The Dark Somnium - The Backroads

Episode Date: July 21, 2022

This Creepypasta scary story, is from the creepypasta website, written by Page Turner, author of the settlement series ive been doing. make sure to check out the original story and support the author!--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/darksomnium/message Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Thursday. Today is Thursday, June 16, 2022, and I don't know where I am. I'm parked on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and I'm not even sure I'm still in Louisiana. I haven't had a bar of service all day. I've been driving for nine hours, and the only thing I want to do is sleep, but I'm afraid to close my eyes. Staring at this screen is only making it worse, but I need the distraction.

None of this makes sense. My house is a 30-minute drive to town if you take the highway, but in any other direction, you can ride the back roads for hours. Most aren't even on the map. When I was younger, Mom would take me riding on summer evenings, and we always found new routes to explore. That's also how I learned to drive. After getting my license, I started going more often.

I would bring friends, but for the most part, it's something I enjoyed doing alone, especially after mom died. She was killed by a drunk driver six years ago. I've never seen a house or more than a handful of other vehicles out here. It's perfect for camping. I've stayed overnight more times than I can count and always felt perfectly safe. It's almost like being the only person in the world. The only difference with this trip was that damn tunnel.

Life has been hard lately, and only having one job on the books doesn't help. There was nothing on this wedding's menu that could be cooked the day before, so instead of doing anything productive, I convinced myself to go for a drive, which was clearly a mistake. There's a beautiful crystal clear pond that became my go-to place for quick trips or days I brought someone along. It's not very far, and I know every road in between. Or I thought I did. Leaving the pond, there should only be two ways to go, back home or further into nowhere. But, then I saw a third option. While turning the truck around, I found myself staring at a paved road hidden behind the tree line. While it's understandable to miss while driving past, I've been to

to that pond a thousand times and always turned around in the same place. This shouldn't have been my first time seeing it, but I was too excited to think more of it. A closer look revealed only shrubs and weeds blocking the way, so I decided to drive straight through. A new path so close to home was too big of a deal to pass up. Of course, that feels incredibly ignorant to say now. I got through the brush easily, and after a mile it cleared up again. But six miles after that, I knew it was time to turn back. That's when I finally saw the end of the road. Ahead was an overpass with what looked like old train tracks, and what I thought was

a dead end was actually a tunnel running beneath it. At first it looked too small to drive through. I only wanted to get my headlights close enough to see inside, but then the road did keep going. I could see daylight at the other end of the tunnel. The tunnel itself was damp, and the air smelled musty, but it was completely empty. When I came out of the other side, the road stretched ahead for miles, with occasional turnoffs on both sides.

It should have been impossible to get lost by going straight. I should have been able to turn around at any point and drive directly back to the pond. I still don't understand why that isn't the case. I had hoped to find a landmark to use on the next visit, but after an hour of night, nothing but random cutoffs, I realized how late it was and finally turned back. Everything looked exactly the same as far as I could tell. I had no clue where I went wrong, but an hour and a half later, I was still cruising with no sign of that tunnel.

If anything, I was driving even faster than before. It doesn't make any damn sense. I drove for another 30 minutes before stopping completely. I had to pee and needed time to think without wondering if I was head. headed even further away from home. If I had made even a single turn, I could believe being lost, but the idea of turning back after driving in a straight line felt unnatural. It would mean hours of retracing my steps only to turn around again when that didn't work.

How many hours would be wasted covering the same ground? But then there's no choice because something is obviously wrong. It's maddening. I'm still stuck in that hellish thought loop, but I couldn't just stay on the side of the road. In the end, I turned around once again, this time going much, much slower. The only way I could imagine getting lost was if the road had split somewhere when I wasn't paying attention. I came to a rolling stop at every turnoff and even got out a few times, but there was absolutely no chance I merged off any of them. By the time I made it back to my original stopping point, the sun was starting to set.

My brain fed me whatever I needed to hear to avoid turning back a third time. I figured Mom and I had only been able to spend so much time on the back roads because we took the small, curvy trails that never really led anywhere. Now I was traveling in a straight line. It had to lead somewhere. All I needed to do was make it to the next town, or maybe not even that far. if I could find a spot with cell service, but now it's almost midnight, and I stopped because the road suddenly ended, or at least the pavement did.

There's nothing but a long, dusty trail left, and there's no chance of finding a signal that way. I need to wait for morning and check out some of the cutoffs. Nothing about the... Friday. I wonder if I've been reported missing. I'm sure I have. How could I not be? Surely the back roads are the first place they'll look, right?

I'm sure it is. Sweet fire shits, I thought I was going to die last night. I was lying across the back seat, thinking to myself when I heard something moving around in the forest. I assumed it was an animal until it broke through the tree line, and the unmistakable sound of shoes scraping against concrete made me sit up. There was a half-second of euphoric relief as I imagined myself being rescued by a kindly old farmer before my body went numb with dread. People volunteering with search parties didn't wander through the forest alone at night without flashlights.

This person hadn't driven either. I would have heard an engine. I didn't know what the hell to do. My first instinct was to jump into the driver's seat and run for it, but then I imagined bullets flying through the windows. It seemed reasonable to think a person skulking around a dark forest would be armed. I wanted my pistol from the glove compartment more than anything, but my arms refused to obey. The footsteps were moving slowly, like someone was checking out my trunk, and when they turned

to walk along the passenger side, my body finally moved. Without the phone's light, it was too dark to see anything. But as I slowly inched forward, the footsteps paused next to the front passenger door. and my heart stopped along with them. I hesitated with my hands on the glove compartment's handle, wondering if the light would come on when I realized something that shot chills down my spine. I hadn't locked the doors after using the bathroom. Instead of fumbling for the controls, I felt for the knob and gently pushed it down. At the same instant, the dull thud of a locked handle being pulled broke the night's silence like a gunshot, and there was no further caution in my movement.

movements. I ripped open the glove compartment, grabbed my gun, and racked one into the chamber as the sound of several footsteps fled back into the forest. There had been nothing to indicate multiple people were outside, but there was no mistaking it now. Feet were skidding across the pavement as others were already tearing through the thick brush. And I threw myself into the driver's seat. The headlights came on just in time to reveal the last two figures vanishing into the darkness. I was in tears with relief over the fact that I had turned around before parking, and it wasn't because of forethought, but fear. Just looking at that long, dirt road make my stomach clench.

As for the group of crazies, I don't know. It might be time to entertain the possibility that I'm the one who's crazy. I only caught a quick glimpse as I sped away, but those people resembled terminal cancer patients with animalistic movements. They were sickly thin and hunched over like gorillas, but moved with a deceptive speed. Thanks to the adrenaline, I was wide awake and traveling faster than I should have been, but I wanted as much distance between myself and those people as possible. After driving a few miles, my brain slowly began formulating coherent thoughts again.

I think it's safe to say my new friends don't have motorized transportation, but I think it's safe to say my new friends don't have motorized transportation, But I drove for almost an hour before stopping. If I didn't close my eyes, I was going to fall asleep at the wheel, and if I wreck, I'm dead. There were three hours before dawn, so I set an alarm, passed out, and was somehow still alive when it sounded. I woke to a foggy morning, and the long road ahead served as a bleak reminder of my situation. Their nature called, and I was starving. But luckily, there were a few basic supplies in the trunk.

After eating two power bars, I somehow managed to stick with water instead of downing the bottle of whiskey, and thank goodness, or I wouldn't have it now. The shit I've seen today is enough to make that gun look mighty appetizing. All goddamn day I kept driving straight down that same road, the way I should have been going in the first place. I didn't care if it took twelve hours to find the next town. I wasn't going to start turning down a bunch of random roads that could take me in circles. By nine, I had seen nothing but trees and grassy clearings.

My stomach was growling louder than my music, and I was barely containing my anger when a familiar beeping sent me soaring over the edge. When I finally regained a modicum of control, my throat was raw, and my face looked as red as it felt. The gaslight was on. And the possibility of dying out here became very real, very fast. When I came around the next curve, I thought I was hallucinating. A small gas station appeared in the distance, but there was no way I had driven further than yesterday,

and I definitely wouldn't have passed it without noticing. As I came closer, my heart sank when I realized it was abandoned. There were no cars, lights, or signs, just old pumps into dark. I parked anyway, just to think for a minute, and continued to be surprised. The building looked like it hadn't been touched in 20 years, and yet the pumps looked as if they were installed last week. I got out to stretch my legs, and the ones next to me turned on, including its TVs. It shouldn't have been possible, but that hardly matters in this place.

Whether I was hallucinating or not, I wasn't going to waste the opportunity. Even more astonishing than the fact it worked was the woman on the TV. She was giving a local news and weather report like what you would see at a normal gas station. It's a beautiful sunny day on the paved back roads. The last of the morning's fog will be clearing up shortly, and we'll have a high of 98 this afternoon. Those transitioning to dirt roads should show due caution as we've had significant rise in stranded sightings. Thank you for choosing last stop station. Until next time, safe travels.

I didn't understand half of what she said, and there was plenty more I can't remember. If I find another one, I'm going to have my phone ready to record. Thank goodness I have a car charger, or I wouldn't even have that by now. After refueling, I decided to take a look at the store. I was completely out of food and on my last bottle of water. I would have taken anything that wasn't poisonous, but... I was shocked to find water, soups, and canned fruit, simply there for the taking. While those were fully stocked, there were no snack foods, soft drinks, or random accessories.

If the canned sell-by dates weren't so recent, I would think that stuff had sat there for years. There was nowhere to cook the soup, no phone, and no cash register either. Everything about the store was just off. But as strange as it was, I didn't want to leave. leave. It was nice to finally stretch my legs and be out of the truck for longer than a bathroom break. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to waste time hanging out in an abandoned gas station. In the end, I compromised by staying long enough to eat.

I tried not to pin my hopes on someone else stopping by, but I found myself watching the road more than I care to admit. My original idea was to find a makeshift pot and build a fire, but then I remembered some of my camping gear was still in the truck. With my hot plate, the only hard part was opening the cans with a dull pocket knife. As expected, no one came, but I couldn't waste any more time there. At that point, I expected to be spending the rest of the day on the road and convinced myself to take some supplies. Before I knew it, I'd robbed the place blind, and I hope the police come looking. They won't, but I can dream. I felt better with a full,

meal on my stomach and the truck full of free supplies, but it's hard to keep a cool head when you're coming on your second night of being lost in the middle of nowhere. I eventually drove straight into the sunset until once again being forced into a sudden stop when the pavement ended. The way forward was yet another long, dusty trail, and this one inspired the same cold dread as the last. Logic told me the weird, pale people couldn't be way out there too, but I wasn't really taking any chances. I turned back and drove for another hour before stopping for the night.

After eating a can of peaches, I started recording, and now I can't stop thinking about that lady on that little TV. She was talking about these roads like they were their own town or something, and I want to hear that part about being stranded again. Maybe I'm not the only one who's had this happen. Either way, I've had enough for one day. I need more than if few hours of sleep. Staying on this road isn't an option anymore. Tomorrow, I need to choose one of the cutoffs. Saturday. There's no question. I'm not in Louisiana anymore. I'm not even in the real world. I met someone this afternoon. I don't think he's real. He's either a hallucination or a demon. I'm just not sure which. I had essentially chosen a cutoff at random when I couldn't

find the gas station again, and twenty miles later there was a man walking along the shoulder. I was almost too afraid to stop, but he got on his knees in the middle of the road, begging. In the end, I needed someone to talk to more than I cared about the possibility of being murdered. He claims to know a little about what's going on here, and though his story is completely unbelievable, I can't come up with an alternative. He doesn't know how or why things are the way they are. but he got here by driving through a tunnel, just like I did, except he was in Pennsylvania. If he hadn't told his story first, I wouldn't have believed him. It sounds too much like my own.

The only difference is what happened after he ran out of gas. Since he started off with a quarter tank, he had no idea anything was wrong yet. A service station appeared around the next curve, exactly as it had for me, and based on his description, it sounds like the same one. The Pumps TVs came on, and after a brief weather report, there was another confusing public service announcement. And don't forget to stock up for tomorrow. As usual, our stations will be closed for Sunday. No exceptions.

Please ensure all persons are cleared from the premises by no later than 1159 p.m. And thank you for choosing last stop station. Until next time, safe travels. After filling his tank, he went inside to find a nearly empty store and only then realized there was no other cars or people in sight. Since the pump worked, he reasoned the store must be open and worried something may have happened to the clerk. Rob went outside to search for a signal, and when he was unsuccessful, he noticed the store

was at the bottom of a steep rise. There was no trail, but he was able to make it up. fairly easily. Unfortunately, he still couldn't get reception. Determined to drive back to town, he made his way down the slope, only to find the store and his car gone. He swears he walked in a straight line and found the road easily, but it was empty. If it weren't for my own experiences these last few days, I couldn't have believed it, but now I definitely do, assuming Robb is actually real, of course. had no choice but to start walking, and he headed in the direction he believed would take him

to town. Several hours later, he still hadn't seen another car or store, and the sun was beginning to set. That's when he ran into Bonnie and Clyde. At least, that's what they call themselves. They were stopped at their own gas station, and Rob ran straight inside to tell his story, but the couple didn't want to hear it. It held Rob at gunpoint while Bonnie loaded their van.

The couple wouldn't give him a ride, but the man was willing to answer a few questions while they waited. Based on what this Clyde guy told Rob, there were three stages to the back roads, each more dangerous than the last. The paved streets are the outskirts and make up stage one. The dirt roads are stage two and lead deeper into the maze, while stage three is tire tracks in the grass and the heart of the maze. Entrance can be found almost anywhere in the world if you venture deep enough into nowhere,

but the exit can only be found in stage three. Gas stations only appear when a vehicle is low on fuel, and they disappear the moment you leave. Had Rob climbed the hill before filling his tank, he would still have a car. Thank goodness I have a camping gear, or I would have made the same mistake when trying to heat my soup. The only exception to this rule is Sunday. If you run out of fuel while the store is closed, you'll have to sit there until it reopens. Anything that was inside when it disappeared will still be there except for people.

We don't know what happens to them, but Clyde said there used to be four people in their group. The other two decided to see where the place went when it disappeared, but when it came back, only their bags and clothes were left behind. The stores supposedly have beer and junk food in stage two, and that alone has me interested. I finished my whiskey last night, and I don't think I can handle this place sober. I would already be on my way now if it wasn't past midnight. Compared to the last two stages, the paved streets are fairly safe until the transition to dirt.

That's where the stranded liked to lurk, and what Rob was on his way to be coming before I found him. The ones who lose their vehicles can't make gas stations appear and eventually turn to the forest for shelter. They hide deep in the dark woods during the day and only come out at night. The lucky are able to join an existing group or form their own. They need enough members to ambush travelers, but not too many to feed. Those who are rejected get eaten, and those who try to survive alone, starve.

Eventually they began to look like the ones I saw, and had I been asleep with my doors unlocked, I would have become their dinner. As for stage two itself, Rob only knows that something hunts the roads at night. And when he asked Clyde about the final stage, the man went white as a sheet and refused to answer any more questions. As the couple got back into their vehicle, they apologized for their drastic behavior, stating they simply couldn't risk taking on a stranger. Rob is bitter about it, but I don't blame them.

If I hadn't been alone and desperate, I never would have stopped. From what it sounds like, people try to find the exit in stage three, and the ones who survive the failure resolved to a life on the paved streets. I've been thinking about it all evening, and I would rather die than live the rest of my life out here. The fact I don't want to spend six days a week inside a gas station upset Rob pretty bad. We argued for three solid hours until I pretended to agree with him. He repeated his same argument with slightly different wording like I was simply too stupid

understand. I was sick of it, but more importantly, I was starting to suspect Rob would crack me over the head and steal the truck if he didn't get his way. Since the stations will be close tomorrow, I made sure to run out of gas this evening. I told Rob three times to let me get my phone ready before he got out, but the bastard didn't listen. Before I could put the truck into park, he jumped out and rushed into the store. I heard the TV start the second his door was open, but he was completely oblivious. I panicked and missed whatever it was saying while fumbling with my phone. The only part I got recorded was...

Until next time, safe travels. I'm grateful for the information Rob has shared, but I've decided to go ahead alone. I wish I would have thought to leave him at the station this evening, but I can't waste another day waiting for them to reopen. I don't feel safe sleeping while he's around. Tomorrow morning, when he uses the bathroom, I'll just drive away. I don't know what else to do. For now, he is either asleep in the back seat or really good at fake snoring. My instincts are screaming for me to stay awake, but I feel like someone poured salt into

my eyes and staring at this screen is only making them worse. I need to find another way to keep myself up. Sunday. Rob is dead. I was right about that bastard. Have you ever noticed how crazy ideas sound less crazy in the dark? I kept imagining Rob in the back seat, awake, and waiting for me to fall asleep. Then he would sit up, put his belt around my neck, and pull.

It bothered me so much, I decided to retrieve my gun. I kept it beneath my leg until dawn and tucked it into my waistband when it was finally time for breakfast. Rob snored the entire night. As I entered the forest to relieve myself, I was feeling fairly foolish. No shit the man is afraid of going deeper into this hellhole. If I'm this terrified, how must he feel after what he's been through? I'm the monster, walking around with a gun, planning to leave a man for dead just because he disagreed with me.

I was fully convinced to abandon my cruel plan until I returned to see Rob in the driver's seat. The passenger window was down. So I had a perfect view of him from the tree line. He was frantically searching for the keys, which were tucked securely into my pocket. I didn't know what he might do if confronted, so I made plenty of noise coming through the last of the brush. When I made it to the truck, he was opening a can of fruit like he hadn't just been trying to leave me behind.

I made soup, but avoided taking anything vital out of the truck. I planned to leave him some food and water, but I was ready to take off as soon as he was stepped away, only he didn't. We were both waiting for the other to let down their guard, but Rob lost patience. He revealed the crowbar he'd stashed nearby and calmly explained I would be staying behind, since I'm determined to kill myself anyway, as he said. My mind went blank. It's one thing to imagine it, but it's nothing like reality. I was calm and steady as I told him to take the truck. I even threw the keys to him. There was no thought behind it, only instinct.

When he turned to walk away, I drew my weapon and fire without warning. The first shot went into the center of his back, and he made a horrible sound as he fell. I hurried closer, but hesitated before making the final shot. Part of me wanted him to fully understand what happened. When he began coughing out blood, I ended his suffering with one more to the head. At least he won't become one of the stranded now. I thought it would feel different, like it would change me, but this place had already done that. I don't care that Rob is dead.

I only did what was necessary to survive. The funny thing is, he was right. We should have stayed on the nice paved streets where it was safe. There's much worse things out here than death. After leaving Rob's corpse behind, it took five hours. to find the next dirt road. It was a long, miserable day, but just to be safe, I turned back to waste some gas. My heart was set on getting into a station with beer at midnight.

I didn't know what kind of trouble I was going into, and honestly, I don't care. At 1203, I drove onto the dirt road, and my high beams revealed a horde of stranded behind the tree line. I didn't slow down, and they didn't come out. They only want easy targets. Unfortunately, I miscalculated how quickly the gaslight would turn on. Less than twenty minutes later, I was still going when a loud roar rattled my windows, followed by the shrill cry of captured prey.

Reality began to set in as I realized how foolish my plan had been. Moments later, a low rumble of thunder sounded, and only when it was joined by the violent cracks of breaking limbs did I understand that it wasn't thunder at all. Whatever hunts these roads at night found me. I heard it break through the tree line, but couldn't force myself to look in the mirror. I knew it would be game over if I did. The roads are much smaller in stage two, meaning I had to drive slower. My full focus was on navigating the curvy roads as quickly as possible without losing control.

But when that bright, beautiful gas station appeared around the next bend, I almost crashed into the pump. Parking as close to the door as possible, I threw myself in the truck without even turning off the engine. I was inside and under the counter for a solid ten minutes before realizing everything had gone quiet. Very carefully, I crawled to a window and peered outside. It looked like several stranded had been fused together to form this thing. Only its head was visible in the station lights. The rest was thankfully concealed in a sea of darkness. Its shape was far smaller than expected after hearing the sounds it made, but its face was the most grotesque thing I've ever seen.

Its mouth was lost beneath masses of pasty white skin that looked like pure scar tissue, and I can't get the look of its single, glassy eye out of my mind. There was only a gaping black hole left where the other used to be. Apparently, the station's work as safe zones. I knew it saw me, but it didn't come any closer. After vomiting, I worked up the courage to test my theory and stepped outside to turn off the truck. The figure still didn't move. That made me feel safe enough to finally look around the store.

I helped myself to a six-pack of Coors and Cheetos and tore through the junk food like a death row inmate. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was fairly drunk. I wonder if it's possible to fill up with just enough gas to be on empty before nightfall. That may be my only choice to make it to stage three. There's no way I could outrun that thing all night. Hell, that's a brilliant idea. If that works, I could use that strategy the whole way home. It would give me an entire week to search before the store closed again.

Holy shit, I can finally see a light at the end of this miserable tunnel. I'm going to get a very good night's sleep and hit the road at first light. Next Saturday. I guess I dropped the ball on keeping a record of my time in the backroads, but too bad. No one will ever hear this anyway, and this has to be the worst week of my life. The things I've had to do to survive are unspeakable. I only started recording again to say that I'm quitting. If someone finds this one day, great.

If not, I don't really care. My plan to only fill half the tank worked great, but it took three days to find a grass trail. Once I did, I never dreamed I would survive long enough to find another store. But now that I have, I'm not leaving. The creatures in this stage don't give a damn if it's day or night. They're hungry. I would rather face the devil himself than walk out that door again. There are things out here that make that one-eyed monster look like a kid.

I'm done. Today is Saturday, and it's almost midnight. I'm going to upload this, even though I know it won't work, but just in case, my name is, was Jesse Palmer. I hate the backroads. Hey again. Since my last post went through, I should probably let everyone know what happened. Consider it to PSA.

If you find yourself getting lost on any backroads, Just stop and GPS your way home before it's too late. You get nothing from that place. Well, except PTSD. Where'd even start? Well, with the station, I suppose. You know you're lost when you start thinking of a shitty convenience store as home. Though, to be fair, getting drunk every day was a big help.

I understand what I'm about to tell you sounds crazy. But this is what happened. I didn't mention it before, but I didn't mention a lot of things, but that last store constantly played some weird radio station over the speakers, and I couldn't figure out how to shut it off. The music was unsettling. There was never any singing, just instrumentals. They were slow, almost soothing in the mornings.

And then they would be more upbeat in the afternoons. At night, they would play dark, bone-chilling symphonies. Those were far beyond simple elevator music. Those sounded like Satan's personal orchestra. I was usually relieved when the woman came on to talk. She was the same one from the gas pumps. A monitor hanging in the back corner would turn on to show her reports, but I couldn't change the channel or get it to turn on any other time.

She usually doesn't appear after the evening news, but I guess it makes sense there would be a final call. Then, Olivia O'Neill was back with another special announcement. Greetings, Grass Grovers. Thank you for choosing last stop station. The store will be closing in ten minutes. Please gather your final purchases and calmly proceed to the exit in single file. There is no need to shove or shout. The cleaners will not arrive until 12.01 a.m. Cyrus be with you. It was hard to focus on what she said. I was too busy. looking at her eyes.

I could have been hallucinating, but it looked like they had turned black. I don't know what color they used to be, but they were definitely normalized all the other times I saw her, not pitch black orbs. I was hoping it would end quickly, like a shot to the head. There one second, gone the next. Hell, the only time I tried to eat a bullet, I couldn't pull the trigger. I kept talking myself out of it and ended up stashing the gun under the camera. counter. I couldn't get rid of it, but I didn't want to look at it anymore. At 1159, I was racing

the clock to drink myself unconscious and thought I had succeeded when everything suddenly went dark. But it only lasted for a second. Just as quickly, a silent red siren descended from the ceiling, and the strobing light made me so dizzy I puked all over my shoes. I glanced at the clock in time to watch the last five seconds ticked down. At the stroke of midnight, the siren receded into the ceiling. The lights came back, brighter than ever, and white spots were still dancing in my vision. The automatic doors lit open. I almost puked again as several white, blurry blobs entered the station and split off in every direction.

Seeing them file in was a sobering moment, but I was too far gone to articulate sensible speech while panicking. I tried to ask who they were, what they wanted, but there's no telling what I actually said, and they were never going to talk regardless. They advanced, and I retreated. When I backed into the counter, I went over and continued crawling for as much distance as possible. My vision was finally clearing, and I felt a slight relief upon realizing the intruders were only humans wearing some kind of hazmat suits and not stranded. I'm not sure why, but I've named the one who came at me, Al.

He was the only one to acknowledge my existence. None of the others even glanced my way. Some were restocking shelves while others were cleaning, and that's when I remembered the thing about cleaners arriving at 1201. Have you ever seen a movie where they check for radiation with little machines that click and beep? Well, these guys had some that looked like they were from the 50s. I thought they were little radios at first.

They had handles sticking out of the top with a few dials on either side, and there was a detachment that looked like a microphone without a mouthpiece. I couldn't help but let out a slight yelp when Al finally had me cornered. I begged him not to hurt me, and it took several seconds to realize he wasn't. He was scanning me. After his machine failed to detect whatever it was he was looking for, he put it away and reached towards me, not in a fast or threatening manner, but casual, and placed both hands on my hips.

When I felt his fingers closed, I just, I thought, I guess it's not important what I thought, but I screamed for real that time. Every head in the station turned to stare, but didn't seem angry, only creepy. All the machines were turned off by this point, so there was a complete silence when Al replaced his hands on my hips, and, in one smooth motion, pulled my shirt over my head. I'm not sure why I lifted my arms. I guess it was a reflex. After dropping my shirt onto the ground, Al unbuttoned my pants. I was outnumbered more than ten to one. There was no way I could fight them all off. I salvaged what little dignity remained by throwing my own pants on the ground.

It was my only choice. They proceeded to take my belongings from me, my socks, shoes, boxers, even my gun and bag were added to the pile. I was scanned and cleared once more before being pushed outside. It hadn't felt like I went anywhere, but the station was suddenly in a warehouse with enough lighting to imitate the sun. The surrounding metal walls were a perfect fit as if they were built after the station was placed there. It felt like being on the set of a movie studio. My car was still parked next to the pump, and a team of cleaners were were busy going through it. I was considering a way to get one of them alone, finding clothes was my top priority, even if it was one of those weird suits. That's when I noticed what was

beyond the parking lot, a wide, concrete path. I could follow it to the right or left. There were no doors, just trimmed openings in the walls, and when standing on the path, I could see for miles in either direction with no end in sight. I didn't know what to do. But thankfully, I didn't have to wonder for long, as I looked to the left once more, what I thought to be a solid wall opened up in a doorway. It scared me at first, and I was prepared to run in the other direction when a man suddenly stepped out and waved me over. It was comforting to see he wasn't dressed like a cleaner, but that's not what made me trust

him. I trusted him because he wore the same look of terror I imagined wearing myself. His eyes searched the tunnel like something could appear any second, and I wasn't ready to learn what put that terror on his face. When I was close enough, he pulled me through the door and slammed it shut. I found myself in what I can only describe as an Amazon warehouse. It was like the mother of all Sam's clubs, and we were surrounded by shelves of trash bags and paper towels.

I didn't know what to say, so I opted for standing silently with my hands awkwardly covering my junk. Here, man, use this for now, and I'll take you to grab some clothes before we split. I'm dog, by the way. He ripped open a bag of industrial-sized trash bags and tossed one over. I wrapped it around my waist and introduced myself as he led us through endless aisles of random supplies. Occasionally, he paused to put something into his bag, but we never stopped for more

than a few seconds. He was thin and a few inches taller than me, with long hair, pretty much. pulled back into a man bun, and he wore an orange shirt with white and blue flower-print board shorts. I'd think he were my age, but his deep voice made him sound older. His pack was the kind campers take on week-long excursions, and it looked like it couldn't fit one more item without bursting a seam. I had countless questions, but no clue where or how to begin.

Finally, I settled for, where are we? That's a pretty loaded question, my friend. If you're here, you must have stayed in a station past the midnight count, which means the cleaners came and took your clothes away. That was the worst part for me, but it doesn't look like you fought back. Smart man. Check this out. He lifted his shirt to reveal a nasty, circular burn scar slightly larger than a quarter. When a cleaner reached for his pants, Doug punched him in that. head. This resulted in a second cleaner, producing what appeared to be a police baton, but

it was actually something closer to a cattle prod. He described the sensation as being electrocuted with a branding iron, and it instantly rendered him unconscious. When he woke, he was lying on a concrete pathway just beyond the station's parking lot, and his entire body felt like it was on fire. Knowing he couldn't stay there, he began crawling through the tunnel. Exactly how long have you been here? The realization he had been trapped there for long enough for that wound to heal added a new layer of fear to the situation. No telling. It's too easy to lose track of time around here.

You'll try to count the Sundays for a while, but it's impossible. There's no windows to know if it's day or night. And if you get a new watch or phone, you'll find they're useless in most places. Watches don't work at all. And phones seem to change at random pending your location. It was difficult to appreciate the magnitude of his words. A sea of clothes racks were just ahead, and walking through a store naked can be terribly distracting. Are we alone here?

Are there more cleaners? What about the stranded? Please tell me those other things... We're alone for now. All the cleaners are out prepping the stations for another week of service and will be long gone before the first group returns. I only come here once in a while to restock supplies and sometimes... I pick up bits of information along the way.

On this occasion, I heard there was another quitter in the tunnels and decided to see if I could catch your eye. I wouldn't have come out or shouted to you, though. Nothing personal. I just can't take these kinds of risks. Anyway, put on some clothes and don't leave this spot. I'll be back in 60 seconds. Wait, no!

I didn't have a clue what he was doing. I thought he was leaving me, but I had to get dressed before chasing after him. There was no telling when. or if I would have another opportunity. I grabbed the first of everything I saw in my size and dressed as quickly as possible. In the end, I had an electric blue version of Doug's station shirt, a gray and red version of his shorts, and black flip-flops. I still can't believe there wasn't a single pair of jeans. It all looked typical of what you'd expect to find in the gas stations off busy interstates that sell unusual souvenirs to travelers.

I was debating on what to do when I saw Doug headed back with an extra bag slung over his shoulder. Here, pack some extra clothes. Sundays are the only day it's saved to enter the hub. Essentially, this is where the cleaners live. And if you were caught in their home, they'll put you on the shelves, too. I promise you don't want that. He cringed just thinking about it, and I didn't press the issue. But how do we get out?

I've been away from home for too long. My family must think I'm dead. Sorry, man. You may want to say goodbye to your old life. It's easier that way. Some people even choose a new name, but we all grieve differently. Just do what feels right for you. But what is this place?

It doesn't make any sense. Where are we? I didn't care if my voice was cracking. I needed real answers. Doug checked his watch for the hundredth time and let out a long, deep sigh. I'll tell you what I've heard. But it's up to you whether or not to believe it. Plus, we're almost out of time, so keep moving or get left behind.

That was fine. After everything I had experienced, I thought I was ready to believe anything. Have you ever heard any of the game legends, the ones where you do something incredibly dangerous for a chance to win something from the devil? It's usually a wish or some kind of fortune, but there's a ton of them. The Infinity Game and Midnight Game are fairly popular, for example. Like Bloody Mary or Candyman? I did not like where this was going. Well, sort of.

You're on the right track. Those are fake and only for a scare. The ones I'm talking about are all too real. The first thing you need to accept is that demons exist. They come in all shapes and sizes, but there's a group of elites that are uncontested in power, almost godlike. Souls are the currency, nourishment, and fuel that sustain their powers, but collecting them can get a little tricky.

A demon can't simply take a soul by force. It must be freely given. And even the humans who don't believe in souls tend to get protective when asked point blank to part with one. So what do they do? They create a situation that makes you want to give it away. You follow me? Uh, sort of?

You mean like the devil's crossroads or the thing with the golden fiddle? Closer, but they hadn't done things that way for decades. The business was slow. People weren't buying into it anymore. You know what they say about things too good to be true. But if you had an element of change, there's something to balance the effort with a reward. Then people believe it.

So somewhere in this maze of madness, you're saying there's a demon who will send me home in exchange for my soul. It was a shitty deal, but one I was prepared to take That's how badly I missed my family. Hell no, man. This game isn't active. It's just a relic of the past, and no one bothered to shut down.

There was no rhyme or reason to get in here. It was practically based on chance. The asshole running it made himself a new game where suckers alternate turning left and right in order to play. I don't know what happens after that, but it's clearly more lucrative than this place. Now we're just stuck here, while everything essentially runs on autopilot.

It took me a few minutes to respond. It's not that I didn't believe him. No other explanation fit the scenario. I was just shocked. Does that mean the cleaners are the only danger down here? I knew it was too good to be true when I said it. But I don't know. What else do you say at a time like that?

He could have simply said no. He didn't have to laugh. I wish this place wouldn't be half bad if... He stopped suddenly and reversed. pulling me with him. The sound of footsteps could be heard in the distance, and they were getting louder. The aisle we were on contained packs of bottled water, lined beneath the bottom shelf, and Doug rushed to clear a space among them. I helped as soon as I understood his intent, but I never thought we would actually fit. Thank goodness I was wrong. There was a four-foot space

beneath the stack, and it ran the full length of the aisles we were sandwiched between. Once we crawled under the shelf, we pulled the water back in to cover our entrance and waited in silence as the cleaners continued to draw closer. That's when we realized there was another sound mixed in with the footsteps. One we couldn't quite identify until it was only a few yards away. It was the sound of something wet and sticky being dragged across the floor, but nothing was distinguishable between the small cracks of our hiding place. Doug already knew what it was. I could tell by the look on his face, but he only shook his head at my curious stare. We waited until they were well out of our vicinity before crawling out, and the thick blood streaks confirmed the fear

I wouldn't acknowledge. Why didn't they just kill me right away if this was the end game? I didn't expect to get an answer, but there actually was one. Because they weren't programmed to kill humans collected from stations. They're meant to strip us for conversion. When the game was still active, it was crawling with low-level demons who would take the humans away once they were naked. Nobody knows exactly what was done to him, but when they came back, they were cleaners. They didn't speak. They just do as their programs. No exceptions.

Then why did they kill whoever this was? There's no way someone survived that much blood loss. That person must have been in here, getting supplies like we are. Every tunnel connects to this place. It's the supply hub. In here, cleaners are only programmed to. to restock loose items. And so far as they can tell, humans are basically livestock, so they're taken to meat processing."

With each shocking revelation, I became slightly more numb to the panic. I had already reached that very point less than 24 hours before, but when I survived the countdown, it restored a sliver of hope. Then I saw people in hazmat suits, like some kind of officials, and for the briefest moment, I thought they were going to help. I wanted to crush that sliver of hope when my clothes were taken, but Doug appeared and the damn thing grew. It took a minute for everything he said to really sink in and snuff the hope out at its roots. Part of me just wanted to assess the easiest way to die and get it over with.

How big is this place? What else is out there? It's endless. Don't you get it? We aren't all on Earth. We aren't even in the same universe. We're basically in limbo. You can look behind every door, but you're never going to find a way out.

No matter what kind of room you stumble across, you're still in the tunnels. Never forget that. He showed a little emotion with the last sentence, and I realized he had probably been an entirely different man before that place. We turned down an aisle of garden supplies, and there was an exit sign above a rusty door on the back wall. Doug took one last look around and handed me a pair of shears before removing a large hunting knife that had been concealed beneath his shirt.

Sorry we didn't have time for a real weapon, but this is better than nothing. Are guns the only thing they don't stock in this place, or are you just really good with that thing? I nodded towards his knife while trying to find a comfortable way to wield my shears. Oh, there's plenty of guns in ammo, but you don't want to use it. Some of the low-level demons stayed behind to play Alpha. If they hear a gunshot, they call for backup, and everyone comes running. We've lost a lot of good people that way, and now we avoid firearms completely. Never forget.

They don't have the power to grant big wishes, but that won't stop them from saying they do. Wait, we? So you're with the group? How many? We could probably take down the cleaners without guns. If we can take over the hub... Don't talk that way. It's suicide.

You think it hasn't been tried? You think you're the first person desperate to get home? There were seven people in the group that found us. But today, there's five, and not one of them are the same. Within the first year, each of the original seven died, along with quite a few others, and most of it can't even be blamed on demons. We crept out, and we were in an identical tunnel as before, endless in each direction. I'm sorry about your friends. I didn't know what to say.

Listen, I'm going to tell you the most important rule of survival. Never let them see you. They won't tolerate humans running loose in their deranged kingdom. Once they know you exist, the entire pack won't rest until they've hunted you down. And, Jesse, they don't need to sleep. That struck some life back into my terror. So what else is down here? Where are we supposed to hide when we can't in the hub?

The other rooms. I'm going to show you how to find them. Look at where we just came from. Do you see the doors outline? Your eyes will get used to spotting the straight line. lines faster than you think. You'll want to pick something close to a hub entrance, but never stay in one place too long. And if you ever see a thick, black, slimy residue, or smell rotten meat, leave the area as quickly and quietly as possible. That means a demon is nearby.

That time, his choice of words was unmistakable. I wasn't being invited to join the group. I'm not a particularly sensitive or petty man, but the prospect of being alone in those tunnels I couldn't process it. Oh, I get it. I guess I didn't make the cut for your exclusive club, huh? The face he made in return was raw and powerful. I almost wanted to apologize, but it was hard to feel sympathetic under the circumstances. Then his words cut me to the bone.

No disrespect. He seemed like a nice guy, but I don't trust strangers anymore. All I have left is my wife, and no other man is ever going near her again. Okay? Whether you understand it yet or not, you're fucking lucky to be alone. It didn't take a detective to put those pieces together, and it was an impossible point to argue. I wouldn't have trusted him either. There was only one thing left to say.

Got any more tips? Play the odds. The tunnels are endless. We don't know how many demons are out there, but as long as you keep moving, you probably won't run into one. If you bunker down in one place, something will eventually stumble across you. When we change locations, we walk six hours before looking for the next hub entrance. Then we check the doors closest to it for a place to rest until the next station clean. And be very careful about who you trust.

New people show up every week. And even good people can do horrible things when they're desperate. His words brought back memories of Rob, but I pushed them down deep where they belong. Wait, but how do I keep track of the days? And when we first met, you said you heard, There was a new quitter. What did that mean? Who did you hear it from? We were walking side by side with our heads close together, whispering in hushed tones. But I had to restrain myself from shouting at the end. I was being expected to process too much too

quickly, and the threat of a full-blown panic attack was looming ever closer. Every room plays the same radio channel you heard in the station. I'm not sure why it doesn't work in the hub, but I guess the cleaners don't need it. And we are quitter. We stayed in the station because we wanted to quit playing without making it to the final level. It's practically a game over screen. As for who told me about you, well, there are a few people who want to put the cleaners out of their misery, and they don't care if they die in the process. They tend to take extreme risks, like stealing cleaner uniforms and infiltrating their ranks.

If one ever approaches you with both hands, palms up, that's the signal. Try to help them if you can. They're doing good work. I know I would want to be put down if it were me. I was trying to commit each word to memory, but I could only think of walking those dim tunnels alone. So much so that I nearly missed the fine, door-shaped cracks next to where Doug had stopped. I guess this is where we go our separate ways. Thanks for everything.

Really. I'd already be dead without you. Do you mind demonstrating how these things open before I go? My voice came out less steady than I hoped. Just push. Don't forget about the sludge. If you need to escape, run through the closest door and immediately find a different exit. Then, find another door and another exit.

Do it at least four or five times. All the tunnels are straight. The only way to change direction is by cutting through a room. Ends. Good luck. We shook hands before he disappeared into what looked like a 90s hotel lobby, and I caught a glimpse of his wife as the door closed. She had a jagged scar across her throat. That's when I knew Doug had been right.

I was lucky to be alone. I wandered the endless tunnels for hours, hoping I'd have the willpower to resist running away when I finally crossed paths with a demon. I wasn't interested in living out the rest of my life in a monster's playground, but I was still terrified of dying. Since I wouldn't be able to hang or shoot myself, I hoped a demon could take the matter out of my hands. Never underestimate your survival instincts, folks.

I continued walking under the dim, blinking lights, and the first time they went completely dark, I thought something was coming. All my big talk vanished as I began throwing myself into the wall, searching for a door. In that moment, there was no remembering, but this is what I wanted. I was in a full panic, running off pure instinct and fighting to survive with everything I had. Then, the light suddenly flickered back to life, and there was nothing in sight. As it turns out, this was a fairly common occurrence in the tunnels. I wasn't too worried about failing my first test, though.

After all, what chance did I stand out there alone? I didn't expect to make it another day, let alone weeks, though it seemed like a lot longer. It was Thursday, June 16th, when I got lost in the back roads. And I came home yesterday, August 11th. Just under a month, but it feels like years. Those rooms really could be anything, and they were completely random. The first night I stayed in a rundown bowling alley, but they had things from the past and present. Fantasy and reality, nothing was off limits, and I've slept on benches and bus stations.

When you have no one to share the good things with, stuff like that loses all meaning fast. I was leaving the White House yesterday when I noticed clumps of black sludge stained the walls ahead and dripping from the ceiling. The first spots were only 20 to 30 feet away, and they extended at least that much further. The lights near it were going out. The ones still lit were dimming by the second, but at the very edge of the darkness, I could still make out a tall, humanoid shape. I threw myself into the closest room, which happened to be an old rubber factory, wound

my way through broken machinery, and found the other exit. The new tunnel was clean, but I went through a bank, airport, and Carnival, too. When I entered the third clean tunnel, I walked ahead a few yards and chose one more door. I had no clue if the shape I saw really was a demon, or if it saw me, but the fresh terror I felt at the prospect erased any lingering notions of running into one on purpose. Though with the way things turned out, I should probably be thanking the damn thing. The last door led outside. It wasn't like the station or airport where the small, outdoor areas were still under a roof.

There was actually a sky, and it looked exactly like the paved streets of the back roads. The fresh air was absolutely delicious, and I took my time searching for the exit. In fact, I was still searching two hours later. At one point, I even let myself believe I was actually out of the tunnels, but that hope was squashed when I reached the cross. crossroads. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, and it grew darker by the second as I advanced. I knew it was different from the backroads then, and I knew I should turn back, but I couldn't. The door was gone, and there was nothing but miles of deserted highway behind me. A bright flash of lightning revealed a dark figure in the center of the crossroads.

There was something about the way it stood, facing me, that made it seem like it was waiting to speak. One in the tunnel had been hunched over like a rabid beast waiting to strike out for its next meal. Or maybe that's what the new one wanted me to think. It was like looking into a humanoid-shaped black hole. Where its face should have been, there was only a vortex of even blacker swirls. And looking at it was like falling into a bottomless pit. It said it was the original game owner and still preferred to operate in the old ways when possible.

It wanted to know if I'd be interested in trading my soul for me. being with my family again. And boy, was I interested. All it took was a simple prick of the finger, a few drops of blood on a dotted line, and we were good to go. With a wave of its hand, the sky cleared, and a new door suddenly appeared behind us. It opened onto my front yard, and I ran through it without another glance at the demon. Everything looked and smelled exactly how it should be, and my wife's car was in the driveway. She knew there was more to my story than getting lost, but she gave me time with the kids before making me explain, and I appreciated that.

I did my best to tell her what happened, but now she wants me to see a psychologist. She's been on the phone all day trying to schedule one around the police visit. An officer was supposed to stop by to speak with us so we can officially close the missing persons report, but I guess he's running late. I'm not complaining, though. I never want to leave this house again. at PTSD or whatever you want. I just have this overwhelming sense of dread that something awful will happen the second

we try to go somewhere. The whole thing really messed up my dad, too. He didn't sound like himself, and even my mother-in-law seemed shaken by the ordeal. I feel horrible for the trouble I've caused everyone, but... Shit. I gotta go. There's another problem. My wife called the police station, and they were saying the cop already came, but

Nobody answered the door. Can you believe this crap? Then the call dropped in the middle of their conversation, and now the lines are busy. What a joke.