Snook - Unexplainable Stories From Reddit

Episode Date: December 14, 2025

These were some insane stories! What did you guys think? Did you enjoy them? And what was your favorite story? I liked them all! Please follow the podcast and rate 5 stars! Thank you! Follow me on Instagram - Snook_ytIF ANY OF THESE STORIES BELONG TO YOU, PLEASE EMAIL ME AT - [e-mail] before filing a copyright takedown or anything. Please, we can get it sorted out through email or some other form of communication, thank you.NEXT SUB GOAL - 100,000 Followers! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to another Reddit stories video. And today we will be covering unexplainable stories from Reddit. So this will just be a bunch of scary stories and it'll be super interesting. And I've got a bunch of great stories lined up. So make sure you stick around, like and subscribe to the channel. The channel's goal is 500,000 subscribers before the end of the year. So please subscribe. And all right.

Anyways, this video will be long enough already. So let's get into some unexplainable stories from Reddit. I'm a nurse for the elderly. One of the patients made a terrifying confession. Despite what some might tell you, it's not actually so bad to work in this field. Sure, some of the elderly can be difficult times, and like any other job, this one has its stomach-churning moments, but most of them are sweethearts. All it takes us of compassion and patience to break through to them.

So yeah, I mostly love this job. I wouldn't give it up if I could help it. The only part I don't like are the occasional confessions from some of the patients. They say that people can feel their ends nearing, and after a few years working this job, I've come to believe that. Some of them have no one else, no family or friends left. So they air their dirty laundry, so to say, in front of us nurses. Most of the time, it's pretty mild stuff.

Old Gregory cheated on his wife in their 30s. Larry used to be into hardcore BDSM. Lisa stole from her company for a while. Stuff you don't necessarily expect, but that doesn't surprise you in hindsight. Other times, it borders on disturbing. Jenkins had a bar fight and ran away, and to this day he's not sure if the other guy survived. Sasha had an abortion on her own without telling her a boyfriend at the time that she was even pregnant. Sierra abandoned her family, running away in the night to start a new life,

and seeing the missing person posters ate her up inside. That's the kind of stuff that gets under my mom. my skin, but I can at least understand where they're coming from. I can sympathize, even if I don't condone their actions. But then, there are the monsters, the ones that have completely, truly atrocious deeds, and their confessions keep me up at night. Julia, the sweetest old lady you'd ever meet, gaslit her husband into S-word to cash out his life insurance. Freddy helped burn an entire village back in the Vietnam War, basking in the flames and the screams of the dying. Sally abused her child growing up to the point it would cause a myriad of developmental problems.

Mind you, I haven't been there myself for all of those confessions. Us nurses tend to share, morbid as it might sound. Go ahead and judge if you want, but we don't ask for those burdens to be placed on our shoulders and we'll seek relief wherever we can find it. Most of the time, it's just innocent gossip. the, you won't believe what Gus used to do when he was his young type. Other times there are tears and silent cries in the break room, stone, cold expressions, and a pressing atmosphere.

Not a hint, a lividy to go around. But such is life in this field. Most of us have learned to live with it, and those who couldn't walk away. I myself ended up in the first camp, and I don't think last night will change my mind. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. You need some context in order to make heads or tails of this.

It all started with Parker, so I should too. He's a bitter old man. No way to sugarcoat it. A tough nut to crack, rage and hatred for everyone and everything simmering under the surface at all times. He's the type of person that won't be satisfied until your parade is soaked to the bone and rain. He's been here since before I was hired, so the other nurses warned me about him from day one. God, help you if you have to interact with him. He can ruin your entire week just by opening his mouth, they told me.

I didn't take them seriously thinking he couldn't be that bad. Spoiler alert. He was, but not in the ways you'd expect. He didn't get physically violent like some of the other elderly. He didn't fling shit and piss soaked diapers at us. He flung words, but he knew how to make them cut and cut deep. Our first interaction happened when I had to check up on him and make sure he took his medicine.

It was a nice evening, and I found old man Parker in his room lounging in his recliner. He faced towards the window, back to the door, and he didn't even bother around to look at me when I entered. Good evening, Mr. Parker, I greeted. Hey, fresh meat, he spat a response laced with spite. I gritted my teeth in, tried to sound polite when I answered. My name is Jessica, but fresh meat, he interrupted me. You won't last a month, so I won't bother learning your name. Now why are you here, fresh meat?

I told him why, and he pointed at the empty pill bottle on the nightstand next to him. Then he returned to staring out the window at the sunset, without another word, so I took my leave. This was how the first three weeks went by. I went over to his room for this or that. He made some snide remarks to insult me, and I held my tongue. It was clear he didn't want anyone around, especially me. But I was never a quitter, and I wasn't about to bend the knee to some old foot. fart with a vendetta against happiness itself. You still there? He asked on the fourth week when I

passed by his room to change his bedding. My God, woman, you're about as smart as you are pretty. He was in his recliner again. Most of his evenings and nights were spent there, but by the day he'd be outside, or in the common area, terrorizing everyone he happened upon. But as soon as dusk approached, he'd retreat to his room and peer out the window until he fell asleep in the recliner. I ignored his remark, approaching the bed with a fresh set of sheets and pillowcases. What? Did he swallow your tongue? Forget how words work? He kept pestering me? I took off the old sheet and discarded it on the floor, even though it wasn't all that dirty. That wouldn't be a big surprise. Honestly, the only thing surprising me is that you learned to speak in the first place.

Now, I don't recommend doing what I did, reacting like I had. At that point, I should have thrown in the towel and walked away, but I didn't. After two weeks of abuse, like that on a daily, I snapped. I threw the fresh seats half-hazardly on the bed and stomped over to his recliner. Listen here, you shriveled up ball sack, I went off on him. I don't know what your problem is, but I don't need this kind of treatment in my life. I'm not surprised that your family left you. With an attitude like that, I'd have dropped you off at a care home first chance I got as well.

I hurled insult after insult at him, digging deep to dredge out the nasty side of me. fully expecting Parker to go off on me in return when instead he stood there and took it all. With each colorful word leaving my mouth, the corners of his lips pulled a little further up into a satisfied grin. I only stopped when I ran out of breath and he waited a moment to make sure I was done.

What did you say your name was again? He asked. Jessica. Jessica, he repeated, letting each letter roll off his tongue. Tell you what? I like you. And that was that.

He returned to staring out the window and I was able to carry out my work in peace. I regretted the outburst for a while, feared that it would somehow come back to bite me in the ass and get me fired, but Parker didn't tell anyone. It was our little secret. Every day after that, he'd grin when he saw me.

He still gave me lip, but it was different. More jovial. Not trying to insult me and drive me away just to tease me. But I could work with them without breaking down into tears afterwards, so I took my win. After a while, I started teasing him back.

He'd call me his insult of the day. I called him mine. We'd laugh it off and move on. What I'm trying to say is that we developed this weird bond and I actually started having fun. I started looking forward to it. We didn't talk about anything else. I didn't even know the first thing about him,

and he didn't know the first thing about me, but in my eyes, that only added to the charm. Life moved on and before I noticed, I've been working there for years. Rumors about Parker abounded, Everyone had their theories and beliefs, but I couldn't confirm or deny any of them. The man was still as much of a mystery to me as he'd been on the first day. Then one day, about a month ago, things started to change.

He'd make less comments. He spent more and more time in his room, isolating from everyone. Parker had always been very self-sufficient for his someone his age, but he started needing help with things and I could see it killed him on the inside. I didn't mind. This was what I was getting paid for. But the man had his pride. He refused to be seen by a medic and get treatment,

so we all expected him to kick the bucket soon. A prospect that made him most everyone in that care home happy, but I for one dreaded it. Even so, I knew better than to try and talk to him about it. One evening, before I went home, I checked on him. Parker was in his usual spot in the recliner, drapes drawn aside and him window wide open. The sun was already gone, sunken below the horizon.

painting it red as night creeped in. He didn't acknowledge my presence, not until I stopped next to him. Hey, Jessica, he greeted. His voice a low rumble. I nearly went for a, hey, fart bone, but the sound of my name and the way that he said it gave me pause. For the first time in the many years I'd known him, he sounded serious for once.

A pit of dread formed to my stomach. Everything all right, Mr. Parker? His lips curled at the corners, pulling his gaunt face, into his smile. A dry, raspy chuckle left his throat, but he let me question linger in the air for a moment. Going home for the night, he asked. Yes. Could you stay just for a little while longer? Of course. I knew what this meant. Parker felt his time was coming and he wanted someone next to him. I leaned in to take his hand into mind, but a bastard will be a bastard to the very end. He slapped my hand away, so we stood there in awkward silence, watching the night settle outside.

You know the closest things I have to a friend, Jessica. He said out of the blue. The closest thing I have to a family. He let out another chuckle. But it sounded sad. God, I'm so pathetic. I put a hand on a shoulder, and this time he didn't slap it away. I had no idea what exactly to say. Parker wasn't one for sappy speeches, so in the end I went with the truth. Blunt as it was, I figured he'd appreciate my honesty opinion. It's your fault for being a grumpy old fart. You could have had many friends here. So why? Do you have any plans tonight, he asked? And I nodded a no. Then, can I answer your question with a story? Sure. He shifted in the recliner, biding his time as he searched for the right words. I'd seen it all before

and others, they think themselves ready to open up until the time comes to actually do it. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the situation and started speaking. Parker was born in a small town in the 1940s, right off the back of the Second World War. He had an older brother and a father, neither of which he remembers. The first died of some disease as a child, and the second got drafted and died overseas while Parker was still a baby. That left his mother alone to raise him, but they weren't the only one struggling to make ends meet in the town. Most everyone else did, too. Life back then was harsh, especially for isolated communities like theirs.

But I had a decent enough childhood, Parker assured me. My mother did her best, working herself to the bone and going hungry most nights to make sure I wouldn't. He took a short pause, prying his gaze away from the window to make eye contact with me. I could tell he was uncomfortable. Dwelling on the past brought him a great deal of anguish. But he looked away from me, after a long moment. back at the dark world outside and continued speaking. Despite his mother's best efforts, his childhood was short-lived.

Parker had to grow up fast to become dependable, to help around the house and find work. It wasn't that uncommon back then. Kids as young as 8 or 9 worked shoulder to shoulder with the adults. We didn't have much of a choice. Things such as getting an education or waiting until they were adults, those were little more than pipe dreams, but luckily Parker was big for someone's age. At only ten, he was taller and stronger than his 15-year-old friends. He could handle his manual labor and having an extra set of hands to go around, a second breadwinner,

did wonders for their household. I still remember getting my first ever pay, he said with a sad smile. A small sum, but I was proud. Mother wanted me to spend it on myself to get something nice, but I didn't. I bought a sack of flour for her to make bread out of, and I used the fabric to make myself a new pair of shorts. I'm... I'm so sorry I stuttered. Yeah, me too. But time went on. Parker kept working throughout the years, living life one day at a time. Trouble was never far off, but he faced it head on. The adults always tried to shortchange him for his work, and other kids tried to bully him out of his meager earnings regularly. The first time that happened, I came home empty-handed with a broken nose and a busted lip, he said bitterly.

Five of them ganged up on me. It was a doggy dog world back then. When he was about 13 and his mother brought home a new man, Parker hoped for a change. A chance for him to have a father, a role model, someone to teach him how to be a man himself. He thought life would get easier. How wrong I was, he said. That man was an alcoholic abuser. Parker and his mother found out as much soon enough.

her sooner than him, but he saw the signs. Even though he still worked and brought his earnings home, food was suddenly in short supply. His mother always had bruises she tried to hide, and his stepfather was always drunk. When I returned home beaten up again by the older kids, I was hopeful for once. I thought I'd go out there and do something about it. And... And he didn't? I asked with hesitation. Parker huffed.

He beat me up as well for being a sissy. in his own words. He better not happen again, you hear me? He said that the next time I come home empty-handed, he'd show me real hell. Why didn't you run away or get the authorities involved? Run away? Where to, Parker answered.

The authorities didn't give a shit. He kept up enduring the abuse for the sake of his mother, couldn't leave her all alone with the stepfather, and it escalated gradually. Soon enough, his stepfather would take Parker's money outright, then he'd beat his mother out in the open. It wasn't long until he raised his hand at me, on the regular, Parker said,

but it kept my mother safe, so I endured it. On the nights I'd get him beaten up, she was safe. And those nights only got more common as time went on. At first, Parker would get beaten up for stepping in, taking the place of his mother, then he'd get beaten up for not bringing enough money home and then for no reason at all. At some point, I couldn't take it anymore.

I snapped, Parker admitted. The other kid stole my money again, and I was afraid to go home that night, afraid of what he'd do to me. So I ran off into the woods, looking for a place to sleep, and instead I found this old well. Old well? I asked. Not sure what it had to do with anything up to that point. Old well, Parker confirmed.

You know a hole in the ground for people to get drinking water? Yeah, I know what a well is. At any rate, he found this old well, a dilapidated thing. Long got a use and in serious disrepair. Parker nearly fell down into it when he leaned over the edge to peer down. He threw a pebble into it, and it never landed. Then he tried spinning into it and yelling down into the shaft. It echoed for a long time much longer than it should have.

Parker listened in awe as his own voice reverberated from the well for minutes on end. Not getting any fainter, but awe inside. It gave him the idea. I didn't like the sound of that. I did end up returning home that night, Parker said. Found him beating up my... mother since I wasn't there, and he chased me when he saw me. Parker led his stepfather out of the town and into the woods farther away from civilization, deeper and deeper between the trees,

until he heard the faint echo of the well still calling out. I hid nearby and kept quiet, he said, waited for him to find the well, and he did. He heard the echoes of my scream and thought I fell down into the damn thing trying to hide. The asshole laughed about it. His stepfather approached the well and leaned over the edge, still laughing. Did you learn? Learn your lesson yet, you damn bastard? Parker imitated him. Little did he know that I did. It just wasn't the lesson he wanted me to learn. Parker burst out from his hiding place while his stepfather was distracted and ran up at him. All it took was a single push, he said grimly. A single push. And he tumbled over the edge,

fell into the abyss head first, screaming all the way to the bottom. From that day onward, the echo of his voice joined mine in that well. The authority is protected. tended to search for him for a few days, but no one truly gave a shit. He was just an alcoholic bastard, so everyone thought he'd gotten his comeuppance. That he died in a ditch somewhere, or he ran away in search of greener pastures and other people to terrorize. No one suspected us, Parker said. Not my mother, who was too weak to fight back, and they considered me just a kid. No way in their eyes for either one of us to kill an adult man. With him out of the picture, though, Parker's life improved somewhat. He still earned a pittance, and the other kids still bullied him,

but at least he could rest easy in his own home. I went to that well every day at first, then every other day, then once a week at most, but the screams never stopped. Day and night. They got fainter, barely a whisper in the wind, but I could still hear them. Didn't it scare you? It terrified me, Parker admitted, but I also saw the possibilities. That answer terrified. I contemplated for a moment to call it a night to put an end to Parker's confession and leave, but I was also curious for better or for worse. Next up were the kids that bullied me, Parker continued. It took me a long time to build up the courage to even consider it,

but enough abuse will push reasonable men to do unreasonable actions. The gang was five members strong, their leader 19 years old and the youngest about Parker's age. The rest were all in between, starving street urchins. Parker called them, either orphans or with home lives similar to his own that pushed them to run away and brave the world. Except they were lazy, Parker said. They took the easy way out, stealing, conning, bullying other kids like they did to me. The community wasn't happy with them, but they never targeted adults so they were tolerated

until they beat up Parker for the hundredth time and he decided he'd had enough. I only wanted to get rid of their leader, he said, thought their little click would break apart without him, but I couldn't separate them. Parker tried to challenge him to a one-on-one fight outside of town, but he came with the rest of his gang and he was pissed. You could see the bloodlust in his eyes from a mile away. I knew they'd give me hell like never before, so I had no choice. All five of them had to go. Parker ran away, and just like his stepfather, they chased him into the woods. He hid near the well again, and when they got closer to inspect the echoing voices, Parker repeated his earlier stunt.

I pushed the older boy first, he said, in a stone-cold voice. Then before the others had a chance to wise up, I pushed the second oldest as well. The others were smaller. I could take them. They tried to run away to escape with their lives, but I couldn't let them. Parker chased them down, and he caught up to the youngest first. He tripped the boy from behind and stomped on his knee to break it, then kept going. The second one he grabbed by the shoulders and,

and swung into the tree head first, breaking his neck. I tackled the last one and got him into a chokehold. He kicked his legs, clawed at my arm, tried to bite me a few times. When he realized he couldn't break free, he started pleading, begging for his life. Told me he wouldn't speak a single word about what happened here. He begged, like, that all the way to the well, until his legs were over the edge. The boy with the broken neck followed, and the one with the broken leg dragged himself quite the distance by the time Parker got to him.

But he went through with it, and that night the well gained five more voices. Parker stopped his retelling for a moment and stared off into the distance. At first I thought he was either giving me a breather, a bit of time to process what I heard, or that he was searching for words. I looked outside his well in the silhouette of a tree against a starry night sky, shook in the distance. A reverberating scream followed. We don't have much time left. I have to hurry up, Parker whispered.

I was frozen by his side as he picked the story back up in shock and fear, not knowing what was about to go down or what I should do. I'd witnessed a few confessions by that point, but none came even close to Parker's. He confessed to six murders in just as many minutes, and I was sure there'd be a few more by the time he'd be done with me. The guilt ate me up inside, he confessed. I went by the well every single day, fighting back the urge to jump into it myself. No one missed those kids and no one in the community blamed Parker.

He wasn't the only one getting bullied by then, and on some level everyone was glad they were gone. One less problem in their lives. So they were happy to pretend the five ran off somewhere to carry out bigger heists. I was depressed for years because of it, but I kept telling myself that I had to do it, that my life was better now. Lies I only half believed. But they got me out of bed in the morning. Another tree shook outside closer to us, but there wasn't a story.

screamed this time. Parker flinched visibly. Anyway, the years flew by. People kept leaving the small town flocking to big cities in search of work. I was one of them. I found this wonderful girl and I left with her. They took Parker's mother as well and the three of them found work at some factory or another. And for a few years, he thought he'd left a small town and his horrible deeds behind. Until I started hearing screams in the night. Voices I recognized. I thought I was imagining at first. I tried to convince myself it was nothing more than me just going insane with guilt. Another tree shook outside, followed by how. Let me guess. It was all too real. Parker nodded his head. My mother went missing one evening, and we never found her. The big city police took it

a bit more seriously, but they couldn't dig up a single lead. No witnesses, no suspects, nothing. But Parker knew exactly where to find her. Or what? what was left of her. After a long trip back to his hometown and a truck through the woods, his worst fears were confirmed. His mother's voice joined the tortuous course in the well. I broke down right then and there, cried in that forest by myself all night long. It was supposed to be me, not her. He returned home, though, if only for the sake of his girlfriend and soon-to-be wife. She was pregnant. They'd soon have their first child, and Parker wanted a better life for them than he'd had growing up.

He'd be there for his kids, there for his wife, there to make sure they'd be all right. They got married with little fanfare, few friends and even fewer family members for a proper wedding, and they'd child was born a couple months later. The most beautiful baby girl in the world, Parker explained what they glint in his eyes, holding her, hearing her crying.

It was all I ever wanted, enough to justify everything I'd done and been through in a heartbeat. Another tree shook outside and something to contour in the underbrush at the edge of the property. I let out a yelp and Parker reached for me. He grabbed my forearm and held me steady as I tried to back away. We still have a few minutes.

He said calmly, and don't worry, it's not here for you. You're safe. He proceeded with the rest of his story and I had to try my damned hardest to divide my attention between him and whatever was out there. I treasured every moment and with my wife and daughter, but you know how these things ago. She grew up in a heartbeat. Before I realized it, she spoke her first words, took her first steps, moments I couldn't be prouder of as a father. The thing bellowed, a guttural sound that rattled my bones. Dying animals, my first thought. A coyote getting murdered or a fox going into heat. It took a step forward into the faint circle of light surrounding the care home, and I saw a human

face. Then another one. And another one. Contorted in agony and held together to form a gigantic head. Then that thing returned once more, Parker said, raising a hands-up point at the advancing beast. More cries in the night, more screams and howls, I knew what it wanted, but I couldn't let it have me or my family. Another step brought its neck and torso into view, pulsing muscles criss-crossing each other at random, skin stretched and as a hole-tot-tot, dozens of human arms jutting out of it in the most random places. Its myriad of eyes moved every which way, scanning, searching. I knew I had to do something before it was too late to either get rid of it or appease it, and I knew what it wanted.

What? I asked, stuttering and shaking with fear. People. Bodies. Victims, Parker answered. More of them. I opened up its appetite now it was hungry. If I didn't give it what it wanted, it would get itself. Take my world from me.

I didn't want it to do it. I tried to do it. to talk myself out of it until the very last moment, but I was so pressed for time and worried sick for my family, so I went back to the town. For a moment, I wished my eyes could do the same thing the creatures did. I wanted to turn and look at Parker to see his face, but I didn't dare take my eyes off of it. Every last muscle in my body was clenched, holding me in place. I was barely able to breathe. It took another step forward, and all of those dead, beady eyes focused, every last one of them pinned on the window, on the room, on me and Parker.

I just... I kidnapped someone, Parker said. His voice fraying into a cry at the edges. An older man living all by himself. I knew him. He knew he'd been a widow over for decades. He knew me. He barely fought back as I tied and gagged him.

I expected him to plead as well like the kids had. I expected him to fight me, but the silence, it... It was worse somehow. Did he know about that thing? I managed to push out a question. What? No, of course not, Parker answered. He was just old and frail.

And he knew he couldn't do anything to stop me. Maybe he'd given up on lifelong ago like I ended up doing. I don't know. The rest of the monster came into view as it advanced towards the open window, and there was so much more of it than I expected. So many legs moving haphazardly, slapping the lawn at awkward ankles to pull the body along. It felt surreal, like the window was a screen and I was merely watching some cheap horror movie

with even cheaper special effects. At night I dragged the old man out of town and threw the woods. I got him into the well, said a short prayer for his soul, and tipped him over the edge. He went down without a sound. The monster stopped a few feet away from the window and craned its head forward. By that point I was pretty much useless, more of an ornament than an active participant. or let go of me and moved to get up, failing twice. His old bones were all out of strength.

But he saw his determination. The third attempt saw him to his feet, even if a bit wobbly. I returned to my wife and daughter after that, he said, taking his step towards the window, and all was fine for a while, seeing her smile growing up, having her by my side. It kept the guilt at bay. She was my world, and I was ready to do anything to keep my world from crumbling. The monster cooed, one of its many faces moved along its scrin, pushing against the rest until it got to the forefront. A wide smile took over its lips, replacing the agonized expression.

The next time the screams returned, I knew what I had to do. Knew what the rest of my life would be like, what sins I had to commit. Every few years I'd return to that cursed town, kidnapped someone in the dead of night, and throw them into the well. The smile on the face of the forefront only grew wider, but the rest didn't match. They started whispering aggressively. Their voices merging as they got louder. I kept at it until my daughter grew up, until she found a boy she wanted to marry moved out,

until everyone left that town behind to be an empty shell for the force to retake. And I called it a job well done. I thought my daughter was safe and I could finally let the monster take me, that I had finally atoned for all of my sins. Parker closed the gap to the window, instead of the monster. It pushed its many arms into the room, room, hands both big and small, grasping at the air as they tried to reach him. And what happened to her? I asked. The question felt strange coming up out of my throat and

leaving my mouth, like it was uttered by someone a million miles away, completely detached from the situation. Parker extended one of his arms, but paused and turned to face me. What do you think happened, Jessica? He asked in a somber voice. What do you think pushed me on the run for the rest of my life. It made me grow wary of approaching people and making friends. I held back the answer, if only because I had one more question. Why tell me all of this? Parker smirked the same mischievous shit-eating grin I'd gotten used to from him.

Because I'm a selfish old bastard, he said, matter-factly. I wanted at least one person to know and maybe miss me. And now you do. He took the final step that brought him within the monster. his reach, and it got a hold of his arm with 100 fingers. The many eyes looked past Parker directly at me. Thank you, Jessica, Parker said. His back to me.

You can leave him now, that'd be the best. I didn't argue with him on that. I slowly walked backwards towards the door. My head was heavy, mind spinning, and my legs felt like unsteady stilts a hundred feet long. But I did it. I reached the door, backed out into the corridor, and closed it gently.

Parker watched me the whole time, a peaceful smile on its lips until the latch clicked. The rest of the night was blur. I wandered to the break room with tears streaming down my face, but I didn't even realize I was crying until I tried to light a cigarette and a tear fell on it. My hand shook like an earthquake, as did the rest of me. I smoked about half the pack, waiting and praying for the thing to leave so I could, too.

A couple hours later, I finally built up the courage to bolt it out of the care home into my car. I drove home in a haze, eyes starting at every little movement. and I didn't manage to sleep a wink until the break of dawn. But I returned to the care home for my next shift, looking like a ghost. Police were there, interrogating everyone about Parker's disappearance and I lied to them, couldn't possibly tell them the truth. Not when I didn't know where the damn thing well is.

So yeah, I lied until they left me alone. I lied until they packed in their car and drove off. Everyone else is awfully happy that Parker is gone. And I stand out among them like a sore thumb. Sitting in his recliner, riding as the sunset approaches, I realized he was right on both accounts. He was a selfish old bastard, and he left behind someone who misses him. Stay in your vehicle. Back in April of 2013, I went through something that I haven't been able to talk about.

I was paid a significant amount of money to stay quiet in return for signing a 10-year agreement to shut the hell up. Now that the time is up, I've considered my opinions. I could just let this go and never speak of it again. I won't gain anything from speaking out, and I got a lot to lose. But then, again, this is just an anonymous post online. Words have less meaning that way. West Virginia. It was hotter than usual.

Without a whiff of wind, I was coming home from a visit to my aunt. She'd broken her leg and couldn't leave the house. I was making my way back home, taking the I-64 out of Lewisburg. It started with the radio. It was playing that one Macamore song I'd heard a hundred times over. The sound was cutting in and out in a quick statico. Then it disappeared completely. I could hear cars honking up front as the line began to form.

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

As it reached its peak, I could see trees toppling over. A small kea got pushed off balance and swerved off the road. As the sound died down, the road dissolved into chaos. Some were desperately changing lanes, others were stepping on the brakes. I got my door scraped as the car behind me sped past. The radio was playing in automated mess. A local emergency alert referred to as a geological event. We were asked to turn off all air conditioning, slow down, and divert to the nearest exit.

It repeated in a monotone voice. Geological event. No air conditioning. Slow down. Divert to nearest exit. Minutes passed, there was a line forming further down the road. Police officers blocking the lanes in all directions, leaving a highway exit as the only option. Some folks were trying to push past the barricades but were forced back at gunpoint.

I could see some officers wearing gas masks and riot shields. We were waved in. I followed the exit and got directed to the right. There was an open field that was used as a sort of impromptu parking lot. Cars were being waved in and parked in a way that boxes in, leaving no room for us to open our doors in either direction unless we got parked at the edge. Four lines of cars with about 10 to 15 vehicles per line. Surplus vehicles were directed further down the road. The place was packed.

I got stuck in the second row, about six cars in. Pretty much everyone around me were on their phones. I didn't have anyone to call, but there seemed to be an issue getting a signal through. The radio was still repeating the emergency message. Voices were getting louder. A man two cars to my left leaned out of a gap in the door, screaming at the officers to answer his question. They responded immediately with a warning shot straight into the air.

Stay in your vehicle, they screamed. Lock your doors. I'm not telling you again. A couple of folks were filming, but there seemed to be trouble uploading. We were losing bandwidth. It didn't take long until phone signals were completely blocked. I think a video or two of that officer firing into the air made it online. They were patrolling back and forth.

We were told to stay in our vehicle was windows up, doors closed and locked, engines off. I could hear people talking in their cars. Someone said there'd be in a natural gas leak from a. a geological event and that combustion engines could spark an explosion. Others were talking about a terrorist attack, but there was no answers and the officers weren't eager to talk. After about an hour, things were getting ugly. People were hungry, thirsty, and restless. One officer stepped up on the front of the cars, handing out water bottles, crackers, and processed cheese slices. He had to step from one car to another, denting the hoods with his steel-tipped shoes. They were also handing out thick, black,

capacic hygiene bags for people who needed to relieve themselves. Use them, steal them, drop them out the door, then lock up and wait. I'd crawled into the back seat, pulled down my cap and tried to relax. I've been playing some games on my phone, but the battery was running low. I wanted to save some, so I settled for having a nap instead. The sweat was stinging my eyes, not because of how warm it was, but because of how nervous I was. No matter what I did, I felt trapped, and the car felt smaller and smaller. I couldn't get out if I wanted to when it physically hurt me to think about how little control I had. Is that what claustrophobia feels like? A couple of officers were discussing something by the front line. One of them had a white cotton glove on, which he used to wipe off the hood of one of the

front cars. The glove was taken off and put into a bag, which in turn was sealed with a hot air gun. I was getting the impression that our cars had been covered in something. I wasn't the only one considering it. There were two college kids in the car to my left, and they were discussing it too. Anthrax, one of them said, Gotta be. Nah, gold dust the other chuckled. They don't want to share. You know what, the first groaned?

I honest to God hope you're right. You're not, but I hope you are. Fuck you. I joined in the conversation shortly after. I offered another explanation, something combustible, something that might blow up if we started our cars. They were willing to consider this. The car behind me couldn't hear us,

but they driver held up a notebook. with the text, If we don't know what it's got to be aliens, I couldn't tell if they were being serious, but they weren't laughing about it. A man in his 50s and what looked like his daughter. There were a couple of other folks in their cars. A man in a black shirt,

sort of looked like a preacher without a collar, two middle-aged women with a kid in the back seat, a fat man blaring Johnny Cash from his stereo, a couple with a teenage son who couldn't stop drumming on the windows. We'd been stuck for about two, maybe two and a half hours when a truck rolled in. One of those with a large water tank.

It was unmarked, looked civilian. As it rolled in, they were calling out on the megaphone. We'll be hosing your vehicles down, they said. Keep everything locked and closed. Then we'll be covering your vehicle with protective plastic while we wait for it to dry. After that, we'll start letting you go in an orderly manner. I repeat, most of us were relieved. It was only a matter of time now.

It was getting dark. They were getting up on their cars, hosing them down thoroughly. It smelled of chlorine, so maybe they'd mixed something into the water. As they came to my car, they stepped up on it and double-checked the sunroof, making sure it was locked and secured. They sprayed the car down, bathing it in a chemical stink, the kind that gets stuck in the back of your throat.

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

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

The college kids were talking about where they were going to go after this. Someone was honking, not sure if it was to show support or discontent, someone else was cheering. I took my last wig of water washing down my final plain cracker. I got back in the driver's seat. I could hear as they finished moving the plastic cover and parking their squad vehicles. I waited patiently, figuring it would be maybe another hour or so. They hadn't really given us a timeline, but I could breathe a little easier. Sort of. I was going back and forth between feeling empowered with my hands on the wheel and feeling like I was stuck in a metal coffin. It was so dark and everything smelled of plastic and chemicals like a car wash stuck in time. As the excitement died down, I paid more attention to the background sounds. I tried to filter out the various discussions from the nearby cars, and somewhere in the distance I heard raised voices. It wasn't coming from the cars, but the officers.

Whatever they were talking about, it was a heated discussion. An hour came and went and people were getting impatient. More cars were honking. Others were yelling, demanding answers. I couldn't get my leg to stop shaking. The more I thought about getting out of here, the smaller the car felt. I was hyper-focusing on things I couldn't control. I was a little thirsty and I was out of water.

I needed to use the bathroom. I wanted to stretch my legs and go for a walk. I wanted to breathe fresh air and get that awful chemical taste out of my mouth. I heard cars starting, accelerating. The truck was moving, somewhere off to the side. We need you to stay in your vehicle, voice screamed, over the megaphone. Do not leave for any reason. Stay in your vehicle.

Cars being off, not many but a couple, then quiet. The officers left us there. Everyone was quiet. A couple of folks had opened up their phones using them as a flashlight to look from car to car, looking out at the sea of vehicles. All of us trapped under the dark cover. I could see a handful of lights cut off by, the sharp silhouettes. I couldn't make out who was in the dark. It was just all people,

anonymous. I heard a gasp somewhere in the back. There was a metallic clunk, like when the officers climbed to top our cars to get us our waters. There was a careful cheer as some folks figured they were taken off the plastic cover, but that wasn't it. Instead, there were more footsteps. The cheers slowly died down, as more and more footsteps pattered across our cars. I stopped counting after a dozen. The silhouettes and the other cars were still. We all held our breaths waiting for an answer to show itself. What the hell was going on? What was that sound? Somewhere off to my ride, I heard a voice. Who's up there? It sounded like an older man. I had seen a pickup truck that way earlier. Almost as a response, the footsteps stopped. There was a faint clicking sound like

someone snapping their tongue against the roof of their mouth. Click, click. And from further away, a click in response. From somewhere to my left, another couple clicks, then a cascade of clicks, dozens, maybe hundreds. There was an awful metallic noise coming from my right, then breaking glass, a scream cut short, followed by several irregular taps of the car horn. One of the silhouettes in the distance turned into a blur as something passed through the windshield, cutting through the plastic cover. Somewhere in the front row, the roof of a car was cut wide open. Somewhere in the front row, the roof of a car was cut wide open, was pulled up out of their seat. Two cars back from where I was, there was more glass breaking. It sounded like a wild animal got in. I could see a weak hint of a red splattered against the passenger

side windows. I wasn't getting any air. I could feel my heart beating through my chest as my arms started shaking. My hands were cramped around the steering wheel, and I felt swept dripping down from my shoulders. I couldn't control it. I didn't even see what was going on, but these sounds, these screams, they awakened something primal. This was danger, a threat. My body knew long before I did. The college kids in the other car were ducking down. One of them waved a hand at me as as if telling me to get down. I nodded. I scrambled into the back seat. I couldn't see where I was putting my hands or my feet. Everything is different in the dark. As I tumbled my way over, my foot accidentally tapped the car horn. It was a quick tap, a fraction of a second, but to me

it was the loudest sound in the world. I was lying on my stomach in the back seat, and within seconds something heavy climbed onto the hood of the car. I could feel my car buckling. It was much heavier than the man who'd passed out water bottles. I held my hands in front of my mouth to stop the panting, but I just ended up snorting up sweat instead. My nose stung as I bit my tongue,

listening to every metal groan as whatever was outside moved and shifted. Click, click. Click. and from behind my car I click in response. There were no lights being held up anymore. Everyone was cowering, going quiet. I pushed myself up against the door behind the driver's seat, trying to make myself as small as possible.

I could hear the frame of the car complain as something slowly moved. When it came to my sunroof, there was a slight crack. They made it stop. Another crack. I silently shook my head as if trying to ask the car to stop. That thing was going to break. And it did. My legs were showered with glass as a big blob of plastic cover dipped into my car.

Something big came tumbling into the front seat. Still covered in protective plastic. It twitched and spun around. It's clicking, turning from a careful question like noise to a never-ending barrage. It was calling for help, alerting others, and I was cutting its way through the plastic. There were footsteps coming from every direction, some of them leaping from car to car, some of them leaping far enough to skip the car as they hurried. I was going to be swarmed within seconds.

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

some miracle, I made it through. As my face hit the gravel of this makeshift parking lot, I felt the burn of residual chemicals. I swallowed my instinct to run, instead staying on my stomach, forcing myself to crawl under my car. There were more of them, some climbing on, some off. My chest was pressed to the ground as my weight shifted. I heard breaking glass from the windshield and tearing fabric. Something was up there, and it was furious like a trapped animal. I could hear the college kids mumbling to one another, trying to stay calm, one assuring the other that all they had to do was stay low, stay quiet, and wait. Then something slammed into the passenger side door, the one I'd crawled out of.

The door was pressed up against the neighboring car, then fell half-hazardly to the ground completely off the hinges. An ink-black, bird-like foot touched the ground right next to me. I've looked it up since. There were three toes forward, one toe backward, all clawed. Anesedactal feet, similar to that of many birds of prey, except larger than a human foot and with smooth, oil, slick skin. It must have been heavy, at least 400 pounds. If the clicking noise came from its mouth, I can approximate that it was somewhere around

6-7-6-9 or taller. It could have been hunched over. How it managed to walk in the gap between the vehicles is beyond me, but I suspect it was very thin. It daintly walked from my car to the others as if scanning for something. I could barely see anything in the dark, but this thing seemed to navigate it perfectly. It didn't bump into anything. There was a tap on the glass of the car behind me, to my right, and someone got startled.

A short scream in the hunt was on. This time was different. It must have caused some kind of chain reaction as all of a sudden the plastic cover was getting torn up left and right. People were clawing their way out of their cars. I heard someone kicking against their windshield. another was trying to open their door. I could hear it slamming against the side of the car next of them, and off in the distance there was gunfire.

Just a couple of shots. The college kids in the car next to me slammed their doors open and followed my lead. They rolled onto the ground and under their car. There was a little more light coming in as the cover had been torn above. Their faces were red from tears, and one of them was desperately trying to call for help on his phone. The other grabbed the phone out of his hand. A short scuffle ensued, ending with them putting on a ringtone,

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

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

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

and I stayed there waiting for a chance. Any chance. I must have stayed there for at least an hour, hearing every bite, every crack of bone and snap of sinew, satisfied clicking noises. As it finished its meal, it wandered off. dragging the remains along. They're moving forward.

Something heavy walked over to the car. I was hind under, dragging a body along. Slowly the footsteps disappeared. It was quiet again, and in that quiet I found my footing. I made my way to the edge of the plastic cover. I listened one final time, pushed one of the weights away, and slipped through. They were gone, and I was out. I could feel my chest growing lighter, allowing me to breathe.

I wanted to cry from relief, a brief. breeds was picking up, drying this while my brow and carrying the smell of grass. Stepping back, I turned towards the sea of cars to see how bad the damage was, and then I saw one. It was a bit off to the side, perching on top of an old Honda. At a glance, it looked like a tall person, covered in a slick black ink. But looking closer, you could see the strange bird-like feet, the pointed nails, the long row of shark-like teeth on its mouth that was far too wide. I froze. The thing rose to its full length, easily over seven feet tall. It looked ready to pounce on me. I had nothing to defend myself with. I couldn't make any sudden movements. I wouldn't even be halfway

under the car before the thing would be over me. A hundred thoughts raced through my mind, but there was nothing I could do. I was out of options, but the thing just looked at me. It raised a slice of raw meat, blood dripped onto the plastic cover. It looked at me, curiously. taking a bite. Then, as if nothing had happened, it wandered off, satiated. I was left there, shaking like a dry leaf. And with the last of those things gone, all that was left was the panic. It didn't take long for the officers to return. The plastic cover was removed, but we couldn't go home, not after this. Some folks signed a waiver and were let go immediately. They weren't allowed to talk about what they'd seen, and in return, they could get a hefty sum of insurance money.

Others demanded answers and were taken into custody for obstruction of justice. A few others still were too panicked to make any kind of sense and had to be checked out for medical personnel. A total of 14 people died. It was described by a combination of causes, a traffic pile-up, carbon monoxide poisoning, animal attack. I think there was something about an escaped convict too. Excuses all over the place and the times were all wrong spread out through a couple of days to more smoothly blend into accident statistics. And if you wanted to go home and get your insurance money, you had to sign a non-disclosure.

I did too. I know the college kids did as well. God damn miracle they made it out, but I saw them. 34 cars had to be towed, 18 people wounded, six seriously so. Four people lost at least one limb. One guy had an arm ripped off halfway up his collarbone. I don't know how he survived. Most people never saw those things up close.

They just remember the screams and the breaking glass. Sometimes at night, that's all I hear too. Closing my eyes reminds me of lying under those cars, feeling the pressure as the weight shifted. I still get trouble breathing. I think a part of me is still stuck there. It stayed in my vehicle. They gave me pills to stop the hallucinations, but only two of my three friends went away. Pop culture is the graveyard of words.

Original meanings are lost when language is repurposed creatively, yet destructively. Of course, there's only really a problem when, say, significant words are rendered meaningless, when, for instance, illnesses become adjectives, when a person is just a little OCD, depressed, bipolar, psychotic. And that final word is one I used recklessly in my adolescence, but its true meaning became awfully apparent when my very perception of reality unwound, when I became unbound. The onset of my psychosis was unbearable. I was scared. confused, alone. Developing imaginary friends is endearing at the age of eight, but worrisome at the

age of 18. I knew that. It's why I didn't let my loved ones know about my sickness. Of course, they noticed my change in demeanor, my general mental deterioration. However, given the recent death of my father, this erratic behavior was tied to grief. The root cause was overlooked. I hid as many symptoms as possible, made sure that my real friends didn't know about my imaginary ones, didn't know about my all-knowing companions who, peculiarly, appeared wherever I went. I was lucid enough to realize that they weren't real. Lucid enough to realize that none of it was healthy. First came Grant, then Shirley, then Albert.

These three friends weren't always present, but one or more of them would typically be a stone's throw away. It took very little time for me to realize that these imaginary friends were amalgamations of real people from my life. Grant reminded me of my late father. He was gentle but firm, grounded, trustworthy. Shirley reminded me of my late grandmother, a little lost in the clouds, but warm and wise, boundlessly wise. Her keen intellect compensated for her lack of common sense. Albert, however, was the anomaly. The Wally I never missed, despite my best efforts. To say that he unsettled me would not be doing the feeling justice,

but I tried desperately to dispel the ache in my stomach. I told myself that Albert, like the others, must simply be a collage of faces and words that have shaped my life. I would have told myself anything to dislodge the lump in my throat, the one that bobbed at the service whenever Albert entered the room. It always threatened to take the wind from my lungs, and I believed I would wake in the dark place Albert inhabited when he wasn't watching me. It was a false belief, of course.

Albert was always watching. Earlier this year there came the inevitable nervous breakdown. After six years of suppressing a steady stream of emotions, the damn burst. I lost my job. That was the trigger to come and clean about the delusions. I'd been hiding the truth since I was 18, but I knew I would struggle to do so forever. I told my mother, my girlfriend, my friends, I revealed that I'd been seeing people who weren't there, that I buried the truth beneath a shallow mound of antidepressants in strained smiles.

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

I'd brought my mother to the doctor for emotional support, but she came for her sake too. Mom was frightened on my behalf, as I'd recently opened up about my S-word ideation. She didn't want me to lose in the same way. We lost Dad. Still, I'd reached out for help this time. That was what I reminded her and myself as we sat in the waiting room. April tried her best to come, I said, but I'm happy they're. you're here, Mom. It's outrageous that her boss wouldn't give her the afternoon off work.

This is important, Mom, Huffed. It's only an appointment with the GP, I reply. Don't get worked up. You'll send your blood pressure through the roof. My mother nodded absentmindedly. Will he prescribe antipsychotics? That was what he implied over the phone, I said. This really isn't a big deal, Mom. I feel silly for asking you to come. In fact, he said I'd have to do an actual consultation alone. So there's nothing silly about it, Justin, Mom, interjected with a gasp. You and I should talk about everything, big or small, day or night. I know, mom, I said. I will. I'm getting better at talking. Take a breath. Sorry, she exhaled. I don't mean to be overbearing mother. You're not overbearing, I replied. I'm very lucky to have you. I'm the one who should be sorry.

Sorry that you have to suffer too. Don't talk that way, Justin. Mom whispered tearfully. We're here for you. You know that, don't you? I frowned. It feels easier. Sometimes. to bottle up my problems to not be a burden. It makes my mind a little quieter when I only have to worry about myself. My mother shook her head. That's your illness speaking. No matter the lies it tells, never face it alone. Your father was the same. It wants you to be weak and alone. That's why it keeps you away from those who you love you. But Justin Woods, a voice called from an open door beyond the waiting area. That's me I loudly responded before standing and turning to face my mother. I'll be waiting right here, she promised. So will I, Grant softly whispered.

I avoided turning my head to face the gray-haired middle-aged gentleman sitting in the plastic chair beside my mother, the gentleman who did not exist. I didn't want to upset my mother, so I beamed at her, hoping that Grant would not know if it was a smile intended for both of them. Of course he knows, I thought. He's in your head. Come on, a fragile voice beckoned, scratching my earlobe, it's time. Again, I didn't have to turn my head to know it was Shirley, though I had fixed my focus on Dr. Rowland, who stood at the edge of the waiting area. I sensed the old woman shuffling alongside me. Shirley always struggled to match my pace, yet never slipped too far behind.

She was bound to me, and only me, my inner sage. A melancholic wave suddenly rushed up my body, leaving my throat with an acidic sting. I longed to probably say goodbye to my two dear friends before the medication erased them from my brain. However, I didn't want to catch the attention of Dr. Roland. It wouldn't have bothered him, of course, but I was self-conscious about my illness. Even in a place built to treat ailments, matters of the mind are not the same as matters of the body. There's a taboo with mental illness, a stigma that, no matter how much we pretend otherwise, is prevalent throughout the world. That is why I hid my symptoms for so many years.

That is why Albert emerged. It's okay, Justin Shirley assured me, placing a frail palm on my shoulder whilst waving her free hand at my brow. We are up there, but I won't be able to hear you anymore, I thought Will's smiling convincingly at Dr. Rolland. We guide you even when you don't hear, as Shirley said soothingly. You are me. You are all of those who have come before you, those who have shaped you.

Don't worry about as champ, Grant said, having abruptly appeared on the other side of me. You're allowed to let go. You're allowed to heal. I'm proud of you, pal. And he would be too. I nodded ever so slightly, but stopped when Dr. Rollin started to frown, having clearly noted the turmoil emblazoned across my vacant eyes. Are you okay, Mr. Woods? he asked. I cleared my throat. Yes, just a little nervous. The doctor smiled, motioning for me to follow him into his office. Quite understandable, but I promise that I'm going to help you through this. I'm not here to write a prescription. Over the coming weeks and months, as you adjust to the medication, I will monitor your progress. I nodded, sitting beside Dr. Rollins' desk as he closed the door.

Do you have any questions, he asked, as he slumped into the seat opposite me? I paused. Is it really as simple as getting a referral than heading to the pharmacist? Will pills make the noise go away? Dr. Ryland smiled again. We're going to try Alanzapine. Justin. Now, the effects of this medication vary slightly from person to person. Some notice a marked decline in symptoms of psychosis within a matter of days. For others, it may take a few weeks,

but as I said during our phone consultation, I will be with you for every step of the way, Justin. I always have been, haven't I? I raised an eyebrow and the doctor laughed. Really? You don't remember me? I'm glad I had made such a big impression, Justin. Your parents have been bringing you here since you were a child. I know, I said, it's not that. And I remember you, Dr. Rollin. It's just, those were appointments for sickness bugs and minor injuries. I never thought I'd see a doctor about anything like this. For the past few years, I've been living in denial, pretending that I haven't gone crazy. That's not a kind of way to talk to yourself, Justin. The doctor cautioned as he printed off a prescription slip. You're unwell, not crazy. You'd take antibiotics for a nasty

just as you take antipsychotics for this slight hiccup in your mind. I suppose so, I uncertainly replied as I accepted the small strip of paper. Do I need to come back here for repeat prescriptions? Dr. Rollin shook his head. I'd suggest using the patient-access website to order online. You just order, go to the pharmacy, and get a top-up. No need to see my annoying mug every time. That's it, I asked.

The man nodded kindly. That's it, but I'll contact you to you. to arrange a checkup appointment in a few months, just to see how you've been reacting to the medication. And if you experience any side effects in the meantime, please contact me. Side effects? I gulped.

It's a possibility with any medication, he said, but don't worry, Justin. We're just trying something out. And if it doesn't work, we'll try something else. Does that sound like a good plan? I mumbled some words of agreement as I shakily rose to my feet, then I hurriedly slipped the paper into my coat pocket, jamming my hand deeply inside. I was afraid to lose my winning ticket. So I won't see people anymore?

People who aren't there, I asked. The olanzapine should eradicate or reduce symptoms, the doctor applied, leading me to the door. Of course, if it doesn't improve anything, you'll have to let me know. Let's just take it one day at a time. Everything is going to be okay, Justin. So everyone keeps telling me, I thought, as I shuffled out of the door, that the doctor impatiently held open, as I passed through the hallway between Dr. Rollins' office in the waiting area, I felt that awfully familiar clump in my esophagus, an unwelcome visitor constricting my airway, and I knew what I would see before I even twisted my head to the right. At the far end of the corridor or past the rows of offices, there stood a man with arms stiffly

clamped to his sides, a man whose features were always indistinct even when he stood so near. Albert. He wore forgettable attire, for all I knew it may have always been the same, may have been different every time. I struggle, even after seeing him so many times, to describe his facial features, for he was murky and abstract, but I always knew his face when I saw it. To capture even a glimpse of his uneven eyes and lips was a paralyzing nightmare. No other fear has been compared. The tall man was chained by unseen chackles to the clinic's tiled floor, and his entire body was practically convulsing. In inflating and deflating chest communicated his innermost fury. Albert was not like the others. He did not support my desire

to heal. He had made that clear after my initial phone call with Dr. Rolland. Since that day, the man had remained uncharacteristically silent. In spite of the unnerving things, Albert had a tendency to say. I feared him most when he had nothing to say at all. When he soundlessly eyed me, from distant crevices, rage frothing at the surface. He lurked in the clinic's corridor, teetering on the precipice of lunging forward at any moment. His eyes revealed a desire to do something unspeakable. I didn't want to tempt him by watching and waiting, so I hurried along. Justin, Mom called?

How did it go? I strolled into the waiting area with a fox smile. Mom, Grant, and Shirley were sitting in red plastic chairs, verging on tears as I approached. come on i said helping my mother to her feet time to buy some drugs justin mum tutted grimacing those first two weeks were hellish yet emboldening being freed from my shackles did not invite some instantaneous moment of euphoria as dr roland had warned the process took time he had not explained how messy would be however how excruciating it would be at times to hear the jumbled words of grand shirley as they slowly drowned scrambling to be heard above the rising tide. Thoughts don't die, Justin Shirley choked. We're part of you. By the following Friday, I hadn't seen any of my friends for a couple of days, and that was my longest bout without hallucinations for years. To celebrate, I organized a dinner with Mom and April at our favorite Chinese restaurant,

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

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

Justin. I know that's a cliche, but cliches exist for a reason. I'm just so happy that you've improved so quickly, seeing you and April smiling at each other just warms my heart. He is pretty lucky to have me, April agreed, grinning. I know you're being facetious, but you're right, my mother said. You're the daughter she always wanted, I teased. After 20 years of disappointment and with a measly son,

you came a long way to save the day. Thanks, April. Justin, my mother groaned. I tittered as I climbed out of my chair, just nipping to the bathroom. I'll give you two some time to venture frustrations about me. Why, it's not as fun without you hear to endure, April said. Hardy har, I replied, startling her with a pinch of the shoulder as I walked away from the table. Whilst be lining towards the bathroom door with a spring of my step and restaurant chatter in my ears, I barely noticed him.

The nodding man sat alone at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and it was his laughter that drew my attention. It rose above the roar of the dining area. He was amused by some unheard joke, so amused that teard. tears trickled down his face. In my eyes met him as he motioned a hand towards the chair opposite, the man I'd hoped to never see again. Chest juttering, I ignored Albert and scurried into the bathroom with a smile well and truly rubbed from my face. I pretended I hadn't seen him, pretended that I still hadn't hallucinated in days, bracing against either side of the bathroom's sink, it took a minute for me to control my breathing. I reminded myself that the medication was not a

I was never going to be entirely eradicated my illness, but simply treat it, mitigate the worst symptoms. But why? Out of the three did Albert have to return? I wondered, sweat staining my flesh? Anybody else, please? As of responding, there came labored breathing from the lock stall behind me. My eyes unsteadily glanced at the mirror head, and I saw movement through the crack between the cubicle door and the wall. saw a bloodshot eye peeking at me through the slim gap.

Don't scream, Albert whispered, placing a finger on his lips as my mouth opened. You won't like what happens if he scream. Then the man wagged his finger through the cubicle's narrow gap, urging me to come forward. I wanted to flee the bathroom, but there was no running from him. I knew that. Only obeying his commands would offer me the slightest respite. So I nodded and walked over to the locked bathroom stall with a gaping, quivering mouth. I've missed you, Albert whispered, panting heavily.

I eyed his smile's unevenly sized teeth through the slight opening, felt the decaying breath escape his jaws and wash across my cheeks. My very body shrank in terror as his warmly finger stretched forwards, threatening to tear into my cold cheek. I've been better lately, I croaked. Better? Albert asked, grin broadening. You were better before.

They'll only burden you. Do you want me to make them go away? I'm going back to the table now, I whispered hoarsely. I don't want to talk to you anymore, Albert. You're not real. Is that what Dr. Rowland told you, Albert giggled, revealing a haunting fragment of his face? I'm very real, Justin. Very, very, very, very, very real.

I'm leaving, I stammered. Taking ginger steps away from the unstable man, you're no fun, Justin, Albert sulked, his eyes mashing against the gap in an effort to follow my movement. It's just you and me, Justin. It'll always just be you and me. I'll help you. I'll free you. Jaw locked in a haunted gas, but I scurried out of the bathroom door. Albert was no longer sitting at the darkened table in the restaurant's corner, and I prayed he would stay in the bathroom cubicle, forever, preferably. Are you okay, dear, my mother asked, frowning as I returned to the table with a white complexion. Yes, I muttered. Fieninging, I smile. It's just, it's just been an

overwhelming couple of weeks. April smile, taking my hand. You're doing so well, Justin, I'm proud of you. I nodded weekly, but I was not present for the reminder of the meal. My eyes continually returned to the men's bathroom, squinting to search for Albert in the grimy corners of the room. His awful face was nowhere to be seen, and that did not comfort me. The following night, I escaped from that primal, paralyzed in state of fear, told myself that I'd let a slight wobble affect me a little too much. To distract myself, I invited some friends to my home, April, Michael, and Jane. I revealed my interaction with Albert and my friends were fantastic, incredibly supportive. I felt foolish and reminded myself that I was stronger when I opened up to my loved ones.

In spite of Albert's claims, people were not a burden, and isolation was not freedom. I'm starving, Michael said. Shall I head to Domino's? Yes, Jane excitedly squealed. I'll come with you. Get us two margarita pizzas, please, April said. Thanks, mate. I added as the pair walked out of the door.

There was a moment of silence in the lounge, followed by April twisting her head to offer a sultry, mischievous grin. And then there were two, she whispered, bouncing her brows. Were you hoping for a quick game of Monopoly? I teased, motioning it at the stacks of board games in the cabinet. My girlfriend rolled her eyes and seized my hand.

Yes, let's play Monopoly upstairs. We were, by no means, quick. I'll leave it at that. Shit, April gasped afterwards. I'm in the bedside clock. It's eight o'clock. I frowned as I got dressed. Already?

What time was it when they left? Seven, and there were no messages from them, she said. I'm the WhatsApp chat. It shouldn't have taken them an hour. Domino's is only around the corner. Are they okay? They must be playing Monopoly. I grinned. April snorted, shaking her head as she slipped into her clothes, but the warmth fled my

lips as my eyes wandered to the bedroom window, as I eyed a darkened figure at the back of my garden. Dimly revealed by solar lights, Albert was watching from the shade of an oak tree. I tried to conceal my horror, but had caught April's eye, and she followed my gaze to the garden. I expected her to console me, expected her to say that I should talk to my doctor about the medication not working as well as I hoped. I certainly did not expect. Who's that? My body chilled as I processed April's question. Two unthinkable words. I told myself that it had been an auditory hallucination, but I knew better, knew when she frowned at me. Justin, do you know that man outside, she asked? That's your property, isn't it? I trembled. You can see him? April's face grew more fearful.

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

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

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

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

It's not them. It's... What, Justin, what? She cried. You won't believe me, I said, tiptoeing towards the bedroom door, then inching it open. Through the opening, I had a direct view of the stairs. The front door was swaying inwards and outwards, driven by a growing gust. There's nobody at the door I whispered fearfully. Right.

I'm doing it. April said, slipping her phone out, before her finger hit a single number, then came a creak from behind us. Our eyes were drawn to the in-sweet of my bathroom, drawn to shapes which lunged from the unlit room into the growlough of my bedroom. Long, slithering fingers one by one, the awful things curled around the wood of the ensuit door, tentatively pushing it open. April and I did not make a sound, whether frozen by fear or the shushing demon. You watched as the face pushed out of the darkness. It squeezed through the doorway to reveal features no longer indistinct, still uneven, but horribly memorable. Albert's face was composed of moving wrinkles which sloshed and

frothed across his skin like waves. His eyes were no longer hazy holes that I would soon forget, but hypnotic chasms of darkness. Endless pitch shielded by eyelids that blinked with unsettling frequency. As Albert reached his unholy fingers towards April, I screamed and pulled her backwards, screamed not only due to her near end, but due to her scream. What frightened me was that April saw Albert too, and that meant he had always been real. That might not have haunted me so greatly if he had been a man, but he was something else. Albert violated the very laws of nature. I feared that I'd never be able to distinguish between truth and fantasy ever again. again. April and I sprinted down the stairs and I felt the house quake under the strain of some

immense weight. When we reached the swinging front door, I saw Albert's reflection in the window pane beside it. He had bloomed to an extraordinary horrifying size, his dimensions filing the upper landing, and the man hunched as he pursued us downstairs. After stepping onto the front lawn, I twisted slowly, but found that Albert had not followed us onto the front lawn. He had just disappeared. After taking a second to relish and the breeze, battering my skin, I joined April and crying for help. Those cries were drowned, however, by approaching sirens. Neither of us had managed to call the emergency services, but the reason for their arrival quickly revealed itself. At the end of the street buried within the splayed bark of a tree,

was Michael's car. He had not been drinking, had not swerved to avoid something in the road, as far as I as witnesses know. I knew what had done it. I knew who had panicked my two friends within that mangled heap of metal. April and I decided, without uttering another word to one another, that we do not speak of what we had seen. We rushed towards the paramedics and firefighters, but the fate of our friends was written on their grimacing faces. It was hours later that I thought of Albert's threat, thought of my mother. When we reached her flat, the place had been ransacked, and she was nowhere to be seen. Months later, she is still missing, and my terror never dies.

Not knowing what she endured, or continues to endure. is an agony deeper than seeing the contorted corpuses of my friends in that wreckage. I don't know whether I'll ever see my mother again. I don't know whether I'd want to see her, want to see the things Albert has done. April and I haven't stopped running. I still believe that this thing follows us, though I now know it lives outside of me. Albert wants me to be alone, for that is how it survives. It feeds on my separation from all others.

I know I should leave April if I isolate myself giving Albuetti's desires that may well save her. On the other hand even if I abandon April this creature may well still hunt her. May still do something unfathomably

twisted to her. If I stay by her side, she has a chance. We both have a chance. I must remember what my mother said. No matter the lies it tells, never face it alone. And all right, guys, that wraps up unexplainable stories from Reddit. I really liked all the stories we covered in today's video.

I mean, let me know what you thought of them down below, but all three of these stories were just great, in my opinion. They were long, but all, I think, really well written and just really good, entertaining stories. So let me know what you'd like to see in the future, what type of stories, what type of, you know, everything. Like, how long do you want the video? How short do you want the video to be?

And just, yeah, let me know what you thought about the video. And please like the video. It helps a ton. And please subscribe to the channel. Without further ado, thank you so much for watching. And until next time, see ya.