closed and I realized where I was. I was outside. Not outside like room five, but actually outside.

My eyes stung. I wanted to cry. I felt to my knees and tried, but I couldn't. I was finally out of that hell. I didn't even care about the prize I was promised. I turned and saw that the door I just went through was the entrance. I walked to my car and drove home, thinking of how nice a shower sounded. As I pulled up to my house, I felt uneasy.

The joy of leaving no-end house had faded. and dread was slowly building in my stomach. I shook it off as a residual from the house and made my way to the front door. I entered and immediately went up to my room. There on my bed was my cat. Baskerville. He was the first living thing I'd seen all night and I reached to pet him. He hissed and swiped at my hand.

I recoiled in shock as he had never acted like that. I thought, whatever, he's an old cat. I jumped in the shower and got ready for what I was expecting to be a sleepless night. After my shower, I went to the kitchen and made something to eat. I had ascended the stairs and turned into the family room. What I saw would be forever burned into my mind, however. My parents were lying on the ground, naked and covered in blood. They had been mutilated to near unidentifiable states.

Their limbs have been removed and placed next to their bodies and their heads sat in their chest facing me. The most unsettling part was their expressions. They were smiling. as though they were happy to see me. I vomited and sobbed there in the family room. I didn't know what had happened. They didn't even live with me at the time. I was a mess.

Then I saw it, a door that was never there before. A door with large eight scrawled on it in blood. I was still in the house. I was standing in my family room, but I was in room seven. The faces of my parents smiled wider as I realized this. They weren't my parents. They couldn't be, but they looked exactly like them. The door marked eight was across the room behind the mutilated bodies in front of me.

I knew I had to move on, but at that moment I gave up. The smiling faces tore into my mind. They grounded me where I stood. I vomited it again and nearly collapsed. Then the hum started. It was louder than ever, and it filled the house and shook the walls. The hum compelled me forwards. I began to move slowly, making my way closer to the door and the bodies.

I could barely stand, let alone walk. And the closer I got to my parents, the closer I came to S-word. The walls were now shaking so hard it seemed as though they were going to crumble, but still the faces smiled at me. As I inched closer, their eyes followed me. I was now between the two bodies, a few feet away from the door. The dismembered hands clawed their way across the carpet towards me, all while the faces continued to stare.

New terror washed over me, and I walked faster. I didn't want to hear them speak. I didn't want the voices to match those of my parents. They began to open their mouths and their hands were inches from my feet. In a dash of desperation, I lunged towards the door, threw it open, and slammed it behind me. Room 8. I was done. After what I had just experienced, I knew there wasn't anything else's fucking house could throw

up me that I couldn't live through. There was nothing short of the fires of hell that I wasn't ready for. Unfortunately, I underestimated the abilities of no-end house. Unfortunately, things got more disturbing, more terrifying. and more unspeakable in room eight. I still have trouble believing what I saw in room eight. Again, the room was a carbon copy of rooms three and six, but sitting in the unusually empty chair was a man.

After a few seconds of disbelief, my mind it finally accepted the fact that the man sitting in the chair was me. Not someone who looked like me. It was David Williams. I walked closer. I had to get a better look, even though I was sure of it. He looked up at me and I noticed tears in his eyes. Please, please don't do it. Please don't hurt me.

What? I asked. Who are you? I'm not going to hurt you. Yes, you are. He was sobbing now. You're going to hurt me and I don't want you to. He sat in the chair with his legs up and began walking back and forth. He was actually pretty pathetic looking, especially since he was me, identical in every way. Listen, who are you? I was now only a few feet from my doppelganger. It was the weird experienced yet standing there talking to myself. I wasn't scared, but I would be soon. Why are you? You're going to hurt me. You're going to hurt me. If you want to leave, you're going to hurt me. Why are you saying this? Just calm down, all right. Let's try and figure this. And then I saw it.

The David's sitting down was wearing the same clothes as me, except for a small red patch on his shirt embroidered with the number nine. You're going to hurt me. You're going to hurt me. You're going to hurt me. Don't, please. You're going to hurt me. Myes didn't leave the small number on his chest. I knew exactly what it was. The first few doors were plain and simple, but after a while they got a little more ambiguous. Seven was scratching the wall, but by my own hands. Eight was marked in blood above my parents' bodies. But nine, this number was on a person, a living person.

Worse still is it was on a person that looked exactly like me. me. David, I had to ask. Yes, you're going to hurt me. You're going to hurt me. He continued to sob and rock. He answered to David. He was me. Right down to the voice. But that nine, I paced around for a few minutes while he sobbed in his chair. The room had no door and, similarly to room six, the door I came through was gone. For some time I assumed that scratching would get me nowhere this time. I studied the walls and floor of the chair, sticking my head underneath and seen if anything was below. Unfortunately, there was.

Below the chair was a knife. Attached was a tag that read, to David, from management. The feeling in my stomach as I read that tag was something sinister. I felt like throwing up. The last thing I wanted to do was remove that knife from under the chair.

The other David was still sobbing uncontrollably. My mind was spinning into an attic of unanswerable questions. Who put this here and how? how did they get my name? Not to mention the fact that as I knelt on the cold wood floor, I also sat in that chair, sobbing in protest of being hurt by myself. It was all too much to process. The house and the management had been playing with me this whole time. My thoughts, for some reason, turned to Peter and whether or not he got this far. If he did. If he met Peter Terry

sobbing in this very chair rocking back and forth, I shook those thoughts out of my head. didn't matter. I took the knife from under the chair, and immediately the other David went quiet. David, he said in my voice, What do you think you're going to do? I lifted myself from the ground and clenched the knife in my hand. I'm going to get out of here. David was still sitting in the chair, though he was very calm now.

He looked up at me with a slight grin. I couldn't tell if he was going to laugh or strangle me. Slowly, he got up from the chair and stood, facing me. It was uncanny. His height and even the way he stood matched mine. I felt the rubber hilt of the knife and my hand ingrifted tighter. I don't know what I was planning on doing with it, but I had a feeling I was going to need it. Now, his voice was slightly deeper than my own.

I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you and I'm going to keep you here. I didn't respond. I just lunged and tackled him to the ground. I mounted him and looked down, knife poised and ready. He looked up at me terrified. It was like I was looking in the mirror. Then the hum returned, low and distant,

though I still feel it was deep in my body. David looked up at me as I looked down at myself. The hum was getting louder and I felt something inside me snap. With one motion, I slammed the knife into the patch on his chest and ripped down. Blackness fell on the room and I was falling. The darkness around me was nothing like I had experienced up to that point. room four was dark, but it didn't come close to what I was completely engulfed me. I wasn't even sure if I was falling out after a while.

I felt weightless, covered in dark. Then a deep sadness came over me. I felt lost, depressed, S word. The side of my parents entered my mind. I knew it wasn't real, but I had seen it. And the mind was trouble, differentiating between what is real and what isn't. The sadness only deepened. I was in room nine for what seemed like,

days. The final room, and that's exactly what it was. The end. No end house had an end, and I had reached it. At that moment, I gave up. I knew I would be in that in-between state forever, accompanied by nothing but darkness. Not even the hum was there to keep me sane. I'd lost all senses. I couldn't feel myself. I couldn't hear anything. Sight was completely useless here. I searched for a taste in my mouth and found nothing. I felt disembodied and completely. lost. I knew where I was. This was hell. Room 9 was hell. Then it happened. A light. One of those stereotypical lights at the end of the tunnel. I felt ground come up from below me and I was standing. After a moment or two of gathering my thoughts and senses, I slowly walked towards the light.

As I approached the light, it took form. It was a vertical slit down the side of an unmarked door. I slowly walked towards the door and found myself back where I started. The lobby of no end house. It was exactly how I left it. Still empty, still decorated with childish Halloween decorations, and everything that had happened that night I was still wary of where I was. After a few moments of normalcy, I looked around the place, trying to find anything different. On the desk was a plain white envelope with my name handwritten on it, immensely curious, yet still cautious. I mustered up the courage to open the envelope. Inside was a letter, again handwritten.

David Williams, congratulations. You have made it to the end of the no-end house. Please accept this prize as a token of great achievement. Yours forever. Management. With the letter were five, $100 bills. I couldn't stop laughing. I laughed for what seemed like hours.

I laughed as I walked as I walked. out to my car and laughed as I drove home. I laughed as I pulled into my driveway. I laughed as I opened my front door to my house and as I saw the small ten etched into the wood. Mr. Wide Mouth During my childhood my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight and there we remained until I went to college in Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we lived in when I was much younger.

Most of these memories are unclear and pointless, chasing after another boy in the backyard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on a creek behind the apartment we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on, as though they were made just yesterday. I often wonder whether the are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that spring, but in my heart, I know they are real. We are living in a house just outside the bustling metropolis of New Vineyard, Maine, population 643. It was a large structure, especially for a family of three. There were a number of rooms that I didn't see in the five months we resided there.

In some ways, it was a waste of space, but it was the only house on the market at the time, at least within an hour's commute to my father's place of work. The day after my fifth birthday, attended by my parents alone, I came down with a fever. The doctors said I had moniuclosis, which meant no rough play and more fever for at least another three weeks. It was horrible timing to be bedridden. We were in the process of packing our things to move to Pennsylvania,

and most of my stuff was already sealed away in boxes, leaving my room barren. My mother brought me gingerail and books several times a day. They serve the function of being my primary form of entertainment for the next few weeks. Bortem always loomed just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and compound my misery. I don't exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with Mono. My first memory of the small creature was asking him if he had a name.

He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his body. His head, his eyes, his crooked ears, but his mouth was by far the largest. You look like some kind of Furby, I said as he flipped through one of my books. Mr. Wide Mouth stopped and gave me a puzzled look. Furby, what's a Furby? he asked. I shrugged. You know, the toy, the little robot with the big ears.

You can stroke them and feed them almost like a real pet. Oh, Mr. Widemouth resumed his activity. You don't need one of those. They aren't the same as having a real friend. I remember Mr. Wide Mouth disappearing every time my mother stopped by to check in on me. I lay under your bed, he later explained. I don't want your parents to see me because I'm afraid they won't let us play anymore. We didn't do much during those first few days.

Mr. Weimouth just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained. The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with him. a large smile on his face. I have a new game we can play, he said. We have to wait until after your mother comes a check on you because she can't see us play it. It's a secret game. After my mother delivered more books and soda at the usual time, Mr. Wide Mouth slipped out from under the bed and tugged my hand.

We have to go to the room at the end of the hallway, he said. I objected at first as my parents had forbidden me to leave my bed without their permission, but Mr. Wide Mouth persisted until I gave in. The room in question had no furniture or wallpaper. Its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway. Mr. Widemouth darted across and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open. He then beckoned me to look out at the ground below. We were on the second story of the house, but it was on a hill, and from this angle the drop was

farther than two stories due to the incline. I like to play pretend here, Mr. Weimouth explained. I repent there is a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I just jump. If you pretend hard enough, you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try. I was a five-year-old boy with a fever, so only a hint of skepticism darted through my thoughts as I looked down and considered the possibility. It's a long drop, I said. But that's all part of the fun. It would be exciting if there was a short drop. If it were that way, you might as well just bounce off a real trampoline. I toyed with the idea, picturing myself falling through thin air,

only to bounce back to the window on some unseen by human eyes. But the realist in me prevailed. Maybe some other time I said. I don't know if I have enough imagination. I could get hurt. Mr. Wide Mous's face contorted into a snarl, but only for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment. If you say so, he said.

He spent the rest of the day under my bed quiet as a mouse. The following morning, Mr. Wide Mouth arrived holding a small box. I want to teach you out of juggle, he said. Here are some things you can use to practice. Before I start giving you lessons. I looked in the box. It was full of knives. My parents will kill me, I shouted.

Horrified that Mr. Widemouth has brought me knives into my room. Objects that made parents would never allow me to touch. I'll be spanked and grounded for a year. Mr. Widemouth frowned. It's fun to juggle with these. I want you to try. I push the box away.

I can't. I'll get in trouble. Knives aren't safe to just throw around in the air. Mr. Wide Mouth's frowned deepened into a scowl. He took the box of knives and slid under my bed, remaining there for the rest of the day. I began to wonder how often he was underneath me. I started having trouble sleeping after that. Mr. Wide Mouth often woke me up at night saying that he had put a real trampoline under the window. A big one, one that I couldn't see in the dark.

I always declined and tried to go back to sleep, but Mr. Wide Mouth persisted. Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning encouraging me to jump. He wasn't so fun to play with anymore. My mother came to me one morning and told me I had her permission to walk around outside. She thought the fresh air would be good for me, especially after being confined to my small room for so long. A static I put on my sneakers and trotted out to the back porch, yearning for the feeling of the sun on my face. Mr. Widemouth was waiting for me. I have something I want you to see, he said.

I must have given a weird look because he's then said, It's safe, I promise. I followed him to the beginning of a deer trail which ran through the woods behind the house. This is an important path, he explained. I've had a lot of friends about your age. When they were ready, I took them down this path to a special place. You aren't ready yet, but one day, I hope to take you there.

I returned to the house wondering what kind of place lay beyond the trail. Two weeks after I met Mr. Widemouth, the last load of our things have been packed into a moving truck. I would soon be in the cab of that truck, sitting next to my father for the long drive to Pennsylvania. I considered telling Mr. Widemouth that I was leaving, but even at five years old, I was beginning to suspect that his intentions were not to my benefit, despite what he said otherwise. For this reason, I decided to keep my departure a secret. My father and I were in the truck at 4 a.m.

He was hoping to make it to Pennsylvania by lunchtime tomorrow, with the help of an endless supply of coffee, and a six-pack of energy drinks. He seemed more like a man about to run a marathon, not one about to spend two days sitting still. Early enough for you, my father asked with a hint of sympathy. I nodded and placed my head against the window, hoping for some sleep before the sun came up. I felt my father's hand on my shoulder.

This is the last move, son. I promise. I know it's been hard for you, as sick as you've been. Once daddy gets promoted, we can settle down, and you can make your friends. I opened my eyes as we backed out of the driveway. Mr. Wide Mouth silhouette was in my bedroom window. He stood motionless until the truck was about to turn onto the main road,

at which point he gave a pitiful little wave goodbye, steak knife and hand. I didn't wave back. Years later, I returned to New Vineyard. The piece of land our house stood upon was empty except for the foundation, as the building had burned down a few years after my family left. Out of curiosity, I followed the deep trail that Mr. Widemouth had shown me. Part of me expected him to jump out from behind a tree and scare the living bejesus out of me,

but I felt that Mr. Widemouth was gone. Somehow tied to the house that no longer existed, the trail ended at the New Vineyard Memorial Cemetery. I noticed that many of the tombstones belonged to children. Chat room 98 Um, hi. I'm currently in bed. inside St. Anne's Hospital in North London.

Dr. Martin kindly allowed me to use his laptop, so I can explain how I got here and what happened to me. My name is David Argento. I'm 16 years old, and apparently I am suffering from a mental illness of some kind. There's only so much I could take in from the doctor's words in the opposite patient room since I have a bloody, massive headache. I've been given a fair amount of ibuprofen, but this headache seems permanent. But I don't care. I absolutely must get this written down at all costs.

Anyway, you might be wondering how I got here. Here is my story. About four nights ago, I went upstairs to the loft and took my old school books to the burning pile. I just finished my G-C-S-E's, and like all my friends, hated every single subject I did. Math, history, English, especially English, where I left them a few months back, or dumped, more like. In a corner that was so old, there was enough dust to make a candy floss, gone candy. I scorned the moment I looked at them again, except I knew this would be the last time I'd have to look at them. So I collected them all underneath one arm, disgusting. I considered changing clothes shortly afterwards, but then something caught my eye.

I'm not really sure how I noticed it, but I remember being so intrigued by it that I dropped the books on the loft floor and picked it up. It was a red CDROM case about the size of an average book. There were no words of any kind, even when I turned it over on the other side. Saw it all. I was kind of excited. It looked like a computer game that the previous house owners had left behind, since I absolutely loved computers at the time I was interested in, giving it a go on my Dell. But when I opened the case, the disc inside lacked any kind of artistic illustrations,

instead just a bland white color with some text written on it in black marker pen. The words were, chat room 98. I wasn't exactly pleased when I learned it wasn't a game, but since someone had actually went through the effort of making a chat room disc, rather than the vast chat rooms available on the internet, I concluded it would be somehow different. That I got right. Having kicked the worthless books down the attic ladder,

I inserted the disc inside my old laptop. After a brief moment, a red box with no text in it appeared. I wasn't sure what to make of it at first, but it seemed to linger there for half a minute. Then the screen went black for a brief moment and flashed. The words, welcome to chat room 98, appeared at the top center of the screen. Chatroom 98, what was the significance of that number? Then what appeared to be a white text box opened in the center? I didn't know. I didn't, know what to type, so I randomly put, hello, I didn't expect any kind of response, but then I got one. A person by the name of Darwin Clark replied, good afternoon. There was no possible way that this person was real. It seemed like I was the only possessor of this chat room disc. Then I realized

it was one of these chatbots, a software designed to simulate an intelligent conversation with whoever talks to it. ICT was the only thing that I was good at. I still thought it was strange, though. I'd only lived in my current house for six years, but I'd never encountered the red box in my entire life. I suppose the house's previous owners must have owned it, but it's not like they owned a computer unless you count the smashed pieces one as they threw away to the dump when we first arrived. Anyway, I tried to start a conversation. To see to what extent the AI had been programmed. Lovely weather were having, I wrote. No sooner than three seconds, Mr. Clark replied, No. It seems rather miserable today. I was taken aback. The weather was, more or less, exactly how he put it. I didn't know either until I looked out the window and saw that it was about to rain. It seemed the books had one more day to live, but I wasn't too surprised. The chatbot was probably programmed to say that, and since this is England I live in, it could have been more than likely. I then typed in. So, what are your favorite movies?

Again, I got a response. I don't watch movies. I prefer the theater. The theater? Was I talking to an old man? I replied, how old are you? I didn't care if the Bach got offended. It would have given me an answer eventually.

The answer was, I'll tell you about myself. I was born in 1867 and grew up with two sisters whom I hated. Okay, right. Whoever programmed this was clearly having a laugh. I type back, laughing hysterically as I wrote, well, I was born in 2098 with two identical twin brothers who are also aliens from the planet, Boogaloo, I'm also Jesus. I wondered what the senile old man would say next.

I knew it was a chapbot, but I kept thinking it was a real person for some unexplainable reason. He said, really? How droll, nice to meet you, Mr. Jesus. Have your brothers abducted anyone yet? I cracked up again. Whoever made this must have done an impressive job. I typed in. Yes, they are actually alien pedophiles who prey on human children.

You'd better watch out. They also have a fetish for CDROMs. The next reply was just plain unsettling. Clark replied, Well, although I may appear to be a CDROM, I was actually a human myself. Once, until I faced judgment for my transgressions. I didn't know what the fuck he was saying, but the poignant detail of his description startled me for a second.

It felt real, too real. And then, to my surprise, he typed another message. You don't understand? Let me make myself plain. My sisters, whom I hated, met with a tragic accident. I was starting to feel cold. This was not just a chatbot. This must have been a psycho chatbot or something, or it was a big joke.

I typed in to see his reaction. Do you know what else my brothers have done lately? and then I was met with the biggest surprise of all. Darwin Clark responded again, only this time I could see his message being typed. Like a ticker, tape typewriter. You were an only child, David. What the actual fuck? I was seriously getting creeped out now, so I typed in,

What the fuck are you? And the response simply couldn't have been made by AI. It seemed too much like a human was actually talking to me. Let me tell you a story. Do you know what happened to your house's previous owners? I sat there like an idiot, staring at the computer, awaiting a response. The same that happened to my two sisters. Remember, I despised both of them.

That was it. I moved the cursor to the top right corner to click the cross button and end this nightmare. I was relieved. I'd only been talking to it for five minutes, but it seemed like two hours. But when I tried to shut down the PC, the unthinkable happened. The computer became unresponsive. It went all glitched and fucked up. Worse still, the chat room opened by itself.

I got another message, and by this time I was sure to be hallucinating by now. You have not heard everything yet. I scrambled at the keyboard. I was losing my mind. Are you fucking with my computer? Stop. This is seriously not funny. Finally, I think this is where it happened.

Darwin Clark typed in again. This time in a much slower, ticker, tape, typewriting fashion, than last time. I could hear nothing more than my own heartbeat. It intensified more and more with each passing letter. My face was practically melting with sweat. As I focused more and more on the letters as they were being typed, the horrified expression on my face would have become so visible. I think I remember seeing it in the reflection on my laptop. The final message that he gave me, which lost me my sanity and ruined my health, was look behind. you. I remember feeling as if everything around me was slowing down. I really was worried.

Part of me knew that there'd be something behind, and a smaller part tried to assure me that there was nothing there. I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth violently together, then shot my head back like a bullet. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I spat out a weak laughter and nodded my head in relief, and I felt like everything was safe again, until I looked back. to my computer monitor. I must have seen it in that moment I swiveled my chair, but it caught me anyway. There was a face. A fucking face of a man. A fucking pale, white man who was grinning at me on my laptop screen. His hair was blonde and he seemed to be in his mid-20s, but his facial expression was the exact opposite of friendly. His eyes were crimson red. I only saw it. I only saw a

for a nanosecond of a nanosecond. But that was all I could take. After that, apparently I screamed violently and then fell unconscious for four hours. As what Dr. Martin told me. He's the guy looking after me at the moment. He really doesn't know what I've been through, so here I am, sitting in bed at 4.30 a.m. typing the story to the world. Even as I type, I still worry that the face will appear once again and scare the shit out of me.

I seem to be suffering from a trauma. My eyes have grown dark purple circles around them. because I have literally not slept at all since the incident. I tried sleeping, but that face. That face stops me from sleeping. Now that I've written this story, I urge everybody to watch out. If you see a red CD-R-O-M case, throw it away. Do not open it and do not use it.

I'm now going to jump out of a third-story window. I can't take this anymore. I am fucking scared. I want to die now. If anyone tries to resuscitate me, then fuck you too. And do not. I repeat, do not go looking for Darwin Clark. He may or may not be real, but he can drive you insane.

You have read this message. Do not look for Darwin Clark. If you find him, you will lose your mind. The Harbinger Experiment. The world we live in is full of things we don't understand. being the curious humans that we are, we naturally try and seek these things out. Doing so has led us to remarkable discoveries and inventions that we never could have imagined a hundred years ago. We've defeated disease, built to the sky itself, and even created machines

that could take us beyond the clouds and into the stars. If our ancestors could see us in what we have created, I'm sure many of them would see us as gods. Our innate curiosity and lust for knowledge has not always led us to greatness, however. True evil and darkness have also been uncovered in humanity's conquest of knowledge. And in the end, I fear this evil will be our doom. I would not say this from the standpoint of a great philosopher who has sat and simply pondered things either. No, I say these things because I have seen it. Experienced it. I was a part of it. The event I am going to relate to you is true in its entirety. This, I swear.

I feel certain that this will fall on deaf ears, and many of you will believe this to be just another spooky story meant to give you cheap thrills, but I promise you that this is neither my intent nor my purpose. The purpose of this story is to simply warn you of what lurks beyond the veil, of what we can see and understand, to show you what awaits us in the darkness. even if I myself don't understand it.

What I am going to tell you has happened, and I will certain it will happen again. In 1971, a not-so-well-known scientist began preparations for an extremely secretive project known simply as the Harbinger experiment. I'd like to keep the identity of a scientist, a secret for personal reasons, so throughout this recounting, I will refer to him as Zimmerman. Zimmerman's background is unclear at best beyond 1971. All that has known about him before that time is that he had grown up somewhere in Maryland with a strange fascination of the occult and supernatural.

This later made him an outcast among his fellow scientists due to how scoffed upon the metaphysical was and still is at the time. Zimmerman's opinions concerning the otherworldly were not the sole cause of him being an outcast, though. It was his methods that made him widely unconstitutional. accepted among his peers. Zimmerman was well known during his time for being ruthless and cold beyond measure. He never cared about the means. All that mattered to him was results. And if he predicted the results to be valuable enough, anything would be worth obtaining them. It was this insatiable

and brutal lust for the truth that made him feared among those who knew him. And the few that knew of him, and did not fear him, believed in him, and followed him in his work closely. The word, Harbinger, itself, has such a mysterious and intimidating taste to it. Maybe it's the way it rolls from our tongues, or maybe it's simply due to its association with the project. But the word always seems to carry a certain amount of doom with it. Which would make sense. The word itself means to warn or forebode.

I can't imagine Zimmerman's reason for giving this experiment, this title, but in retrospect, it fits perfectly. Zimmerman came to a select few. me being one of them. He told us he was working on something big and that he needed people who could work confidentiality and not spread idle gossip of his work. While we did not fully trust some of us, he did know that we were professionals and that for some reason or another, we are all in dire need of employment. I'd worked at the local clinic as a doctor, but I was caught stealing medication and was probably fired. This left a very dark mark on my resume.

so work was hard to find. I was also native to Alaska and lived near where the experiment would take place, so I guess you could say I was a convenient choice. As you can imagine, I jumped at the opportunity. It was hard not to when I saw the payout. Fifteen of us were hired in total. Some were colleagues of his that had been working for them for a while. Some were maintenance workers and a few were hired as private security.

I was the only medical professional to be hired. It is still a wonder to me how he even obtained the funds necessary for the experiment. I would not be wholly surprised if his financing was not entirely legal. But legal or not, I needed the money, and he was paying. Looking back as a decision I have come to regret. After Zimmerman obtained his money, he used it to buy a relatively large plot of land, deep in the frozen wilderness of Alaska. And upon that piece of land, Zimmerman built a concrete structure, not dissimilar to a bunker,

in fact. The sole difference between that, its goal was to keep any potential damage contained within the structure rather than keeping it out, as he put it. Most of the structure dug underneath the earth, which had the effect of making the underground complex seemed so much smaller than it really was from the outside, as would be expected. There was only one way of entering and leaving the underground structure. And it was via a ladder that led from a small, unassuming concrete building on the surface, which I will refer to from now on as the entrance building for convenience, to the network below.

After everyone had gone to bed at night, the hatch that contained the ladder would be sealed off with a very large and thick metal lid. Zimmerman was very strict about this. Located not too far away from the entrance building was a series of wooden cabins that would serve as the sleeping quarters for the staff Zimmerman had hired. Compared to the entrance building standing on the surface, the underground system was massive. At the center of the complex was the control room. This is where all the facilities electronics and such were linked to. This included security cameras, lights, and door controls. Consuls, monitors, and computers lined the walls of this large central chamber. This is also where the

ladder in the entrance building connected to in the underground complex. Connected to the control room were three doors. One led to a smaller room that served as the infirmary. Another door led to a break room and the last door led into the hallways. The hallways are where the complex began to feel extremely eerie. They were for some reason laid out an extremely confusing scheme that led in circles and to complete dead ends. These hallways made up a vast majority of the complex and it would be very easy to get lost in the maze if you were unfamiliar with the complex. But if you knew where you were going, you would find yourself standing before one of three eight-by-eight-eight rooms before long. Each room had a camera hooked up to one of the corners of the room, and all three

of those cameras were connected to a corresponding monitor in the control room. Cameras were also scattered throughout the hallway so that whoever was watching their corresponding monitor could see anywhere they wanted to, when they wanted to. Thick metal doors stood at the entrance to each of the three eight-by-eight rooms, and in order to open them, you would have to enter a four-digit code into a panel located near the door. I remember when I first arrived at the complex, how badly the hallways frightened me. I have always been claustrophobic, you see, and these hallways were so very narrow. The noise, or more accurately, the lack of noise, was also a tremendous source of fear for me in those bleak, narrow hallways.

It was always so unnaturally silent as if the entire world had stopped moving. It really made you feel like you were trapped down there. Thankfully, though, I only rarely ventured into those hallways for I was the only medical professional in the facility, and I had virtually no reason to go into them. In the beginning, I found it so peculiar that Zimmerman would ask for a medical professional like me on a project. like this, but by the time it was all over, I understood why. The official purpose of the Harbinger experiment was to test and observe the effects of extended isolation on the human mind. This is what was listed on reports being sent out at least, but unbeknownst to all of those

who were not participating in the project, excluding the subjects, the true purpose was much darker. Like I said before, Zimmerman had always had an obsession with the occult and supernatural. He sought to prove himself to those who did not believe in him. He wanted physical proof that the supernatural was a real phenomenon, and he wanted to be the first one to attain said proof. The true purpose of the Harbinger experiment was to find proof of the metal physical, a world we cannot see.

The thought of doing this was naturally a tad bit daunting and even scary, but it was Zimmerman's method of doing so was truly terrifying. Zimmerman believed that he would be able to open a portal between worlds momentarily, allowing three random entities to cross over to our world. And each one of these beings would be trapped within one of the three rooms. Zimmerman had the theory that an entity would try and latch on to the nearest living thing that had the capacity for it. He wanted to use this technique to trap a spirit in a physical form by allowing it to enter

a living being that had been injected with a compound mixture of Zimmerman's creation. In theory, this compound would keep the entity from simply leaving whatever it was attached to. The only way it would be able to leave the host who had been ejected with the compound was through death. According to Zimmerman, the host would have to be something living with a will strong enough to survive the possession. There is only one species that possesses the amount of will required for this. Humans. Zimmerman had also done something to ensure that the entities would only end up. to the three rooms and that there would only be one entity in each room, though I cannot say I know

what exactly he did. In fact, I know next to nothing when it comes to how Zimmerman managed to do what he did. He liked to keep his methodology a secret to his most trusted colleagues, most likely due to paranoia that someone would steal his ideas and then take credit for the success of said ideas. If I had known that this was the true purpose before I signed up, I may have reconsidered. But Zimmerman decided not to tell us until we were all gathered at his fortress. Even if any of us wanted to leave, I doubt we would have been able to allow it to do so. The security team Zimmerman had hired was loyal to him in the payout. It is not likely that Zimmerman had given them the order to now allow anyone to leave.

There were three different subjects included in the experiment. All were native to Alaska, and each one was lured into the project under the belief that they would be part participating in a harmless study of the effect of isolation on the human mind, as I mentioned before, which is why none of these subjects objected when they realized that they would be confined to one of the three rooms that I mentioned earlier. The first subject was a young man. He was apparently out of work and desperately needed the money that had been offered for participating in the study. The second was a woman. By looking at her, I could tell she was an addict of some sort. The third and final subject was an older man.

drifter if I had to guess. One thing that they all had in common was that none of them had a family or friends left. In short, no one would miss them, which is why they were chosen for the project. I'm sorry, I wish I could supply more information about the subjects, but all of this has been drawn from memory and I was given little information on the three to begin with. The experiment did not officially begin until 1987, 16 years after its original announcement. I was eager to begin, so I packed up and headed out to the complex as soon as I could. I arrived to the compound a week before the subjects, had even signed up, and a whole month before the project even began. I was not the first to arrive by any means when I got there, Zimmerman, his colleagues, and the security team had already arrived.

I suppose you could say I was among the people, Zimmerman did not trust who arrived first. Everyone had arrived about a week before the experiment began. There was a noticeable rift between, between those who were there simply for the money, like me, and those who were followers of Zimmerman. On October 15, 1987, all the preparations were in place. The subjects had been sealed in their rooms, the cameras, lights, and speakers were fully operational and all the staff members had settled in.

The time had come for the experiment to officially begin. Zimmerman asked everyone to report to the control room around 9 p.m. to witness the beginning of the experiment. He wanted everyone to be present, when he proved that all the theories had been correct, that he was not just a madman. He wanted us all to see the fruits of his labor. When everyone had finally gathered in the large control room, Zimmerman turned to us and simply said, Observe. He then turned his back to us, leaned into the microphone that would project his voice

through the three rooms, and then he began chanting in a strange language that I feel certain no one but Zimmerman could understand. We all observed the three large monitors on the wall, silently waiting for something to happen. The subjects all stood in their room, dumbstruck by Zimmerman chanting, staring at the monitors with confused expressions on their faces. After about five minutes, I felt something. Awful. I cannot explain what exactly it was, but a horrible feeling of dread washed over me, riddling me with fear. It was then that the ground began actually shaking suddenly, and the lights began to flicker. Zimmerman continued chanting into the microphone as if nothing was off or wrong while the subjects began dashing around their rooms, screaming for help.

Then suddenly the ground stopped shaking, and the monitor's image turned into static. The air began to become very heavy as we all stared at the monitors, waiting for them to regain their image and show us what was happening or had happened in those three rooms. For a while, all was silent, but then there was screaming. The screams of a woman, going through unbearable pain and terror, began to echo through the compound. The similar screams of men began to coincide with the woman's terrified screams, and together they mixed into an awful symphony of pain and fear that beat mercilessly into our ears. Those of us who were here for the money began to give each other scared looks,

while those loyal to Zimmerman seemed completely unfazed. We wanted to leave and never come back to this awful place, but we knew all deep down that Zimmerman would never allow that to happen. We were here for the long haul. There was no escape. It was 10.13 p.m. when the screaming finally stopped. The monitors had yet to reveal to us what had occurred in those three rooms. As soon as the screaming ended, Zimmerman stood and dismissed us all for the night,

adding that we were all forbidden to come back into the compound until 10 a.m. tomorrow morning, not like any of us wanted to. We all solemnly made our way out of the compound and towards the cabins and settled in for the night. I feel it is safe to say that not all of us slept well that night, and I was not one of them. The following morning, all of the staff had arrived at the entrance building. We all stood inside exchanging tired or nervous looks as we waited for Zimmerman to arrive and open the hatch and concealed the ladder. I could see palpable fear in the eyes of some of us, while others did not seem to have been even remotely affected by what happened last night.

Zimmerman showed us five minutes after ten, apologizing for his tardiness as he came through the door of the entrance building. He opened the hatch and, without any hesitation, began descending the ladder downwards into the black abyss. He almost seemed enthusiastic. I was the first to follow behind Zimmerman's dark descent into the facility. It seemed that the farther I climbed down, the more the darkness closed in on me,

as if it was trying to swallow me whole. And as I climbed deeper, I couldn't help but feel that this place was different somehow. While before there was only the unsettling concrete hallways and rooms, now there was something else. Something made the eerie-ness feel so real and personified. I felt like I was a horrible and gruesome scene awaited us down there. But I continued climbing downward, despite my fear and my hesitation. This was no longer just a spooky bunker. There was darkness and malevolence in the air.

A true evil now lived here, and I could feel it. We all could. I finally felt my foot touched ground and led a silent sigh of relief to be on solid ground, almost as if on cue the light bulbs came alive, dousing the room in their warm and welcome light. Zimmerman might have turned on the power, I thought. I allowed myself to take a couple seconds to examine the control room. It was exactly as we had left it last night, for which I gave a silent and thankful prayer. It was almost as if as nothing unusual had ever happened.

I shook myself from my thoughts as I remembered the static-filled monitors from the night before. I let my eyes slowly make their way towards the monitors on the wall, anticipating the grim and fearful scenes that would be on them. My attention was first grabbed by Monitor 1 and 3, which were still pure static. It would have been a small relief, but then the motionless image on Monitor 2 caught my eye. Room 2 was entirely still and everything seemed in. entirely untouched. I couldn't help but gasp when I noticed the only thing that was different. The woman lay in the center of the small concrete room. An expression of fear and terror was

frozen into her gaunt face as she lay silent and lifeless on her back. Zimmerman's expression turned angry when he saw this. He ordered the second monitor be turned off and it was. We didn't ask why. It's not like any of us wanted to see the dreadful scene any longer. He also ordered that if the images in the monitors 1 and 3 did not return within the next two hours, the security team would be sent to investigate the rooms. The security team nodded at hearing this. They made it seem as if they had no fear, but I could see it in their eyes. The subtly loud, tick-talk of the clock was the only sound that echoed through the control

room while I stared at the monitors. An hour and 50 minutes had gone by, and static was still all that occupied monitor 1 and 3. All of the other staff members were working except me. This was due to the fact that the project had been completely injury-free thus far, so I essentially had nothing to do but wait for someone to hurt themselves. Zimmerman, a couple of his colleagues, and I were the only ones that occupied the room. They quietly chatted amongst each other on the other side of the room, while I spent my time reading and pondering the situation I currently found myself in.

I'd clearly made a mistake coming here, the corpse lying in the room. the room two was evidenced enough of this, and God only knew what awaited us in rooms one and three. My thoughts were soon interrupted as Monitor 3's image returned. The clear image now displayed on the screen made everyone's eyes noticeably widen. What was displayed on the monitor was horrifying. A humanoid thing stood in the center of the room staring directly at the camera unmoving. It was wearing the jumpsuit that subject three had been issued. But this clearly was not the same man that had entered the room. What caught my attention first was his eyes. They were solid, blackened twice the size of normal human eyes. They seemed so, so endless and so cold.

Its head had also grown with the eyes in such a symmetrical and unsettling manner. The being had also shed all of the hair it once had, and even from the monitor, I could see how unnaturally smooth and clear its skin was. It also seemingly grown in heightened stature, which could be seen in the fact that the jumpsuit was now obviously far too small for its wearer. Its limbs had grown especially long, its arms hung almost as low as the creature's knees. What we were looking at was in no way the same man we had sent inside. Fear

Fear. Fear was all I felt. felt as I continued to stare into the monitor at the thing in the room. And my fear seemed to be shared by those around me, which made me feel kind of good. It may sound awful, but it was a bit satisfying to see that Zimmerman and his colleagues could feel fear too. But at the same time, it was worrying because this showed that this was not part of Zimmerman's plan.

Something had gone wrong. We all stared into the monitor at the thing despite our fear. It was almost as if we were in a trance. My already present fear began to grow and spread rapidly through my body as I became lost in the creature's eyes, trapped in its terrifying, hypnotic gaze. After what felt like forever, I managed to break eye contact with the creature and divert my attention from the monitor. And when I did so, I felt my fear levels dropped considerably. After a short while, Zimmerman ordered his security team to make their way to subject one's door, just as he said he would do. The security team left without a question, armed only with batons and pistols.

I focused my attention on watching the men progress through the hallways towards subject one's room via the cameras. Even though the not-so-high-quality cameras, it wasn't hard to tell that these men were afraid of what awaited them. Their heads were downcast as they walked. They did not possess the same confidence within them that they did when this project began. They looked like scared boys being sent off to a terrible war. Eventually, they made it to the door.

We had perfect vision of them, and the door via the hallway camera. One of them said something through one of their walkie-talkies and made a motion towards the camera. In response, one of Zimmerman's colleagues buzzed the door open. The men already had their pistols out by the time the button was pushed. Slowly, the door began to open. We all watched eagerly as the men began to approach the door. Guns aimed inside. Suddenly, and without warning, there was a loud shriek, and as something bounded out of the room at the men.

The monitor turned into static. Immediately we could all hear screaming echoing down the hallways, followed shortly after by the distinct sound of gunshots. We could do nothing but wait. After a couple minutes, the screaming and gunshots stopped. We all waited and prayed, hoping that whatever bounded it at them from the room would not be the one to return to the control room. After a couple more minutes, three of the men came back, carrying with them the corpse of the fourth. He had massive cuts covering his chest and his face was shredded. You couldn't even tell who he was anymore, or even that he was human.

I was used to gore, being a doctor and all, so I felt somewhat unfaced by the mass of shredded flesh and bloodied meat they carried with them. But many of the others went pale and vomited. The security team all were emotionless expressions and eyes filled with terror. one of the men finally looked up at us. He stared at us for a while with those wide eyes of his. It's dead. He finally managed to mutter in a shaken and scared voice. A couple hours went by.

The dead man's name was Frank. He was buried outside in the cold, Alaskan ground. Two of the men were unharmed, physically at least. The third was alive, but only barely. His body was covered in bloody lashes, and one of his eyes had been gouged out. I managed to stabilize him, but only just. The other two men vaguely explained in what happened.

Apparently, subject to one leaped out at Frank after the door had opened, only it wasn't really subject to one anymore. According to them, it had a hideously contorted face and long, sharp claws. They claimed to have shot it over a dozen times before it fell dead, and then the emptied another dozen bolts into it, just to be sure, it was really dead. Only once it was dead did they come back. After tending to the wounded man, I went to investigate the monitors, as afraid as I was of seeing what those monitors may have held. I needed to see.

Subject 3 was the only one left now, and I needed to see it, and make sure the creature was still in its room. It seemed to be more like a jail cell than an ordinary room at this point, though, which was probably a good thing. The cameras displaying subject to one's room in the hallway outside it displayed a static-filled screen. No one was sent to repair them or investigate. We just had to hope that Subject 1 was well and truly dead. Monitor 3's image was exactly the same as I had left it. Subject 3 was still staring directly into the camera at us. He was still in the exact same position as if it were not for this small fan in the corner of the room.

I would think he was looking at a still image. In a way, I felt relief at seeing this, relief that he was still in his room and he had not escaped while no one was looking. After everything quieted down, I noticed something especially unusual. There was a strange sound emanating from somewhere. At first, it was barely noticeable. The only reason I had heard it was because of how extremely quiet was in the infirmary. But as time went by, it slowly began to increase in volume. After about an hour, it was loud enough that everyone else could hear it too. And after a couple more hours, its volume had increased so much that we could determined what the noise was. It was a song. One of the staff members identified it as

Living in the Sunlight by Tiny Tim. Apparently, his father loved the song and listened to it frequently. The song seemed to be on loop and kept replaying itself. Although we were able to identify the noise, we remained unable to identify its source. We knew that it wasn't coming from the speakers because we had turned them off. It seemed to be emanating from the walls themselves. More time ticked by as we all began to become increasingly agitated by the song. I spent most of my time in the infirmary attending to Frank or in the control room. Fear hung in the air in the presence of an unmistakable darkness and evil was no doubt its source. Subject 3 still had not moved.

It kept his unblinking gaze fixed on the camera the entire time. It always felt like he was just staring directly at me, no matter where I was in the room. I think this effect was also felt by others due to the fact that they seemed to move around the room a lot and for seemingly no reason. After a few hours, the song was so loud that people almost had to shout in order to communicate. We had been trying to find its source so that we can turn the song off, but it was to no avail. The source was completely unidentifiable. This added a level of extreme irritation to our already very present fear. It was around 8.30 that the ground itself began to shake once again.

just as it had done the previous night. Panic began to spread among my fellow employees and as me as the shaking grew in intensity. During this, I had the sudden instinctual feeling to look over at Subject's 3's monitor. It was gone. Almost as if on cue the power went out. And thankfully, the song did as well. Ever since the security team came back, Panic had been slowly building up among the staff,

and Zimmerman was powerless to stop it. When those lights went out, the calm projections that everyone had been trying to maintain left us and the fear in all our hearts took over. The emergency backup lights kicked on shortly after the power went out, which I gave a silent, thankful prayer for. The lights were dim, but they still allowed me to see a lot. Total panic seized us as many of my fellow staff members began screaming and rushing to the old ladder in an attempt to escape. But too many were trying to use it at once, and no one was able to get very far on the ladder. without someone else pulling them to the floor and taking their place. Zimmerman was shouting for everyone to calm down,

but his dominating and intimidating personality had no effect here, and his demands fell upon deaf ears. It was total chaos. It wasn't long until people actually started hurting each other in their desperate attempts to get up that ladder and out of this place. I could only stand against the wall and wait for my opportunity to escape up the ladder. All the screams are soon silenced as the familiar hum of that unsettling song began to rise in volume again, only much quicker this time.

And this time it was clear that the noise was coming directly from the maze-like corridors. People stopped fighting and shouting us. All our attention shifted to the door that led into the hallways. The song quickly got louder than it had ever been before, which forced many of us to cup up our ears with our hands in an attempt to silence the noise. Then, suddenly, the song just completely stopped. That was all that filled the room as we all stared at the thick metal door in anticipation for what was coming.

It felt like ages had gone by, but in reality it was probably only seconds before the silence was broken. The door suddenly and violently burst open, and the music started again, louder than it had ever before. The suddenness and the volume of this caused many of us to recoil by falling to the ground and grabbing our ears in an attempt to block out the noise. I glanced up for just a second. and in the doorway stood a tall, smooth skin figure with long limbs and eyes so dark and malevolent

that you could clearly see them in the dim lighting. After I got my bearings, I looked upwards at the creature once again just in time to see that the thing pick up in rip Zimmerman in half in one fluid movement, dousing the room and everyone in it with his blood, intestines and organs. I was no stranger to gore, but the sight of that was too much of me to bear. I hunched over immediately after seeing this and vomited all over the cold cement floor. That ladder is my only hope of survival. I thought to myself as I forced myself to a standing position.

And as my eyes rose along the rest of me, I could see that the thing ripping and tearing through the people as they scattered in an attempt to escape it, it was distracted. And as awful as it sounds, this was my only chance to get up that ladder. I forced my legs to move towards the ladder. trying to block out the terrified screams of my fellow staff members in the unbearably loud music. I could hear gunshots coincided with the screams and terrible sounds of flesh being ripped apart somewhere in the mess of noise. I reached my hands outwards and felt a wave of relief wash over me as my fingers came into contact with the hard metal rungs of the ladder. I gripped them, began to climb upwards as quickly as I could in my disoriented state,

all the while praying that the monster would not see me and pull me off the ladder, and back into the slaughter. It felt like at any moment I could feel one of its smooth hands wrap around my ankles and pull me to my death, but I eventually made it to the top. There was no question in my mind. I had to close the lachatch and seal that thing down there, even if it meant certain death from my colleagues. I could not allow that thing to escape. I gripped the thick metal lid and began to push with all my might in an attempt to seal the underground complex off. Despite how dense and sturdy it was, the lid was surprisingly easy to move and did not take very much effort to push it over the hatch, even in my weakened state. In seconds, the hatch was

completely covered by the dense metal lid. I collapsed on my side and began to vomit some more as exhaustion overtook me. And as I lay there, I realized something. Aside from my labored breaths, the only thing I could hear was the faint echo of that song from down below. I felt as though I could lose more of my sanity if I continued to lay there and listen to that song. So I once again forced myself to my feet and began to make my way to the wooden lodge I had stayed in the previous night. It was where I had left my bag and also where I had left my keys to my truck. Of the 15 staff members that took part in that forsaken experiment, I am the only one who survived. I'd never returned to that awful place where all this happened, and I don't intend to. The project was very

secretive in Zimmerman was the only one who knew all the details of it. And as far as I know, no one is aware of my involvement aside from me. In fact, I'm probably the only one who actually knows what the Harbinger experiment truly was, let alone what actually happened. By now, you're probably wondering why I've told you all this about something none of you should be aware of. Maybe you're expecting me to give you a speech about not messing with things you don't understand or something along those lines. I hope not. For I have no speech to give or lesson to impart. I began hearing any noise earlier today. Almost immediately I recognized the noise as a very haunting and familiar song.

I didn't even try to trace to its source. I knew it would be pointless. And as the day had progressed, the song had increased in volume. It's loud enough now that I can very clearly make out the lyrics. I'm completely unable to escape Tiny Tim's voice. It had followed me everywhere I've gone. Subject three is coming for me. I know my time left in this world is extremely limited now.

I guess you could say that I just wanted to tell the tale of the harboring or experiment before I lost forever. I hope that you will take some lesson from this and what I've recounted to you, but I think we both know that you won't. Let's be honest. You don't believe a word of what I've just told you. And I don't blame you. I wouldn't believe me if I were you. To you, this is nothing more than something to get your cheap thrills from.

You're probably mindlessly surfing the internet when you clicked a link and found yourself here, wherever here may be reading this story. And to be honest, I don't care if you believe me or not. Even if you do, it probably won't stop you from trying to uncover the truth of a darkness that few of us have ever seen. It certainly never stopped Zimmerman. If you want a lesson, look at what happened to him when he went seeking the truth. I pray that none of you will ever discover this truth.

I pray that none of you will ever have to see the evil I've seen. I hope you all get to live in ignorance of what lies beyond the veil of what we can understand. It's here now. I can feel its black eyes burning into me just as I could all those years ago. I am as much to blame as Zimmerman is for the monstrosity that is now free to roam the world, even if I was not the one to create it. I'm sorry. Please forgive me.

Never go camping in the woods alone. Possession. It's the strangest thing. Being out of control of your own body? What could it possibly feel like? Agony? Peace? Nothingness?

These are the questions that raced through my head ever since that day in 2011. The day I witnessed the impossible. The day I lost my best friend to something beyond reason. Something beyond our reality. Seven years ago, my friends, Ellie, Chris, Mark and I went on an unsuspecting camping trip in the eastern panhandle of West Virginia. We had all been true outdoorsy types and liked to challenge whenever we went.

It was our yearly tradition. Apparently, it had been someone else's too. That was the biggest mistake of our lives. Camping on the night of a blood moon, we came into Paw Paw, stupid name I know, around three in the evening. We hadn't gotten anything for lunch yet, so we stopped at McDonald's in town. I swear no matter how small town is, it will always have a McDonald's. There were only two other local dinings there, and we could hear every bit of what they said. We should have taken them seriously.

Blood moon tonight, said the elderly woman of the couple. You know what that means, Lester. I know, I know, the man groaned. Stay out of them damned woods. I heard the same stories you did, Edna. He seemed disgruntled. That's right, Edna told him. They say things come out of Blood Moon.

bad things she joked with him and reached across the table to tickle him must have been nice to have a relationship when you're that old i wasn't going back there anyway ain't nothing season yet lest you want to be pinging at the leaves he ignored her tickles entirely you're no fun she told him she poked one gnarled finger into the shoulder that's all there was to the conversation it lasted all of a minute but would have changed our lives forever. We are such fools. The old folks are always the superstitious ones, Mark chimed in. I hadn't been the only one listening to the elderly couple chat. Yeah, they can't help it though. They're raising a time where there wasn't proof to prove them wrong. Same with their parents and so on, Chris had told us. We all agreed with them and laughed about them later. We got in our car and drove it down,

many of the back roads, looking for a place to pull off and begin our trek. Around four, we found a spot to set the car for the night. It was on one of the worst roads I'd ever seen and looked nearly abandoned. As we unloaded, we talked and joked around. We were having the time of our lives, just the simple joy of nature and friends. In the back we had only a few things, a cooler with snacks, a bottle of water each, two tents and four sleeping bags. We divide the load as evenly as we could and made our way through the first edge of underbush. I realize now that it was colder in those woods, A lot colder. None of us cared, though.

It was a scorcher of a day, and we were glad to be out of the heat. We should have brought bug spray, Ellie piped up around a mile into our hike. I know these things are thicker than fog, I exclaimed. The bugs had begun swarming us almost instantly, and were a constant cloud buzzing around our heads. We'll deal with it for now, Mark told us, from the front of the line. It's just a day. How far are we?

Or do you know where we're going? Chris hollered to him. No, but I'll know the place when I see it, Mark told him confidently. We passed by one rather open spot, but Mark determined it was just barely too small. We should have stayed there. It would have been all right. We trekked another two miles before we finally found the right spot. By then, it was just a little past five when we began to set up camp. Our little clearing was just big enough to accommodate our tents.

It seemed perfect. Too perfect. All right, we got ourselves a nice little base camp, I said to everyone. Should we get the fire going? Yeah, I'll gather up some firewood, Ellie said enthusiastically as she trotted off into the woods. We can hear her breaking off dead branches and gathering sticks. What do we do now, Chris asked. He was newer to camping than the rest of us. Anything you want.

Look at nature. Help get the fire going. Try to find a stream. Anything. Mark told him with a hand on his shoulder. I guess I'll get some stones to make a fire pit with. Chris said looking around. I walked to Mark and handed him his water bottle.

Mine was a little under. half empty. Cheers, I told him jokingly, as I tapped his bottle. Cheers, he repeated. We sat around at camp for a while as Chris and Ellie got stuffed for the fire. Mark and I got the tents out of our packs and assembled them in the clearing. Once constructed, we rolled out everyone's sleeping bags inside. They got right back around the time we were finished. Got the stuff? Ellie told us dropping her bundle. Chris did the same. Mark and I got to work constructing the fire while they rested. Finally, we had ourselves a nice little camp that a woodsman could have been proud of. We lit the fire. In the instant before we did, the forest seemed to stop. No birds, no squirrels, no deer,

not even a leaf rustling in the wind. We all felt it. An unnecessarily tense moment. A few seconds later, life started back up. The noises of the forest resumed, and life went on untouched. Spooky, was the only thing Chris said. We all nodded in agreement. Later, we just forgot all about it. In hindsight, if I had to guess that, was when they showed up. I'd bet anything on it. The rest of the evening we sat around our campfire feeding and occasionally, laughing often, and talking always.

We sat and leaned back, pointing our stars and marveling at the moon-orange shade. At one point, Ellie even busted a bag of marshmallows out from the cooler. We roasted them on sticks and ate them, just like that because no one had brought anything to make s'mores with. What kind of camping is it if you don't have marshmallows? She asked, and we all laughed. We were feeling good and having fun. We didn't know it then, but the chaos would start in only three hours.

Right at the stroke of midnight, we climbed in our tents around 10, worn out from our hike. We had no trouble falling asleep on the uneven ground. We were fast asleep when Chris got out of his tent to take a whiz. It was 11.30. Mark must have heard something because he rose to me from my sleep. He was sitting up and had his ear cocked to the woods. "'Mark?' "'What time is it?' I whispered raggedly.

He put a finger to his lips and shushed me. "'Mark, what?' He shushed me more vigorously this time. "'Listen,' he whispered. It was barely audible. I cocked my ear with him and heard something too. Footsteps. Footsteps and voices.

I could hear whoever it was trudging through the brush and growth. Mark, it's probably just Chris or Ellie, I told him, trying to comfort myself more than him. I knew what I was wrong before he said anything. No, it's more than one person. Why would they be talking? He had a point. I was somewhere between confusion and fright.

Can you tell what they were saying? I asked him, even in the dark of the tent. I could see him shake his head. He's just mumbling. I can't hear them, he told me. What should we do, I asked him? I was getting nervous by then and my palm started to sweat. Nothing yet.

Just wait. When we can't hear them anymore, we'll get out and look around. He sounded just as nervous as I felt, and it gave me a little relief. What about Ellie and Chris? Should we wake them up? We were still whispering in our little tent. The voices had gotten farther away. Yes, definitely.

I don't want to be out there with just us. So we sat and waited. It seemed like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than two minutes. Eventually the voices vanished. All right, now we go, I said. I unz up the door very slowly, trying to make as little, noise as possible. I sucked my head out and looked around twice. There was nothing there. I began to crawl out and waved Mark on behind me. We snuck to the other's tent and unzipped it. Inside lay only

one shape. It was Ellie. I shook her awakened. She looked around. Sam? She asked after blinking twice. Is that you? And me? Mark said poking his head around me. Why are you here? What time is it? She was still confused. We heard something, I said. Where's Chris? He's right here. She mumbled, bringing her hand down. It fell on an empty sleeping bag. Her eyes widened. An awareness flooded them.

Chris? She asked. Where is he? We don't know. There were people just out here. Voices. They went that way. Mark said, pointing down the slope.

Did they take him? No, that wouldn't happen. Would it? Her terror was almost full-blown. The look on our faces confirmed her fears. We have to find him. then let's go. Yes, let's go, I said. We clambered out of the tent and back into the clearing. The blood moon lit the night in an almost unreal way. We started down the hill not saying a word.

Halfway down, a light appeared way ahead of us. It was fire. A torch. Whoa, hold on. Mark whispered placing a hand in front of us. What is it? Fire? Who's lighting torches out here? Ellie questioned. Mark and I had no answer. The fire began to moose as it was carried and briefly we caught the silhouette of a figure holding it. After a few more feet, it stopped and was placed in something. We were maybe 200 yards away from all of this. Another torch was lit and brought about eight feet from the other. It was well lit, but too far away to make out anything. We need to get closer, I suggested. Are you crazy? We have no idea what these. Ellie began and was cut off by Mark. He's right, Mark said calmly. We're too far away. We still haven't found Chris. Now I wish to God,

with every fiber of my being that I hadn't been right. I would have given anything. just to go back and leave, but the past is in the past. We crept the rest of the way down the embankment, the flat ground and stocked closer. From our new position, we could see them, and a large clearing was a ring of about 40 people on a hooded cloaks. They stood heads bowed and hands together chanting. In the center of this ring was a square wood frame, suspended in the middle by ropes of his wrists and ankles hung Chris. He looked more scared than anyone ever could. He was sobbing as the group chanted. Akum,

du's vests, senboja in ruin, myritso, peno asengoff. The group of men chanted this in unison. It was no language I've ever heard. In my mind, it must have been

the language of devils and all that is unholy. That is all it could be. Chris continued his sobbing. Then the new figure stepped into view behind Chris. This man was obviously the leader. His robe was billowy

and had many intricate gold swirls and designs running from it. The chanting stopped as he approached. He came around from Chris's left side and left our view momentarily. When he re-emerged, he had produced a large knife. Chris cried harder. Stop, my child, the man's voice was deep and powerful. Chris stopped and looked right at him.

He tried to speak but merely mouth the word, why? The man turned our way for a second and I got a glimpse of his face. He was old. His face had been scarred by the wrinkles of age more than any man I'd ever seen. He stood still in front of Chris looking him in the eyes. Then he looked up towards the moon and mouthed a soundless scream. Then he began to chant and the group joined him. Akcham, Dus Ves, Senboja Rukun, Mirzo Peno Asengaf.

They repeated this twice more than stopped. The man in the gold-lined robe raised his knife and brought it down slowly. It traced through Chris's flesh, opening dark red wounds in his chest. They did not bleed. Chris did not scream. The man stopped when he had three different symbols on his chest in a triangular pattern. They're foreign and unrecognizable to me. They're strangely sharp yet curved at the same time, each ending in a curl.

Chris hung from the frame limply. It is time. That was all the men said to start at all. There was a great rush of wind and a feeling of raw power. It passed through the woods like a gale and buffeted everything. Everything but the man then Chris. They were stock still for the hurricane force wind. It seemed like they were in a pocket of calm, the eye of the storm.

I remember seeing some of the cultists even fall over, but most kept their foot in. Then it stopped, and Chris looked around. He said two words I'll never forget. There's nothing. Then he began to thrash and spasm violently. The whole frame shook, and the group backed away in awe. He writhed and screamed, muscles tightening and pulling. I could see every vein in his body grotesquely outlined beneath the skin.

He then began to grow. I wasn't sure at first, but it was happening. He bulged and lengthened. It looked like his skin couldn't contain the muscle underneath, but it did. It was hard to tell for sure, but I think he stopped at around eight feet tall. The ropes were slack enough so he could stand now. He broke the thick lines with ease. What used to be Chris now stood in the middle of a wary group, breathing deeply.

It looked around a couple times the threw its head back and roared. There was no other word to describe when it did. It hadn't screamed or yelled. It had roared. It wasn't long and gutteral. Once it was finished, it sniffed out. When it moved its clothes ripped in little places. Later, they would become rags.

Then the thing turned and looked right where we had been hiding. The group looked with it. Who's there? Asked one of the cloaked figures. We turned and bolted back up the hill while the group yelled and pursued us. The used to be Chris thing roared again and charged after us. We made it to the top of the hill in our panic. Mark ran in a different direction.

To this day, I'm not sure of what had become of him, but I still hope he had made it out. Behind us, the thing plowed through trees and members, knocking everything out of his way. We arrived at camp and kept running. I remember picking up some of the still smoldering embers on the fire as I ran through it. The noise got closer and closer behind us as we ran. We shouldn't have come this far, but we'll never make it, I thought to myself. About a mile back through the woods, the noise stopped for a second. Ellie turned and slowed down just as I heard a tree fall.

The thing picked it up with ease and hurled it right at her. It hit her with the force of a freight train, and I watched her upper body get pulverized. I turned just in time to see it grab her, still living remains, and crushed them beneath its hands. Something thick and dark ran between its fingers. I ran faster as it began to close the distance. We were passing landmarks I recognized from the hike down as we got closer and closer to the car. Then I formed a painful stitch in my side and was limp running through the woods. It made it all easier for the thing to catch up.

to me. I heard it as approach and knew it couldn't have been more than 15 feet behind me when I could see the car. I felt in every part of me that was about to collapse, but it was my only hope. Stitches in both sides racked my body as I made my desperate escape from the beast. And that last bit of underbrush before the road, I actually felt his fingers scraped my back. I almost fell and regained my balance when I crashed through the tree line panting heavily. I scurried around the car and fumbled it open. I fell in the driver's seat, then gasped painfully. I looked back in the trees expecting to see it fly out and flip the car, but it did no such thing. I scanned the forest and found it. Standing right where I was, only moments

before was a hulking abomination staring loathingly at the car. Its amber eyes stared out from the trees as some invisible force held it in. I flipped it the bird and closed my eyes. I'm so thankful for that barrier. I spent the night in that car trying to recover from my four-mile sprint. I slept at some point woke up at the crack of dawn. I scanned the woods again but saw nothing, only the carnage that I had created in its fury. I thought if Elian wondered if I should get her body. No way. I'm not going back in. There might not even be a body left. She'd been hit by a flying tree after all. Then I thought of Mark but brushed it off. The thing came from me and I had given him plenty of time to escape, I hope. I started up the car and drove straight through paw-paw and didn't stop

until I got to my town of Wheeling. That's where I sit now. Seven years later, recounting that night that changed my life. I'm still scared of that thing. It's always here. I always see his amber eyes full of hate and murder. I see them in the dead of night. In the corner. Out my window. Anywhere they'll fit. Those weren't the eyes of my friend. They were that of the devil. I still wonder if Mark made it out. It's been seven years in no contact, so my hope is starting to fade. I try to keep up with the news from over east as much as I can. It's hard with such a small town as Papa. There have been five more groups of campers and three solo hikers that have disappeared in those woods. One of the groups went missing only last week.

That's why I'm writing here and now. I guess those folks just weren't as lucky as I was. Room 732. The S-word Room. That's what they call. room 733. As if I didn't have enough to worry about on my first day as a freshman. We had assigned to dorm 734, which, it turns out, wasn't one of the nice add-on rooms in the South Hall. No, we found ourselves in the older wing of the building on the seventh floor. I wasn't too bummed out, though. At least they'd honored my request to room with my best friend. Lydia and I spent most of the morning moving ourselves in. By the time our resident advisor came by, I was taping up posters and Lydia was reading,

Hi girls, I'm Beth, chirped the bubbly blonde girl as she bounded into our room. I'll be your RA this year. Hi, I'm not a editor. Wow, you girls really work fast, she said, taking in our made beds and hung up clothes. Beth picked up a drawing of Cthulhu that Lydia had done over the summer. She turned it sideways, studying it. Is this the cracking from Paris of the Caribbean? Lydia glared at her over the top of her book.

So, anyway, the arthur. R.A. continued. I know our hall isn't as new as the South Hall, but trust me, there's a lot of history here. This building is almost 60 years old. Yes, I can see that, I said, looking around. The rooms are pretty small. Well, people were smaller than the 50s. Beth shrugged. Really? Lydia said flatly. Yep, really. Beth pursed their lips and just continued to stand there, while the room filled with awkward silence. So, I said, the corner room next to a 730, is it? It looks a lot bigger than our room. Is anyone assigned to that room, or could we maybe? Oh, you don't want that room, Beth interrupted. There were a couple of S words in there.

A hanging in a jumper, if I remember right. They're not assigning anyone to that room. Anyway, I'd just like to remind you that this is in all girls' floor and guys are not allowed up here after 11. Before we could reply to her, Beth clapped her hands in with a quick, well, nice meeting you. She skipped out of the room. Lydia dropped her book on the bed. and stared out into the hall. I hate her. Did you hear that bomb she fucking dropped? I'm going to call her dumb shit Beth. Lydia. Seriously. S-words? Oh, Becker relax. Every college campus has a few S-words. Yeah, but in the same room? Lydia sighed. Really, who cares? It's not our room. Yeah, I guess. I turned to study the little window in our room. Can you imagine climbing out of that

tiny window and jumping? You'd be alive for at least five seconds before you hit the ground. Oh, fuck, Becca. Can you not? Lydia glanced at the window and visibly shuddered. You know, I fucking hate heights and just talking about that shit is raising my blood pressure. We could always move into the S-word room. I teased her. That one has a window on each wall. Fuck you. Okay, okay, but seriously, think about it. It would be, take a lot of commitment to squeeze out of that tiny window. Yeah, well, remember, people were apparently smaller back then. Lydia mumbled as she pushed her bed further away from the window. Since Lydia was an outgoing and friendly person, we made friends at lightning speed.

There were a lot of parties in those first few weeks, at one of which Lydia inevitably met a guy. I'd known the girl since we were in diapers, so I fully anticipated her having a boyfriend by the end of September. His name was Mike, and he wasn't anything special, just your standard frat-pledge dush canoe. After about a month on campus, the novelty of college started wearing off. Lydia and I found our stride and we spent more weekends studying than drinking. Midterms were coming up in a couple of weeks and I was determined to maintain a 4.0 GPA throughout my freshman year. One night in early October I was woken up by a loud grinding sound.

I sat up in bed and strained to hear it again. Lydia was also wide awake and listening. Slam! What the fuck? She mouthed to me. It wasn't unusual for there to be a noise in the hallway since other people came in at all hours of the night. But this sound had definitely come from next door. The corner room. Grind. Is that? Yeah, Lydia whispered. That's the window next door. At Lydia's incessance, we kept our window

closed at all times. However, there was no mistake in the sound of the window in room 33 being opened and closed again at regular intervals. Slam. Who's in there? Lydia shrugged. Is someone fucking with us? Is this like initiation? Liddy raised her eyebrow at me. Initiation to what? I don't know. College? Maybe they're hazing the freshman. Grind. It opened. Who is hazing freshmen? I shrugged. Slam. It's shut. Becca, I love you, but that was fucking stupid. I threw a pillow at her. Well, whoever it is, go tell them to knock it the fuck off. Me? I'm not risking being thrown out a window. Grind. Well, I'm not doing it. I'm an art major. You're a political science major. You go lay down the law. Fuck that. Then call

dumb shit Beth. Isn't this the kind of nonsense she should deal with? Slam. I'm not calling her. Don't you put that evil on me? Fine, Lydia whispered loudly. Then we'll just have to ignore it. I've class at 7.30, I whispered. Grind. Then do something. Ugh. I got it out of bed and stop to the door. Threw it open dramatically and went down the hallway to pound on the door to room 733, which simply said supply room. People are trying to sleep. Please fucking stop, I said, when there was no answer. Slam. Dude, seriously. I sighed. I stepped back from the door and immediately noticed problem. Room 733 was padlocked shut from the outside. I hurried back to my room. What happened, Lydia asked. I'm not going anywhere near that fucking room again. It's locked from

outside. I don't know how anybody could get in there. So you're saying it's a spooky ghost? She laughed. No, I'm saying there's creepy shit going on inside a room colloquially called the S-word room. Lydia scoffed and rolled over to go back to sleep. You should have been a drama major. We didn't hear the window next door again that night, but the next morning, you could clearly see from the outside that both windows in the corner room were now wide open. I watched the windows on room 733 for an entire week, but they were. remained open. Occasionally at night I thought I could hear a noise next door like marbles dropping and rolling across the floor. Since it never woke Lydia up, I didn't bother to say anything.

One afternoon, I was alone in the dorm editing notes on my laptop. I had my headphones in, but the music wasn't loud enough to cover the noise of someone knocking on the door. Come in, I said without looking up from the screen. A moment went by and then I heard the knocking again. I jerked my earbuds out and slammed the laptop closed. I turned around. Come. What the fuck? The door in the hallway was wide open. I left it open on purpose since Ian, a junior I was dating, was supposed to be stopping by. I heard the knocking again from behind me and literally jumped out of my chair. It had come from the other side of the room, the closet door. It was a closet that shared a wall with room 733. Lydia, you're not fucking funny. Nothing.

Lydia, I swear to God, I will punch you in your face. Silence. I walked over to the the closet door and grasped the handle. Lydia, you're a fucking... A fucking what? Her voice came from the doorway behind me. I let go of the doorknob and stumbled back, wide-eyed. Lydia threw her stuff on the bed and turned to me, crossing her arms. I'm a fucking what? I thought you were hiding in the closet, I said, lamely. What? Why? Because someone was knocking on the door. Jesus, Becca. Lydia rubbed her forehead and walked over the closet, throwing open the door. There was nothing but... clothes and boxes. She made a swipe of her arm as to say,

What now? I swear. Becca, there's no one there. I know what I heard. We glared at each other until our little standoff was interrupted by a timely arrival of Ian. He immediately sensed the tension in the room. Hi, ladies. Uh, what's new? I gave my roommate a hostile look. There's strange shit going on in the room next door, but that's not new. Which room? 735 or the empty one? The empty run, Lydia emphasized. 733. Yeah, I'm not surprised.

That's the S-word room. Right, we heard about the deaths. I sat down on my bed. Yeah, it's pretty fucked up. Three S-words all in one dorm room? Three? Lydia raised her eyebrow. We were told there were two.

Well, there were a couple people in the 70s, and then some guy about 10 years ago. He jumped out the window. Lydia and I both shuddered, although she was much worse. We were both terrified of heights. A falling death was about the worst thing I could think of. I will admit that three S-words in the same dorm room is fucking disturbing. Lydia said in an apologetic tone. Yeah, I heard there's something in that room.

Ian said. Like what? No one knows, but every year someone has a new theory. Usually right around Halloween, something gets published in the campus paper. Whatever is in there, though, it ain't friendly. So has anyone ever cade them? themselves in the neighboring rooms? Like this one? Nah, just 733. Honestly, I was surprised when I heard they were opening the North Hall this year. They told us it was their biggest income in freshman

class in 20 years. I said absentmindedly. Yeah, I heard that too. You know you could request a room change. Ian sat down on the bed next to me and I leaned against his shoulder. Yeah, but they wouldn't keep us together, Lydia cut in. Beck and I've been best friends for 15 years. We can't room with other people. so should we just keep living here next to Satan? I glanced at the closet door again. Lydia shrugged. At least we'll have some stories to tell after graduation. These aren't the kind of stories I want to tell.

A few days later, Lydia began to believe my closet story. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone whispering. I looked over at Lydia, who was already staring at me with wide eyes. She slowly brought a finger to her lips. I listened intently, trying to hear what the voice was saying and where it was coming from, but I couldn't understand even one word. I got out of my bed and tiptoed over to Lydia's. The whispering was definitely louder over there.

But then she shared a wall with room 733. I listened harder. Never. Taken. Mouths. A fool's. What the hell? Lydia leaned over and put her ear up to the wall. The whisperer suddenly stopped and I leaned closer.

Suddenly there was a loud bang from the other side. Lydia immediately recoiled and clutched her ear in pain. Someone was in there. Suddenly, more angry than scared, I again threw open our door and stomped over to the supposedly empty supply room. I banged on the door loudly, not caring who else I woke up at this point. Are you fucking kidding me? I yelled at the door.

This shit isn't funny anymore. Come out of that fucking room, you asshole. Silence. And then the doorknobs started to turn. I don't know what I'd expected to happen, but it wasn't that. I backed up so far from the door that I ran into the opposite wall. When the handle had turned all the way down, something started to push from the other side. The door groaned loudly, but the locks held.

I held my breath until the pressure on the door subsided, and the handle slowly returned to its normal position. I noticed Lydia peeking her head out of the room. She held her hands up as if to say, what happened. Someone thinks her funny, I answered out loud. She shook her head and disappeared back into our room. I knelt down on the floor and brought my head down to the carpet, peering under the door crack. It was the first time I had seen into the corner room. Room 733 was definitely a supply closet.

There were chairs stacked along one wall and bed frames along the other. A few rotty mattresses were piled under one of the windows and a thick layer of dust covered everything in the room. The windows were absolutely huge, which was something you couldn't really tell by looking up at the building. They were always open as always, and I could definitely see how someone could easily climb through them to the outside ledge. The room didn't look like it had been

disturbed in a couple of decades which sent a shutter racking through my body. The moonlight, which had been providing enough light to see into the room, suddenly vanished and I saw only pitch black inside. I blinked rapidly trying to adjust my night vision. I squeezed my eyes shut and when I opened them a large yellow eye was looking back at me, only a few inches away from my face on the other side of the door. I screamed and woke up half the dorm. There was no denying that thing was escalating. The next morning, Lydia and I were put in a dorm change request with resident services and hope for the best. In the meantime, we agreed to never be alone in our dorm at night.

Either we both spend the night at home, or neither of us did. We started spending most nights with our respective boyfriends. I told Ian everything that had happened, and he suggested I maybe talked to the campus paranormal society. I hesitantly made an appointment, and Lydia and I met with a small, cleanly dressed kid named Craig in four of his colleagues the following Tuesday. We told them everything we could remember. Every incident, no matter how small. Craig and four other members of the paranormal society sat quietly

and took notes for half an hour. It wasn't until we finished that anyone spoke. Is that all, Craig said? Yes, I said slowly. Would you mind waiting out in the hall for a few minutes so that I may confer with my colleagues? Sure, Lydia's mind. mild, indulgently, and stood up.

Whatever you need. The door had barely shut behind us when Lydia snorted and rolled her eyes. Let's go. Go where, I asked. Are you serious? Lydia, come on. We need help. I'm freaking out.

We haven't stayed one night in our dorm since Thursday, so this isn't something we can just brush off. Okay. She just threw her hands up. Let's hear what they have to say, and then we can go over to the resident services and check on our move request. We lowered it out in the hallway for another 50. 15 minutes before Craig came out and asked up to come back and take a seat. With all the

pomped and the circumstance of a meeting of Parliament, Craig cleared his throat and made his diagnosis. What you're dealing with ladies is a very angry ghost. Is that your professional opinion, Craig? Lydia said. I shot her a look. Yet, yes, he stuttered. A vengeful spirit. A spirit, I asked. I very much doubted now that that's what we're doing with. Yes, answered one of the not Cragg's. That's ghost to the layperson. Jesus Christ, Lydia groaned and rubbed her temples, mistaking Lydia's frustration with despair. Craig rushed right into his speech. Don't be afraid, ladies, we're going to take care of you. It's true that spirits can be quite a headache if you don't know how to exercise them, which is why it's good you came to us. S-words almost always result in

angry ghosts. They need revenge. Revenge on whom I asked. On other students? Perhaps this particular spirit was bullied into taking his own life and now seeks to torment others. Ah, listen, we can take care of this for you right away. All we ask is a small donation to the society, Craig continued. We honestly didn't realize that room was having this much activity. It's really very exciting. Great, well, thank you for your time, Lydia said, as she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my chair. Do you want to set something up for this weekend? Craig asked. Tell you what? We'll call you. you. Lydia hurried me out of the room wearing a weary look and we didn't speak again until we were

almost to the Adam building. That was a waste of time, she said. Look, I'm not disagreeing with you, but Becca, tell me you don't honestly buy into that. So you don't think it's a, uh, I was having trouble even saying the word. It sounded so ridiculous. Ghost? Well, I don't fucking know, but neither do they. That guy had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. I pulled my hood lower over my eyes who stepped into the line at the resident services desk. Let me put it this way. Lydia continued. They're playing Ghostbusters and were living the fucking exorcist.

Fine, I sighed. Then what do you want to do? Just keep sleeping at Mike and Ian's until we get reassigned. I just want this to end, Lydia crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. We all wanted this to end. Even if living next to that fucking room wasn't scary, it was sure as hell distracting. All right, well, I mean, we're probably safe during daylight hours, so as long as we don't spend nights there, we should be okay. Our room is only ghost adjacent after all, and our new assignments

will come through soon. I checked my watch. Fuck, it's almost two. Shit, really? I got to go. Mike got accepted to Sigma Chi, and he's getting initiated today. Oh yeah, I forgot he rushed. The girl at the desk waved us forward. I hadn't even realized we'd reach the front of the line. Let me know what they say, Lydia said as he said as he said. she ran out the door. The girl at the desk eyed me suspiciously as I approached. Hi, I'm, you're the girl trying to move out of 734 and really, aren't you? She caught me off guard. Yeah, one of them. How'd you know? Sorry, I overheard you. I also saw your file across my desk a few days ago and I got to ask, why are you looking to transfer rooms exactly? I was tired. I was beaten down.

I didn't have the energy to think of a lie. Because shit is going on in our empty room next door and It's really freaking us out. Noises, whispers, knocking. The other night I saw someone. You saw someone? Yeah. In room 733? Yeah, I looked under the door.

There was definitely someone in there. The girl narrowed her eyes at me for a moment and then nodded for no particular reason. Well, your rooms aren't ready yet, but I've pushed them through as a priority. For right now, you're stuck, though. They just isn't anywhere else to put you. I sighed. I figured as much. I'm Alice, she continued.

and look, I've actually done a lot of research on the Riley S-words and I think I can help you. Or at the very least, offer some insight. Really? I asked hesitantly. Absolutely. I'm in Taylor Hall, Room 310. I'll be back in my dorm by four today. Thanks. We just came from the paranormal society on campus. Ugh, say no more. Alice rolled her eyes. Yeah, so I'll definitely see you at four.

Great, Alice said and smiled. I was early to Taylor, but then so was she. I told our story for the second time that day, and Alice wasn't afraid to interrupt with questions, though her queries didn't betray her thoughts. When I was finished, she leaned back in her chair and sighed deeply. I can't believe it. She shook her head. I'd always heard rumors, but I honestly doubted any of it true.

I can assure you, everything I've told you is absolutely true. And how is it now? When you're there. We aren't ever there at night, but during the day we've heard stories. scratching on the walls, really quiet whispering, and sometimes we can still hear the window opening and closing, in broad fucking daylight. However, every time I look up from the street, the windows to 733 are open. Alice nodded. Well, for the record, I don't think you're in any danger. As much as it sucks, you guys are simply a casualty. You just need to stay out of room 733.

I snorted. Are you kidding? I would never go in there. I believe that you believe that. But this thing whatever it is, it's tricky. Manipulative, a liar, and it's smarter than you. I'll try not to be offended by that. You shouldn't be. What do you think it is? Something very old and very evil. I regarded her skepticality and then let my eyes wander around the room.

I hadn't really noticed the decor before, but to say Alice had an interest in the occult was an understatement. I can't see any situation where I'd be compelled to enter that room. I know. but you have to be prepared that there may come a time when you have to make a decision about entering that room because what you're dealing with, it's already killed five people. Five, I thought it was three. Yeah, well, not everyone is inclined to do the level of research that I do. Let's see, there was Ellen Burham in 1961. She jumped out the window. She was the very first. And then Tad Collinsworth in 1968,

he jumped two. Marisa Grigg in 1975, she hung herself. Aaron Murphy in 1979, she jumped, and then Eric Dusten in 1992. He hung himself. Five S-words. How could the university still let people live in there? They don't, apparently. That's why it's a supply room. In back then?

Well, every few years, once everyone who would remember had graduated, the room would be reassigned. This was before the internet, you know. And the incoming freshmen are clueless, but after that last one, Eric Dunstan, they closed the entire. higher north hall of the seventh floor and built more rooms onto the south hall so what does he want out shrugged chaos death souls who knows no one even knows what it is okay so what do we know we know that it's somehow bound to that room though it seems to we have minimal influence just outside of it we know that everyone who has ever died was alone at the time we know that it's a trickster that's what we know it wasn't enough why do you think they do it i asked quietly

The victims? I nodded. All I know is what's rumored to be in the evidence files. All the S-words were found with pictures or writings that were considered unspeakable at the time. They contained horrible, evil things that would make you physically sick to read or see, they say. And these people, they drew them, they wrote that stuff? Yep, whatever is in that room drove them mad. That's fucking terrifying.

Have you guys considered getting somebody to bless the room? Jesus. Well, you'll have a hard time getting him, but perhaps some other sort of holy person. No, I mean Jesus. You're talking about an exorcism? Al shrugged. Maybe. The rumor in the 70s was that this all started with a Ouija board game gone wrong in 1961. Really? That's just made by Hasbro. Not in the 60s it wasn't. Anyway, it's just a rumor. The only person on campus who would know is Tom Mohn and admin. I've tried to talk to him before, but he refuses to see me. Did he go here in 1961? Yes, and he was staying in really. We need to talk to him. I need to know what the fuck is happening, or I won't be able to live the rest of my life as a well-adjusted person. I suppose we can try to chase it down on campus.

Can we talk to him tomorrow? We can try. Mr. Mowen wouldn't see us that day or the next. We tried to catch him on his lunch hour and then again while he was leaving work, but he got around us every time. It was soon clear that this old man was. was actively avoiding us. Lydia and I had seen little of each other since we continued to sleep in other dorms. I went back to our room twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon.

Usually the other room was silent, but that didn't make me feel better. I could always sense something on the other side of the wall, somehow watching me. It felt like the calm before the storm. The Thursday before Halloween I came back to the door to shower in the evening, much later than unusual. I'd seen Lydia that afternoon and she'd informed me that she had enough clothes stored at mics to last until graduation, so I knew I'd be there alone. I showered down the hall in the safety of the bathrooms and then walked back to my room to change. I was supposed to meet Ian in half an hour to head to a party, and I wanted to get out of here as quick as possible. Since the silence was unnerving me, I threw my iPod on the docking station and turned up ACDC. I got dressed and then

stood in front of my mirror to dry my hair. I flipped my head over and blow-dried upside down to try and give my hair some volume. When I flip my head back up and shut the blow dryer, I immediately noticed the silence in the room. But that wasn't all I noticed. I wasn't in my dorm anymore. Behind me was reflected in dusty bed frames and large open windows of room 733. I spun around in a panic that I was actually standing in my own room. I looked back at the mirror to see that 733 was still reflected there. A slight movement behind me was all it took to make me run. I grabbed my purse and phone and I fled from my room slamming the door behind me. On the elevator ride down, I called Alice. I can't do it anymore. I said when she picked up, I can't go in that room again. I can't ever go back.

What happened? I told her, Jesus, what do you want to do? She asked. I need to talk to somebody who knows what the fuck is going on. Is Tom Mowen the only person we know who was in here in 1961? The only one I know of, maybe we can get him on his way in tomorrow morning. We'll just corner him and refuse to move until he tells us something. He comes in at 6.30 according to the schedule I have. Do you want to meet me outside the Starbucks and the atrium? Fuck yeah, I do. I have a class at 7.30, but I'll blow it off.

Okay, see you then. I wasn't usually much for parties, but I was glad I was going to one that night. As soon as we got there, I asked Ian to give me a drink. Since I wasn't usually much of a drinker, he gave me a raise. eyebrow. I gave him a brief synopsis of what had happened earlier, hoping he wouldn't think I was crazy. Ian made me a scotch and coke. It was the first of many. Around midnight, I went to have a cigarette and check my phone. I had a voicemail from Lydia left at 1104. Hey, backup, listen, I just, uh, I just had a huge fucking fight with Mike. He, well, I guess his frat decided that

for Halloween this year, all the new brothers have to spend the night in the S-word room. In our dorm, I just, I can't fucking take it. He knows what's been going on with us, and he still agreed to do this. He's now trying to convince me that Sigma Chai is behind all this stuff going on in room 733 because they've been trying to drum up buzz for their Halloween deal. I can't. I hit End and threw my phone on my bag. No wonder, Lydia was pissed.

This was not good, not good at all. I found Ian inside it and asked him to take me home. I was suddenly very stressed, very tired, and very drunk. When the alarm went off at 6 a.m. It took everything I had to pull myself out of bed. I got dressed in the clothes I'd worn the night before and shoveled my way across campus to the atrium. Alice was already there with a black coffee in hand. I figured you need this, she laughed. How'd you know? Your texts? I texted you last night. Yeah, at about one,

you told me about Sigma Chai. Oh, God, yeah. I pushed my sunglasses higher up my nose and pulled my hood lower over my eyes. These guys are idiots. Remember how I told you that it's crafty? Well, what if the point of messing with you was to make 733 provocative? You know, to seduce people and to go in inside? No one has been in that room for years. Can you imagine how hungry that thing is? Do you think they're really at risk? I asked as I sat down on the steps of the admin building.

Yeah, in fact, the only thing they have going for them is that all the S-word victims were alone at the time of their death, so it'll be less powerful with all of them there? Theoretically, we would know a lot more if we knew what. it was, and we can't know what it is without knowing how it got here. And that is why we need Moen. What time is he supposed to get here? Actually, 20 minutes ago, Alice said grimly. It was another half an hour before we resigned ourselves to the fact that Mr. Moen had snucked around as usual. We went to the front office hoping to beg again for an appointment with him anyway. The woman at the

admin desk regarded us coldly. Tom isn't coming in today, or any other day for that matter. He quit yesterday. Looks like you won't be hurried. harassing him anymore. We weren't harassing him, I said. We just desperately needed to talk to him. We still do, added Alice. Well, you won't get into any of his personal information for me, she said Snidly and walked away. What the fuck do we do now? I asked Alice. Without Tom Mowen, there's nothing left to do. Alice, fuck, I can't go back into that room. Well, then I guess it's good your transfers came through. They did? Yep, I got the notice when I checked my work email this morning. You're going to Morton and Lydia is going to Tinsley.

Oh, thank God. I thought you'd be happy about that. I also get convinced my boss not to assign anyone else to room 734. Thank fuck. The only thing is you won't be able to move until Monday. I can last through the weekend, especially now that the end is in sight. I have to tell Lydia.

I opened my phone to pull Lydia's number, but my attention was caught by the red one badge over the voicemail logo. I hit play. It was the rest of the message from last night. Even look at his dumb fucking face anymore, so I'm going to head home. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay. I'm drunk enough to sleep through any bullshit from next door. I'm just so fucking pissed off right now. I would honestly rather deal with dumb shit Beth than Michael, my parents, must be siblings because I'm that fucking retarded Benson. Let's hang out tomorrow.

Love ya. The message ended. God damn it. Alice gave me a question and look. Lydia spent the night in our dorm. Alice cringed. She's safe though, right? As long as she doesn't go into 733, she won't. I thought of to always open large windows in the corner room. If nothing else, the mere thought of those would keep Lydia the hell out of the room. Good, well, since we have nothing else to do, do you want to go look for theology books in the library? It's pretty much the only thing open right now. Sure, I shrugged. I didn't have another class until 10. The little old lady who sat behind the library's checkout desk must have been a thousand years old. Ms. Stapley's eyes were small and watery and her skin looked as if it was melting off her skull.

Still, she was nice and knowledgeable, and she sent us in the right direction for books on demonology, though she gave us a curious look as she did. There wasn't much. We read everything we could, but it either wasn't relevant or wasn't in English. We returned to her desk 30 minutes later. Ah, do you have anything on the occult? The occult. Ah.

Her voice trailed off. Yes, I do. Over there, to the left of the reference section. Okay, thanks. Sorry, I'm too hungry. over to use the Dewey Decimal System, I said. I don't think she likes the look of us, Alice whispered as we walked away. Our look or our subject matter? Probably neither. Within the hour, we were back up her desk having struck out again. We could tell she was getting annoyed as her eyes narrowed suspiciously as we

approached. Oh, sorry, do you know where we could find anything on seances or Ouija boards or now listen, girls, Miss Daepley stood up from her desk and looked over her glasses at us? I really hope this is for class. It is, I said. It's not, Alice answered simultaneously. It's personal research. Research? What kind of research? Look, we're not going to mess with a Ouija board or anything, I said. Good, Missed stately smooth, or pleaded pants and sat back down, because I can't have that sort of thing going on here again. Again, Alice slatched on. The older woman suddenly looked very uncomfortable and started fidgeting with a stack of books on her desk. We may have something on seances in Miss Tapley.

We're researching what happened really in 1961. Alice interrupted. And also, what's been happening there ever since? Well, it's no secret, is it? A student committed S word in that room. Dreadful, but not unheard of on a university campus. Five students, I corrected her. But you know that, right?

Alice was suddenly talking very fast. He's just not like you're very well-versed in the story. Please tell us how this started and we might be able to end it. End it? Ms. Dabley's voice became quieter but more concentrated. Don't be so arrogant, young lady. You can't end it. People have always died in that room and they always will.

There's no end to it, so you better stay far away from it. But maybe if we knew how this all started, it started just as you think it did. But everyone that was involved in it, either very old or very dead by now. Just stay away from that room. concentrate on your studies. I leaned over a desk. Well, I'd love to, but they assigned my friend and me to the room next door. Maybe you can forget about all the S words, but we can't.

It won't fucking let us. Young lady, I never forget. Missedably voice was even quieter now. My friend Ellen was the very first to be killed in that room. She was my very best friend, and not a night goes by that I don't imagine her wiggling out of that tiny window, standing upon the cold ledge in her bare feet, and jumping off the seventh floor of that building. Alice sighed.

I'm really sorry. I didn't know. Yes, well, these are old wounds, my dear. Now, girls, I suggest you request a roomless reassignment immediately. No one should be living on the seventh floor of that building. That's all I'm going to tell you about it. Alice sighed, but resigned herself to a nod.

We wouldn't learn anything more here. Still, it was quite a breakthrough. At least we had some information now. Alice walked away, and I made to follow her, but my feet wouldn't move. Something was bothering me. A small yet poignant word had been buried in Miss Staples' story, a word that suddenly seemed very important. Eh, Miss Tapley, I asked, the tired old woman at the desk.

Why did you refer to the windows in 733 tiny? Because I've seen those windows and they're huge, like five feet tall. Dear, you're thinking of the corner room. That's the supply closet. Room 733 is next to that. No. No, I suttered. That's room 734.

Yes, well, it is now. When they built the additional rooms on the south hall, they moved all the room numbers down. Oh my goodness. I suddenly felt very hot and very dizzy. That sneaky fucker, Alice whispered next to me, her skin paling. Lydia. We took off across campus at the dead run, witnessed only by a few bleary-eyed students on their way to morning classes. When really finally came into view, I stumbled on the pavement as my blood turned to ice.

From our vantage point, we could clearly. clearly see the windows on the corner room were closed. The first and only time had ever seen that way. In the window to my room was open. We ran into the lobby pushing past several latte-sipping, ugg-boot-wearing freshmen who had just gone off the elevator. I hit seven and watched the doors close more slowly than they ever had before. I leaned against the wall trying to study my breathing. Alice, how the fuck did this happen? I don't know. I don't fucking know. He's been in there all night, Alice, in our room, alone. Alice shook her head but had nothing to say. When the doors finally opened on floor seven, we saw a quiet, deserted hallway.

I ran towards my room with Alice right behind me, rounding the corner I threw up in my door hoping it wasn't locked, and it wasn't. Lydia looked back at me, and for one breathless moment, cruel glimmer of hope crossed over her tear-streaked face. But it was too, late. The next second she leaned forward so slightly, and she was gone. She screamed the entire way down. Alice ran to the ledge where Lydia had just been, where I stood motionless. She stuck her head out the window and looked down just as a different kind of screaming started from the bottom floor. Alice closed her hand over their mouth and pulled her head back into the room as tears of shock ran down her ghost white face. The screaming from outside got louder

as more people saw what remained of my best front on the cold pavement. I leaned back to the against the dresser and slumped to the floor. A falling death. Lydia never wanted a falling death. I absentmindedly picked up one of the pictures that were strewn all over the floor. It was a picture of Lydia's mother. She was dead. I picked up another picture. It was Lydia's baby sister. She was dead too. There were dozens of pictures just like it all over the floor. Lydia had been busy last night. As for the things depicted in them, I cannot tell you. Lydia was a talented artist. artist that I only saw a few before I got sick on the floor next to me. Alice was standing in the doorway yelling something down the hall. I don't know what she was saying because all I could

hear was a high-pitched wine in the room. Suddenly, a piece of paper slid out from under the crack in the closet door and glided across the floor towards me. I picked it up and studied it for a moment. This was drawn by Lydia too, but it wasn't like the others. It was a picture of the closet from my exact vantage point. In the drawing was cracked. and there was something looking back from the darkness. I put the paper down inside the closet. The door was cracked open, just like the picture. I squinted my eyes and tried to see inside.

Just as I started to distinguish the defined lines of a long face looking back at me, Alice pulled me to my feet. We need to get out of here. I thought I heard her say. I never went back into that room. My parents moved my things and I spent the rest of the semester in an apartment off campus. I transferred to an out-of-state school for my spring semester and finished my degree there. Every night I dream of Lydia pulling herself through the tiny window, shimmying out onto the cold ledge,

standing up and knowing there's nothing between her body and the terrifying abyss in front of her. I watch her look down seven stories through the black pavement below and realize, though not accept, her terrible fate. I see the blind horror cross her familiar features. I hear every wildly pounding heart, desperately trying to race through every beat of the life she should have lived. and knowing it, it has only been mere seconds. I watch her look back at me, and I watch your fall. It's been nine years since that night, and every fall semester for nine years,

I've called resident services to see which dorms are open for a new student assignments. Really is always open. The seventh floor is closed. This year, life and work got on the way, and I called much later than usual. I was put on hold immediately. Resident services, a man finally answered. Were you the one asking about open rooms and really? Yes, that's me.

We're entirely filled up and there's a waiting list for really, but as it happens, you actually have a great timing. I make no promises, but we may be able to get you in. We just got approval this morning. Approval for what? I said slowly. We're opening up the seventh floor. Stay in bed. I was in a rush when I'd booked the reservation.

The hotel I'd wanted to stay at, the one I was used to, had been the first. hotel hallway to my hotel room. Overbooked for a custom car show that was going on and that left me out of luck. No amount of grumbling and growling into the phone could convince them my years of patronage were worth the effort of pulling a few harmless strings. So after a brief and aggravating visit to a website, I didn't fully get the hang of. I was left with the room at the stay in. The listing had given no real information of the place other than to say it was a rustic spot in the outskirts of the city with VHS players in every room. Looking at the place gave no more sense of what I was in for. The wooden facade was made to resemble a log cabin, though I presume the

structure of reneas was nothing more than a standard fare. The rooms were lined up in one long regimented row that seemed to trail off into the pitch black forest that surrounded the place. Behind the trees I could hear the forlorn call of owls and the ascessant insect-like humming of what seemed to be a biblical horde. Good evening, sir, the cheery female clerk behind the desk greeted me as a bell above the door signaled my arrival. Do you have a reservation? The lobby, or whatever you would call the closet-like space, was adorned with the mounted heads of several deer. The owner of this place had indeed been quite keen on the rustic decor.

Shelves displayed black and white photographs of lumberjacks, fishermen, and hunters, posing with each living thing they had felt. Yes, uh, reservation for Cal White? The statement had come out as a question, and as soon as it left my lips, I knew the backwater heap of an inn was already causing me discomfort. Let's see. The clerk dug through a thick book of mismatched papers until she found something of note, pointing to it with one sharp finger.

Here you are. Room 9. I should note that the check-in girl was not hard to look at. She was on the short side wearing a cute red bob that assented the heart shape of her face. Her smile could have used a bit of work in terms of aligning some straight teeth. Then again, perhaps that off-center grin did something for her. She wore a cherry red tie over a pink dress shirt with sleeves rolled up at the wrist. Under the desk I could see just up to her bare calves. The heels she wore were so bright red, though I couldn't fathom how tiny she must have been without them.

After exchanging information and pleasantries, I took the key from her. It was attached to a comically large wooden nine. It appeared as if a Cub Scout had a door in its surface with swirling patterns using this wood-burning kit. Oh, and one more thing she called after me as I was halfway out the door. We have a curfew. After midnight, you need to stay in bed. I laughed, nodded, and waved a goodbye. I couldn't have cared less about some ridiculous and arbitrary rule, but figured I'd have no reason to be up that late anyway.

I'd be in the city early tomorrow morning. The room was everything I had expected. cramped, windowless, musty, and a slightly damp. Nothing was specifically wet, and yet when I touched the walls, I felt as if there was the slightest sensation of moisture on my fingertips. Similarly, the blanket and sheets felt as if I could wring the slightest drops of water out of them if I tried hard enough. I'd wondered if the promise of a VHS player in every room would be fulfilled.

To my surprise, one resided on top of the dresser, next to the outdated cinder block of a television. The bent antenna and no visible cable connection didn't bode well, and I turned the damn thing on only to receive static and white noise. The din of the static was deafening at first. The last resident, or at least the last person to try the TV, I left the volume at its maximum setting. All at once I was assaulted by the ear-splitting hiss. As I spun the volume knob downward, my face mere inches from the screen, I caught sight of movement within the snow. It wasn't like the random frantic motion of the static.

This small, strange blob of discoloration within the mess was moving in a fluid, constant manner. The amorphous color spot grew slowly in size, and soon it appeared to be the outline of a man, of a person, at least, walking slowly towards me. Convinced this was nothing more than my mind trying to make sense of the scentless imagery, I backed away from the scent focused hard. The static man kept walking towards me, nothing more than a dark discoloration of the air.

endlessly stirring visual catastrophe. It drew closer, closer, until a face nearly filled the screen. I call this face, but really all I could make out was a slight shine in what would be the eyes and the slightest hint of a mouth. The face drew back as if looking at me down its non-existent nose. Then the head tilted to one side, as I quickly and silently moved to turn off the set, the static man dodged downward into one side, all at once he was gone. After turning, he was gone. After turning off the set, I unplugged it from the wall, knowing logically that this was nothing more than a mental misreading of the non-picture. I still felt the need to turn the set facing the wall, feeling now as if the entire room were to be somehow feared. I dressed for sleep and buried

myself in the bed. I figured my imagination was not done playing tricks on me, as I could have sworn I felt the fleeting touch and tickle of cockroaches moving against my bare skin beneath the blanket. as I twitched, turned, and repeatedly studied my betting, I could consider it nothing more than the phantom itches one experiences when made to feel uncomfortable. I fell asleep quickly, or at least I suppose I did, and it wasn't until exactly midnight that I was cruelly jarred out of my slumber, a slight sound, barely a sound at all, caused my eyes to flash open as if I'd been awake all along. I couldn't place a sound, though it struck me as a sort of a wet, sick groan.

In the seconds that followed, I decided that it must have been some quirk in the pipes. If they still had the VCRs, then I couldn't see must have been positively ancient. The sound came again, stifled by the walls of my disheveled tomb. Cursing the noise and cursing the hour, I turned and exited the warm bed. The chill in the air hadn't struck me until after I left a relative comfort of my resting place. Is someone there? I called to the front door, careful to keep my voice low enough to avoid waking others. My bare feet seemed to squish against the slick carpet as I moved to the door.

Arms wrapped around myself for heat. Hello? I leaned in and brought my eye level with the peephole. Beyond the door, an old floodlight suspended from the wooden beam illuminated the parking lot. Weeds that had seemed merely unsightly in the early hours of the night now cast long, tendril-like shadows that sweep the pavement as a frigid breeze blue. Beneath the wooden beam, swaying slightly as if we're going along with the overgrowth, was a young woman. Her hair was jet black, and she wore a sheer nightgown,

though which the light exposed all that was meant to be hidden. The young woman clasped herself in much the same manner I was, and I figured she must have been utterly frozen out there. Though her back was turned to the door, I could see by her pale skin that she was in trouble. Thinking quickly, I threw on my shoes and removed my robe, which would soon be wrapped around the girl, I was about to save from exposure. I moved to the door again, gripping the knob. I'd given it the half turned when I once peered through the peephole. No longer did I see a young woman. I didn't even see the parking lot. All I could see was a span of bright red. Finding this a bit odd, I released the knob and searched the image for any sign of explanation. Has someone heard me calling?

Had they hung something on the door to block my view? Wham! The door shook as something struck it. Immediately I had the notion that two fists had been rammed against its surface. The sudden and unexpected violence caused me to stumble back. I landed on the bed before I'd even realize I was crossing the room. All was silent once again as I watched the peephole from afar. A small, dim beam of light emerged from the opening, telling me that whatever had been blocking the view had now been removed. Throwing the robe back around my shoulders, I moved to the door again, seeing nothing out of the ordinary now beyond the pinpoint opening. I threw the door open and searched the surrounding area for any sign of the young woman.

Mr. White? The girl behind the counter seemed aghast as I barged into the lobby, still garbed in my nighttime attire. I told you about the curfew. What? I cautiously searched the room for any sign that someone else had passed through recently. I don't care about that. Listen, someone was just outside my room.

It was a girl. She looked like she was about to die. When I looked again, someone was blocking my view. Mr. White, please, the clerk begged. You have to go back to your room. and please, please stay in your bed. No. I rushed to the desk and planted my palms down on it.

Come on. We have to see if she's okay. This is your responsibility. I can't leave my station. Mr. White. She shook her head. Brow furrowed. It was as if I just made some piggish advance on her.

I grasped the woman's wrist intent on forcing her to follow. Mr. White. She managed to rest herself away from me as I could see her outrage building. I cannot and will not leave this desk. Fine, I threw my hands in the air, exasperated. Do nothing. I'm going to find out what the hell is going on. I made my way to the door again, and once more she called after me.

You can't do that. I mean, you shouldn't. Silently I let the door close as I fixed a hard gaze on her. See, the curfew isn't our doing. It's just you shouldn't go out around midnight. We have some extra guests. Oh, I raised a brow. How do you mean?

There was a murder here several years ago. A girl was killed and dumped into the lake just beyond the trees. Sometimes she comes around in the middle of the night, in particular at midnight, like she's trying to find the family she was staying with. She must think anyone she sees as the person she's looking for. She'll drag you back into that lake with you. I let out a disbelieving chuckle, one which ignored as I continued on. You probably saw the poor thing.

She's pale like a ghost. Her face is mangled and torn apart. I turned once more to leave. feeling there was a good chance I was the butt of some sort of joke. Then her words caused me to freeze my tracks. She was left with only one swollen, blood-filled eye. You're full of shit. I walked halfway to the desk and stopped.

What is this? Some kind of murder mystery hotel? A paranormal experience fun night? Your web listing really should have mentioned. See for yourself. The clerk gestured to the shelf, to the photos that resided there. regarding the strange woman with a sideways glance.

I went to the shelf and pulled down one of the pictures. It showed a hunter posted with the corpse of a large buck. What? Did the deer do it? I snapped. Before the clerk could respond, I spotted an abnormality. I could see typewritten words barely visible in the photo, reversed as if the other side carried the message. Less than carefully, I separated the frame and snatched out the picture.

The photo had been clipped from a newspaper. and was of no real importance. The article attached to what was the actual memento. Fourth murder at local hotel. The headline gave me a start. The words that followed did nothing to settle my nerves. The further I read into the article, the less I was sure of my skepticism. Community leaders are at a loss to explain the yearly killings that are taking place

of the state inn on Elk Road in a rural area around the Nevada-slash-Arizona border. About 20 miles south of Las Vegas. Police have no comment at this time, though they admit to believe in the four killings are in some way related. I looked at the other photos, then back to the clerk. Yes, she said quietly, anticipating my question. They're all clippings. There were ten murders over a period of a decade. All young women massacred and hidden somewhere in the area. Their faces, I started. Finding no words to complete the thought. No. She shook her head,

sadly as I set the clipping and its frame back on the shelf. No, not all of them. Galt strangled one of them with her panty hose. Another girl he cut her into pieces. Galt? Yes, Victor Galt. The police killed him in a shootout just outside. He had holes drilled in the wall so we could look for victims. It's why we can't keep the weather out. Well, surely you can just patch that up unless he keeps making them. The clerk swallowed hard and nodded. He does. She drew a heavy breath inside.

For the briefest moment, I caught her checking the doorway as if she was expecting Gall to respond to his name being spoken. It's funny, she added with a bitter smile. They never realized there was always a murder days after Gall was called to fix a television. I slept in my car for the rest of that night. I gathered my things and drove into the city before I let myself fall asleep. I'm sure anyone who passed by thought I was crazy, but by the point I felt safer amid the hobos and drug dealers than I did at the stay-in.

It wasn't just because of the red-eyed girl, or even the presence that had reverse viewed my through the TV screen. Granted, they were no small part of my decision to leave. However, the final straw was a detail the clerk had told me. And what I noticed soon after. Another girl, she said, he cut her into pieces. It wasn't until I thought it over that I realized what was wrong. It was her high heels and the bear caps I could see just above.

They were slightly off to her side. And all right, guys, that wraps up the creepy pasta collection. This is one of the longer videos on my channel about four hours in length. So if you're still listening all the way at the very end, props to you because this is a long video to sit through and listen to. So thank you so much for watching. And let me know what you'd like to see in the future. video it's different than usual but let me know if you enjoyed it or he didn't or what you liked about it or whatever and also make sure you like the video and subscribe it helps the channel a ton

and just thank you again for watching to the end because this is just a ridiculously long video but anyways thank you so much for watching and all right until next time see ya