Snook - Unnerving Stories From Reddit

Episode Date: December 7, 2025

These are the best stories I have ever read on my channel, each one is so amazing, goosebumps with every story. The 'Prison Is Hell' story is my favorite by far, so make sure you watch to the end! But I also added timestamps, so let me know if I should continue to do that in the future. Thank you guys for watching, let me know if you would like to see more content like this in the future! Thanks for watching, like and subscribe. CREDITS -orangeplr -   / every_night_a_different_person_walks_down_the  1000andonenites -   / i_used_to_live_in_a_cult_that_silenced_women  mister_gnaw -   / drive_safe  Elias_Witherow -   / feed_the_pig  SamMarduk -   / prison_is_hell  TIMESTAMPS FOR STORIES!0:00 | Intro0:46 | 1st Story - Every night a different person walks down the street and screams for help. We aren't allowed to help them.27:12 | 2nd Story - I Used to Live in a Cult that Silenced Women34:38 | 3rd Story - Drive Safe59:39 | 4th Story - Feed The Pig1:33:00 | 5th Story - Prison Is Hell2:06:22 | OutroIF 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 - 500,000 SUBSCRIBERSSubscribe to my 2nd channel‬ Subscribe to SpookCast!!! I love you. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey what's up guys and welcome back to another Reddit stories video. You guys have been showing so much support on all of these Reddit stories videos, so I'm going to keep making them and as long as you keep supporting and watching them. So make sure you like the video. It helps out a ton. And this video will cover unnerving stories from Reddit. And this will be a very long video just with a ton of different stories. And they are all so interesting.

So I'm really excited for you to be here. And these videos are great to listen to while you study, sleep, just relax or anything. So, yeah, sit back, relax, and let's get into some unnerving stories from Reddit. And before we do, please subscribe to the channel. It's the channel's goal to be at 500,000 subscribers. So please subscribe. And all right, anyways, let's actually get into some unnerving stories from Reddit. Every night, a different person walks down the street and screams for help.

We aren't allowed to help them. Looking back, I feel dumb, completely stupid, actually. I should have known that apartment was far too short. cheap to be right, even for a studio. I should have known there had to be a catch. The day I moved in was a complete blur. I insisted that no one helped me, not wanting to prove any of my family member's suspicions about my character. By late afternoon, all my muscles ached terribly, and my head throbbed. I fell back on my bare mattress, staring up at the ceiling fan with glazed over eyes. I pulled the damp strands of hair from my sweaty forehead, wincing in disgust. Someone knocked on my door, causing me

to jump. I cursed under my breath, pushing myself up on my elbows. Two girls were picking around my doorframe. Foolishly, I left it wide open, forgetting the old college rule. Only leave your door open if you want to make new friends. And I was not in the mood to make new friends. One of them, an Asian girl with choppy black hair was grinning at me. The other stood a little further back, fingering a box of marble reds. Hey, she said to me. nodding at me. nodding at me. Her voice was smooth and raspy at the same time. Did you just move in? I laid back down, rubbing my face with both hands, choosing not to bother with manners.

Yeah, about five seconds ago. Cool. The girls walked in, evidently ignoring my very clear body language. The girl with the black hair ran her fingers along the edge of my desk, and then picked up a little ceramic duck from my unpacked box of trinkets. Grandma, I explained, feeling strangely defensive. cute she replied holding it up to her face has anyone told you yet the other girl asked abruptly looking around my apartment she had tucked these secrets into the back pocket of her jeans and was now tugging at her long red braids jiana give her a second well she needs to know yeah but we haven't even

asked her name i blinked at the two strangers incredulously i hadn't even had time to put toilet paper in my bathroom and here they were, touching my things and talking about me like I wasn't there. I just wanted to take a nap, honestly. My name's Arden, I said. The girl with the red braids, Gianna, sat down next to me on my bed. Did they tell you? Tell me what? Oh, of course they didn't.

The rules. I blinked again, my face blank. I didn't know about any rules besides the typical renting ones. I'd signed the lease after, at best, skimming over it. The landlord was a skinny woman who smelt of ashes, and I was fairly certain she had never developed the facial muscles necessary for smiling. I wasn't about to ask her any follow-up questions, especially when the rent was so cheap. The other girl laughed nervously.

Where did you move in from? I ignored her. What rules? Gianna got a strange, wicked sort of smile on her face, bouncing a little on my mattress. The other girl sighed loudly. Something happens here every night, she began. pulling out my rickety office chair and sitting down. Something weird.

Like what? I sat up, frowning at her. Finally, my interest was peaked. Someone walks down the street, Gianna said. Her voice reminded me of a camp counselor telling a scary story around the bonfire. That one, right down there,

she pointed out my window. It's someone different every night. They scream for help for about an hour, but we weren't supposed to help them. I just stared at it. I felt a small chill run up my spine. I didn't know what to make of all this. It happens at a different time every night.

The other one said softly. We never know when it's coming. Why? She shrugged almost sadly. We don't know why. I scoffed, leaning my elbows against my knees. I don't believe you. The girl shrugged.

You don't have to. You'll see for yourself. The look in her eyes made me want to believe her. She seemed sincere. but I couldn't even begin to fathom what they were saying being true. It was too strange, too outlandish. I knew this wouldn't be the nicest neighborhood, but it couldn't be that bad. It had to be a prank.

They had to be hazing me or something. We'll come back later, Gianna said, matter-factly. We'll show you. Before I could protest, she grabbed the other girl by the wrist and they were gone. I followed them to the door, watching them march down the hall, talking to each other in hushed voices. I closed my door behind them. That night, as promised, they came back.

They came dragging along two boys. One was somewhat muscular wearing a tight black t-shirt in baggy jeans, and my eyes were instantly drawn to a silver heart-shaped locket around his neck. He smiled at me and introduced himself as Will when he walked in. The other boy was smaller but chubbier and nervous-looking with a buzzcut and ill-fitting cargo shorts. His name, I was told, was Mateo. The girl named Gianna. I came in carrying a bottle of wine in that same slightly crumpled box of cigarettes.

The other one, the girl I still didn't know the name of, was the only one who looked even somewhat apologetic. They all sat down on my dusty floor next to the window and motioned for me to join them. I sat between Will and the nameless girl, unsure whether I should continue feeling violated or if I should just give in to my strange, pushing neighbors. Do you all live in this building, I asked? hesitantly, accepting the wine when it was passed to me. Yeah, Will answered with a grin.

It seemed half-hearted. This building is where all the young people live. It's where they put us, Gianna cut in, lined a cigarette. It didn't even occur to me to tell her not to smoke inside. We've all been sorted out. Forgive her. She's a bit of a conspiracy theorist. It's not a theory she snapped glaring at him.

Look at the other ones. Next door, the middle-ageders. People with kids, but no grandkids. Across the street, old people, not a single 20-something in that entire building. May, tell them. So her name was May. I looked to her over, admiring her smoky eye makeup and how she tied her hair up, long strands poking out like exploding fireworks.

Stop it, May muttered, reaching for the wine bottle. You'll scare her. I'm not scared. She just shrugged at me, as if she didn't believe me. We passed the bottle round and then around again. I listened to them, bicker and lulled. laugh. It was clear they'd all been friends for a while, and I felt a little bit like I was intruding, even though they were in my apartment. Will asked me if I had gone to college, and I told them I did,

but I dropped out. They all nodded sympathetically, which made me feel stupid. By midnight, I was a little bit buzzed, and my guard was beginning to fall. I had to admit, it felt good to have friends. I'd already mentally resigned myself to a life of solitude, at least for a while, but it seemed like that might not actually have to be my fate. I laughed at Mateo in Gianna's drunken argument, passing a cigarette back and forth of May, blowing the smoke out of my open window. I'd almost completely forgot why they were all over when it happened.

All at once, a blaring alarm came from each of our phones, like an amber alert. I could hear the sound echo throughout the neighborhood, like an entire chorus of hundreds of phones going off, not just ours. I nearly leapt out of my skin, not even Gianna looked. All of them went quiet. and they all looked at me as I took it out, frowning at the screen. Do not interfere. It's coming, Will whispered.

He had changed, his eyes almost glassy and his voice soft and shaky. Mateo squeezed his shoulder. I looked at May. Her eyebrows were clenched together in concern, and she was stubbing out our cigarette against the windowsill, shrinking away. There was again. That chill. It crept up my back.

spreading along my scalp and making me shiver. Something felt wrong, deeply wrong. The others were quiet now, staring silently at the window I was sitting up against. The air felt somehow warmer like it was buzzing with something, or maybe I was just sweating. We sat there, unmoving for what felt like half an hour. Right as I was getting tempted to ask what was going on, I heard it. It was far away and faint, but I still heard it, a cry. I continued as he said, it got gradually closer, louder, more desperate. Help! Please, my God, someone help me.

Slowly I leaned out the window. I had to see it with my own eyes. I had to confirm there was actually someone out there like they had been saying there would be. My new apartment was on the fourth floor, so it was hard to see who was down on the street without squinting. In the flickering street lights, I could make out the outline of an elderly man. He was hunched over, wandering, aimless. from door to door, wearing only what looked like a hospital gown to cover his pale broken body. Behind him trailed a path of dripping blood, although I couldn't see where it was coming from.

Please, I'm hurt. I looked back at the others, my mouth hanging open. What is this? I demanded loudly. What the hell is this? May touched my arm, trying to calm me down. I pulled away from her. Arden, please. We have to help him. Why can't we help him? He's just an old man. We can't help him. Trust me. I ignored her. Leaning further out the window, prepared to call out to him, but before I could open my mouth, I froze. The man down there was still now facing our building. His head was tilted upwards, and I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew he was looking right at me. I immediately felt cold, like I was plummeting into ice water. Help me, he whimpered into the silent night air. His voice

barely audible. Then he began to scream. That scream wasn't human, or at least not any human I have ever met. desperate, agonized. It made my stomach turn and my eyes prick with tears. I couldn't look away. The blood was coming from his arms, or I should say his lack of arms. Where his arms should have been, there was only bloody, mangled stumps. They looked fresh. He didn't move other than a shaky sway, and his eyes didn't leave me. His shriek slowly molded into words that I could just barely understand. Please, please, please, please, please. May yanked me back. backwards, away from the window. I landed on my ass and yelped in pain and horror. What is that thing, I whispered? I didn't mean to whisper, but that was all that came out.

We don't know, May replied. Her eyes trained on Will, who was crying now. Mateo held on to him like he might topple over. We just have to follow the rules. What happens if you don't follow the rules, I asked, and immediately regretted it. Will sobbed softly. Outside, the old man wailed. Gianna reached over and pulled the window shut, but it somehow did nothing to muffle the blood-curling sound. Do you want to tell her or should I? Mateo asked Will. Will just shook his head. He was clutching his locket now, turning the little heart over between his fingers. Mateo sighed and turned towards me. A couple of months ago, one of them got to Will's girl. Shannon. Gianna butted in.

Her name was Shannon. Sorry, her name is Shannon. I swallowed, but whatever. Whatever I did, nothing would force down the lump in my throat. What happened? Mateo shook his head. We don't know. We're all together when the screaming started. Usually we just ignore it now, you know? No use in dwelling on it, but that night we think she saw something different.

She started insisting she had to help and she ran outside. We couldn't stop her. He paused, glancing over at Will. He was silent and still. The screaming outside had to be. had begun to pass, getting softer as it continued further down the street. Then what? He shrugged. Nothing. She was just gone. I pressed my lips together, trying to process all of this. I really had believed they were messing with me, but I'd seen it. I'd witnessed it firsthand, and it

terrified me. Why doesn't anyone leave? He shrugged for a second time. Can't afford it, or people just don't care. Some people have left, but we all signed in NDA with the lease so nobody ever knows. I frown, thinking back to signing the paperwork, trying to remember. I could vaguely picture what he was talking about. I just assumed it was more legal jargon that I would never understand. Had I seriously signed a non-disclosure agreement without even noticing? After that, I told them I wanted to go to bed. I needed time to process all of this. They understood, and each one of them said goodbye before leaving me alone. As I lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, for some strange reason I thought,

of May's face when we realized it was happening. How she'd put out the cigarette and backed away from the window. Eventually, I was able to drift off to sleep. The next few weeks were difficult. I spent more and more time with my new neighbors. I came to find out that they were right. I didn't think there was a single person older than 30 in our entire building, but I saw them all the time leaving the one next door. Settling in was difficult. The others seemed to so used to it. They cared, of course. It scared them, especially will, but you could tell they had been here for a while by the way they sighed, closing the blinds and focusing harder on whatever they were doing. Eventually, I began to mimic them. It helped a little bit to pretend it was normal, as strange as that sounds. Moving out wasn't really an option for me. Anyways, I was a college dropout and I hadn't found a job yet. I was still just getting by on what I managed to save up.

Every night, it was someone different. Some were more humans. some seemed less. Some were drenched in blood, their clothes ripped in strange, but some looked fairly normal. The worst were the children. They would run like injured chickens, screeching and banging on doors, begging for help. Sometimes they would try different things,

say different things, like, they're coming, like I don't want to die, or even, I'm sorry. There were a lot of children. One night, well, I was a lot of children. I was half awake and alarm went off. It wasn't like the one on our phones. It was blaring, only somewhat muffled by the window. My apartment glowed a flashing red from outside.

I didn't even look. I was too scared of what I might see. I just covered my head with my pillow and tried to fall back asleep. I came to learn all of these theories, especially from Gianna. She thought we had all been chosen and predetermined to live here, all for some sick little government game. She thought maybe there were people betting on the different buildings, putting down money on who would interfere the least. See that? She said to me one day in the hallway

returning from a coffee run. Cameras everywhere. I didn't know if I believed her. I spent time with May mostly. We smoked on the front steps and people watched. It was strange to see what at night was such a sinister and gruesome neighborhood during the day, bright and lively. She didn't talk much about the rules, so I didn't either. We didn't talk much all in general. I found just enjoying each other's company. Right when I was beginning to feel comfortable was when it happened. It started with a birthday cake. Happy birthday! As May walked through the door, Mateo blew into his plastic party horn. The paper inflated, smacking well on the side of the head. May's hand flew to his heart. Jesus Christ, you fuckers know I hate surprises. Gianna laughed and walked over to her. In her hand, she held a chocolate

cake, half-hazardly adorned with sprinkles and bright pink icing that read, happy birthday, May, in the center. 24. She sat down the cake and on the dresser and threw her arm around May's neck. How does it feel? Fucking awful. That's the spirit. Enough of this, Mateo cut in.

Weaving between them. Let's eat some cake and then let's go. Their tradition I'd learned was to bar hop for birthdays. They told me there was no curfew here despite the rules. Just a recommended time to be home, which was 10.30 p.m. Usually they said they got home before the alarm or spent the day. night somewhere else. We all took some cake. The boys took shots in the kitchen to pregame while I watched Gianna fuss over May's hair. I was never much of a party or while at clubs or

bars in college. I spent most of the time out back, chatting with the smokers. But then again, I was never much of a friend group person either, so maybe the circumstances were changing. I watched them all troop outside to Mateo's car. I stuffed myself in the back, incredibly conscious of how close I was pressed into May. My other shoulder rammed. into the car door, Mateo's music cramped up to the maximum of all you hurt my ears, and the tiny space was packed with the smell of tobacco in various perfumes as we sped down the freeway towards the city. But it was nice. It was really nice. I found myself laughing with them, and I hooked my arm around Mays when she wheezzled her hand beneath my elbow. It was actually

nice. As predicted, the bars they chose weren't exactly my scene. By this time, as opposed to college, I could stand it. I took shots. I followed them out for smoke breaks. I even danced under the low purple lights until my feet ached inside my chunky heels, surely riddled with blisters. By the time we got to our third bar, I couldn't even feel it anymore. And it was at the third bar that we crammed ourselves into an old photo booth. In Gianna reluctantly offered five dollars to the slot, and we laughed, red-faced into a tiny camera. After the photos spit out into the compartment, the others slid through the red curtains. But before I could follow, May grab my wrist.

She held me back, sliding her long, baby blue nails up my wrist. I shivered. You never gave me a birthday present, she whispered. And I could feel her breath on my face if I was wearing my glasses. They would have been fogging up. Yeah, well I? I didn't get enough to finish my quip before she kissed me. It was nice, and then it wasn't.

Hey, Will called out to me, squeezing through a crowd of men wearing tattered leather jackets to get to me. Arden, where's everyone else? I blinked, looking around. I could have sworn they had been right there a second ago, but now none of them were anywhere to be found. I shrugged. Don't know. Why? What's up?

He finally broke free from the swaying mass and I got a better look at him. He looked worried. His face flushed and I could see a few drops of sweat creeping out from his hairline. He took his phone out of his pocket and held it out to me. First I saw his phone screen. It was him next to a girl with strawberry blonde hair, both clutching beer bottles and grinning wildly at the camera. Then I looked where he asked. actually wanted me to. The time. 147 a.m. It's getting late, he narrated. Can we find the others and get

going? I understood then. He was worried. It was past 1 a.m. and no alarm yet. It was later than usual. The bars would start closing soon. He wanted to get back before it happened. Will and I weave through the crowd. It was pretty buzzed, and I realized I have having a hard time moving my feet right, which made me feel embarrassed. I hadn't even had that much to try. drink. Was like that much of a lightweight? We found them outside, chain-smoking. Will explained the situation while I swayed. The drive back was strangely tense. Mateo's music was turned down, and there wasn't any joking or boisterous gossiping like there had been on the way out. We all felt it. It didn't need to be said. Something was off. Will drove fast, almost reckless. In the dark,

May took my hand. Just as he was careening around the last corner, and we could almost make out the shape of our apartment building down the street. It happened. All of our phones went off at once. Gianna let out a small shriek from the other side of the back seat. Do not interfere. Mateo turned back towards us, pressing his finger to his lips. Had this ever happened before? By their reactions, I didn't think so. It was different when it came up when I was in my bedroom, when I could just shut the curtains and put my headphones on. I felt so small and helpless then, like I was gazing into the maw of something incomprehensibly beyond my understanding. I felt like we were all flies, and this neighborhood, right now, was the spider's web.

Will drove slowly now, maybe five miles an hour. We were all silent, and we were all still. Not even a stray breath cut through the quiet. Underneath the glowing street lights, I could make out the side of Will's face. He was pale, and if I hadn't seen his knee shifting as he pressed down on the brakes, I could have mistaken him for a mannequin. The car came to a stop. I followed his gaze all the way down the street to the dark horizon.

All I saw what he saw. A silhouette. It was far too distant to make out what shape it took, but it was evidently humanoid. It moved in a shaky stumble, limping down the middle of the road in our direction, and in the overwhelming silence, I could hear it. Far away, but still deeply urgent. Help me. Will.

Giannihist. Turn the car around. Will didn't move. He just stared forward as white as paper. It didn't make any logical sense, but I knew what he knew. It was too late now. There was no use. Help me. Please help. I could tell now that it was a girl from its voice and its figure as it got closer. It was wearing some sort of white nightgown, not unlike the old man's hospital attire from the first night, stained with dark red blood. From here, I couldn't tell if it was fresh or dry. I didn't know why that mattered to me.

Maybe, May whispered. Her arm shook against mine. Maybe if we're quiet and we ducked down, it won't see us. Deep down it felt as hopeless as turning around had felt, but it seemed reasonable. I nodded and did, as she suggested, crouching behind the passenger seat, my knees throbbing from the strange angle I bent myself into. We all did it, except for Will. He didn't move. He just looked.

When he finally spoke, I could barely hear him. It was so weak. Shannon. The word hung in the air, heavy with implication. Mateo was the one to break the silence. What? Shannon, he repeated, finally turning to look at his friend. That's Shannon.

I peered over the scene in front of me, squintinging my eyes. The human-like thing was getting closer, and now I could make out strawberry blonde hair, round face, short legs, the girl from Will's phone lock screen. the girl who had disappeared. Shannon. May gasped next to me. Dude, Mateo said slowly.

His words crumbling as soon as they left his mouth. I know what you're thinking, dude. Do not get out of this car. Will didn't even seem like he was with us anymore. He was in shock, I think, looking back. I have to help her, he insisted. Right as another sickening cry rang out. Help me.

Help me. Please. It hurts. It was getting far too close to us for comfort, but it still didn't seem to notice a car. Its cries became more and more desperate as they got louder. I have to help her, Will repeated. And a bit of life had returned to his face. Mateo shook his head and grabbed at his sleeve.

Will, that is not Shannon. Will glared at him. His eyes shining with tears. I know Shannon. That's her. I know you, dude. And I know you miss her, but please. Please don't do this.

Their voices were getting louder and more and more distraught, and I felt May pressed into my side, trembling like a leaf. Gianna was whimpering, but I couldn't see her from my position. The thing was almost to our car when it stopped. She turned her head, left, then right, almost like she was sniffing the air. The boy stopped arguing. I felt like my heart would burst out of my chest. I could see Shannon's face now, and I realized why she hadn't seen us.

The girl's face was streaks with gore, and it looked like her eyes had been scooped out with melon spoon. She cried, drool pouring from her slackened mouth, but no tears could come. It happened too quickly. None of us could stop him. Will violently ripped his arm away from Mateo fumbling for the handle to the car door. Gianna screamed. Mateo tried to slam down on the lock, but he missed.

And Will managed to get the door open before he could try again. He stumbled onto the asphalt and hid the ground with a soft. crunch. The thing turned her head and began to scream. But instead of charging it, Will, she backed away. She held her arms out in front of her like something might attack her, whipping her head around wildly. An alarm went off, like the one I had heard that one night, but far more unbearable now that I was in it. The street lights lining either side of the street switched to a flashing red, and Matteo threw himself into the driver's seat, the tire screeching as he peeled away. Gianna was screaming.

at him, pleading with him to go back. May was weeping into her hands. I didn't move. Didn't make a sound. I didn't understand. As we sped away, I looked back. I couldn't help it. I saw the flash of some sort of van in the blinding red light, pulling around the corner. Then nothing. That was a week or two ago. I don't know. I've been having a hard time keeping track of time. None of us have spoken much since that night. We tried the police, of course, but as you could assume, nothing came of it. I think whatever this is is far larger than we know. I don't know if it's some kind of experiment or just a sick game, but I'm going to move back into my parents' house next week, despite all of their berating, and then figure out what to do from there. I don't know if that

really was Shannon that we saw that night or if it was something else. I don't know which is worse. All I know is that last night, I heard Will's voice outside my window, crying, pleading for help. I didn't interfere. I used to live in a cult that silenced women. Physically, literally, the women in that cult had their vocal cords cut with a special ceremony when they were 12. We lived in a remote work community up in northern British Columbia. It was, no, it is a healthy, thriving community with orchids and mines, electricity in a small clinic, and even a tattoo parlor, The teachers and doctors had internet. It was beautiful and very peaceful.

Everybody was well looked after with plenty of wonderful food and an outdoorsy lifestyle. In fact, I later learned that outsiders often made applications to join the community. Women, even with their children, sometimes the applications were successful. Not me, though. I had been desperate to get out ever since that day I was 10, and my dad told me about the silencing. Dad was a teacher. I'd wanted to become a teacher like my dad. I'd grown up watching and prepare lesson plans,

great assignments with his thick, chunky red pens, discussing course content, impagogically with his colleagues loudly and passionately. I was enthralled by it all and knew, as indeed my dad often said, there was nothing more notable and worthwhile than teaching and shaping the mind of the young. No wonder only men in our community were entrusted to be teachers.

How ridiculous and backwards was the outside world with their female teachers and unsilenced women, always mired in instability and chaos. No wonder the outside was full of war, violence, debt and poverty. Their women always under the threat of assault. The teachers played us videos with current dates, clips from the news made by outsiders themselves, showing how they treat their women. No wonder there was always a cue of women desperate to join us, a community free of mistreatment, abuse, and assault, with plenty food for everyone, in a small safe home.

Being silenced must be a small price to pay. I remembered my mom laughing until the tears ran down her face when I had told her about wanting to become like teacher, just like daddy. Then she had gathered me in her arms and sobbed as if her heart was broken. Dad told us about the silencing a short while after that. He was a great teacher, and I understood. why it was necessary. Dad had explained it all carefully, the history, the benefits of to the community, the evolution from a symbolic tattoo along the throat to an actual painless clinical procedure which disabled the vocal cords permanently. I was so lucky I had a teacher like dad

who took the time to explain things so beautifully and clearly to me. Other girls would usually just get a notice from the clinic with the date and time of their silencing appointment. However, as Dad said, it was very important that it was taught correctly with proper context. Otherwise, it wouldn't be understood properly. That's why teaching was such an important job. Having a teacher dad had other benefits too. He had thrown me a silencing party most girls could only dream of with amazing food imported from outside dancing and singing.

I had a gorgeous, fluly, glittery, lazy dress. Also bought specifically from outside for the occasion. And all my friends had been so jealous as I shimmered through the day. I still remember that dress. But then it was over. and everyone went home. My silencing would take place tomorrow. I lay in the dark, unable to ignore the knot of fear that had been tightening in me all day.

Well, all my life, really, since the day Dad told me about the silencing. As I lay there thinking about the procedure tomorrow, which would permanently disable my vocal cords, and silence me forever, the waves of fear breaking over me grew stronger. There was a light tap at my bedroom door. I raised my head and called softly. Yes? The door opened and my mom glided quietly in. She was also dressed for bed and despite the dark, the tattoo along her neck and throat was

plainly visible. She had just chosen a plain line, as I would. Many silenced women would choose elaborate designs for the neck tattoo they received after their silencing, but I wanted the same plain line across my neck as mom had. She reached out for my hand. I whispered. Mom, I'm scared. She started typing on her pad, which was always with her.

Please don't be scared, Eliza. It's over so soon and it doesn't hurt one bit. Just the tattooed afterwards a little bit. I read the glowing words. Then I said, Mom, I don't want to. I don't want to lose my voice. She looks so sad and she typed furiously.

Eliza, your dad has explained why, like here. You've studied examples of societies which don't have silencing. You know how terrible. and miserable they are. You're such a peaceful, orderly society since we started silencing women. You know that. Dad yelled loudly. Louisa, are you coming to bed?

Mom bent down for one last hurried kiss and then left my room. I was alone with my fears again. I couldn't help thinking about the outside, where women jabbered, chattered, gossiped, wheedled, manipulated men and told stories and yammered and protested and wanted this and that and the other. Dad said it was a disgrace, and one day, maybe, they would see the error of their ways and become like our community. But all these thoughts couldn't stop my fear for tomorrow and my silencing.

Dark hours passed, as I stared at the ceiling. I still remember those hours, heavy like glue. Silent. It must have been 2 a.m. when I heard a faint tap tap at my window. I sat up, putting aside my childish fears and opened the curtain. An adult woman was behind the glass smiling at me. Her neck tattoo was clearly visible in the moonlight, a beautiful design of roses and thorns. I didn't care about my safety.

My dread for tomorrow had desensitized me. I threw up in the window. Who are you? The woman opened her mouth and spoke, quietly but still spoke, her voice coming from her lips. Hello, Eliza. Will you come away with me? I'd never seen a woman of that age with a neck tattoo who could talk. My jaw dropped.

What? She started speaking rapidly. Eliza, I know how you feel. We can take you away outside. I can't explain much now, but if you want to, you have to come away with me now. It'll be a hard life, but you won't lose your voice at least. Not today you won't. I was silent for a bit.

I felt the dreadful fear of the last few years shifting a bit, giving way to a new emotion. Hope? Excitement? I looked at the aged face of this talking woman with the tattooed roses on her throat and nodded dumbly. She smiled at me. Excellent. Follow me. No, you don't need anything. We have everything you will need. A car is waiting. Not even shoes. Just move fast. My heart beating fast. I followed my new friend and climbed out of the windows. She drove me for a few hours through the mountains through winding back roads I never knew existed. She told me how my mom had sent them a forbidden message to come and get me. I knew I would never see my mom and dad again. Sometimes little bits of news filter through connections. The community thrives. Life outside is hard, but I can speak.

Drive safe. My ex always hated our dog, but he probably would have taken her too if she weren't so ugly. If Lulu were one of those cute mini golden doodles or corgis, or even one of those goofy-looking dogs that are charming in their ugliness, think Danny DeVito or Steve Bouchemmy, only in dog version. Then I have no doubt he would have claimed ownership of her too, along with everything else in our apartment. But Lulu is just a plain, old, ugly dog.

And for that, and so much else about her, I'm forever grateful. I don't want to talk about my ex too much here, because this isn't about him. But I do need to explain why I was traveling across the country in the middle of the night with my few worldly possessions loaded up in the back of a bumpy U-Haul van. My ex and I had been together six years, never married. He said marriage was outdated. I said fine. Was I upset by that?

Yes and no. Well, yes, but I kept quiet. I loved him. Five months ago, he tells me he wants to split up. He said it just like that. I want to split up. No shaking of the hands, no tears in his eyes, not even a change in the tone of his voice.

I was in the kitchen when it happened. Eating honey, bunches of oats for breakfast. He was standing in the hall. I want to split up, he said. Then he grabbed his bag and left for work, leaving me to sob as my cereal got soggy in the bowl. Lulu heard me crying and nuzzled her snout in my lap. She whimpered along with me as the hours went by.

I skipped work that day, sat on the couch, and watched the sunlight pass over the walls of the apartment I'd always thought of us as our home together. The thing is, my ex made way more money than me. He was happy to cover the bulk of the rent, he'd said. Happy to buy the furniture. Happy to lease the new car for us. happy to pay for this and that, loading up our apartment with nice things.

When the time came for me to move all these things that were actually mine out of the place, I realized I had even less than I did six years ago. It was all barely filled the U-Haul van. I didn't have a couch or chairs. Those were his on paper. I didn't have any dishes or silverware. We'd thrown out my old ones when he'd bought a fancy new set a couple years ago. I didn't even have a mattress.

He'd gotten us an expensive memory phone. king size. I remember I'd always wanted to tell Lulu hop up on the bed till the snuggle while we watched movies in our room. My ex wouldn't hear of it. Stop treating the dog like it's a person he'd say. She's lucky she even gets to live inside the apartment with us. I was the one who got Lulu from the pound back when she was a street dog, or she was, until the people from animal control swept her up one day as she'd been rummaging through an overturned trash can. You can tell she'd gotten a good amount of pit bull in her. But beyond that, she's an all-American mutt with a big boulder of a head, a weirdly thin body, and stumpy legs. She waddles more than walks, and she snores like crazy,

but she's a total sweetheart. When she sees kids, she lies on her belly and waits until they get close enough before she gives them kisses. We didn't even train her to do that. One afternoon, about a year or so ago, Lulu came up behind my ex and licked his ankles, and he turned and gave her a small kick right in the head. It wasn't enough to hurt Lulu, but that was when I should have known. Looking back, it's amazing how much you convince yourself someone is who they're not. So the U-Haul was packed. I'd quit my hourly job and I was now on the road toward my sister's place in Spartanburg, South Carolina, where I'd been promised a place to stay for the time being. It was a 10-plus hour drive, just Lulu and me in the front of the van as we rumbled through the endless

pastoral of farmland and cow towns. I purposely decided to take the smaller highway to avoid traffic since I was uncomfortable driving the U-Haul, and the scenery made me glad I did. Tall fast food signs rose up into the sky like totem poles against clouds so big and white. They almost made you want to cry, but I'd promised myself I was done crying, or at least until I'd gotten off the road. I'd had to pack the U-Haul all by myself, so it had already been early afternoon by the time I set off. After about four hours, hours on the road, the sky began to dim over the highway. Just that the sun sunk beneath the ridges of the mountains in the distance. I heard a loud clang somewhere below my feet. All at once, the U-Haul van started shaking.

It felt like the wheel was fighting against me. I kept having to grip it and yank it straight back. I had trouble seeing out the back window because my stuff was piled up, but I managed to get over to an exit that was just ahead. As I slowed the van down, now that I was off the highway, I saw a sign sticking out from the roadway. Richard and son's auto repair. Quarter mile ahead. I know you've probably heard a story like this before. A story where a car breaks down in the middle of nowhere on a backroads highway, a young woman

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

gentleman. His gray hair neatly combed and his buttoned shirt, starched bright white. He ran the place with his two sons, both of whom were waiting in the garage. My son's Abel and Dean will run diagnostics. Then you and I can head into the office to call the U-Haul folks. Richard said, as we walked up to him. Don't want this to be on your tab after all, Abel. Want to take your keys? I handed the keys to the son named Abel, who was a little chubby and pale,

his shaved head dotted with moles. He seemed shy and only nodded when he took the keys from me. I only mentioned Abel's appearance because the other son beside him, Dean was almost shockingly handsome. He had a thick head of sandy blonde hair, a chiseled jawline, and broad shoulders under his denim work shirt.

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

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

When he reached down to Petter, Lulu stepped back and showed her teeth growling under her breath. Lulu, I said. Bad girl. Dean just laughed. Nah, she's cool, just protecting her mom, right? Lou? Honestly, I wouldn't trust some random auto repair dude either. No, it's not you. It's just my boyfriend or, I guess, my ex-boyfriend now. He just, yeah, I don't know. I guess he made her a little skittish around guys like you. Dean raised in the eyebrow a little, and then he pursed his lips and nodded as if he understood, and I appreciated that he didn't ask any further about it.

He told me to go wait on him, that he'd handle everything from there. When I got back to the office, Steen's father Richard had already sorted out the bill with the U-Haul folks. Free and clear, he said. There was nothing else to do but wait for the van to be ready. A TV hanging in the corner was playing a muted episode of Judge Judy. Richard took a seat across from me in the waiting area, impeded Lulu while telling me a little about himself and his family. His wife had died a year and a half ago, he said,

passed suddenly in her sleep, which is a mercy, I suppose. I had been a tough string of months, but he and his sons were close. They were getting him through it. Lulu seemed to sense his sadness because she showed him more attachment than most other male strangers. I hope you don't mind me speaking out a turn, Richard said as he stroked Lulu's head, but I'm relieved you have this dog here with you. Why is that? Well, not to scare you, but there have been some incidents. He told me he didn't want me to cause any undue worry, but there had been seven women found dead in the woods beyond the cornfields down the highway

over the past year and a half. All the victims were like you. Young women traveling alone, Richard said, so it's good you got this girl here. And he put his face, Coosulu, who licked him on the cheek. Ah, good girl, such a sweetie. I mean, I appreciate you giving me a heads look, at least, I said. Sure, and like I said, didn't mean to scare you, probably nothing. No, it's nice of you. You guys have been all really nice, I added. Dean was, he was very helpful. That's just the wonderful service and dedication you would expect from the world-famous team at Richard and son's auto repair. Richard laughed, but I do think you were sincerely. I almost asked if Dean had a girlfriend, as if that weren't a totally crazy,

empathetic question to pose to a total little stranger, but before I had the chance to embarrass myself, the other son, Abel, shuffled into the office and murmured something to his father. Richard nodded, saying to me, well, looks like you're all set. No paperwork or anything? Nope, all taken care of. get you a receipt for insurance purposes, but otherwise you're good to go. Here, let me walk you and Lulu out.

On our way out of the office, I debated the merits of giving Dean my number, trying to balance the pros and cons. Was it better to risk wild embarrassment if I get rejected versus the regret I might feel if I did nothing? I was so new to this single life again that I didn't know how any of this worked anymore. It turns out the decision was made for me because Dean was gone when we got to the van. Dean head off already? Richard asked. Abel nodded. Had a date, he said in that whisper, quiet voice of his,

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

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

Up ahead, the cornfields ended and were overtaken by forest, a dense swath of evergreen trees. In the moment we drove past the fields, Lulu started barking. I swear I almost got crashed the car. Oh my God, Lulu! Lulu, calm down. She was going crazy, turning her head side to side as she barked back at whatever we'd just passed on the side of the road. Lulu, relax, girl.

But it couldn't even say that without my own voice choking up. Seven women found dead in the woods beyond the cornfields. Richard had said. My hands felt slippery on the wheel. I'd never been comfortable driving a U-Haul van before, and it didn't help that the darkness seemed to devour the headlamps so that I could barely see a few feet in front of me down the highway. I tried turning on the radio, got static, and turned the dial,

but then thought the better of it and shut it off again. Better to be in silence. Just in case. In case what? My mind was going in so many directions and even saying there was silence would be wrong. Because every few minutes Lulu started up again, pawing at the backseat in the windows, barking like crazy and growling. It was like she was fighting a ghost and wanted to break out of the car.

I glanced out the windows but it could only see darkness on either side of the road. That along with the shadowed outlines of truels. trees, stumps, power lines, all of which looked like monsters to me. Eventually, we entered South Carolina. We passed out of the rural area, and it was only when the bright flood lamps of passing car dealerships and 24-hour fast-food places illuminated the inside of the cabin that Lulu fell silent. But even then, for the last three hours of the car ride, she never fully relaxed, especially

when we passed through the occasional pocket of empty rural areas. She seemed just stressed. occasionally she'd perk up, as if she'd seen someone outside her window, floating along with us. Her body language would stiffen. By now I'd just let it happen. I told myself she was just tense from traveling. She seemed desperate by the end of the trip. I could tell she was exhausted. She hadn't slept all night. I was exhausted too. Lulu's howls and barks had kept me alert, but it hadn't exactly done well for keeping my eyes on the road. I felt the kind of twitchy panic that usually came from drinking too much coffee, my eyes darting from side to side, feeling like I was

about a crash into something any minute. My sister had texted me before she went to bed and told me the key was under the mat. It was around 3 a.m. when I pulled up to the curb outside our house and put the van into park. When I did, Lulu shot up. Okay. Yes, we're here, girl. You can relax now. In the glow of the van's cab, as I reached over to grab my nightbag, I could hear Lolo breathing deeply. She was taking fast and muffled breaths, panting. It sounded like she was trying to catch her breath after running. Hey, chill out, I said, as I grabbed my bag and sat up again.

What are you panted for, girl? We've already... I froze. Lulu was totally still beside me. She was facing the back of the van. Her mouth was closed. Her tongue wasn't hanging out. Her chest wasn't rising and falling.

She was calm and focused, breathing slowly and silently. It wasn't her. The breathing wasn't her. It was coming from somewhere in the back of the van. Just then Lulu showed her teeth and growled. Oh. Okay, girl, I said, trying to keep my voice normal. I was shaking.

I could barely feel my body. I was floating outside of it. Let's head on inside now. Come on. I fumbled with the door handle. I almost fell when I stepped out. I tried taking out my phone and dialing 911, but my hand was shaking so bad, I couldn't even unlock my home screen.

Lulu hopped out and circled me. She was on high alert. Her head was low and she moved like a predator, keeping close to my legs. I walked backwards with her up the driveway, but she stayed beside me and the van, pacing quickly from side to side. I managed to get my phone unlocked. I was about to hit the emergency call button when I heard something move inside the van. A metallic click.

The back door I realized. I locked it, but it could still open from the inside. The street was dark, only one lampposts glowing off at the intersection down the road. Everyone in their homes were asleep. I was totally alone. In the darkness, I heard something scrape at the back door from inside the van. Then a soft clunk as the door opened. It opened slowly at first, as if a creature inside were checking to see if it were safe.

I hit the emergency call button just as the door swung all the way open. 911, what's your emergency? 911, what's your emergency? But I couldn't speak. I was frozen. The door bounced back as it fully opened and then out fell a naked body, tangled limbs hitting the pavement, a mess of blonde hair shimmering in the dark.

When the person rose up again, I almost passed out. It was Dean. Hello? Hello, I said into the phone. I need help. Someone. He was in my van. please send police to blank lulu barked and jumped forward jesus fucking christ dean said shaking out his limbs can someone please tell this

fucking dog to shut up dean was covered in sweat wearing only his boxer shorts he looked sickly and diseased all fucking night it's just bark bark bark yap yap yap he exhaled and stretched out his arms and i saw he was holding a knife in his hand With his free hand, he swiped back the sweaty hair off his forehead. Cooped up in a hot-ass truck for hours until, oh, your useless shit, had to take off my clothes. It was so damn hot. And I got to hear that fucking dog barking nonstop. Please send help, I said into the phone, repeating my sister's address over and over.

Please, he's got a knife. Oh, he's got a knife, does he? Oh, boo-hoo, said Dean, walked forward, holding the knife out towards Lulu, tossing it casually from one hand. Every time I try to make a move, this bitch just goes nudge on me. Yap, yap, yap, yap. Dean, please, just, I don't know what you want, but please. You should be thanking me, you know that?

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

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

I know you're a good brother. I still held the phone up to my ear, hoping the operator could hear me. This all could have been so easy, so fucking easy. have been over by now, but no, because Miss yap, yap, yap over here, he gripped the knife type, squatting as he stepped forward, his eyes on Lulu. So keep on crying to the phone, but make sure you tell them your dog is dead too because this bitch deserved it. No. Dean launched forward, slashing the knife at her. Lulu yelped and flipped to the side as the blade swept across her back, her body scrambling over the pavement. But then it was Dean who screamed, falling back as his

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

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

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

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

I closed my laptop. I don't want to hear the rest. Later, I saw an article online of a photo of their father, Richard, shielding his face as a reporter to surrounded him. There was no evidence he'd been involved in. any way. He'd seem shocked when the police came to the auto shop. I felt bad for him. He seemed like a good man. I couldn't even imagine what he was thinking. The police chief had said that the brothers have been committing the assaults and murders for the last year and a half, which means they would

have started right after their mother died. The timing made me feel sick. Richard had said his wife's death was from natural causes, that she died peacefully in her sleep. I like to believe that's the case. I like to believe the brothers had waited for their mother to die, and that's the only reason they started their murder spree right after her funeral. Despite all they did, I really hope, if only for Richard's sake, that they hadn't gone impatient and done something to their own mother. It was surreal trying to get settled in a new place after all this. I felt like my old life had been years and years ago. My ex did text me once, though, just after he heard the news. Hope you're okay, the text said.

normally I would have sat for hours deliberating over how to respond but now I texted back right away I am I said I watched three dots pop up in the bubble as he was typing something then they disappeared again that night the news ran a segment about Lulu there was a whole ceremony in her honor normally I wouldn't have watched the rest of the coverage of the case it was already traumatic enough I was told I would have to testify that it would be a long process and I wanted to avoid it as much as I could. But I made sure to watch the news segment on Lulu. A moment of celebration today as Lulu, the scrappy pit bull mix, gets a hero's welcome outside the Eastcast Animal Hospital. To the news anchor. So many people had showed up to the animal

hospital earlier that afternoon to celebrate Lulu's discharge. The footage held on Lulu's face as she eyed the crowd of police officers, the news crews, the reporters and hospital staff, I was right beside her in the footage, looking just as well. is awkward. See that girl? I said as I watched the coverage with her later that night, Lulu was cold up on my lap on the couch as I stroked the long scar on her back. The jagged ridges where the animal doctors had sewn her up again. That's you and me on the news. See girl? Lulu had been sleeping and now she lifted up her head, drowsy from the commotion of the day. She didn't seem too interested about her 15 minutes of fame. She just sighed and plopped her

head right back down on again on my stomach and went back to sleep. When the news was over, I nudged Lulu awake, and after she went outside to pee, the two of us shuffled down the hall. I led Lulu into the guest bedroom. As I pulled down the covers on the bed, Lulu went to lie down on the hardwood floor in the corner of the room, by herself. No, no, come here, girl. She glanced up in me, one paw on top of the other. I patted the bed. You sleep up here from now on. Come on. She made a soft noise, her tail wagging. Then she hopped up awkwardly on the bed, still a little sore from her wounds. As I shut off the lamp, Lulu nuzzled up against my leg, resting her head on my thigh. Comfy, I asked, she sighed a grumbling,

growling purr in response. He used to a pretty girl, I said. You've more than earned it. Feed the pig. I slowly opened my eyes. My head was swimming in a dull pain surrounding my throat. I was thirsty. That was the first thing I noticed. I licked my jaw. dry lips as my surroundings faded into focus. My body ached and I realized it was because I was tightly bound to a metal chair in the middle of an empty room. The barren concrete walls were stained and dirty. The floor beneath my bare feet was cold and slightly wet. A single bulb lit the room, dangling from the ceiling by a string. It cast moving shadows and I blinked back darkness. An open door stood before me, but I couldn't see anything but the wall of a hallway. I tried to

clear my head, try to remember how I got here. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself not to panic. I slowed my breathing and focused my thoughts, desperately trying to summon some kind of recollection of why I was here. I couldn't remember anything. I opened my eyes and exhaled. My parched throat throbbing. I could hear sound echoing off the hallway walls outside the door. Screaming, clanging, howling, all very distant, but that did nothing to help calm my nerves. Hello, I cried, the word tearing at my vocal cords. I felt my chest, itch, and pain, but I cleared my throat and yelled again. Is anyone there?

Hello? The dark hallway remains silent except for the constant echoes. I shut my mouth and tried to wiggle free from my bindings, but the rope was knotted impossibly tight. I fought back against my imagination as it flooded my mind with horrific scenarios of what awaited me, if I could only remember. Suddenly, footsteps erupted from outside the door, a rapid patter of small feet. My hopes rose and had trained my attention to the door, praying it was help. A young boy ran into the room, dressed in a red onesie, complete with padded feet.

Stretched over his face was a plastic devil mask. The eye holes revealed massive blue eyes that greeted me curiously. Taken back, I opened my mouth to speak, but that's when I noticed something was off. His eyes were huge, impossibly round and bulging from their socket. It's a shiver of unease down my spine, but I shook it off. This child might be able to free me. Hey, I hissed urgently. Hey, kid, can you get me out of here?

The boy took a step closer, cocking his head, but remained silent. I rattled my bound arms against the chair. Come me free, please. I shouldn't be here. This is some kind of mistake. The boy eyed me behind his strange mask and stopped directly in front of me. He leaned in close and whispered. His voice like wet silk.

You did a bad thing. Confused, I shook my head. No, no, this is a mistake. I didn't do anything. The boy's enormous blue eyes suddenly filled with sadness. Oh, you did a really, really bad thing. I shook my head violently. No, I'm sorry.

I don't remember. Just please get me out of this chair. Suddenly, before either of us could speak again, a man came charging into the room. He was overweight and dressed in overalls. His grizzled face, twisted and seething anger. He was holding a sawed-off shotgun in his arms. I didn't do anything, I cried as he advanced on us.

My voice cracking. I'm not supposed to be here. The big man ignored me and instead grabbed the kid and shoved him hard against the wall. The boy grunted as his back struck the concrete, and his eyes rose to meet the grizzled man's. Wordlessly, the man raised his shotgun placed against the boy's forehead and blew his head off. Chunks of gore splattered to the wall as shock sludged me in the stomach. like an iron fist.

My eyes rang, and time seemed to slow as I watched in horror as the headless body crumpled to the ground. My breath rushed back into my lungs and time seemed to readjust. Jesus fucking Christ, I screamed. Strained against the ropes, my eyes bulging in horrific shock. What the fuck? The man ignored my screams as he bent down and picked up the boy. He slung the ruined corpse over his shoulder and walked out of his doorway. Suddenly the hallway erupted with malicious laughter.

A chorus of voices all howling in glee. I shut my eyes. The noise deafening. An absolute terror filled my every pore. After a few minutes, the laughter faded, and I cautiously opened my eyes, unable to believe what I had just witnessed. Hello? I jumped as I realized there was another man standing before me. He was dressed in a simple white button-down shirt and jeans.

His brown hair was cut short, and he appeared to be in his early 30s. His green eyes were dull and lifeless. His full lips pulled down at the cold. corners. What is going on? Where am I? I cried. New fear pulling in my stomach like hot blood. The man crossed his arms. So, you're the new one, huh? He shook his head. You people disgust me. Questions bubbled on my lips, but he waved them off with a sharp chop of his hand, slicing the air and demanding my silence. He ran his tongue over his teeth sneering. You look like he've already seen some of the horrors this place holds, huh? Yes. I can tell by the look at the look

your eyes. You're terrified. You've seen something, haven't you? It doesn't seem all that bad now, does it? Looking back, you've been here five minutes and already shit in your pants. Where am I? I gasped. Unable to hold back any longer? What do you people want? The man crosses arms behind his back. How about you want to get out of here, don't you? I bet you'd like to go back to your home, your family, everything. Please, I interrupted. Whatever I did to you, I'm sorry. I really am, but I don't remember. The man rolled his eyes. You didn't do anything to me. You did it to yourself. You really don't remember anything? I shook my head and felt tears brimming in my eyes, liquid fear. The man looked at me with contempt. You waited until your wife left for work and then you went out to

the woodshed and hung yourself. You're dead. The recent memory rose in my mind like a monster from a bog. My eyes went wide. As much as I wanted to deny it, he was right. I had Cade, my mind. I had Cade, myself. The incident tore through my brain like a bullet train and left me reeling. I'm Danny, by the way, the man said it ignoring the shocked look on my face, and I'm number two here. I run the orientation process. I want to make this quick because I'm tired of repeating this fucking thing to you pathetic S words. You get one question before I begin. He stared down on me, and I scrambled to organize my thoughts into something cohesive. That was all horrifying. Why had I ced myself? I fought against the fog and panic in the midst of confusion slowly began to lift i just lost my job yes

that was a start i squeezed my eyes shut and forced more of the memory to emerge i lost my job and i was about to lose the house my wife tess she found out and was going to leave me i didn't have any way out didn't have any options getting fired had come out of the blue and it didn't have much in savings i was broke soon to be homeless and my wife hated me for it there was something else yes that's right She'd been cheating on me. I'd seen text on her phone while she slept one night, and I confirmed my suspicions. My life had degraded to shit and I had run out of my options. Humiliated and ashamed, I had decided death was my only option.

Hey, fucker, do you have any question or not? Danny said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I was sucked back into reality and I asked the only question that mattered. Is this hell? Danny snorted. That's always what people asked. He began to pace back and forth in front of me. No.

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

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

to be a lot nicer, but the pig wanted things to be different. He wanted to create his own vision. These people, you see, these monsters, they are the pig's attempts to creating functioning life. Instead of mirroring God's earth, these mutated, horrible creations are full of sin and hatred. They run rampant here, unabashed. This place is chaos. The black farm is a circus of freaks and monsters and into your eternity. boiled in my gut like thick oil. No. No, this couldn't be the end.

I didn't believe in stuff like this. This wasn't real. I'd wake up soon and realize I was just having a nightmare. That had to be it. Danny stood before me and lightly slapped my face. Hey, hey, don't get into hysterics on me. I haven't finished yet. I raised my teary eyes to meet his.

Danny smiled. You can always feed the pig. My breath pushed from my lungs like burning steam. What does that mean? Danny spread his hands still smiling. It's as simple as that. Feed the pig. If you do so, there's a chance you'll send you back to your life.

And what happens if it doesn't? I bumbled. You get sent to hell, so flip a coin if you have one, stay here with us or feed the pig. If you choose to stay, I'll let you go. I'll let you go out there, he said, pointing towards a door. But let me assure you, what awaits you at the end of the hallway? Well, let's just say that hell isn't that much worse.

I swallowed hard, trying my best to digest everything. Why wouldn't I try feeding the pig? Whatever that meant, if there was even a sliver of hope, I would take it. An eternity of this place? The black farm, be sent to hell or be feed the pig? I would do anything for a chance to go back. This nightmare made my problem seem nothing in comparison. Danny raised a hand before I could speak.

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

Sounds pretty bad, huh? He said softly as the woman's voice creaked with agony. Something was still slamming into her. The sound of beaten flesh igniting my imagination with horrors. Please, I gasped. breathlessly. Just let me feed the pig. I don't want to stay here any longer. Danny turned away from me. I'll be back later. Enjoy your time alone. Really think about your situation. Weigh your options and remember, you put yourself here. And with that, he was gone, leaving me in the dim room.

Tears streamed down my face. The woman didn't stop screaming for hours. At some point, I fell into a semi-sleep. The darkness in the room seemed to press in on me, and my eyes fluttered shut. My body ached and my throat was a halo of fire. Thirst racked my windpipe like sharp glass. My lips felt like crumpled paper. My head thundered like a drum. The room swam in and out of focus, and my mind drifted towards the horrific sounds that never ended. I was lost in a haze, unaware that something was sliding into the room until I felt a sharp prick on my big toe.

I jolted out of my days as my bare foot ignited with pain. I screamed and tried to move, but my bindings held me tight. The room rushed back into focus and I blinked in agony as I felt blood trickled between my toes. I looked down for the source of pain and I felt a scream, clawed my throat. Staring up at me was an armless man. He slithered on the floor like a worm. His bald head scabbed and filthy. His legs were wrapped together in barbed wire, forcing him to wriggle his body to move.

His eye were lidless and wide. Two bloodshot white orbs that stared up at me with hungry intensity. His teeth had been removed and replaced with long screws which jutted from his bleeding gums like a broken rock formation. Around his neck was a chain leash, which I followed across the floor to the open door. The end of the leash was held by a tall naked man. His body was hairless and flabby, covered in similar scabs like his pet. A dirty bag was pulled over his head that hid his features except for a single red eye that

peaked out on me from a crude cut in the cloth. He stared at me and groped his engorged P-word. His breath heavy and labored, as the armless man wriggled towards me again, his master started to m-word. I screamed as the screw filled my mouth and bit me again, and my cries seemed to stimulate the naked man even more. Get off me, stop it, I screamed, horrified, and I tried to kick at the man, doing my best to avoid his sharp metal teeth. I brought my heel down on his head, and he screamed as his face bounced off the floor. A moan of pleasure escaped the bagged man's mouth, and I turned away as a mist of black sprayed out on the floor. There was a rattle of chains, and I turned back to see the two of them leaving.

The armless man dragged by his neck out the door. I looked at where the bagged man had Eard and saw a puddle of dead ants. I vomited onto myself, thick, chunky curtains of bile and slime. Get me out of here, I screamed, strands of puk running down my chin. I don't belong here. I listened to the two men retreat down the line. hallway, the clank of chains accompanied by the sound of flesh being dragged onto the concrete. I screamed again, but I knew no one was going to help me. I spit a wad of phleg and bile onto the

floor, ridding my mouth of its soreness. I forced myself to calm down. It wasn't easy. After some time I heard someone else approaching. I'd been in a miserable lull. My mind a blank canvas of dark despair, but the noise roused me from my trance-like state. The muscles in my arms burned from being restrained for so long and I shifted them desperately, trying my best to repair myself for whatever horror was about to walk through the door. Footsteps drew closer, and then a woman walked into the room. She stopped at the doorway and looked at me. One of her eyes was missing, a dark, cavernous hole in her skull. Her hair was ratty and wild, a brown tangle like a forgotten nest. Her skin was pale and filthy, and she was dressed in rags. I couldn't tell how old

she was, but there was maturity in her one good eye. Still thinking, she asked, her voice coarse and brittle. What? She took a step closer. Are you still deciding whether you're going to feed the pig or not? I looked at her cautiously. Yeah, I am. Who are you? What do you want? I was once where you are now, she said, trying to decide my fate. I couldn't believe that this was what happened, what happened after we die. It wasn't what I thought. Religion didn't warn me about this. place. I tested my bindings again before asking. You ked yourself too? You're a person like me? You're not one of those, those creations? She snorted. Breaks my heart you have to ask, though. She touched the hole where her eye should have been, though I can understand your caution. Yeah, I'm an S word.

I've been here a long, long time. But that was my choice. I decided to chance it here. I mentioned with my head towards the door. What's out there? What is all this? She exhaled heavily and leaned against the wall. I can't even begin to describe this place. It's like nothing you've ever seen. You walk down that hallway and go out and into it and she swallowed.

You'd have to see it to understand. How bad is it? Why are all these mutated people hurting and killing each other? I asked. She let her head lull back against the wall. It would take years for you to fully understand this place. Years you don't have. Right now you have to make a decision. Stay or feed the pig. They tell me hell is worse than here, but it can't be by much. Monsters and S-words roam the black farm, killing, R-wording, brutalizing, and then you

wake up and wonder how long you can survive before something else kills you. It's an endless cycle. So why did you stay, I pressed? Why didn't you feed the pig? I don't even know what that means, but I would do anything from her a chance to go back. I can't stay here. I just can't. She smiled sadly at me. Why? Why did I choose this?

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

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

Her eyes darted around and she dropped her voice to whisper. Feed the pig. And with that she was gone. I sat in silence once again. My mind was spinning, desperately turning over all my options. I still couldn't fully understand the situation I was in. It was too much, too overwhelming. The other side of death wasn't supposed to be like this.

I didn't know what I had expected, but it wasn't this nightmare. Questions crashed over my mind like cold waves onto a sinking ship. How was I supposed to make a choice when I didn't even know what my actions entailed? This place, the black farm, I couldn't stay here, but what if I went to hell? What if I didn't get sent back? I'd be out of the fire and into the frying pan. My existence would be forever be damned to an unending misery. Here, though, here there were people like me, S-words.

It wasn't all monsters and mutilated murderers. Maybe I could hole up somewhere with them, try to scrape together a passable existence. Surely that would be better than getting sent to hell. No. No, this wasn't going to be how I spent my eternity. I refused to let it be. If there was even the slightest sliver of hope I would take it, I didn't want to wonder what could have been.

I didn't want to be tormented by doubt. I would feed the pig and accept whatever fake chose for me. When I bowled it down, there was only one option left. I would feed the pig. Hey, hello, Danny, I yelled, rattling him in my chair. I made my decision, Danny. After a couple seconds, I heard footsteps echoed down the hall towards me. Danny walked through the doorway, so annoyed look on his face.

I made my choice, I said. I'm going to feed the pig. Sounds like you've really thought a lot about it since I left you, Danny said sarcastically. I licked my lips. You do the same thing if you were in my place. Danny walked behind me. I was in your place once, and I chose differently. My eyes widened, and then Danny wrapped my entire head with a strip of thin cloth binding me.

I sucked in as much air as I could, but each lung fell felt empty. I felt Danny cut me free from the chair, and my body sighed as my stiff muscles were released. I rolled my shoulders as my hands were released and I moaned with relief. I dug my fingers into my back and I stretched, my bones creaking. Keep your blindfold on and follow me, Danny said, pulling me up. My leg shook as I put weight on them. My thighs trembling after the long cemented position. I groped blindly in front of me and found Danny's shoulder.

I rested my hand on it and he walked us out of the room. As we were entered the hallway, I could suddenly hear sounds I had it before, The clank of metal, a long, fleshy, tearing noise, something vomiting. These sounds sprang to life in my ears, painting the darkness before my eyes with imaginary scenes of horror. I gripped Danny's shoulder tighter, stumbling behind him, my heart thundering. I heard something trailing behind us, but Danny didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.

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

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

kept decreasing and soon I was shivering violently against the coal. I couldn't see anything, but I felt a breeze on my face like we were outside. I didn't hear Danny open any doors, but nothing about this place was natural. It was like reality blurred and bled into itself, like reels of film melting together. Teeth chattering, I was suddenly blasted with intense heat and I gasped. My feet tripped over themselves as the train changed, and I was suddenly walking on what felt like warm iron. My ears were filled with the sound of blazing furnaces and the clash of work and machinery. I couldn't see it, but I felt like there was a vast open expanse overhead. I smelled ash and tasted dirt on my tongue, sweat already forming along my spine. Suddenly I crashed into Danny as he came to a halt.

I backed up a few places, quickly and muttered my apologies. I could hear movement in front of us, a rustle of chains and an old clicking sound on the metal floor. Something else too. Something snorting. And then this room filled with a deafening sound of an immense pig squealing. I covered my ears, head splitting at the high-pitched wail. I gripped my ear. I grip my my teeth as the noise echoed off the metal and faded into a series of snorts and grunts. It sounded absolutely enormous. I brought another one, Danny announced, a slight tinge of respect lining his voice. He wants to feed the pig.

I waited, expecting to hear some answer. The cloth around my eyes sealing my sight to darkness. I realized my knees were shaking and my back was coated in sweat. I was terrified. If that is what you wish, Danny said, and I felt in bow under my head. hand, apparently some unseen conversation had just happened, and Danny took my wrist and pushed me forward. Approached the piggy instructed. My whole body trembled and my knees locked in place. Rob from sight, I raised my hand, trying to get my brains. The heat and ash filled my head with nausea.

I felt like I was going to throw up. My stomach rolling like a dead sea. I didn't know where I was or what horror lay before me. I felt lost and tiny. A fresh splash of tears dripping from my eyes and soaking into the cloth around my face. But please, I beg. Let me see what's happening. Danny was suddenly behind me, pushing me forward. He guided my hands towards something as we stepped together in unison. Even with the cloth around my face, I could see a giant mass of towering darkness before me.

It was a spot of black on and already darkened canvas. As we walked forward, I was suddenly assaulted by a horrendous smell and I gagged, turning away. Danny's grip tightened and forced me to continue. I could sense something just in front of me, a living, shifting mass of flesh. The smell increased to be a wretched level, and I gagged again. Then hot air was being blown on my face, a blast of heat that came and repeated short bursts. I vomited into the cloth, the source of the smell stemming from the hot air. I choked as the bile gushed over the fabric, soaking it and momentarily cutting off my oxygen.

Danny slapped my hands again, and I took a few seconds to steadily my breathing. again. I was openly crying now, fear and misery collapsing my willpower. The wet cloth stunk as I sucked in soggy breaths. My own stomach acid coated my skin, and I begged for all of this to be over. And then something squealed directly in front of me. I felt my bladder go. I was standing before the pig. It was a source of darkness in my obscured vision, a fat titanic creature that filled my senses with every breath it blew into my face. Danny raised my hands in Suddenly, I was touching the pig's snout. I recall it immediately, but Danny forced my hands back.

Its fur was stiff and brittle, and as my shaking hands explored up its nose, the size of the animal became clear to me. It was gigantic and had weighed over a ton. Its flesh wiggled under my sweating hands, and it opened its mouth slightly. My fingers coaled around, teeth, the size of kitchen knives, and I realized its mouth was absolutely carnivorous. The pig squealed again. and I heard its hoofs clack against the ground. It sounded like thunder rolling across an open field in the middle of summer. Take this blindfold off, please, I begged, my legs turning to jelly.

Danny had taken a few steps back and I heard reverence in his voice. You don't want to do that. I jumped as the pig nudged me with its nose, the wet circle, flesh squishing against the length of my face. I shuddered away, raising my hands and omitting a cry of fear. Feed the pig, Danny instructed. His voice, like cold. steel now. You made your choice. Now live with it. It's the only chance you have of going back. Or maybe the pig won't like how you taste and send you to hell. Only one way to find out.

My eyes widened behind the vomit soaked cloth. Won't like how I taste? Climb into its mouth. My bladder let go again and I felt a warm piss run down my leg. No, no, no, no, no, you can't mean. Danny's voice hardened. Climb into its mouth and don't stop crawling forward until it's done with you. But please, I begged, turning towards Danny's voice, reaching out blindly. Please, there has to be some other way. Don't make me do this.

I was a mess of snot and tears. My words bumbling from my mouth like a toddler. Danny stepped forward and spun me back to face the pig. Do it. You made your choice. It will all be over soon. This is your only chance. I could feel the pig breathing.

over my face. It's now mere inches from mine. The smell in heat out omitted made me want to vomit again, but I held it back. This was insane. This wasn't happening. My mind spun and twisted in chaos and fear. There had to be some other way. I couldn't do this. I could not do this. Suddenly, I remember the words of the woman. Sometimes suffering through your fear is better than suffering for eternity. Be brave. This was my only chance to get back to the world of the living. I had made such a terrible mistake in Cain and myself. If I could go back and change my life, I wouldn't have to spend eternity here. I could change my ways, and sure I spot somewhere else, somewhere away from the pig.

But what if I decided to send me to hell? How much more suffering could I endure? I had to take the chance. Please, God, I whispered, taking a step forward. If you can hear me, please have mercy on me. My shaking hands reached out for the pig and I grasped its thick fur. I felt it slowly lowered its head and old. open its mouth. It was waiting for me. It's thick, hot breath, stinking in my nostrils. This was it.

No turning back now. I slowly gripped its teeth and pulled myself forward into its jaws. Its head was at a downward angle and so I immediately fell into my stomach at a 45 degree angle. Its wet tongue switched under me and I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe. Tears soaked my blindfold and my heart crunched against my ribs. I slowly reached forward and found another two-threather grab onto. Gritting my teeth, I pulled my body inward past my knees. The pig raised its head and I was suddenly completely horizontal on its tongue. Saliva and mucus stripped around me and the heat was so intense I almost blacked out. My knees clacked against its front teeth as I pulled myself even deeper. Its inner cheeks pressed in around me, squeezing my body like a soaking flushing

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

unable to control myself the pain overwhelming, keep crawling, screaming. Bloodshot eyes rolling wildly. I reached forward with my good arm, wetly surging for another tooth. I grip my teeth, blood squirting between them as my fingers wrapped around something solid. The pig bit down again. Its tongue twisting my body so its molars could snap me on its knees. The pain brought darkness, but my howling screams forced my eyes to remain open. Jesus, make it stop, I bellowed, my trembling hand still gripping the tooth ahead of me. Please, make it fucking stop. I ground my teeth together so hard they cracked, screaming as I slowly pulled my body deeper into the mouth. Something was changing. The tight walls of its throat squeezed my head and I realized I was almost

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

Screaming. I was screaming. Heat. Heat so intense I thought I would melt. Clanging. Something was hammering on metal. Colors and images flew past me so quickly I could only make out their shape. Blood poured into my eyes.

I felt like I would keep falling forever. Suddenly my eyes snapped open and I was falling. My breath rushing back into my lungs. and a great wave of purity. My face bounced off wood floor and I cried out as I felt my nose break. I tasted blood and saw stars. I'd stop falling. There was a ring of burning fire around my throat and I felt impossibly thirsty. I was lying on the floor. I slowly opened my eyes again and in the darkness began to fade like morning mist under a hot sun. Colors blended together and shapes came into focus. I was in my woodshed. I reached up around my throat and grasped at the source of the heat.

It was the rope I had hung myself with, but now it was severed, releasing me from the grip of death. Relief rolled over me in overwhelming waves of thanks. I curled up on the floor and sobbed, tears dripping from my eyes onto the dirty floor. My body shook, unbroken, as I wept. Wet horse cries rising from my quivering lips. I had been spared. I was alive again. From my spot on the floor, I turned my eyes upward, my voice crackling.

Thank you, God. Oh, thank you. I fell into another fit of uncontrollable sobbing. I promise I won't waste my life again. I promise I'll make things right. I'll fix everything. I don't know how long it was before I got up. Time seemed to stretch for eternity. My mind refused to rebuild. The horrors of what I had just witnessed crushing me. But I knew I would do everything I could to make the most out of my life. I was going to live every day to the fullest. I would devote myself to helping others in dark times. I would reach out to as many S-words as they could and try to save them from a wedded way did on the other side. I didn't want anyone else to have to witness the horrors of S-word. I didn't want anyone else to have to feed the pig. Prison is hell.

I hate it here. Granted, I deserve it. I'm currently locked down behind massive concrete walls and solid steel doors in a maximum security penitentiary. I was locked up what feels like a lifetime ago now. I earned it. I did. Every second I rodden here is justice, but that doesn't change the fact that I hate it. It is cold here. I have a single concrete cotton toilet. My clothes itch and are too thin to keep any chills out. The walls are gray with a sickly green tint due to the dull swamp-like tile that sends a grossly colored glow into the room reflecting and buzzing florescent lie above me. The door is thick and unmoving. They painted the same shade of sickly green as the floor.

I assume it is lead base to save on cost. Maybe if I look at it enough times, maybe I can kill enough brain cells to forget I'm here. I have no roommates. And many don't know who perceive as extreme risks. Thankfully, I can still have time outside and shower without being entirely supervised. more than I can say for many in here. My only commodity is my toilet paper and my journal. I earn the journal through much work and good behavior.

The pencil I write with is dull and has no racer, like that a golfer would use to keep scorecards. I'm allowed four hours poor day with it. Between breakfast and lunch, I receive the journal and pencil with my meal and return it in kind. If the pencil has any pieces missing, or there are any extensive tears in the pages, then I will lose it for the following day.

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

However, what gave me more satisfaction was the evenness of the number. 20, 20, 20, 2, 0, 2 slash 0, 2, 0, 2, 0, 20, even and smooth. My compulsion made it this way. 21 would have made it getting arrested a living hell. 15 would have been okay, but, 20 was much cleaner, increments of five, always increments of five. Sometimes during a shopping trip, I would grab a stick of gum so as to have 20 or 10 or 30 items even. However, in this case of the killings, it was much more intense.

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

It is nightmarish. The same remained true for my age. 40. I finished at 40, which made me feel content. I hated not having an even age. I could force down the bad feelings my age ended in fives or even numbers, but I always had bad years with. with ones, threes, sevens, and nines. I digress. I understand it is an abnormal behavior, but it's a

compulsion. I have it manageable so that most would never notice it in a day-to-day routine. I have to reminisce on these pages because I have no way of going back. It started many years ago, and the urge only grew from there. The first time I killed was interesting. I should have felt the need to immediately kill again, as I did in later years, but I didn't. They say mental illness worsens with age. I guess that's what kept me from acting again so soon, but I'm not sure. The first time I killed was pretty lackluster. I was walking home from school through the woods where very few kids were bold enough to cross. While walking, I stumbled upon a man. He was clearly injured and even at the age of 12, I knew he had little time left. He sat holding his side, panting and

labored breaths. He didn't see me yet. From my vantage point, I could see a long white bone jutting from his leg, which tells me the pain from what his ribs were doing was worse than that of a broken leg. That, or he was just in shock. Far above this section of woods was a road, and from what I could see, a vehicle burst through railing. The wrecked vehicle, a 69 Chevy C-20 truck, lay decimated some 40 feet below the roadway in the brush and rocks. I remember this truck because I wound up purchasing one many, many years later, in a secret nostalgia for myself. Either way, the driver had pulled himself from the wreckage and crawled in agony upwards of 50 feet to the nearest tree, where his strength was slowly failing him.

I remember seeing a large shard of metal which had been ripped from the side of the truck and picking it up. I walked slowly to the man, who reached pitifully towards me for help. I slowly shoved the sharp edge of the metal into the man's throat and watched as blood began to spurt from the wound and his mouth. He gargled like a drowning sow on his own blood, and after a time he ceased all movement, forever. It was a rush of which I cannot explain. The excitement of ending a human life is next to none. I was content for a fleeting moment. I stared at the body for some time before taking a bloody shred of his pant leg and I was hanging by a thread.

I just wanted to have a keepsake. That was my first kill. I was never caught nor even suspected. Growing up in the mountains of the South allowed much privacy and allowed me to get away with murder. As time grew, so did the feeling of power and accomplishment. I felt like God. No one even knew I was the way I was. I would never be a suspect because I knew to hide.

I hid well because I knew how to hide. From the time I was a boy, I knew how to blend in. Sometimes it was a challenge because of my appearance, but I learned a simple skill. How to hide in plain sight. I was able to work hard in the background. I made a few good grades and maintained very few close relationships throughout school, so no one would discover anything about me. However, I made sure everyone had a nice thing to say about me.

Carrying groceries, helping kids with studying, always using manners. I graduated in the upper ranks of my class and soon attended the local college. After I earned a degree in business, I worked hard where I could raise, and enough money to buy my own rig. I worked by riding the highways as a trucker for years and eventually bought two more rigs. By 35, I was a respectable business owner in my old town with a dispatch and a few drivers.

I obviously still drove, even as the owner, because it kept me close to my only real passion. I hid well in plain sight because white people love an N-word. In a town of 90% white and 10% other, I learned to blend despite being a minority. Learn to talk like them, learn to walk like them, and you can manipulate them into whatever you want. I hate them, not white people, all people. My mother died shortly after I graduated high school from heart failure, and I felt liberated.

For I held her opinion highly. Her opinions often kept me in line and respectable. When she died, I was free to pursue my own interests. My father, while a good man in his own right, never held much weight in my actions. So I walked the path I chose for myself despite what his feelings may be. Either way, I dwindled for some time after the first murder. The urge slowly grew. By high school, I kept my eyes peeled for another opportunity to snuff out a life.

Finally, that day came. The second time I murdered was equally uninspiring. I found myself at a graduation party and the whole senior class was drinking heavily. All except me, that is. We were at the home of a wealthier, student who had maintained a spotless record through both junior year and high school and wanted to go out in a way where she could get out of her proverbial box. I learned two things that evening. The first that a well-mannered, well-educated young lady was no different than anyone else in regards

to having a darker side. She wanted to be remembered for a party. Not her good grades, not her generous deeds, not her modest manner of dress, but a party. Everyone has a dark side in some way. This was the first thing I learned. The second was that if everyone is drunk and dancing on the roof, you could bump a certain young lady discreetly enough to send her three stories down into the concrete and make it look like an accident. She landed with a smack that can only be replicated in my dreams. This was the first time I was aroused by a killing.

I'm not sure why. She was in a two-piece, which I assume her parents knew nothing about, and her skin was pale and smooth. Her deep brown hair flowed past her shoulders and the look of utter confusion and terror in the face of innocence was priceless. Blood pulled from her head and seeped into the nearby swimming pool. I fancied her, you could say that, but only because she represented something that does not exist. Human innocence. When her skull cracked hard against the pavement, I was instantly excited. I had to sneak away to handle it and steal a memento from the girl's room. Meanwhile, the remaining partygoers descended into madness trying to repair a situation that was far beyond broken.

The chaos I caused that night only resurfaced my deep sense of accomplishment that only comes from death. This was the second time I killed. 18 years of age. By the time I hit my stride, I stood at 6'2 at 260 pounds. I'd always enjoyed lifting weights and working towards my overall health. A fat predator is a bad predator. I maintained this level of fitness for most of my adult life. I had to in order to pursue my passion. Of course, things would have a way of catching up with me. I was incarcerated with an unfortunate mountain of evidence. I wouldn't say I covered every base perfectly to ensure not getting caught, but I felt like I was careful enough, I guess not in hindsight. I remember the day I was arrested. I turned 40,

the month prior, and was on the road delivering a shipment of plywood. I was behind the wheel of my rig in rural Alabama. I was taking a back road because I enjoy the scenery, and when you're the boss, you can set your own schedule. At this point, I had killed 19 people and the itch was present. I would have to rub the back of my neck when I thought about it. It needed to be scratched. I needed to take care of it. That's when I saw her. Miles from any structure or any living person was a broken down baby blue Volkswagen Beetle. The emergency lights were flashing and a woman was looking into her engine compartment. The height of my truck allowed me to scan both her car and the area surrounding us.

It was all tall, uncut grass and trees covered in utter blackness due to the overcast night. There was no one for miles and miles. We could be alone together. I pulled in behind her with my low light, says, not to scare her. When I stepped out of the truck, I addressed her. Pardon, me, ma'am, I said calmly. I know how to disarm. I've worked on my speaking voice for.

for years in order to betray the security into my hands. Are you all right? She stepped out from behind her hood and I saw her in better light. She was a young Hispanic woman. Her clothes were tattered, but I think that was intentional. She had silky, dark hair to her shoulders and black librarian glasses. She was pretty, which was a bonus for me. Consider it like a dinner.

You're going to get your meal, but when it includes dessert, then it is all the better. I also knew she could complete this cycle. She could be the 20th and I could wrap. best yet she was petite so there would be a little fight i think the engine is shot she said in desperation that these dark woods certainly played well into she just wanted to get out of danger little did she know i can give you a ride i own this company so i can make the time i didn't want to sound pre-sumptious but i knew by making myself a manager it would remove the creepy truck driver mentality i don't know I promise, I edged.

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

As she walked to the passenger's side, I held the door. open for her. As she took her first step up, I grabbed her ankle and pulled her straight down with as much force as I can manage. Her jaw connected with a studded, metal stairs full force. I know some teeth were broken by the crunch that emanated from her skull. She fell limp to the dirt as I lifted her onto my shoulder. She didn't stir long enough for me to grab a large socket wrench from my rig. I could feel the warm blood from her mouth pouring down my shoulder. I carried her into the tall grass just out of sight. We made love then. I made love before to some, but this was special.

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

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

You Williams? My last name. He asked with an unreadable demeanor. Yes, sir, I answered coolly, holding my ID and paperwork for the truck and delivery. He then spoke into his radar. Yeah, we found him. Officer, what's this about? I was cut short.

Sir, please turn around and place your hands behind your back. Why, I demanded. I was not about to be cuffed and restrained for no good reason. He then turned me violently to my truck and slapped cuffs around my wrist. From there, he sat me on the pavement and called for backup. When other officers arrived, one finally noticed the blood on my back. Then they found the glasses. They then found the poorly wiped down soccer wrench.

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

I killed strangers only. I was so careful. A technicality. was the only thing that could have done this. My simple home was turned around until they found my treasure box, a shoe box of souvenirs and news clippings. From there, it was easy to put me at every single murder.

Every homeless person stabbed to death in cities, every transient prostitute with their heads missing, every unsupervised child in crowded streets. I was linked to them all. Now, one may ask, Why would you be so stupid as to keep mementos? To that, I would say I had to. It was my passion and the only thing that gave me meaning.

I had to keep something around. They were the only memories I could have of those times. Like I first wrote, I deserve to be in prison, but I don't regret it in the slightest what I've done. The trial was grueling and irritating. Since I killed across state lines, there was arguments as to where to have my trial, but it became a federal issue, which only meant more bureaucracy. My lawyer explained many of the killings would be circumstantial at best, but just as many have my now-connected DNA to the scene and are going to be nearly impossible to deny.

I decided to throw in the towel. The media was out for blood, the public was out for blood, and the jury was out for blood. I had my fill, so now it was time to pay the favor forward. There was no way to avoid the life sentence, so I may as well come clean and get a regale to the tales of my exploits to a room of terrified jurors and family members burning with hatred. Despite the difficulties of finding some evidence of murders, I was convicted still of 18 of the 20. However, I was punished for them all regardless. The day of sentencing, I stood still and stoic before the judge. I could feel the eyes of all those present attempting to.

to sear me, but failing. The judge looked down at me and rambled on about my curalities and resentment for man. The entire time he droned, I stood with the thought that the death penalty was legal in this state. It was utterly satisfying to know the uproarious crowds calling for my head when the law wouldn't allow it. I snapped out of it when he got to the sentence. Seeing as how the death penalty is illegal in the state, I could only do the most with that in light. I hereby sentence you to 1,000-1 life sentences. He was being melodramatic. Not in history had there been such an absurd sentence.

What's worse, the number was uneven, meaning the rest of my life I would have to stay 1001 when discussing my sentence. He knew this. My demeanor slightly shaken. I asked the judge, Why? 1001. The courtroom was silent, the family.

his friends and jury looked at me with contempt, but that didn't matter. Even less now. The judge leaned over his podium. He smiled with a smugness that still boils my blood, and he calmly replied, To torment you. That's how I got where I am now. I don't interact with the other inmates or the guards. I just mind my business as best I can.

I don't like to think about my sentence because it makes me itch. Similar to when you haven't paid a certain bill, don't have the funds. It's a wincing, mental discomfort. I write the rest of this in a testament to what happened yesterday in hopes it reaches someone on the outside. My day started normally. A loud bell rang, and I stood to my feet from there. My door opened, and I walked to the shower facility. I tried to find myself at the end of the line, so as to get the most time out of my cell. I also like my privacy. The inmates here are insufferable. They're uneducated criminals who would have no life outside of these walls. My fellow black inmates gave me hell for being crazy

since African-American serial killers are considered such an abnormality. The other races tended to stay into themselves, minus a few Aryan brotherhood members casting the occasional slur my direction. I entered the shower as normal, but I felt an innate sense of dread that I don't know how to describe. I just felt unpleasant. I felt watched and alone at the same time. I felt completely hopeless and near despair, I quickly finished my shower and left the facility. The halls were quiet and the stationary guard was not at his post in front of my cell. I was alone in this hallway. Suddenly I felt a large hand to grip my shoulder and order me forward. The only thing I knew I was being escorted to the warden's office. I was somewhat stunned, but complied.

I walked the tight and closed halls until I reached the last room on the right. Inside was totally dark apart from a dim lamp illuminating the desk. The hand shoved me in and slammed the door behind me. I saw the silhouette of a warden, and he beckoned me to sit. I sat across from him in uncomfortable silence. He didn't move, and neither did I'd force him to make the first move. After what felt like an eternity he spoke up. Let's go over foul. His voice carried and mild southern accent sprinkled in. I'd not respond. He gave no indication as to why, so I'd not respond. He gave no indication as to why, so I would just bide my time. From here, I will paraphrase what he said,

as my memory can't perfectly recreate the entire conversation. Count one, confessed, not convicted. Man falls off cliff and you assist him in passing. You were 12, so it wasn't included in your final file, but it warrants mentioning. Count two, confessed, convicted. You confess to shoving a young woman off a roof and then robbing her home of a trophy.

You were 18. Count three, confessed, convinced. Homeless man near your college, you stabbed them and cut out a tooth. You were 20. Count four confessed, not convicted. You claimed to have shot a prostitute in Texas. The souvenir you took could not link you to a crime, and she had no family. You were 24. Not convicted, but you know what you did. Counts five through nine, confessed, convicted on all the counts. You killed five lot lizards before changing your MO. That was smart. They're all strangled and you kept a lock of hay. left them on the highway. Counts ten? Convest. Convicted. You took a lost 12-year-old and drowned

him. You kept his retainer. You're doing well in life by this point, but murder still called, didn't it? Count 11? Confessed, convicted. Ah, this one was special, wasn't she? That gas station employee who you stocked for a while, followed her home and broke in, took your time, and did it right? She broke your perfect streak and you were going to make her pay, right? Kept her locket as a token of your affection. Count 12, confessed, convicted. You took a young man to your house from a local club in Missouri, strangled him the moment the door was closed, chopped him up and kept his teeth.

Counts 13 through 17 confessed, convicted on all accounts. The hitchhiker phase here, it seems you just wanted to close the gap. You got sloppy, left a lot of evidence behind. I guess because they were vagrants, it wouldn't have mattered. Count 18. Confessed. Convicted. You killed the housewife in Florida.

You're on vacation at that time. You spotted her and just had to do something, waiting until her husband left and had your time. Another R word enshrangling. You took her blood-soaked necklace. Count 19, confessed, convicted. You saw a jogger one morning and followed in your turn. truck when you knew your routine and you waited in the bushes until he passed you killed him with a hammer

and took one of his shoes count twenty confessed convicted the one that brought you down you couldn't resist her you were too careless too excited now you're here you took her glasses and bashing her head in and assaulting her he took a deep breath and his outline sat back do you know you know what they call you he asked me I was living. He completely bastardized my work. I had done so much and he swept it over like an obituary column. I glanced at him in the dark before answering. The scavenger hunt killer? I hated that name. They dawned me in the scavenger hunt killer because my murder spanned so far and I collected odd, discounted items. Again, my works and efforts were reduced to a joke. It still makes me sick. The warden spoke up again. Are you sorry? I sat for a moment before

responding. Would it matter? He chuckled in a deep-thrody laugh. No. He said settling in. I guess it wouldn't. He continued. I don't really get it. You're a highly intelligent, healthy, and well-spoken man. Why on earth would you throw that away? I sat in an angry silence. I refused to give this man the satisfaction of an answer. Do you believe in God? The Gordon asked. His tone now changed. I chewed my tongue before responding. No. Pity. He responded, lackdastically, as if my response didn't really matter.

I'll make what I'm about to tell you so much better. I waited for him to continue. Your sentence? He's being commuted. I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Really? Yes, he sat, still shadowed, but I knew he was smirking. What does that have to do with God?

I know I should have had much more important questions to ask in that moment, but I was curious. I assumed he meant I should be thankful. Well, he said, his voice trailing, that would make this next part easier. You passed away this morning, son. Before I could respond to his hand tossed a few photos in front of me, it was me. I lay covered in blood on the shower floor. I had been stabbed from the looks of it. Yeah.

The warden, or who I thought was the warden, up. Some Aryan fellow wanted to prove his might by stabbing a serial killer to death in the shower. It didn't work, though, since he was cotton, will most likely be in solitary until it does irreparable damage. If that's some comfort. I stared at him. I stared at the photographs. I simple could not accept it. This is absurd. I felt insulted in the prospect. I know it seems odd, but hear me out. He sat upright, ready to make his case. Do you know what the universe are? No. Well, he continued without missing a beat. Basically, it states that everyone gets into heaven, even if you aren't necessarily in their denomination. This is heaven? I was ready to laugh.

This was a joke. No. See, that's the bad news, he continued. Catholics, Muslims, some Buddhists, see, they believe in a temporal plane, so they're all sort of right. See, everyone does eventually move on, but before anyone can move on, they must resolve all. their earthly obligations and judgments. Before I could remark, he caught his breath and explained further. You died this morning. You served one of your 1,000-1 life sentences. Welcome to number two. I stood up. This isn't funny I'm leaving. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place, unable to use my body. My eyes felt like they were being pried towards the seat. Please, I heard the warden through his voice, was now much deeper, sinking my gut.

sit I returned to my seat with a sensation that was new to me fear now he continued his voice returned to normal you are not dead you just started another sentence everything will be back to normal when you leave but when I dismiss you you will leave here and return to your bunk do you understand I nodded still stunned by what I then knew as truth his voice The unexplained dread I felt that morning. I walked out of the warden's office that day, feeling a hopelessness I have never known. The prison was the same, but it wasn't. It was lonelier, darker.

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

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

Next, I learned that S word doesn't work. I learned the same way every inmate in here like me does. I asked my wrists and they just ached for a week. I swallowed bleach and had a miserable stomach ache, but no death. I ached myself where I choked and flailed, fully conscious for eight straight hours until a guard found me while bringing my breakfast the following morning. I learned that being murdered decreases time, but murdering adds to it. So no one on Life Row attempts murder here. Finally, escaping isn't an option.

We have runners sometimes, men who just finished their first sentence, The guy just snapped. I guess he pulled maybe 60 years before dying into sleep. He just panicked and ran. The snipers didn't even turn. He grabbed the fence and immediately fell to the ground. From there, he shook violently. He died right there of a heart attack. I saw him a week later. Third life sentence. Half crippled. I guess we just get punished if we try to leave. I don't know if it's permanent. He was a wreck upon returning. It reminded me of the cats in my neighborhood as a boy. The first time you heard it, the animal twitches and becomes neurotic, but given enough time, it accepts its fate. The man now spends his days staring silently behind dead eyes at whatever light

sources around. To some, this is limbo, where we remain trapped in prison, in which we are condemned until our body and soul have finished their sentences. To others, this is some kind of purgatory, where we all groomed for eternity in paradise. Either way, we are forced to remain, forced to live until we pay our dues, never truly dying. I don't even know if time is the same now, but if you're reading this, I managed to successfully get these pages out. I have handful of plans, which I cannot record. I cannot risk any future attempts should this fail. I'm leaving this journal for anyone who is a criminal or wants to become one. I have between 80,000 to 100,000 years left. I do not feel remorse, but I do wish I knew then what I know now. This is simply a warning.

A hundred thousand years on a concrete slab, a hard, unforgiving surface. A hundred thousand years with one hour a day in a dying earthscape I barely recognize. One hundred thousand years of sickly green floors and cold steel doors that move for nothing. One hundred thousand years of mopping floors or scrubbing toilets. 100,000 years of being monitored by beings I cannot fully comprehend as their burning horror erupts in the back of my mind. 1,000 in one life sentences. 1,000 to go. Only one small thing gives me comfort.

With 1,000 life sentences at least, it's a nice, clean number. I hope I don't die too soon and ruin this nice, even lifetime because the next one. will be hell. And while all of these stories were just so amazing, I was just blown away by all of these, I just really love these. And these weren't traditional, you know, stories I would tell. These were kind of more fictional, I guess, but I think they were just super creative and just great. So let me know what you thought down in the comments below. And I mean, you're two hours into the video. This is one of my longer Reddit stories ever, I think. So yeah, thank you so much for watching to the end. It really does mean the world. And, uh, yeah, like and some,

to the channel, it helps so much. And thank you again for watching all the way to the end. And until next time, see ya.