The Dark Somnium - These Are Some of The Darkest Urban Legends I've Ever Heard | A Compilation of Scary Stories

Episode Date: December 4, 2025

Story ListHas Anyone Else Played the Bath GameThe Man Who Ate GhostsOn My Birthday, My Family Gathers In One Room and Stares at Me for 24 Hours Fleshgait My Friends and I Explored The Depths of The Wailing CaveBen Drowned   Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Okay, let me get straight to the point. I do not believe for one second that no other child played the bath game growing up. I'm convinced my friends are trolling me, but they're not responding to my messages, and so I'm left with little choice but to bring my question here, hoping someone will know what the hell I'm talking about. I was around five or six when my babysitter introduced the idea of the bath game to me. She said it was a fun way to engage the imagination and that I could find something truly special within the water.

I didn't question it, even then, because she was the boss and I thought she was pretty. I didn't want to make her mad by refusing or risk having my Nintendo taken away if I was disobedient. So when my mom told her to bathe me one night, I was excited to try it. Her instructions were pretty simple, and I'd come to write them down, because with any game, There has to be rules. 1. You must do the bath game alone.

These instructions can be given, but you have to be isolated for the game to begin. 2. The tub should have some sort of thick bath soap that includes a lot of suds and a dark liquid. Ensure the top of the water is obscured and the sides are caked in it, including the handles to get out. 3. Only hot water. No cold and no resistance upon getting into the water.

If it hurts, it will pass as your skin gets used to it. Ignore any reddening on the skin. 4. Take a deep breath. Make sure it hurts a little and know that you will not be coming back up for a while. 5. Dive in and don't look back or rise up. Allow the current to take you and keep your eyes open.

6. Your vision will blur, but it will eventually clear and you'll see something in the plug hole. Go to it. 7. Trust in what you see, let your body relax. 8. When you meet the sea, Emperor, and the lights above the water go out, you've won the bath game and you can come up for air.

The babysitter was so excited she could barely contain herself, bouncing around and eyes wide, a thick liquid flowing from her eyes. She didn't even bother wiping it up, content to be sharing in my submersion by proxy. I stood there in my bath, pal, expecting her to follow me in, but she shook her head, nostrils flaring. Only you. Rule one, remember? She beamed, and I felt my face grow hot. She was so pretty when she stared at me like that, I'd have done anything. You're special.

I can't wait for you to win and get your prize. What do I get? I was eager, but I had to know what kid doesn't love prizes. Her lip twitched, and she took a moment to answer. But I remember her expression never changed, not once. Her teeth chattered as she said one word. Freedom! I had no idea what she meant, but in my mind I assumed like any child it was gaming

all night, eating what I wanted in no school? What kid wouldn't want that? I went in and noticed the bath was already running. A thick black soup I'd used to give myself foam beards was caking the entire tub, save for one spot to safely get in. The water was so hot that it was steaming up the mirror and making my body sweat. Rules two and three were taken care of, it seemed. A little freaked out, but unperturbed, I took a couple of practice breaths before inhaling deep, feeling the pressure mount and slowly stepping into the tub, careful not to let my feet slip. Even at that age,

I knew I could easily hit my head on the faucet and cave my skull in. Nothing was going to stop, me from winning this game. The water looked inviting, but murky. The thick paste had covered the top in a layer of foam, with small patches of black liquid poking through. The bottom obscured and creating an illusion of depth. As my feet touched the water, I felt the searing heat ripple through my skin, threatening to tear at the flesh, but you'd be amazed how determined a child can be when a prize is up for grabs. I decided, in my infinite wisdom, that I'd brave it in one go. I exhaled and let my body up to my neck sink down. The pain enough to make me yelp and try to get out, but after a couple of moments, I took in one final

deep breath and pushed on, submerging myself fully. Eyes burned and senses dulled in the inky, hot blackness. It felt like swimming through tar, but as the rule suggested, ignoring it was the only way forward. My stomach pushed and protested. and my muscles began to burn, but I focused on letting the current take me, not even questioning how a current was a thing in a bathtub, but I did wonder, was it always this wide and deep? I focused on the sinkhole and saw long, scaled hands protruding from either side, the nails sharp and cracked, soft flesh flapping in the water, coming off in small chunks. It started pushing at the edges of the sinkhole and widening it. My body,

steadily being pulled towards it as the light above darkened and the burning in my chest became less of a problem. In fact, everything in my body relaxed, and all I had to do was float. I saw into the sinkhole, and it took many years of reflection with an adult mind to figure out what I experienced as a child. Words still fail me 30 years later. They're inadequate and unable to capture the beauty below. A sprawling, obsidian. city meshed into coral reefs, the pulsated colors I recognized, and many I'd never seen before or since. The further I descended, the more blinding the eyes got, as if they were guiding me to land.

Further down, at the entrance to the city, two large statues loomed on either side of a grand throne. They're imposing, pilot lights swinging on their skulls, orbs for eyes and mouths in places they shouldn't be, one holding the tip of a sword with several spikes running the hilt, the other a grand hammer. It's when I see the throne that I feel the burning in my chest return and something pulling me back and up. It's empty, and yet it's not.

Something is sitting upon it, but it isn't. A flickering image, or perhaps my eyes deemed it too much to bear full witness to, but I felt it in that moment. It knew I was disobeying the rules and saw fit to punish me. It craned its horrific skull up towards me, and as it smiled, the eyes blinded me, filling my body with such agony that my ribs felt as if they would snap under the pressure. The eardrums burst and skulls split open. I felt as if I was dying.

The next memory I have was being in a hospital bed, unable to speak, and a tube down my throat. I was beyond terrified to be hooked up to machines and even more scared that I'd let down the babysitter, that the creature in this sinkhole was coming for me. I thrashed around until my mom's concerned face came into focus and she soothed me. Tears stained my face and I was faced with the long recovery, both physically and mentally. Therapists came and went. None of them believed the bath game was real. Every single one of them told me without fail that my babysitter, my baby's child.

was simply mentally unwell, had tried to manipulate me and drown me. The all I'd seen was my oxygen-starved brain. But I knew better. Even when she was sentenced to a mental institution and apologized for deceiving me, I knew better. I never deviated from that one pervasive thought that burrowed into my brain like a parasite. I'd failed the game. I bring this all up because I know someone has experienced this. They have to have seen it.

It's too specific for one person out of seven and a half billion to have gone through. Does nobody remember the way the tub expanded when you dove in? The widening sinkhole with great hands, the weird indescribable lights of the coral reefs beneath the tub, the fishmen statues holding artifacts of power, the sea emperor that resides between realities. Everyone in Sturgeon says I'm crazy. They don't believe me. I'll have proof for them soon.

I tried recreating the game myself over the years, but maybe my failure was simply too egregious and the Emperor simply won't allow me to retake it. I've caught glimpses in the steamed-up mirrors, though, promises of what could be if I just show the resolve to go there again. Thankfully, my son can do it for me. He's so excited, having grown up on the stories of what lays beneath the sinkhole in the bathtub. I made him wait until he was older to undertake the game.

I had to ensure if he told others they wouldn't think him too young. I sent him in about a half hour ago. I can only hope the fact he hasn't returned is proof he met the sea emperor, but he shouldn't be there much longer, right? I want to go check on him, but because I lost, I don't think I'm permitted to interfere. I even stood outside the door, ready to pull on the handle, but my legs won't stop shaking. I feel my throat close up and sweat run down my head. Perhaps it's a sign not to interfere.

Please, someone, anyone, tell me I'm not crazy, that I'm not alone. Someone has to remember the bath game. Because as my mind wanders and fear creeps in, all I can think of is the prize my babysitter promised, the prize my son has been promised. Freedom. The days all started with the briefing room, a wall-to-wall palette of aged pastels and stark hospital grayness. In the center of our little room, an oval-shaped table dominated the space with every seat

filled with a tired nurse. From one of the windows, a bar of morning light often slipped stubbornly past the shutters. It was this drab room where we discussed things such as the population of our current patients, and whether to up or down their medications. In a work environment prone to shifting each and every day, such meetings were vital to maintain the facility's pulse. As I sipped my morning coffee and slid the bitter warmth down my throat, I could not help but eye the newest face of our staff, a young man with a sharp, short haircut, and a stony,

unsmiling face. Alec Barnes, a pest. Throughout the entirety of our meetings, he could never just keep quiet. to sit and listen as we resolved any daily conflicts. No, he had to chime in every moment he could, bringing everything to a grinding halt to interject with... I have to disagree. Well, where I come from, we did this.

If I could just stop you there... A pest indeed. Every clinic had at least one of his sort, hungry to get out there and feel out the unit they'd soon be running. We affectionately referred to them as Weisenheimers, Those who can do no wrong, instant virtuosos of the field. These people were easy enough to spot, postures tense with self-conviction, nodding impatiently as you speak to them, as though already knowing what you're about to say and that you are

simply moving too slow for their patience, and you, only you, are the one doing things wrong. I can still recall one in particular, a young know-it-all who had become a nuisance during our labs and clinicals, a chattering. in on how we'd been doing everything incorrectly and not by the books. That is, until one day I'd spied the bag of dopamine she'd secured for a patient draining itself into their sheets. As the sheets, never faster had I seen one's face flush so red.

And what happens to that self-importance after moments like this? They are jettisoned out, left to the scorn of those they'd obnoxiously reprimanded. And you can bet your bottom dollar, Alec Barclay. arms, we'll get his eventually. Reality has a way of compressing our egos. After the meeting had finished and the charge nurse had assigned our patient loads for the days, I set out to complete my daily tasks. Within the confines of our 25-bed unit, our patients mostly consisted of those recovering

from injury, whether accidental or purposefully inflicted, and most patients were more of a danger to themselves than others. That being said, there were always those we had to be wary of. In my years as a psychiatric nurse, I'd been kicked, scratched, bitten, punched, and for the better half of a day, verbally threatened. Still, I never let it sodden my spirits, no matter how much saliva or curses were hawked at me. Contrary to how social media or cinematic horrors may portray them, psychiatric wards are not

twisted places littered with crazies. They are places of healing, of alleviation, a haven for those physically alive, but internally tormented. Yes, some kicked and shrieked in the halls until their throat split, but a good deal held a much quieter, unseen pain. That was why I was there to help ease the cold terrors of their futures. And for the case of our newest arrival, Roland Bull would become my next big project. It was raining on the night they brought him in.

I spied him rolling by on a stretcher, his cold face wet and dripping, his eyes flickered with transient consciousness, perhaps barely grasping the shapes and sounds around him. For a moment, we actually held each other's gaze as he was whisked away to the intensive care unit. Ten paper clips, eight marbles, and five drywall nails. These were the objects removed from Mr. Bull's stomach. He was diagnosed with PICA, an uncommon disorder in which one has the urge to ingest inedible objects, though one this severe was especially rare.

Encompassing that fact, he'd also been diagnosed with depressive disorder, severe anxiety, and post-traumatic stress. Despite my history in the psychiatric field, I could not help but feel woefully unprepared for him, if only I had even the slightest clue. I stopped at Mr. Bull's door, surveyed my notes once more, and carefully let myself inside. The room was reminiscent of a college dorm with a single window providing a glossy view of the parking lot. Mr. Bull was awake and currently hunched over his table, a wilderness of hanging, stringy hair covering his face. His legs were crossed at the ankles, both shoelaces removed.

He appeared to be riding vigorously into a crossword puzzle with one of our eyes. rubber ballpoint pens. I knocked lightly towards the door, which prompted him to turn toward me. Good morning, Mr. Bull. I smiled as I introduced myself. How are you doing today? From out of the mesh of hair, a thin face stared back at me, giving a look I'd describe only as a tight-lipped vacancy.

Eyes wide as possible, but not quite focused. He appeared somewhere north of his 50s. From across his chin and up his cheeks, a scattering of scar. was etched into his features. Possible self-harm, my thoughts mused. I continued my greeting. My name is Jason, and I'm one of the registered nurses here to ensure everything is all right and that your time with us is a good one.

Is there anything I can help you with? His eyes held tired water behind them, inspecting me up and down, trying to get a read on me as I was him. His mouth then pulled into a small grin, which rumpled the stretch marks. You have piano fingers?" I'm sorry? I asked, caught off guard by his statement. He lifted his hand and flexed his fingers.

Piano fingers. Father had them too. He used to play all the time in his office, mostly the gymnopades and a tad of Chopin. Do you play it all? Despite his craggy appearance, his voice carried a genuine playfulness behind it. Not at all, I chuckled. My mother had one of her friends give me lessons. when I was younger, but unfortunately none of them stuck.

Yes, Mrs. Brown was an avid teacher of the arts, but now I could only remember the reek of bone broth carrying her breath. Anyhow, it was nice officially meeting you. Please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything. We'll do everything we can to help. Of course, he answered, rubbing a finger along his scar-fringed chin. It was not long before we realized the true extent that Mr. Bull needed to be marked. monitored.

From the television room, he'd plucked out the power button, as well as both volume buttons from the remote and swallowed their small plastic bodies. From his bathroom, he'd twisted the cap off of one of the soap dispensers and negotiated it down his throat, and, before we could catch it, he'd already swallowed the flexipen we'd given him for crosswords. As arrangements were made to have them removed, we mulled over different treatment options for his condition. In most cases, PICA was caused by an iron deficiency in the body, leaving it craving something

to replenish the lacking minerals. Therefore, we prescribed him an iron supplement. After a few weeks of the dosage, two tablets a day, and an iron-rich diet, his pining for non-food items had considerably lessened. I was ecstatic about the progress, thoroughly convinced that before long his symptoms would be gone entirely. Unfortunately, I would come to find out we were only serious. scratching the surface of Roland Bull. As far as the supplements had taken him, we'd soon

discover that his hospital bracelet had gone missing, not so mysteriously. I'd come to find that he stopped taking the tablets completely, hiding them under his tongue only to spit them out later. On top of that, he'd entirely stopped eating anything we provided him. The next evening, I stopped by his room to once again check on him. Roland was yet again seated at his writing desk, his spine stiffly straight and his neck bent towards the window. A tray of food sat on the bed next to him, cold and uneaten. I scooped it up for him. You really should eat something, Mr. Bull.

Otherwise, they'll have us give you a feeding tube. The food is much better, trust me. He didn't acknowledge me, merely holding that gaze toward the grayish smear of asphalt outside. Protests like this weren't out of the ordinary, especially for patients coping with anxiety in severe depression. As I turned to report back on his state, a thin, withered voice crept out of him. It's coming.

His lips were shaking. What do you mean? I asked, trying to dissect what he just said. What is coming? But it was no use. He'd returned to silence, maintaining the glazed stare out the window. Evidently, our conversation had ended. That same evening, a scream resonated down the halls.

was coming from Mr. Bull's room. I was the first to arrive, quickly bursting through the door and witnessing him flailing in his sheets. His hands clawed and grasped at nothing while his thick heels kicked helplessly about. Assessing the situation, I tried talking him down first to calm his nerves behind the frenzied cries. He was unresponsive, lips curled back from his gums and his eyes squirming wildly in their sockets.

Then, in a quick motion, his thrashing hands converged. and closed around his throat, locking into a death grip. I moved to pry his hands off him, trying to carefully break the chokehold he had on himself. Even with his throat being wrung in his own grip, a press scream still squeezed its way out. As his grip started to slacken, the howling was suddenly stopped and replaced by the tell-tale sign of someone about to wretch. Not wanting him to vomit flat on his back, I moved to push his body to the side, all the while looking eagerly towards the doorway. to see if more help had arrived, but as I turned back toward him, everything stopped. My heart increased to a dreadful acceleration.

I tried to take a breath, but couldn't. There is something so dark and different when an unspeakable shock hits you, like every nerve in your body, every sensory input to the outside world has suddenly been cut. Your voice is too brittle to speak, your eyes are too afraid to close. Perhaps semblances of thoughts beat desperately toward your brain, only to drown before reaching its surface. It had happened so quickly I could only barely process the ghostly outline of Roland's face where the sudden misshapen lump in his throat.

Fingers. Long, wet fingers were gleaming between his teeth, reaching outward from the dark pink depths. They were bruised with blackish, purple colors. of shiny spittle stretched and snapped between their wriggling joints. A pungent bacterial odor reeked from their gangrene tips. Roland's eyes rolled upward as his body heaved and let out a wretched gargle. The fingers bent forward, curling over his face like a spider on its backside and began to tug at his jaws, trying to pull them wider. Their jagged, split nails scraped across his chin, his cheeks, his nose, digging grooves into his flesh.

The sound of footsteps entering the room brought me back. Another nurse had arrived. I peered once again at Roland's face, coated now in a webwork of fresh, bleeding wheels. No fingers, none at all. Together, the other nurse and I restrained Roland and safely injected him with a dose of B-52, 2 milligram Ativan, and 5 milligram hal-daw in one needle, 50 milligram Benetrel and the other. With the collective effort of three different drugs coursing through his system, the struggles finally ceased.

A lot of damage, the other nurse commented, surveying the marks on his face. We should have put him under long before this. I realized then that the help was none other than Alec Barnes, the Weisenheimer. Whatever he said next never reached me. I had already left to get some ointments for Roland's cuts. I didn't sleep while that night, dozing in and out without any hope of catching a dream. Before long I was awake and standing over the sink of the bathroom, both hands against the porcelain. Amidst the rubble of my thoughts, my brain was scavenging for answers, something

that could explain what had transpired. But the answers came up short. There wasn't enough substance to it, not enough material to grasp onto. I could only imagine those fingers, their rotting pores, their twitching knuckles, jutting out of a man's mouth, trying to hoist an even larger something out of the tube of his throat. The image made my inside of the inside of the sides feel wretched and rolled a brief nausea round my belly. Absurd. I snapped back at the disgusting thoughts. Ludacris.

Disgusting. Get a hold of yourself. To give such a thing credence was unacceptable. It was a stressful moment, a fabrication of a rattled mind in a stressful situation. That is the end of the matter, no further discussion required. I gargled some mouthwash, clapped both hands against my cheeks, and returned to bed, the same determined tempo. But when I did finally fall asleep, there was no protecting my dreams.

I was back there again, standing in Roland's room while his blurry shape screamed and writhed in the sheets. I tried to restrain him before he could harm himself, only to have my arms reel back on their own and grasp my throat instead. The last wisps of breath pulled out of me. In the pit of my gullet, something begins to move, clawing its way upward. I lurched forward, squeezing my eyes open and closed rapidly, trying to wake myself up. But it was no use.

I could only retch desperately as my head flops back and the thing inside my throat forces its arrival. My eye finds the wall just as my shadow spouts a new bouquet of spidery horrors. The next time I saw Roland in person, it was during his supervised access to the outdoor patio. It was to give patience an airy reprieve outside the ward. Flower pots hung from the fence that enclosed the space, along with a wall painted into a mural and a few basketball hoops. Mr. Bull was adamant that I was the one to supervise him that day. The new scratches etched into his face had healed, breaking off into faded, fractal patterns.

He took a seat at one of the diamond-blue benches and sucked in a deep breath of air. Rain's on its way. You can smell it. But hopefully not before my drive home, I sighed, catching a whiff of it myself, the freshness just before a storm. Hmm. He hummed passively, and after a short pause between us, popped the question. You saw it, didn't you?

The question sent a jolt up my spine, and, if only for a moment, flashed on my face. He took notice of this, the liveliness in his voice kicking up an octave. You did, didn't you? What are you referring to? I asked, rolling my shoulders back. He leaned against the thermoplastic backrest of the bench. You're scared to admit it. I get it, I do.

But neither of us can be so lucky to deny it. My eyes wandered the patio, looking rather self-consciously for anyone else around. We were alone. You're going to have to be more specific for me. I'm not quite following you. His tired, watery eyes focused on me. I had to wait for you to see them before I could say anything, otherwise you'd never believe me.

I know you wouldn't. Then his split lip curled into a smile, but if you don't listen now, you won't know what you saw, and you'll always be left to wonder. I didn't answer, but perhaps it was the absorbed look on my face that had queued for him to continue. It started with ice. He said, pausing as if to mull over that fact, I loved the texture of. It, the feeling of crunching it between my teeth in tiny, crackling bits.

It was one of the few things that could quell my anxiety, and when that wasn't enough, I turned to chewing on paint chips and sucking on coins for a good while. I was a very anxious boy, you see. A gust of wind whistled through the fence and bobbed the hanging flowers. His tongue lapped between his lips. I grew up in a wealthy home with wealthy parents. One of them as sweet as can be, while the other was emotionally aloof. Can you guess which one father was?

He asked with a grin. The stereotypical provider, who considered the financial support to our family enough of a bond between us. Naturally, we weren't very close, and as my tendencies intensified, he and mother were thoroughly convinced it was merely a phase. Don't ask me why it wasn't, I couldn't tell you. All I knew was that my cravings for the indigestable only grew worse as I got older. I stayed silent and listened, not daring to say anything else to throw him off point.

I felt a responsibility to understand him. He'd finally opened up, no longer disappearing behind that flat stare out the window. Answers were best found during the low tide after all. Surprisingly enough, I wasn't the only one with compulsions in our household. Roland chuckled. Father was a collector, not for coins or old dusty vinyl. He dabbed in other things. A canteen once slung over the shoulder of a dead soldier, a worn noose used to break necks

in the 19th century, even an ancient skull with half its dome cleaved by some horrible means of torture. These were the things that interested him, much to my mother's dismay. Little pieces of the dark he enjoyed finding. I'm not even sure where he got his antique piano, but I know that every so often I'd hear the same two keys get struck in the middle of the night. So one day, while he and mother were away on a business trip, I'd snuck into his studio to look at the private collection myself. One of them caught my eye, a piece of jewelry that once belonged to a dead woman, said to have cursed her with an early death. I felt drawn to it, like an impulse had compelled me to believe that somehow it was mine,

that it belonged to me. So I swallowed it. A look of distress crossed him. I was scared that night, absolutely petrified that he'd come back to find the ring missing out of his collection. Then, the following night, it had passed through me. I fished it out of my waist, cleaned it intensely, and returned it back to the collection and unharmed.

My father was none the wiser. Soon enough, I did it again, this time with the bone of a black cat used in a witch's hex. It had started to feel like a game, but soon became more of a ritual between us. He'd bring something home, I'd swallow it, even if it was just a piece of it, wash off the blood and stool as I passed it and place it back there. Sure, there may have been some pain and slight discoloring here and there. but never enough for him to notice. It felt good, celestial even.

Father and I finally found something in common. We both had a liking for objects. His face then fell, becoming ghostly stoic as his voice lost its shape. When it came time for me to move out and on with my life, I had to put an end to our little game. He never did find out what I'd been doing to his collection, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'd managed, or so I thought, to wean myself off of them, but as time passed, I began

to have strange thoughts about all those cursed, haunted things, like how they felt suddenly different in my hands after I passed them. Almost like the energy they once held was no longer there, like it had been left behind somewhere inside me. And what if all that energy, or whatever it was they had, was then left to brew and ferment over the years, until it just dated into something else. He rubbed a pale hand over his cheek, something that finally wants out. As his voice finally trailed off into silence, I spoke up.

What do you mean by wants out exactly? The glaze over his eyes had returned. I'd like to go back inside now, please. That was the last and longest conversation we ever had together, and he was done sharing that day. I tried to stray my thoughts away from that conversation. It was too much to digest. For the rest of that day, I no longer felt like myself inside the ward, almost like the weight there had become too crushing, like something were about to crest over the rise, and all I could do was brace for an impact I couldn't see. What happened next occurred on a late Sunday evening,

three days after Roland Bull's unshakable silence. I was making my usual rounds in the ward and stopped by to check on him. I knocked three times, opened his door, and stepped routinely inside. Roland was not in his bed or stationed at his usual spot at the writing desk. The door to his bathroom was inch slightly open, the sound of a sink running coming from inside. Hey, Mr. Bull, just here to check on you. Is everything all right? I called.

There was no answer. Mr. Poole, are you all right? Still nothing, only the steady drawl of running water. Without warning, the bathroom door swung open, rebounding off the rubber stop, and then rebounding again off Roland Bull's body. He had blundered out backwards on his heels, both hands locked around his neck. His face was flushed into a darkish plum color, heaps of foam dribbled out of his mouth, rolling over his lips, which had gone blue. Tears streamed out of his eyes, which bulged from their sockets. A single sound emerged from him, the gargled note of air trapped in his throat.

Choking! My thought screamed. He's choking! I grabbed him, spinning his body around as both of my arms locked around his waist. Never in my life had I performed the heimlich, but in that moment it was do or die. I pressed hard into his abdomen with a quick, upward thrust, practically lifting him off his feet. His body jerked back, but there was no luck dislodging whatever was saying.

inside his throat. The door opened. Someone else had heard the commotion. I looked feverishly toward them while administering another ineffective thrust. The other person was none other than Alec Barnes. Even amid a panic, I despised his presence there greatly. What's wrong? What's happening? He asked, which only infuriated me. Choking! I snapped, yanking Mr. Bull back yet again. Hot blood coursed through my arms. I forced down a swallow, trying to wet my dry mouth. But in that same moment, I was in that same With both my arms fastened around him, I had felt something peculiar, a sudden shift of his insides, an almost tumbling motion far too pronounced to ignore.

The Weisenheimer stepped back into my peripheral. Let me do it. I can... I got it! I hissed at him, hoisting Mr. Bull's body upward again, harder than I ever thought I could. His chest heaved as more strained gasps came out of it. Bits of his spittle slopped over my arms. He then lurched forward in my grasp.

It felt as though his insides had all decompressed at once, like an airtight container being popped off. His throat opened. He let out a watery scream of pain and retching. Somewhere near us, Alec made a noise. Something that sounded like... Oh God! Dear God!

Something heavy hit the floor. Roland Bull went limp in my arms. Alec Barnes let out a scream. Frantic movement skittered around the room like the sound of a third. fish flopping about a deck, followed by something being torn out of a wall. My eyes raced around, but the slew of everything at once had sucked all the blood from my brain, flushing its data. I checked on Roland, who had slumped over like a puppet in my arms.

He was unresponsive, with his eyes staring blankly forward and lips hanging loosely open. I checked for his pulse and found no rhythm. Lying him on the ground, I lined both hands on top of the other and pumped until the strings in my wrist burned. Then I pinched his nose and forced air down his windpipe. It wasn't working. As I did this, my eyes traced the floor, following the thin film of blood and bile that trailed away from us. First to the bathroom, and then to the vanity, where the air vent below it now hung open. The right side of its grill pulled entirely out of place. Alec Barnes was frozen in his spot. The shock that distorted his face was almost too vivid to be real, and even

As more staff arrived, he still remained there, stricken with fear. Roland Bull was pronounced dead by our medical examiner, the manner of death and esophageal rupture. Several tears had perforated the walls of his throat, along with a dislocated jaw entirely unhinged from his skull. We weren't yet sure what caused the rupture, as nothing could be traced other than the aftermath of ruined tissue. Rumors had floated around between staff of possible causes, but did not hold much water to them. Truth be told, not many of us knew how to handle the loss of a patient, not otherwise terminal. As for what came of Alex Barnes, he'd quit spontaneously and left without further notice. Tried as I did to pry information out of him, he dismissed me,

shaking his head and repeating that he'd seen nothing. End of story. I could see the panic in his eyes, held back by two thin sacks threatening to tear at any moment. Not a single particle of self-importance left. Perhaps I've even felt the same way, that perhaps I did catch a glimpse of something that day, a gray sleek of a shape pulling itself through the opened air duct, member-ness, slug-like. But I must avert those thoughts, sort them out properly, dissect them one by one, that is the only way I can keep myself together.

Yet despite all these, the strangeness around our ward has continued to circulate. Patients have been claiming to hear something in the walls. Even some of our staff have reported it as well. A quick, insipid scratching coming from the ducks to the point where they believe an animal is trapped in there. As many times as we've had the vents checked, there is no proof for such a claim. I've heard it myself from time to time, sometimes even awfully close by, just on the other side of the duck's cover.

But I do not peer inside. I do not even risk what I may see. The source of the noises. The ward's newest arrival. Just over two weeks ago, on Monday the 30th of August, I turned 30, and someone had to pay the price for that. Our family, the Lees, has always been seen as eccentric by the locals. Some of us have become investors, artisans, masters of niche crafts and the like.

We've lived full, happy, and creatively stimmered. stimulating lives, seen to the outside world as to not have a care in the world or need for anything. But we have this life at a great cost, a ritual that must be undertaken every August 30th, known collectively as the waiting game. My family has had this tradition for over 250 years. Every member of the family above the age of 18 congregates at my family's estate, and spends the 48 hours prior to the event, catching up, partying, and generally enjoying themselves,

they are, after all, all living on borrowed time. When the final hours tick down to the event, they detox, ensure they've slept well, done their business, and had plenty to hydrate. Because once the clock strikes midnight, they must all stay in one room until the clock again strikes midnight. The entire time, they must keep at least one other family member in eye shot. No single member of the family must be unaccounted for. The parlor room is structured in such a way that we can see each other, no matter where

we are situated in the room. Each area is well lit, comfortable, and accommodating, which, when you deal with roughly 30 people, is a necessity. You have to understand. Growing up in this environment had me thinking this was simply a normal tradition every family undertook. I saw no strangeness in spending my birthday away from my family members, that it was just bad luck my birthday fell on the tradition day. That, of course, would change after I turned 11. I remember the first time I learned of the waiting game. My mother was supposed

to host my birthday party, but apologized and said she wouldn't be home in time for work. To that point in my life, Mom had always worked long hours to provide for us, and it was routine. I was crestfallen, but understood. She was an art curator and loved her job with an unbridled passion. She was my hero. The fact we shared a birthday only made our bond more special in my eyes. She was a best friend as well as my mom. And I don't know a lot of kids who can say that. I still remember the smell of lavender in her hair, and the way her eyes flickered and the way she hugged me tight before saying goodbye. forget how special you are, Theo.

The fact you are here is nothing short of a miracle, and that is worth celebrating. I love you. She kissed me on the forehead and promised us pizza when she got home to make up for it. I remember the babysitter waving her off as I got the house ready for my friends so we could play Nintendo and stay up late. But something in the pit of my stomach was uneasy, like I'd missed the step up. on the stairs. When mom didn't come home the following day, that feeling blossomed, sprouted wings,

and flew into my heart, where it started breaking away at the fragile casing until it would shatter spectacularly. There was no funeral. The police seemed disinterested in finding her, and my family said very little about it to me, just that she'd gone away and that I'd understand when I was older. I was a day away from turning 18 when my great-uncle thought. Thaddeus told me I had to come to the family estate from my birthday that it was time. I remember being pissed because I had a date with my high school crush, but that was of little

interest to him and saying no wasn't a wise idea. So I gave in. We drove in relative silence for the majority of the journey. He kept his steely-eyed gaze on the road and furrowed his brow. The man was in his seventies, but still commanded a room with his gait. I tried to block out the feelings of teenage frustration and focus on the country road. We miss Christina too, you know. He grumbled from behind a thick white mustache.

Your mother was a wonderful woman. Beautiful soul and a vision of the world like nothing I'd seen before. But with her and her aunt Cecilia now gone, well, it's a good thing you're turning 18. He drummed his fingers against the wheel. I said nothing, and instead chose to let my feelings swirl around inside of me as we pulled up to the Lee estate. A secluded manor house in the countryside. It sat here for nearly three centuries with upkeep repairs in various areas, but largely

remained the same grandiose spectacle of architecture it had been when first constructed. All members of the Lee family were born here, myself included. It was a rite of passage in a way. As we headed inside, the remnants of the party from Friday night still scattered around, a very somber atmosphere greeted me in the parlor room. Spread out amongst beanbag chairs, leather couches, armchairs, and Ottomans were the entire adult Lee clan members. Among them were my great Aunt Agnes, Uncle George, Aunt Elisa, Cousins Mick, and Ralph,

and sat in a large chair at the back was my grandpa, Sir Walter Quincy Carter Lee. a distinguished man with a usually jovial spirit, but now sat morose and deflated, as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His eyes never left mine as I awkwardly shuffled into the room. In fact, none of theirs did. Thirty pairs of eyes fixated on me as I sat opposite Walter and gave him a half-hearted smile. Theodore, I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, and since you're a man now, I will not sugarcoat it.

Walter's voice broke the silence, and, much like his facial expressions, it was dripping in weariness. The Lee family has been blessed with fortune, fame, and success in all things. We have had this for a very, very long time. But it comes at a cost. We have a contract of sorts that must be fulfilled on August 30th, every year without fail. He slid across an old, dried-up piece of parchment with a slew of signatures and requirements. I scanned it and felt all the moisture leave my mouth.

On this day in 1756, I, Theodore James Wellerjim Lee, patriarch of the Lee family, do hereby commit to our earthly bodies and eternal souls to undertake this practice until we are either no more or our obligations deemed fulfilled. in the waning days of August, we shall congregate on these grounds and be merry, cavort and enjoy our lives as one is wont on to do. But as the clock strikes midnight and hails on the 30th day of the month, we shall undertake the waiting ritual and obey these basic tenements as set out at agreed upon by both parties. Number one, all members of the Lee family over the age of 18 must be present. Number two, all members of the Lee family must keep a

least one other member in sight at all times. Number three, if there is a designated focus of the Lee family, they are to be stared at constantly. Number four, should any members of the Lee family hear voices that distract them, they are to ignore them. Number five, lights must be available at all times, including backup matches, should there be an issue. And number six, line of sight must not be. broken until the clock once again chimes 12 times to usher in August 31st. I do sign my name in blood to signify the commitment to this pact and the promise that the current future generations of the Lee family shall continue this practice, lest we invoke the

consequences of non-completion. Signed, Theodore James Wellington Lee, witness Elnora Micah Lee, Spouse. In place of the alternate signature was a bizarre series of characters that I had never seen before. I'd half expected the devil himself to have put his name down, but this just made me feel uncomfortable. What the hell is this? An elaborate birthday prank? I tried to force a laugh, but my body wouldn't cooperate.

Grandpa Walters shook his head. No, lad. It's a commitment to the agreement. Your mother was our original focus person, and now that you're of age, you're of age. It's you. All you must do is sit in the chair and wait it out for 24 hours. We will all be here with you. When the time is up, you can go.

Your successes will come to you naturally and life will be plentiful. He gestured to the room around him. All of us have had great lives and our children. Your cousins will continue this trend, provided we do our part here and now. What choice did I have? I agreed and Grandpa presented me with a different document that every member of the family had signed in blood on their 18th birthday. I did the same and was free to talk to everyone before the clock chimed midnight.

Once it had, we all took our seats and the ritual began. I won't lie. It was initially still feeling like a prank that I was waiting on for the rug to be pulled out from under me, but as the first hour passed in the conversation came, we were waiting for the past, and the conversation grew sparse, I realized how seriously everyone was taking this. Imagine being sat in a chair at the back of a grand parlor, books strewn across you from side to side, the well-lit room full of your family members, some you get on well with, others you avoid like the plague, and every single one of them is staring at you incessantly

for 24 hours. Halfway through, still during the day, things would become less tense. Something about the daylight brought with it a comfort of visibility that could not be taken away, and conversations grew lively again. By the time we reached 10.30 p.m., however, tensions were high. Darkness had enveloped the room, and one of my aunts explained that this is when things can go wrong, but stopped herself from continuing any further, hands shaking. I would hear faint whispers from outside in the hall that I had brushed off as the maid or a younger family member conversing, but could never totally remove from my mind. The lights would flicker and everyone seemed to be on edge.

But we made it to midnight, and on that final chime, the group erupted into cheers and congratulations to one another, myself included. It felt like we'd just come up for air for the first time in decades. Life tasted fresh and all we wanted to do was experience it. A small but short party was had as thanks, but we were all admittedly so tired that it didn't get too far. I would bow out before 3 a.m. and sleep through the rest of the 31st, going about my life as normal as possible from that day on. Grandpa was right. My life found great success with each passing year. I would be accepted to the art school I had as my top pick. I became a recognized artist and people all over the world knew of my work.

A family of my own had eluded me, but I was a happy 29-year-old for all things considered, even if my partner resented my birthday ritual. I hadn't explained it to her yet, and didn't have plans to do so for as long as possible. Outsiders never fully understood, and it wasn't permitted to have anyone not married involved. I liked Harriet a lot, but I was not ready to go down. down that route any time soon. She gave me a defeated goodbye as I left. This was the second birthday of mine she'd gotten to be a part of, and it was clearly bothering

her that she couldn't indulge me in the way she wanted. I told her we'd have all the time afterwards, but this did little to assuage her frustrations. You always keep secrets, Theo. I don't like it. She huffed, understandably frustrated at not being let in. How can we progress with our relationship if you keep me arm's length. You've not even told me about your mother, and it's been nearly two years." I wish I knew myself, but that's just how it is. I shrugged. This was something that hurt,

but I'd had many years to process. And if we ever get married, you'll learn all about what goes on, okay? The simple prospect of even mentioning marriage put a smile on her face, and she seemed to forget all about her frustrations. She kissed me and sent me off without a second. thought. The Lee estate, by this point, was largely a mix of old and new members. Cousins Mitchell, Eric, Sadie, Pippa, and Kiefer had all long since turned 18 and were now successful twenty-somethings. My aunts and uncles from years prior still able to come along.

Surprisingly, my grandpa was still the active patriarch. Even at 87 he had plenty of vigor and was relieved to see me pull up, ready to understand take the festivities and party. Now that I'd been doing this for twelve years, it had become a macabre routine that we loved and hated in equal measure. We ate, drank, talked about life and love. We existed and made sure to cherish those moments. Then, as the clock struck midnight, we took our places and that familiar chill washed over

all of us. I don't know what was different. Thinking about it now, something had to have been. off, but when you're in a routine for so long, even an odd one like ours can begin to feel mundane. We locked all the doors, entered the parlor, took our seats, and so it began. The first 30 minutes was of no real issue, some idle chatter here and there, but largely everyone was stealing themselves for the long day ahead. Cousin Mick was using a stress ball, Whilst cousin Ralph had a single earphone in with an audio book on his phone, a smart decision.

At 1235 a.m. there was a smash against the window. It sounded as if a bird had flown headfirst into the glass, intent on crushing itself. We jumped, but years of experience didn't have us all staring at the window. Instead, Pippa went over within our line of sight and opened the curtains. A cracked window, but no bird. In the distance, we could see something moving, but it wasn't possible to figure out without closer inspection, and that wasn't possible. The family estate is a private land that borders on a large wooded area.

We don't govern that part of the land and instead have large fences around the property that shows where our ownership begins. So why would anyone be willingly out there? Shit's weird, right? I chuckled, looking at my grandpa and expecting a nervous laugh-back. back. Instead, he shook in his chair and kept his gaze on me, sweat pouring down his nose and his skin growing sallow. It's just like last time with Christina.

He breathed. We tried to cheat the system and we're still paying for it. Cheat the system? What the hell was he talking about? I scanned the room and the older members of the family looked increasingly agitated and anxious. My aunt Gertrude bordering on hysterical as she whimpered something to my room. my uncle Bill, pointing a shaking finger at me. He would calm her down, and we'd spend the next two hours in almost total silence. But when the lights began to flicker and the anxiety rose again, I felt myself needing

to ask, What's going on, Grandpa? I breathed, the tension spreading through the group like a disease. He shifted uncomfortably, and my concern only grew. If you don't tell me right now, I'll walk out of this building, and that'll be the end of the tradition. He immediately leapt out of his seat, eyes wide and wild. No, absolutely not. We do not need any more suffering and death in this family. The room grew cold and my blood along with it. Death, Mom, died? The sheer pain of those words leaving my body, like the very air was being pulled from my lungs by force. He sat

back into his chair, defeated. This deal we made. It granted us every We could want, but there is no deal in this world without a price. That price was for one of us to fail the contract's requirements each year. There was a tension in the air permeating through every member of the family as he spoke. The contract never originally stipulated that we must all gather together. In fact, it actively persuaded us to elect someone to miss the proceedings, to perhaps never inform them of the deal. The trick set out was to do it on a day that would keep at least one of us apart from the rest. We would have obstacles from life or employment that would ensure at least

one of us would be unable to make it each year, thus fulfilling their end of the bargain. Come up with the idea. But your grandmother, my wife, was in heavy labor when your mother was due and the family wanted to be there. It just seemed like we'd been thrown a line. No more death. We decided to make it a mandatory right of passage for the family. By some stroke of luck, your mother was born just after the stroke of midnight on the thirtieth, and you in the early evening on the thirtieth some twenty-five years later. For over half a century, we were able to maintain peace and tranquility. His lip quivered and the lights flickered again.

But all debts must be repaid. In a brief moment, for a fraction of a second, I saw some of a second. I saw something stand in the middle of our parlor. It towered over all of us, hunched over with its bulbous head against the ceiling. Red eyes fixated on me. If there was a mouth, I couldn't see it. It held up a twisted digit to its face as if to shush me before the lights flickered back on. If Grandpa or anyone else saw it, they didn't acknowledge it.

I tried my best to hold my nerve and ask a question to keep my focus. What are they? I managed to muster, hoping there'd be some kind of explanation for what I saw. Maybe an old legend I could connect to them to make sense of all of this, but Grandpa just looked at me, a single tear running down his face as the proud patriarch of our family showed true fear for the first time in my life. I don't know. Nobody does.

They appeared to our ancestor your namesake so long ago. He said at the time they were a specter from beneath the earth. His wife insisted they came from the stars. His son was adamant. They were an old Celtic legend forgotten to time. But nobody has ever truly known. But we do know one thing, Theo. When we break eye contact, when we don't fulfill our part of the bargain.

Bad thing. I heard more whispering outside. The sound of walls being knocked upon and something unseen and gargantuan thunder. around the home. It was trying to get our attention. Is that what happened to Mom? Did someone in this room fail to fulfill their part of the bargain? I felt hot rage and grief pushed their way up, compounded by that feeling of being upset on my birthday of all days. I looked around and my eyes settled on Aunt Gertrude, the most nervous of the bunch. She was my last aunt and Christina's eldest sister. What did you do, Auntie? She pursed her lips, and I could see the veysed.

veins and her temple throbbing, trying desperately to hold her composure. But the noises were unrelenting, and nobody in the room was attempting to calm her, as if they knew this needed to happen. I always resented your mother, Theodore. She was pretty, confident, young and full of energy. Always got the recognition from father, the love she wanted and the life she sought. I was never satisfied with what I had. And I thought if she was gone, maybe that good fortune would shine on me.

So I took some sleeping pills and passed out. The staring felt malicious, angry, full of spite, and a hint of regret. I don't have any ill will towards you, Theodore. But if it meant I could live the life I have now, I'd do it again. Bitch! Pippa and Sadie piped up from the sides. Both of them loved their Aunt Christina. Huh, all you knew, huh?

Never told him? Were you even planning to? Kiefer spat on the floor in disgust. This family should fucking burn. I felt my head swell, a cocktail of emotions coupled with the unseen attempts to distract us. Grandpa took my shoulders in both hands and looked at me, the saddest smile I'd ever seen on a person's face. I let the smartest and most talented of my girls go because of tradition.

Rest assured, I won't do it to you. We've seen enough death and enough loss in this family. Before your mother's birth, we would see two dozen of our family taken as many years. She stabilized us. You continued that, but keeping this from you, especially at your age. He let go, backing up to... the parlor door. So if you want to leave, to confront whatever takes us, to get your revenge on us.

The family murmured, but didn't protest. Gertrude sobbed silently. How do I know it won't take me? My leg shook as I stood up. It was barely 3 a.m. by this point. We had so long to go. But that is part of you making the choice instead of us. Perhaps if you are the one to leave, it'll punish us instead.

I stood there for a few minutes, deciding over my choices, how to respond to a family steeped in secrecy that would willingly send my mother and I to slaughter in order to keep proliferating. It turned out I wouldn't need to wait very long for a decision. The front door hadn't been properly locked, and Harriet came inside, blasting music and armed with a mobile strobe lighting machine. I'd told her that while we had a ritual, I'd focused instead on the partying aspect. She'd followed me here. The second she entered the house, pumping music, and the lights shining through the room,

they hit several of my family members in the face, breaking eye contact. And just like that, the pact was broken. I don't know if I can fully articulate what happened, but I felt a deep rumble beneath my feet. The air grew thick, and it felt as if time had slowed down. was stirring, and as I looked around at the family, I could see on their faces they knew it was coming for them. I looked at Grandpa, still smiling and nodding as the lights went out. I made a direct beeline out of the room with Harriet in hand, slamming the parlor door behind

me and pushing my body weight against it. What the fuck is going on, Theo? She screamed, confused, and distressed. You just killed us, all because you couldn't wait. You... You... I tried to find the words, to find the rage, but I was beyond that. I held her close, and we kept our heads down, hoping to make it through whatever hell

was behind just a few inches of wood. I saw nothing, but I heard everything, a cacophony of shrill voices screaming, laughing, singing and groaning in one torrent of suffering. Things were thrown around the room, possibly furniture, possibly a body. I sat against that door until daybreak this morning, when cousin Pippa gently knocked against the door and told us to come in that it didn't matter this year anymore. Opening the door, I saw carnage. The room was singed black from wall to wall.

Most of the family were laying face down or cowering in the corner, completely unresponsive. As I scanned the room, wordless, full of anxiety and trepidation, I already knew. knew who would be missing. Grandpa, no trace of him existed, as if he'd been wiped from existence. But, to my surprise, Gertrude had been taken, too, a smear of blood next to her husband that ran across the length of the wall and ended in the corner. Her husband simply rocked back and forth, holding her green shawl. My attention was then drawn into the center of the room, to something I took with me to the car, something I have in front of me. Now that the full 24 hours have passed, and I have 364 days to decide on what to do next.

The family went home, all of us fully understanding what had transpired. Harriet tried in vain to apologize to them, but each one treated her as if she was a ghost. After all, she wasn't part of the family, she wasn't part of the ritual, a part of the game. For all that I'd learned, I still didn't know what they were or where mom and grandpa had gone. I dropped Harriet off at home and made her swear to never talk about it. She was devastated but understood. When she asked me what I intended to do, I simply shook my head. The contract had been amended, you see.

Not that there's anything anyone here can do about it aside from listening. To know these things happen. The waiting ritual had been extended to 48 hours. All must attend. Graver consequences for those who don't. A simple note written in Obsidian ink had been pinned to the top. Gertrude's signature crossed out and Harriet's name written in her place. A trade, a new debt.

Two more next year. Months later, I can remember all of them, down to the slightest idiosyncrasies and quirks. They were my friends and their friends. And they're gone now. There's a hole in my life where they were. Sometimes I'll remember something they said or did, and it'll hit me like a ton of bricks. They're gone now, and I'm only left with memories of them. I'm sorry for being modeling and bringing everyone down, but I think this is the only way

I can really introduce my story and explain why I feel like I have to record this. I think that saying this out loud is the only way I can learn to accept that. I'll try to keep these downer tendencies to myself, as I'm recording all of this, but I can't make any promises. I know that being the third wheel in a group can be a terrible thing, but I can think of something worse, being the fifth wheel. If you're the third wheel, that makes your group a semi-functional tricycle. If you're the fifth wheel, you're left as some obscure car from the 50s that no one remembers

or cares about. Imagine not being able to follow the in-jokes and shared history of one couple and multiply that by two. Getting stuck as the fifth wheel is twice as bad. That was the frame of mind I had, as we all piled into Ian's car to go to Heel a National Forest for our hike. I know that's a weird way to start all of this after my depressing opening, but I want you all to have an idea of my mindset. I'm not quite sure I know how to describe all this, but I know that I need to tell someone. I need someone else to know what happened and help me come to terms with it all. I think the only way I'll be able to explain this would be to help you see from my perspective as much

as possible. So there we were, driving down to Heela for a hike. With me feeling like a fifth wheel wedged between two of Ian's friends who I didn't know, three of us were cramped in the back seat while Ian and his girlfriend were up front. I look back at that unnecessary bit of moping back in August 2016 as one of the last few moments of normalcy I would have in my life. I tried to make the best of the situation. I really did. Ian was always the more social of us. Our mom used to tell us that Ian could make anyone his friend,

and that once I had a friend, I kept them. It was one of those parental platitudes that was given to reassure a socially awkward child that there was nothing wrong. Unfortunately, it would take me almost 19 years to learn that that wasn't true. Instead of taking my therapist's diagnosis of social anxiety disorder, following a breakup after an office get-together as a means for seeking treatment, I used it as an excuse to cloister myself off from the world. I stayed in my apartment when I wasn't working and told myself that I was just doing what was best for me. Of course, Ian decided that that wasn't healthy and

convinced me to go on a weekend-long hike with him. It wasn't until I showed up at his house at six in the morning on Friday, after taking the day off of work, that I saw that he had invited others along. I know he saw it as a means of getting me help and breaking me out of my shell. Unfortunately though, with Ian's extroverted nature, he didn't realize that I liked being in my shell. It was comfortable. A turtle doesn't like being broken out of its shell.

After a brief introduction where I caught no one's name except for those I already knew, my brother and his girl Yessica, due to morning groginess and the rushed introduction, we packed up the car and left for our hike. It took three hours of mostly awkward silence for us to reach our destination. Ian tried to make conversation, but my short responses and the other's sleepiness killed them off fairly quickly. We found the parking lot near the Gila cliff dwellings. As we unpacked our gear, we took a moment to bask in the beautiful sight that sat perched

above us. It's hard to believe that someone could carve an entire town into the face of a cliff, but 700 years ago, people managed to do just that. Given that the parking lot was empty, except for us, we would find out why later, and I was in need of some social lubrication, we split a six-pack of beer and took in the majesty. Here's a picture in case you were wondering what the area looked like. As we finished our beers, got everything prepared, and used the restrooms, Ian explained what path we would be taking in detail.

What we didn't know, and what my brother had failed to tell us, was that the West Fork Trail had been closed all that summer due to flooding. To be honest, the path wasn't that dangerous. They had just opted not to clear it due to the recent floodings, so it would be a bit more of a rugged hike. While it wasn't perilous in itself, it did keep us from encountering other hikers, which would cause us a lot of problems if we actually needed help. Ian figured we could make about two or three miles per hour, and we would be able to complete

the Heela Loop, which was about 30 miles long, with enough time to get back on summer. and be ready for our respective jobs on Monday, with no one any of the wiser that we had backpacked a closed section of the National Park. As his explanation was a bit heavy on names and locations, some of which I can't recall clearly, I'll opt to include a picture. For the sake of simplicity, this is the path we are planning to take. In addition, I'll include a more detailed map of the area, so you can orient yourselves if you want to trace the trail we took.

If you plan on following along with the path, as I tell you about this experience, all I can say is good luck. Even as I stare at it now, I feel just as lost now as I was then. I was just going along with the group and trying to keep a positive mind about everything. I wanted to try and do a better job of getting to know Ian and Yessica's friends. I think my circumstances had finally begun to set in. I had been living in a quiet apartment in New Mexico for over a year and had no friends. I would go to work and then come home without doing anything else.

Sometimes I would spend the entire weekend without saying a single word to anyone or seeing another person. I knew that if I didn't change something quick, that solitude would become the norm, and that frightened me. Our first day was relatively quiet. We spent a majority of the time taking in the sights, soaking in the sun, and breathing the fresh air. The hike felt like we were constantly moving upward. As I was unaccustomed to hiking, I frequently fell behind. But I never completely lost sight of my brother's friends. While we took a break under the shade of a tree, whose bark looked like dried scales from

some long dead alligator, I tried to make small talk with everyone. I fell into a quick conversation with Ian and Yessica about their work and what they had been up to lately. When it came time to talk to the other two, I only managed to get the conversation going for a few sentences before it shriveled up and died. I remembered assuring myself that it would be easier when we stopped for the night. We rested for a while before continuing our ascent up the mesa. This was where everyone realized how truly out of my element I was there.

The path up the mesa was agonizing for me. It seemed to never stop climbing up, and there was almost no shade to keep the sun from beating down on us. I was sweating buckets, panting and wheezing whenever they stopped to wait for me to catch up. I tried to pretend that I didn't notice their exasperated whispers or side glances, but it It was easier said than done. They seemed like the outdoorsy type that had been doing this sort of thing for years. By the time our path started to level out, I was ready to turn around and leave.

It wasn't until we reached the top and looked over everything that I realized how foolish of an idea that was. Even if I was able to convince Ian to give me the keys and let me walk back to the car and go home, I had no idea where I was going, or what trail markers we had been using. I imagined splitting off from the group and tromping through the key. poison ivy, bumping into a rapy gang of banjo playing hill folk, or getting lost in the dark and wandering in circles until exhaustion and exposure took me. Even if I did manage to hike back to the parking lot, where was I going to go?

Would I go back home to my empty apartment, eat a hot pocket, and feel sorry for myself again? I decided to tough it out and continue hiking. We made camp at a dry section of the Indian Creek after having hiked a decent amount. Ian was confident that we would make it back on Sunday, and that the next few days were going to be less intensive. We ate some food and stowed the rest in a bear bag a ways away from the camp. We were passing a bottle of whiskey around in front of a campfire we had built when the conversation shifted to the most awkward moments everyone had experienced.

Ian retold his story about the first time he met Yessica at a club, where he was way too drunk for his own good and ended up puking into her purse. Bristled at the memory, and jokingly called Ian an asshole for that. Each person shared their stories about a bumbling first kiss, where their braces got hooked together, locking themselves out of their dorm rooms and their underwear, their cringe-inducing high school edge lord personality, and caring for their drunken boyfriend who puked into their favorite bag. Then the bottle came to me, and it was my turn to tell a story.

I instantly knew what my most embarrassing story was the moment we started the conversation. I didn't tell them about the door, though. Instead, I made up a story about me ripping my pants in front of a group of people during a work interview that I had probably ripped straight from a 90s sitcom. They laughed with me, and I felt like a piece of shit. They had bothered to reveal their most embarrassing moments and were commiserating in their shared experience, and here I was too afraid to tell them the truth, to tell them about the door. The conversation continued for a bit afterwards as we killed the bottle. When it was dead, we all went to bed, still pretty drunk after dousing the campfire.

I woke up in the middle of the night, desperately needing to use the bathroom. Still a bit fuzzy from the whiskey. I tromped out into the woods to do my business, but it wasn't until I was almost done that Nadia's voice cut through the blackness. She asked me if I had a lighter. Since I hadn't heard her approach, the sound of her voice made me jump. It would have scared the piss out of me had I not just gone to the bathroom. I mumbled something about having a lighter back around the camp.

She told me that she had dropped hers and asked me to help her look for it, but I was too out of it to be any good to anyone, so I told her we'd look for it later. I vaguely remember her mumbling a protest as I stumbled back to my sleeping bag. It wasn't until I woke up the next morning that I realized how stupid I'd been. Apparently they had heard yowling in the surrounding woods all last night. They thought the sound could have possibly been the Mexican Grey Wolf, but no one was sure. Ian knew that they inhabited the area, but were very uncommon. I paled at the thought of being mauled by a wolf while out peeing in the middle of the woods. I decided next time I would wake

up Ian before going out in the woods to answer the call of nature. We packed up a while later, after a light breakfast, and continued our hike. The second day was a little better. The overbearing sun I had suffered under previously was hidden behind heavy clouds. We crossed a number of rivers, as we followed the 157-729 junction. We went along Little Bear Canyon as we headed towards the T.J. Corral, which was towards the end of the hiking loop. As the path hadn't been cleared yet, we frequently had to dodge patches of poison ivy and stinging nettles. I fared much better on this hike, and despite nursing a slight hangover, I felt like I was doing a much better job of getting around with my pack and clunky boots my brother had loaned me. We made camp around midday and

purified some water from a nearby river, boiling and adding Lodine tablets to it, as the last section of our hike didn't really have many opportunities for drinkable water. I think that maybe our encounter last night with the yipping and yowling wolves had added a bit of seriousness to the hike, as there wasn't as much joking around or conversation this night. We talked a little bit, but mainly just had something to eat while we stared into the campfire. Ian and Yassica were the first to call it for the night. I stayed up with the others for a bit, but we were mainly silent.

The other two slowly went off after a bit, and I decided to enjoy the warmth a bit longer before getting ready to go to bed for the night. Just as I had finished dousing the fire, I remember Gary coming up to me and asking me for the map. He told me he wanted to plan out the rest of our trip, and that there was a spring nearby that we should really visit and that wasn't too far out of the way. I grabbed the map from Ian's pack and gave it to him before turning in. I woke up the next morning to the sound of Ian rustling around his bag.

He sounded angrier the longer he searched. He knocked mess kits into each other as he peered deep into the pack for something he was missing. Frustrated that he wasn't finding the item he was looking for, he turned the bag upside down and dumped out everything. He was practically ready to tear out his own hair, and it seemed like he had spent the entire morning looking for that one thing. Wanting to know what it was, I walked up to him and we started talking. Hey man, you see the map anywhere? I can't seem to find it. Where's Gary?

I gave him the map last night so we could map out a little detour on the trip, so we could visit a spring. Why don't you ask him? He probably knows. It was then that Ian said something that changed everything. Jerry? Who are you talking about? Do you mean Oliver? Don't tell me you thought his name was...

No? I'm talking about Gary. Tall guy, kind of lanky. You're joking, right? He looked confused for a few seconds and made a questioning sound like a really old computer trying to process something moments before it catches on fire. The pieces clicked and Ian shouted, Some fucking guy asked you for our map in the middle of the night and you just fucking gave it to him?

You handed our stuff to some random stranger. You met in the woods? I tried to explain myself and tell him that I knew Gary and he did too since I remember hiking with him the day before, but I couldn't find the words to convey that point. It was here that Yusica stepped in and asked what was going on. Ian vented vitriol. How fucking stupid are you, Evan? Jesus Christ!

We needed that map to get around smoothly since the trails out here haven't been cleared. Ian shouted for about 15 minutes while everyone became aware of our situation. Yessica managed to calm him down enough so we could figure out our next move. While we weren't completely screwed, as Ian had memorized a large portion of the trail markers, it was going to be a lot harder to navigate the necessary junctions to bring us back around to the car. We packed up all our stuff, making sure that the guy hadn't taken anything else, and we left. The entire hike I could feel Ian's eyes drilling into me.

The last time I had seen him this furious was just before he got into a fight with Aaron Fredlinger and beat him to a pulp. He got suspended for a week, then Aaron got a black eye, busted lip, and never said anything about our mother again. Each time we came across a break in the path, we spent a few minutes while Ian tried to remember where to go. The fact that the trails had been closed and the paths were overgrown only served to make everything more difficult.

I think that's how we made a wrong turn and began wandering on the faint trail. I don't know if that's actually where it went wrong since we didn't have the map at the time, but that's my best guess. Towards midday, tensions had reached a critical point. and frequently mumbled things that would make a sailor blush while Yessica tried to hide the fact that she was close to crying. Oliver attempted to light in the situation by telling everyone that we just had to follow the compass, and we would get home safe and sound.

Oliver's girlfriend didn't say much. She just stared quietly at her feet as we walked. I think she had the right idea, since Lucas was constantly misplacing his footing and slipping. He looked like he had downed a fifth of vodka and was now trying to walk home on a tightrope while being randomly shocked with a cattle prod. The realization twisted something deep down inside me and made me want to throw up. I stopped walking and began talking to Lucas.

What's going on with you, man? Ian, still pissed at me, took the opportunity to vent a bit. Huh? What are you talking about now? Lucas is bumbling and twitching all over the place. What's wrong with him? Don't be a dick, man. You know he has multiple sclerosis.

We told you before the hike started about his condition. As soon as he said it, The events came rushing back to me as clear as day. I recalled Ian pulling me to the side and telling me about his friend's diagnosis and how this was likely going to be his last opportunity to undertake a long hike like this, so we had to help him and move slowly. I remembered watching him scramble up the trail and thinking about our own mom and her illness. It brought back bittersweet memories of birthday wishes given to us from hospital beds

and hearing her sob quietly to herself in the middle of the night when she thought we were asleep. Guilt flooded over me, and I stepped forward to apologize to Lucas when it happened. Lucas growled at me the instant I took a step forward, and he dropped to a hunched position on his hands and feet. It almost looked like his skin was bristling at a possible threat, and I could see his broken and decayed teeth as he hissed at all of us before taking off at a hopping stride into the woods. He moved like one of those CGI monstrosities from the last planet of the apes movies. His shaky and unstable balance was replaced by a more natural and animalistic gait as he took off into the distance and disappeared among the trees.

The last thing I saw was what I assumed were his clothes, slothing off his body, revealing that they weren't actually clothes, but gray folds of skin. Oliver was the first to talk. What the fuck? As soon as Oliver said those words, it was like a switch had flipped that set everyone to panic mode. We began to run along the trail as if it would do us any good. The only thought in my head was to put as much distance as possible between us and that thing. I think it took a good fifteen minutes for us to run out of energy with our heavy packs and the disorienting nature of the woods.

As we tried to catch our breath, I surveyed the area around us and came to a horrible realization. In our panic, we had run off the path and were now even deeper in the woods. We tried to make sense of what we saw. I just remembered Ian mumbling the same phrase over and over. What the hell is that? The short answer was it was Lucas. The long of it is this. There was no Lucas.

Not really. I know how confusing this all seems with Gary and Lucas. The truth is, I did that because I don't think I could have appropriately explained it to you without you first experiencing it from my eyes. I don't know what to call those things, but they do something to your mind. mind. They insinuate themselves into your memories. They wrap themselves up in a wall of your recollections, and even though you know something is wrong, you can't quite put your finger on it. Your group of four friends could grow to five, and you wouldn't be any the wiser.

You look at it and you recognize the face. You remember events. You remember getting drunk at the bar together. You remember them crying on your shoulder after a rough breakup. You remember everything that happened between you, but none of it's true. I don't know how it does it. It crawls its way into your head somehow and makes you see things in a way that benefits them. It can mold memories, but it can't mimic human movement. It walks on four claws, not two feet.

It growls and hisses and snarls. It doesn't talk. It infiltrates, observes, and waits. It was hunting us and trying to drive us deeper into the woods. It was succeeding. We never really reached much of a conclusion about what that thing was, but we did reach a consensus that we had to get out of here as soon as possible. I watched Ian as he looked around at the forest and came to the same realization that I did. We were lost.

He didn't tell the others. I think he realized that panicking would only get us in more trouble. Instead, he told us to follow him. With the shock of our encounter setting in, we could do nothing but follow his lead and hope it all worked out. As we walked, we could hear the sounds of distant animals yowling and calling out to each other. The terror of our situation deepened as the others whispered that those were the same noises that they had heard the first night in the woods. Whatever this thing was, it was following us and calling out to other things in the area.

At the time, I couldn't stop thinking about one of them barreling out of the underbrush and sinking its black and rotting teeth into my neck before the rest of the group could even react. I remember brushing the thought off and mentally reassuring myself that there were six of us here, and we had only actually encountered one of those creatures. As the day pressed on and we seemingly wandered south in an attempt to pick up another trail that would lead us back to the parking lot, I couldn't help but shake a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. It felt like I had forgotten some important deadline that I should have never forgotten about. It wasn't until Oliver mentioned his wish of being back in the car that Yessica stopped dead in her tracks.

We all turned towards her, but knew what was coming the second she asked. We only took one car down, right? Ian snapped, more fearful than frustrated. Of course we did. Remember how cramped everyone was in that tiny-ass-privile our camping gears smashed in the trunk and on our laps? What about it? Yessica went white, as if this were the first time that Ian had ever raised his voice to her.

She paused for a moment before asking. How many of us are here right now, and how many does your car seat? Ian's car sat four people comfortably, five uncomfortably, and there were six of us out in the woods at that moment. Everything happened at once. Ian swore, Oliver's girlfriend gave a half shriek and a half gasp, while I looked wide-eyed from person to person, trying to figure out which one of us didn't belong there. Sarah was the only one who managed to say something, and that was... To me, Sarah.

She hadn't finished her words before her jaw popped open. I don't mean that it dropped open like she was astonished or something. It popped open like it had dislocated from her face. The space between her lips was a massive, sickly pink void of inflamed gums that was at least a foot wide. She looked at us with dead and dull eyes as she slowly raised a twitching hand up to her jaw and tried to lock it back into a more human-esque appearance. She popped it back into place with a hollow sounding squelch of meat and bones shifting,

as if nothing was wrong about what had just happened before she tried to speak again. It's me. Ian was the first to react. He stepped toward the failed facsimile of a human and swung his walking stick at her face while bellowing for her to get out of here. She hopped back from the attack in a sloppy motion and landed on all fours. Her body shuddered as if an electrical jolt had passed through her, as she slowly backed away from us while facing Yessica the entire time.

She hissed at us one last time before retreating deep. into the woods with a convulsing lope. It took a moment for us to regain our composure before we continued walking while trying to look in every direction at once. I remember Oliver rambling as we walked. He kept asking, although no one was responding to him. Did you see how it moved? It was twitching like an epileptic in a rave.

You ever see one of those documentaries about mad cow disease? That thing was twitching and moving like those infected cows. What the hell was that thing? Was it a person? What kind of person could do that to their body? They tried to talk to us. He rambled for hours before we had to stop. We had to tell him to shut up because we were worried about that thing hearing us.

Though that wasn't really the case. We made him stop talking because it only served to scare us. Despite stopping for the night, none of us actually slept. We sat around a campfire and listened to the sound of high-pitched whining. and yelping coming from all around us. It seemed like any time I actually got close to falling asleep, the calls would start up and jolt me awake. We spoke and hushed whispers and tried to figure out what they wanted with us, even though

none of us really wanted the answer to that question. The hours dragged on, almost endlessly, before dawn broke, and we continued our hike. We spent Sunday hiking around and trying to find a similar sight. Without any real sense of where we were and where we were going, our only was. The only hope was to stumble across another hiker or find an area with a high enough vantage point that we could survey the entire area. Unfortunately, any elevations we climbed didn't afford a good view of the area, and it was extremely unlikely that we would find another hiker due to the fact that the trail had

been closed and wasn't cleared. Even if we did, what were the chances that we would trust them and be certain it wasn't one of those things? Midway through the day, Ian whispered to me, Count the people wearing backpacks. One of them is with us again. I casually looked over my shoulder and noticed that one of our group was walking without any gear. They trailed behind us, but were still in our vicinity.

They moved slowly, but didn't show any of the jerking movements of the previous two. The thought that it was learning to mimic our movements unsettled me. Without really thinking, I shucked off my backpack and approached the imposter. Before they knew what was happening, I shoved them as hard as I could. The instant my hand pressed into their shirt, I felt something slick and warm give way, like the outer layer falling off a rotten mango. Their shirt slid off their body into my hands, and I quickly realized it was their skin. The thing was actually naked, but gave the appearance of clothes by altering the color of its

almost translucent skin. I dropped the skin that sloughed off, and it hit the ground with a wet slap. The creature toppled backwards and began yelping. I can only describe the sound it made like this. Imagine getting out of your bed in the middle of the night to go take a piss, as you're feeling your way through the darkness to get out of your room, you step on your dog's tail. Imagine that startled yelp of pain and shock that comes along with it. Now focus on that emotion you felt when you heard that noise, that sudden surprise and guilt.

In reality, the sound it made was nothing like a hurt dog. It just reminded me so much of a wounded pet that I can't different. differentiate the sounds. Here's the worst part. I shouldn't have felt bad. Those things were stalking and tormenting us. They were likely hunting us, and I felt bad for harming it. I shouldn't have felt bad about it, but it wanted me to. So I did. The thing writhed on the ground on its back for a few seconds, making a pitiful noise. It reached back with its arms and pushed itself upright on its hands and the balls of its feet. Its joints popped wetly and its muscles and bones adjusted to fit its new position.

It crab crawled away while shrieking the entire time as Ian pursued it with his walking stick, hoping to catch up to it and cave its head in. It wasn't until the thing disappeared from sight that I realized the shrieking wasn't just coming from the monster, but from Yessica as well. It was trying to mimic her response. With Ian gone and Yessica's screams possibly drawing more of those things to us, I decided I had to do something. I stepped forward and wrapped her up in my arms.

She was shaking like a leaf in the wind. I stroked her hair and whispered that it was over. She managed to choke out something about its face. All I could make out was that something was terribly wrong with its face. She calmed down as I told her that everything was going to be all right. I didn't believe that myself, but it was the only thing I could think of that might bring her comfort. Ian returned, fuming that the monster escaped, and I awkwardly broke off the hug. Ian didn't say anything.

He just started walking. We continued following him, hoping that he would find the way, but knowing that he probably wouldn't. Six hours later, we settled down for the night. It felt like we had been going in circles all day and made absolutely no progress. For all we knew, that thing could have been tinkering around with our memories and convincing us that familiar landmarks were new and leading us deeper into the woods. I didn't tell the others, but I think I knew what those things wanted with us.

They wanted to lead us deeper into the woods where they were trying to force us to exhaustion, and when we were too weak to defend ourselves, they would descend upon us and eat us. Oliver was right about that. If that thing is similar to us in any way, then those twitching spasms were likely some sort of pre-on disorder that came from eating humans. After eating some jerky, since we decided against a fire and drawing more of them to us, we reached the conclusion that we would have to sleep in shifts. I volunteered for the first watch because my insight into the monster's behavior had robbed me of any desire to sleep.

The others went off without so much as another word. They were exhausted, and it wasn't until an hour into my watch that I realized I was too. Even given the monster's grotesque appearance, everyone needs to sleep. Yessaica joined me about two hours into my watch. She admitted that she couldn't sleep after our encounter with the creature. I nodded in agreement. Both of us had seen something terrible that the others hadn't. We talked for a good 30 minutes about what we thought was going on and how everyone was

handling it. She was worried about Ian. She confessed that he was acting erratic and that he was scaring her. I wrapped my arm around her for a moment and told her that we were all scared. She looked into my eyes and told me that she was glad I was here and I felt something twist deep down inside me that I had buried a long time ago when I first met her. The longer she stayed with me on watch, the more personal our conversation became. She confessed that she and Ian had been fighting a lot recently and that she was wondering

if they were going to work it all out. At the start of their relationship, they were great together. He made her feel wonderful, but there was something that didn't feel right, like there was something missing. I listened to her talk about everything that was going on in her life, and I knew I had to do something. I knew that if I didn't do it now, I would regret it. I had to tell her about the door.

She listened quietly as I told her everything. It was the event that precipitated my breakdown at work and my social anxiety disorder diagnosis at the therapist office. Everything started off simply enough one Friday at work. I was in the lunchroom eating my sandwich and reading a book, as per usual, while my coworkers talked about their plans for the weekend. One of them was having a housewarming party, and they were invited. getting everyone at work.

I figured the invitation was only extended to people he was talking to until he asked me if I would be able to make it on Saturday. As it was the first time I had been invited to hang out after work, I chose to go. I spent all Saturday getting ready, planning what interesting topics to bring up in case there was a lull in conversation, and the bottle of wine I was planning to give him as a housewarming gift. After psyching myself up, I left to go to the party with the bottle in hand and my spirits high. I convinced myself that I was going to be the life of the party, and that maybe if I played my cards right,

I could finally find a friend at work that would make the time fly by instead of dragging on. It wasn't until I reached the house that the false bravado began to crumble apart. I stopped in front of the neighbor's house, as everywhere else already had a car parked there. It was then that I felt my heart beating like I'd just run a mile. I began heading up the driveway with the wine bottle slick in my hands from my palm sweating. It wasn't until I reached the front door that I realized that something was terribly wrong. All that excitement that had been building up since Friday afternoon was now replaced with something else.

Apprehension. All those topics I had thought up seemed boring and all the reassurances I had given myself seemed hollow. I didn't feel prepared for this at all. At this point, a small part of me whispered something that has stuck with me to this very day. That voice intimated that they never really wanted me to do that. to come. They had only given me that invitation as a courtesy and didn't actually expect me to come out to their house. It said that if I knocked on that door, that I would be making

a fool out of myself. It told me that I wasn't even comfortable in my own skin, so how could I even dare to imagine that they would enjoy my company? They wanted to celebrate with their friends. They didn't want to listen to me fumble for something to talk about. All those fears flashed in front of me, taunting me, demanding that I knock on the door. and make myself look like an idiot. That part of me told me that I was better off alone, and I listened. I turned around without even knocking on the door, and I left. No one had come in, and the music was playing loudly, so I doubt they would have heard me

anyways. I shouldn't have been there in the first place. Maybe I saw them watching me from the window. Maybe I didn't. Maybe they were laughing at me as I drove away, flustered and embarrassed. Maybe they went back to the party and joked about the social outcast who had seemingly freaked out and ran away from their house while I went home and cried in the shower. Maybe.

Yesika listened as I told her the story. She smiled sadly as I started to cry into her shoulder. All those feelings I had experienced outside of my co-worker's house came rushing back. All that fear, foolishness, and the fatalistic failure smashed into me like waves on a shore. She whispered soothing words into my ear and waited for me to collect myself. Once I did, she pulled away and told me that it wasn't my fault. It was there under the moonlight, with her face inches away from mine, that I did the worst thing I've ever done in my life.

I kissed her. It was slow, hesitant, romantic. I looked into her eyes and I saw her beautiful face. She pulled me towards her as she leaned back. Lost in the moment, I held her against me while telling her all the things I should have said when we first met and realized that I loved her. I held her like that for a few moments, afraid that if I let her go, I would lose this perfect moment.

She was warm. She smelled like wildflowers. She smelled like happiness. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I felt comfortable and content. I don't know when I drifted off, but I do remember waking up. In the loved drunk excitement of the previous night, I didn't think once about Ian or the consequences of my decision. I only thought about Yessica, and I forgot that she was his girlfriend.

What I did last night was a beautiful mistake. I convinced her to cheat on him with me. I needed to tell him before the truth came out. I needed him to understand how I felt. I got up from the ground and stretched. Yessica was gone. I assumed she had gone back to her sleeping bag in the middle of the night. I walked over to Ian, who was just waking up.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and asked me if I stayed up all night. The words bled out of me, and once they started, I couldn't stop. I don't know what happened, man. We were just talking one moment and the next... Oh, Jesus, I didn't mean for it to happen. You know I love you, man. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. It just happened, and now I can't take it back.

Yescica's cry of surprise cut me off before I could go any further. further. Both me and Ian turned to the sound of her distress, and we knew instantly what had happened. The backpacks with our compass, food, and water had been stolen. It knew, don't you see it, goddamn it? It knew we couldn't identify it without a backpack, and it couldn't shape its skin to the appearance of one, so it stole them away from us. Now the next time it warmed its way into our group, we wouldn't be any of the wiser. Yessica and I never talked that night. Yesika had never left my brother's side that night. They had zipped their sleeping rolls together.

She didn't open up to me about her worries and I never actually kissed her. I poured my heart out to a thing wearing Yessica's skin while it was in my arms. I confessed my truest feelings to an Erzat's entity masquerading as a person. I felt sick. The others woke up quickly after hearing Yessica screaming. We quickly searched around the area, hoping to find some scrap of food or some indication of where our stuff had been taken to. We found nothing. It was long gone. We had no food, no water, no hope. We had no way of telling when one of those things was hijacking our heads

and pretending to be part of our group so it could distract us. With our compass gone, we had no means of following a set direction and hoping to pick the trail back up. In short, we were screwed. Oliver demanded to know what I was doing last night. He wanted to know how I could be so careless as to fall asleep when I should have been watching over them in our gear. I lied and told him that someone had come around in the middle of the night to relieve me from my shift. I didn't mention that it was one of those things impersonating Yessica. I couldn't bear to look either my brother or his girlfriend in the eyes at that point. Oliver started to yell, but stopped when he saw I was on the verge of tears. I don't know if it was mercy or disgust that caused him to stop.

It doesn't matter either way. We gathered up the only thing that they hadn't taken in the night, our sleeping bags, and continued walking. The hike without water or the prospect of food was unbearable. We were already exhausted, and the realization that we were soon going to be starving and dehydrated only served to sap more of our energy. Within a few hours, my mouth felt gummy and dry. While we were still under the canopy of leaves, the temperature was still in the high 80s and low 90s.

It didn't take long for dehydration to set in. I kept licking my lips in an attempt to keep them moist, but I could feel them beginning to crack as my saliva began to dry up. As we walked, Oliver picked up his pace and caught up with me. I looked over at him and knew without saying anything that another one of those things had joined our group. Don't look directly at it. Just keep it at the corner of your eyes. I think that's how it messes with your mind. It would explain why you remember that guy that night, but the rest of us can't.

You saw him, but the rest of us didn't. Don't get close. Just keep it in the corner of your eyes. It's been trailing us for about half an hour now. I think it just wants to watch and follow us. I pretended to be cracking my neck and looked at the tag along in my peripheral vision. It trailed behind us about a dozen feet. In its resting state, its facial features appeared staticy.

I could make out eyes and a nose, but it was constantly shone. shifting and rippling like bubbling plastic. At this point, we were too tired to even bother with chasing it off. We just kept walking and hoping that it wouldn't try to join the group. It seemed content to keep its distance and keep us in its line of sight. It followed us for about two miles before it broke off towards the trees with a shambling, awkward gate. We were too tired to even try and set up a shift system. We just huddled together in an attempt to convince ourselves that we were safer when we were closer together. But every time one of us got comfortable enough to drift off, one of those things would

start making noise. The noises started off as high-pitched yips, whose sounds seemed to travel for miles. As the night drew on, they grew more aggressive. I remember one time as I was drifting off, hearing the grasping rasp of my name. The things weren't just following us. They were learning. They were perfecting their mimicry. The thought disturbed me more than the idea of them out there watching us in the darkness.

How long would it take them to become more human than human? What would they do once they were capable of walking amongst people again? I drifted off to sleep with that thought beating around in my head like a man trapped inside a wall. We got up on Tuesday morning and left without a word. At this point there was nothing left to say. Some of us had been awake all night without any food or water. The constant stress had completely worn us down.

We continued hiking in the same direction we had been going in, with the false hope that we would come across someone. In the end, our hike looked more like a death march. My feet were covered in blisters that had ruptured and plastered the soles of my feet to my socks. Every step I felt like I was tearing open the wounds a bit more. In an attempt to take my mind off the discomfort, I focused on my brother, who was walking in front of me. He wasn't as much walking as he was as he was a bit more.

a limping forward. He had stopped using his walking stick and was dragging it behind him like it was a broken leg. I watched as he stepped over a rock and the walking stick slipped out of his hands. He kept dragging himself forward as if nothing had happened. He didn't even register it falling out of his hands. It was at that point that I knew that something was wrong. I knew that my brother wasn't my brother anymore. I quickly picked up his stick as I passed it. Amy went to call out to him and ask if he was all right, but I shushed her. I was so sure that one of those things had replaced him and was now leading us deeper into the woods. I realized that I would only have one chance at this. The instant it knew that we knew it would try and run away. All it would take was one good swing

to the back of the head, and we would be able to take out one of those things. The stick had a bit of weight to it, about five or six pounds, enough to crack open a skull if swung hard enough. I began walking faster while trying to avoid the underbrush that might give away my approach. The thing wearing my brother's skin continued limping forward as I drew closer. I waited until I was within swinging distance before raising the stick above my head. My heart was beating in my chest and my palms were so sweaty that it felt like the stick would slide right out of my hands. I kept on moving forwards. I whispered, I'm sorry.

Just before I swung the walking stick down with all my strength. Ian turned to face me, asking what I was sorry for. My muscles locked and I stopped mid-swing and the stick stopped just inches away from his face. He blinked in surprise before asking me what was wrong. His voice sounded distant and empty like he was in between a waking and sleep state. It was then that I knew the extent of his condition. He was pale and looked like the slightest breeze would blow him over. He wasn't one of those things.

He was delirious from dehydration. sleep deprivation and starvation. The walking stick fell out of my hand and bounced on the ground next to us. I dragged my tongue across my lips and felt like I was licking sandpaper. I whimpered. Jesus, Ian, I thought you were one of those things. I almost. God, I'm so sorry.

He didn't react to my apology. He just turned around and continued walking in the direction we were going. Amy just watched everything unfold numbly before she started following me. Oliver shook his head sadly, but he didn't look any better. His eyes were glazed and his lips were cracked and red from rubbing at them. I watched my brother shambling forward and it reminded me of one of those old voodoo movies where someone is put in a trance and forced to walk until they die from exhaustion. His mouth hung open and he moved like he was being dragged along on puppet strings.

I picked up the walking stick and began to follow them. I wondered how much longer he had left in him. what any of us could do if he just fell over and stopped walking. I wondered how much longer any of us had. I don't know how long we walked. Everything melted together in a muddled malaise at the time. I remember losing my footing and tripping a few times, but I barely felt it. The third time, I didn't even realize I was lying on the ground until Yessica stepped

on me as she was passing by. There was no apology. She was too far gone to recognize what she had stepped on. I dragged myself to my feet and felt like. light-headed, but continued putting one foot in front of the other. The fifth time I fell, I wondered if it would have been better just to lay down and wait to die. An excited yap behind me from one of those things drove me to my feet.

It wasn't until we bumped into the sign for Little Bear Canyon that I realized how close we were to salvation. The post for Little Bear Canyon also had a branching sign that pointed in the direction for T.J. Corral, which was only a few miles from where we started at the Gila cliff dwellings if we walked along Route 15. Ian was heading in the right direction, and we were almost home free. In my excitement, I began calling to the others to let them know that the end was near. I looked around me and shouted, Yesika, Ian, Oliver, Heather, Amy, I know where we need to... The words died on my lips as I counted the names and realized it wasn't over yet. The others kept moving as if they

hadn't heard me talking. The imposter shuffled alongside us, and for once it was easy to identify them. I don't know whether or not they had let down their guard after seeing our conditions, but this one was obvious. She moved slowly, but her movement didn't convey her exhaustion. Everyone else was sweating and looked like the walking dead, but she was fine. I waited for her to get close enough to follow the trail the others were going down before I raised Ian's walking stick and growled.

Turn around right fucking now. I can see you. She turned around slowly, and I felt my heart skip a beat. She looked almost exactly like Yessica, except for a browned tinge to her hair. She could have been her twin. I knew what it was planning before it even opened its mouth and asked. What are you doing, Evan? Don't call me that.

What are you rambling about? Please move out of the way. We're almost safe from those things. I know what you are. Heather turned white at the realization. She began speaking quickly. I'm not one of those things. Please, Evan, you have to remember.

were six of us. Those things want us to think there were only five so they can take one of us without the others caring. Those things don't want us all. They only want the weakest one. Please, let's go before they catch. Shut up! I snapped. I raised the walking stick in my hand and brandished at her. Think about it, Evan. Do I look like one of those things? Do I speak like them? That should be enough to prove I'm human. No. Ian's my brother. Yessica is his girlfriend. I'm your girlfriend. I sat on your lap on the car ride. Please don't kill me. Evan, I love you.

Don't you remember, Evan, I love you. I lowered the stick that was in my hand as memories bombarded me. I had met her one night when my brother forced me to go to a club with him. Heather had been sitting at the bar all night drinking. It wasn't until she tried to stand up and fell into my arms that we actually talked. I remembered lazy Sundays in bed watching cheesy, B- sci-fi movies. I remembered holding her close to me after making love and hearing her whisper sweet nothings into my ear. I remembered our life together.

I rasped. Heather, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Evan, it's not your fault. She went to touch me, and I sprang back like I'd been bitten by a snake. The instant I heard those words, I knocked. The stick caught her unaware in the side of her face. I felt her jaw give way under the sudden force of my attack.

I love. She burbled through broken teeth. The second strike dented her temple as the temporal bones shattered. She kept trying to talk, but it was too late and too much damage had been done. That door was shut now. I kept swinging the walking stick down on her head until it splintered and snapped. I looked up from her twitching body and saw my brother watching me in horror. I spoke through gritted teeth and regarded him with red-rimmed eyes.

Come on, we have to go. Go! He went to keep talking, but I walked past him. I didn't want to explain it to him. He eventually ran ahead, invigorated with the prospect of finding rescue on the road. I looked behind me one last time. The last thing I saw was one of those things dragging away Heather's corpse. It looked emaciated and half mad with starvation. At that very moment, I wasn't afraid of the thing. I felt pity. Whether or not it forced that emotion on me, I'll never know. turned away and caught up with the others on Route 15. We were on the road in 15 minutes before we managed to flag down a car and an ambulance was called for us.

The doctor said that our exposure to the elements, combined with our starvation and dehydration, triggered the auditory and visual hallucinations we experienced. I was surprised by the condition they said we were in. I could have sworn it had only been a day or two since we'd eaten, but they said we showed signs of severe dehydration and starvation. It's the typical response you'd be given after you'd be given. hearing our half-dead ramblings about creatures warping their flesh and our memories to drive us to the brink of death so they could prey on us when we were at our weakest. We spent a week there

while receiving treatments, recounting our horrific experiences and then subsequent psych evaluations before we were released. I tried to talk to the others about it. Ian and Yessica refused to talk to me about it. I don't really know Oliver or Amy, so that's off the table too. They just want to forget. I can't forget. Here's the thing. I still remember Nadia asking me to help her find her lighter. I recall staying up late and talking with her by the campfire while she smoked like a chimney. I can recite Gary's terrible puns that he'd make about almost everything and Lucas's determination at hiking this trail while slowly succumbing to the effects of his multiple sclerosis.

I can recall whispering sweet nothings to Yessica under the glow of the full moon. I can still envision that moment clear as day even months later. I know the conversation we had word for word. I can remember the feeling of her skin against mine and the smell of her hair as I pressed myself against it when I reached that one true moment of connectivity. I remember Heather pleading for me and begging me not to kill her. Despite recording all this months later, I can see all those things clearly. Sometimes late at night, I can even remember driving up to Heala National Park with Heather

sitting on my lap, playfully grinding against me and telling me how fun our hike was going to be. Sometimes I think about that memory more than I should. Since I can't talk to my brother or Yessica about this, I had to find some other outlet. I guess I'm recording all this for one reason. Catharsis. In the end, I kept wondering if what I did was right. Did I make the right choice? I want you to hear this and tell me that I had no other option, but the risk of one of them escaping into the city forced my hand.

I know that's not the case. I could have walked away or tried to scare her off, but I didn't. What kind of person can look into someone's eyes, remember all the things they did and the life they had, and do what I did? Who can have all those memories and end everything so callously? It doesn't matter if none of it was real, because in that moment, it was to me. Who can look at someone and feel such love for them before you kill them? The answer to that question is simple, now that I asked myself aloud. I just don't like the answer.

I heard the cave Mitri-on has another name, the Sirens Cave. Folks say there's a gust that flows through the cave and causes the sounds of people calling to you. I heard it ain't just the wind. Some old settlers and explorers got stuck down there. Things got real, and before they knew it, boom, they were gone. Maybe they fell into the pit. My two friends, Trey and Anthony, kept on discussing the majesties of this strange cave in the middle of nowhere outside of our town. Some 70 miles north there was a large swath

of land, housing a large cave that held the eponymous wailing cave. I was always up for an adventure, being 17 and spending most of my life outdoors, but it was the insistence of my two aforementioned friends and their propensity to do far more daring feats that led us to this particular adventure. Now, I never liked caving much. My claustrophobia made sure of that, the idea of being trapped in the earth with immovable walls all around you. Thankfully, the caves we went into were never that small, but I still always felt nervous when we went.

But when you're young and with your friends, it's easy to muster up courage to do what you normally wouldn't. I felt safe with them. Come on, Bryce. You know if we tell our folks they'll just stop us? Or worse yet, insist on coming with and providing boring rules we don't need. Trey jabbed my shoulder playfully. We're strong, virile men.

We don't need any of that shit. Plus, we're not going to need much more than ropes, lights and backpacks, and some basic gear. We'll be in and out with either a boring story to tell or... Or footage that will net us those huge YouTube bucks. Yeah, Trey, I know. I rolled my eyes, imitating his enthusiasm. All right, I'm in. What are we doing?

Anthony stood up from my bed, hands on his back and looking over the map. He was very much the brains of the operation. All right, we'll leave at 5 a.m. tomorrow. Bryce, bar your sister's car and pick us up. If your mom asks, tell her we're going hiking or something. Don't say the cave, obviously. If you're super worried about location tracking and your mom not believing you, turn it off. We'll get to the cave before sunrise and be back home by early morning.

If anyone asks, we're just doing some bonding in the mountains. Okay? Bonding in the mountains? Won't that make people think yet? Trey started before Anthony let out an audible sigh and we broke into laughter. Hey, it's cool, bro. I'm no judging here. I mean, I know I'm your type, but my girlfriend may have questions.

After some light arguing and insistence by Anthony that that wasn't what he meant, we had some drinks to celebrate putting the plans in motion and got an early night. When I slept, I envisioned a small opening in the side of a large cliff. edge, no bigger than me, and almost as if it were manufactured to my size and stature. I felt my body drawn to it, and even when I tried to resist, my frame was inescapably pulled into the perfectly shaped holes in the wall. A force wrapped around my waist and wrenched me further inside. Slipping into the wall, I felt the constricting nature of bedrock push on my muscles,

squeezing at my bones and ripping at my flesh as I was pulled even further in. I could hear someone, someone calling out to me from the depths. Then, in an instant, my body was wretched forward at an astounding rate. My skin split and I felt burning all over as I screamed for the dream to stop. I startled awake, finally able to move. I was laying in a cold sweat and staring down at the bedroom floor. My covers wrapped all around me like a boa constrictor. I sat up inside, relieved to be out of that nightmare.

I took a few moments to calm down, then laid back down, but I didn't want to go right back to sleep. I feared I would be pulled back into that dream, so I waited a little while before dozing back off. We set out about making our preparations in the morning. I felt the cold chill of November air hit my skin as I went downstairs and grabbed my gear from the garage and thanked my sister for the car, even if it meant bribing her with $50 to not tell Mom where I was going.

By the time I picked up the guys and we'd reached the cave, it was nearly 6 a.m. Dawn was still some time away, but it wouldn't be long before the sunlight exposed our early hour absailing, and we were pretty confident this place was state property. None of us wanted to get caught by state troopers for trespassing. We worked quickly to get our gear and head down to the mouth of the cave. This thing was gigantic, built into the side of a great rocky mountain. that stretched across the surrounding plains, connecting at the base of a slew of other jagged giants that rose into the sky, and looked as if they'd puncture the very clouds.

The cave's depths were unknown to us, but the width of the mouth gave us a decent inkling. Over seventy feet wide and thirty feet high gave us all the foreboding we needed. Damn, big mouth, huh? Trey remarked, trying to find a joke that would fit within his addled, juvenile minds. I guess you can take all three of us at once, eh? Nervous laughter filled the awkward silence as neither myself nor Anthony wanted to be the first one to venture in. We had very little light beyond the first few feet and didn't expect to turn on our headlamps

so early. Nevertheless, we ventured forth together and within a few minutes, the entrance's warmth gave way to cold indifference inside the cave. The entrance was simple. It jutted down on a slightly steep incline for around five minutes. minutes, before widening into a fork that split two ways, one going left and up, the other going right and down. Pausing for a moment to listen for any distinct sounds, we heard something emanate from the

right path, a soft, guttural wailing. You think it's, uh... I began, eyeing the passageway with anticipation and concern, Trey rubbing his hands together. Oh, hell yeah, I think it's the pit. We ready? Before we even replied, he set off ahead and left myself and Anthony still faced with the foreboding nature of venturing on. We both knew there was something unseemly.

What did you say this cave was called? Sirens call? I had not heard that one before. I remarked, carefully trudging forth to catch up with Trey and flinching at every small juttering of the cave walls. Anthony scoffed and picked up his pace. Clues in the name, bud. The sirens call was the original moniker locals' gate.

this place, said it housed something deep in the pit that fed off those with weak wills, used the voices of those they love to entice them in and devour them. Native said it was an evil spirit and told the authorities to seal the cave off, but, of course, they never did. It became the wailing cave sometime later to help with tourism, and I can't blame them. It sure as hell brought us here. Yeah, legally, might I add. I remarked, forcing a smile.

Still, though, pretty creepy name. We nodded and turned the final corner into a large opening, the ceiling of the cave hundreds of feet above us, a pair of tunnels on the other side of the clearing around 200 feet across from us. In the center sat a pit with raised bricks around the opening, the width of it easily a hundred feet. Even coming close to it gave me anxiety, but not as much as seeing Trey securing his line to the side of the pit and giving us a thumbs up as he was.

He absailed down. See you guys soon. He called as he descended into the darkness. We shook our heads and tried to contain our concerns. Trey was always the daredevil among us. He'd once broken his leg trying to evade law enforcement, scaling a large fence and not even thinking about the drop afterwards. But when the line grew taut and the snapping sound bounced around the cave, we knew

something was wrong. Trey? I called out. No response. We ran over and peered down the pit, his line still attached and absolute darkness after the first ten feet. We held on to the line and tried pulling against it in vain, worried he'd passed out from hitting his head.

A sense of absolute dread filled my body the longer I stared, Anthony's forehead breaking out in a cold sweat as we waited for a response. We got it in the form of the line snapping and Trey's terrified screams as he fell further and further down. It was a horrific, visceral sound that sent my knees buckling and Anthony grabbing me to stop my momentum dragging me into the pit with him. Shit, we have to go. We have to go get help now.

He cried, shaking my shoulder. I nodded and we dashed for the entrance. What followed chilled my blood and stopped us dead in our tracks. Hey, hey, I'm fine. I'm fine. Just spook the shit out of me as all. Don't panic. Jeez, just come back and throw me a line and I'll be able to get.

Get up. Anthony breathed the sigh of relief and began walking back, but I pulled on his collar and shook my head, eyes wide and full of fear, a finger up to my lips. What? He stuck down there, dude. We gotta help him. He hissed, keeping his voice low as I asked. Did you hear his body hit the ground?

I asked. His eyes fixated on mine and not responding when I said again. Did you hear his body hit the ground, Anthony? He swallowed, looking over his shoulder and back to me, shaking his head. his head. How deep is that pit, if you were to guess? I pressed him, a transference of nerves between us as we kept quiet. Guys, you're still there?

I can just about make out your voices. Come on and help me. He called, concerned and fear racking his voice. I'd say over five hundred feet, if not deeper. He replied, the fear mounting the more he spoke. So if he did fall with the length of the rope, bringing him down, maybe he's two hundred feet. be dead. He didn't use anywhere near enough to scale that far down. If not that, at least hurt. That voice didn't even sound phased, so...

I let the question linger in the air for a moment as a chill ran through the cave. Was it the breeze the natives mentioned? So what is calling up to us from the pit? He finally intonated, our foreboding growing like a cancer as we stared at the pit just 30 feet away. Trey, what's your girlfriend's birthday? I called out an idea popping to mind. Huh? Why?

Guys, this ain't 20 questions. Come over here and help me. I feel fine, but that may be adrenaline. I need a lift out of here. Come on. He shouted back, Anthony taking another step forward. Answer the question, Trey. We just want to make sure all is fine.

You know the legend of this cave as well as we do. How far down are you? Trey called back. Frustration apparent in his voice now. For fuck sake. Some time in April, I can't remember when, okay? And I'd say I fell maybe 50 feet. It's soft down here.

I guess it broke my fall, happy? Anthony and I exchanged looks as he shook his head, backing away towards me. I hear you walking away. Damn it, Anthony. You're the smartest guy I know, so I got a question for you. If you're that worried, I'm not who I say I am, which, if you'll pardon the expression, is fucking stupid. Who am I?

I swear his voice shifted just a bit. he asked that last question, but he didn't stop. You've always been the guy that sort of loved mysteries. Imagine what secrets are down here. What you could do if you saw what I see. All you have to do is throw me a line. I'll tell you everything. Anthony's eyes were wide, darting between me and him.

I couldn't understand how this was even a difficult choice. It clearly wasn't Trey, or if it was, he was not someone we could save on our own with our limited equipment, why was this so hard for him? But seeing that glazed look in his eyes, the slackness of the jaw as he walked over to the pit and threw a line, I realized why the cave used to be called the siren's call. I'm begging you, Anthony, come with me. We can save Trey within a couple of hours with the right people. We don't need to put ourselves at risk.

I reached out a hand, not willing to get close, but also wanting to save my friend. Anthony picked up the rope and looked at it. Then he looked back at me, holding out of his. a hand, keeping his right hand on the rope as it fell down and knocked against the inner pit wall. In an instant it grew taut and snapped as Anthony was pulled into the pit head first. His screaming filled the cave and threatened to purse my eardrums with their piercing shrill. I turned away and covered my head until it stopped reverberating.

As silence greeted me, I felt my body surge with adrenaline and all things urged me to go to the entrance. But as Anthony's calm voice called from the pit. A malaise overcame me, and while I didn't dare turn around, I suddenly felt it difficult to make any sudden moves. Bryce, you were always a loyal friend, the furniture in the room that tied us together. You're never going to make it outside without us. You know that.

I gotta agree with Anthony. You're sort of like a yes man, but awkward, a foolish self-doubt and undesirable traits. Ain't nobody gonna want that complex mess. I felt tears fill my eyes. and rushed down my cheeks. But then I heard something. Something was crawling out of the pit, scaling its walls with thick digits digging into the rock and grunting as it ascended. I can't join you. I have a life out there, and so do my friends that you're using to talk right now. I clenched my fist, trying to move, but still unable.

Why can't you let them go? Why can't you let us all go? Something pulled at the outside of the pit, scratching against the mortar and panting. It sounded large. Its voice began to sound like some sort of animal imitating human speech. Then how else would we talk to you? We have no voice of our own. It gurgled and laughed as Anthony spoke, his voice breaking down and distorting. Whatever was behind me was getting closer, and the voice grew louder. It was so visceral and real that I almost turned around.

After all. Hot breath pushed against my ankles. It was so close. You smit. At that moment. My fear gave way to flight, and I bolted for the passage, dropping my bag on whatever was behind me. It contained several heavy pieces of my climbing gear, and that being unceremoniously

brought down on anyone would hurt. The thing howled as my pace picked up. What weight! It bellowed, claws and hot breath tearing into the walls as I rushed, and my eyes glaring and body aching as I pushed through the agony. As soon as light filled the opening, the panting stopped. No cry of pain or slinking into the darkness, it simply ceased. I didn't dare turn around until I was back at the top of the hill leading to the mouth.

When I did, I saw nothing. Simply the entrance to a cave none of us should have ever ventured into. My friends still trapped inside. The drive home was filled with anxiety and fear and pain. I did the right thing and contacted the state police on my way back. They mounted a search and declared that Anthony and Trey's deaths were entirely by accident. Death by misadventure was the official cause. We were called stupid kids looking for a thrill, and the town, by and large, felt sympathetic

to me. Life moved on, and even several years later, still living in that small, rocky town, I get looks of sympathy and pity. Poor boy, he still thinks there's something there. Can't accept being the only one, I suppose. They'd say, looking at me as if I were a lost lamb with no idea of where to go or what to do. Even my own family seemed to avoid me.

But I knew better. I still do now. The cave has been closed off properly for some time. Nobody is smart enough to venture too close since the incident. But that doesn't stop people trying. Curious to see if the legends of Cave Mitreone, the wailing cave, the sirens call, are as grisly and blood-curdling as they heard. But, at least I hope, they'll never learn the truth.

Not long after the incident, I had those nightmares again, enticing me into my own private little hole in the ground, squeezing and constricting me. Only now I saw my friends at the end of this increasingly claustrophobic tunnel calling to me in pain to join them, to help them. I sought out a native man in the area that knew of the cave and its history. and I told him what happened. He listened and never judged or thought of me as a fool. Instead, his face grew full of sorrow, and he handed me a totem to keep with me.

He told me that there is an ancient evil that dwells in that place. Something trapped there. It calls out to those near it and traps them there with it. It steals their voices because it has none, and it takes their flesh and souls to feed, and those who are trapped there can never be freed. nights, I don't just awaken in a cold sweat from the nightmares. Some nights I find myself standing at the front of my window, staring in the direction of the cave, now seemingly visible from so far distance, beckoning me.

When I drive through the mountains on my way to work, I hear them, I hear them so clearly. I hear their voices as clear as I hear my own families, calling into my ear. I recently moved into my dorm room, starting as a sophomore in college, and a friend gave me his old Nintendo 64 to play. I was stoked to say the least. I could finally play all those old games from my youth that I hadn't touched in at least a decade. His Nintendo 64 came with one yellow controller and a rather shoddy copy of Super Smash Brothers. And while beggars can't be choosers, needless to say, it didn't take long until I became

bored of beating the Level 9 CPUs. That weekend, I decided to drive around a few neighborhoods about 20 minutes or so off campus, hitting up the local garage sales, hoping to score some good deals from ignorant parents. I ended up picking up a copy of Pokemon Stadium, Golden Eye, F0, and two other controllers for $20. Satisfied, I began to drive out of the neighborhood when the last house caught my attention. I still have no idea why it did. There were no cars there, and only one table was set up with random junk on it.

But something sort of drew me there. I usually trust my gut on these things, so I got out of the car, and I was greeted by an old man. His outward appearance was, for lack of a better word, displeasing. It was odd. If you asked me to tell you why I thought he was displeasing, I couldn't really pinpoint anything. There was just something about him that put me on edge. I can't explain it. All I can tell you is that if it wasn't in the middle of the afternoon and there weren't other people

within shouting distance, I would not have even thought about approaching this man. He flashed a crooked smile at me and asked what I was looking for, and immediately I noticed that he must have been blind in one of his eyes. His right eye had that glazed overlook about it. I forced myself to look into his left eye instead, trying not to offend, and asked him if he had any old video games. I was already wondering how I could politely excuse myself from the situation when he told me he had no idea what a video game was, but to my surprise, he set he had a few ones

in an old box. He assured me he'd be back in a jiffy and turned to head back into the garage. As I watched him hobble away, I couldn't help but notice what he was selling on the table. Littered across his table were rather peculiar paintings, various artworks that looked like inkblots that a psychiatrist might show you. Curious. I looked through them. It was obvious why no one was visiting this guy's garage.

garage sale, these weren't exactly aesthetically pleasing. As I came to the last one, for some reason it looked almost like Major's mask, the same heart-shaped body with little spikes protruding outward. Initially, I just thought that since I was secretly hoping to find that game at these garage sails, some Frutian bullshit was projecting itself into the inkblots, but given the events that happened afterward, I'm not so sure now. I should have asked the man about it. I wish I had asked the man about it.

After staring at the Majora-shaped blot, I looked up and the old man was suddenly there again, arms length in front of me, smiling. I'll admit, I jumped out of reflex, and I laughed nervously as he handed me a Nintendo 64 cartridge. It was the standard grey color, except that someone had written Majora on it in black permanent marker. I caught butterflies in my stomach, as I realized what a coincidence this was, and asked him how much he wanted for it.

The old man smiled at me and told me that I could have it for free, that it used to belong to a kid who was about my age that didn't live there anymore. There was something weird about how the man phrased that, but I didn't really pay any attention to it then. I was too caught up in not only finding this game, but getting it for free. I reminded myself to be a little skeptical, since this looked like a pretty shady cartridge, and there's no guarantee it would work. But then the optimist inside of me interjected that maybe it was some kind of beta

version or pirated version of the game, and that was all I needed to be back on Cloud 9. I thanked the man, and the man smiled at me and wished me well, saying, Goodbye then. At least that's what it sounded like to me. All the way in the car ride home, I had a nagging doubt that the man had said something else. My fears were confirmed when I booted up the game. To my surprise, it worked just fine.

And there was one save file named simply Ben. Goodbye Ben, he was saying, Goodbye, Ben. I felt bad for the man, obviously a grandparent and obviously going senile, and I, for some reason or another, reminded him of his grandson Ben. Out of curiosity, I looked at the save file, eyeballing it. I could tell that he was pretty far in the game. He had almost all of the masks and three-fourths remains of the bosses.

I noticed that he had used an owl statue to save his game. He was on day three, and by the Stone Tower Temple, with hardly an hour left before the moon would crash. I remember thinking that it was a shame that he had come so close to beating the game, but he never finished it. I made a new file named Link, out of tradition, and started the game, ready to relive my childhood. For such a shady-looking game cartridge, I was impressed at how smoothly it ran, literally just

like a retail copy of the game, say for a few minor hiccups here and there, like textures being where they shouldn't be, random flashes of cutscenes at odd intervals, but nothing bad. However, the only thing that was a little unnerving was at times the NPCs would call me Link, and at other times they would call me Ben. I figured it was just a bug, a fluke in the programming causing our files to get mixed up or something. It did kind of creep me out though after a while, and it was around after I'd beaten the Woodfall Temple that I regrettably went into the save files and deleted Ben. I had intended to preserve the file out of respect for the game's original owner, it's

not like I needed two files anyway, hoping that would solve the problem. It did, and it didn't. Now NPCs wouldn't call me anything. Where my name should have been in the dialogue, there was just a blank space. My save file name was still called Link though. Frustrated, and with homework to deal, I put the game down for the day. I started playing the game again last night, getting the lens of truth and working my way to towards the Snowhead Temple.

Now, some of you more hardcore Majors' mask players know about the fourth day glitch. For those of you who don't, you can Google it, but the gist of it is that right as the clock is about to hit zero on the final day, you talk to the astronomer and look through the telescope. If you time it right, the countdown disappears and you essentially have another day to finish whatever you were doing. Deciding to do the glitch to try to finish the Snowhead Temple, I happen to get it right on the first try, and the time counter at the bottom disappeared.

However, when I pressed B to exit the telescope, instead of being greeted by the astronomer, I found myself in Major's boss-fight room at the end of the game, the trippy boxed-in arena, staring at Skull Kid hovering above me. There was no sound, just him floating in the air above me, and the background music, which was regular for the arena, but still creepy. Immediately my palms began to sweat. This was definitely not normal. Skull Kidd never appeared here. I tried moving around the arena, and no matter where I went, Skull Kidd would always be facing me,

looking at me, not saying anything. Nothing would happen though, and this kept up for around 60 seconds. I thought the game had bugged or something, but I was beginning to doubt that very much. I was about to reach for the reset button when text appeared on my screen. You're not sure why, but you apparently had a reservation. I instantly recognize the text. You get that message when you get the room key from Anjou at the Stockpot Inn, but why was it playing here?

I refused to entertain the notion that it was almost as if the game was trying to communicate with me. I started to navigate the room again, testing to see if that was some sort of trigger that enabled me to interact with something here. Then I realized how stupid I was. To even think that someone could reprogram the game like that was absurd. Sure enough, 15 seconds later. another message appeared on the screen, and again, like the first one, it was already a pre-existing

phrase. Go to the layer of the temple's boss, yes slash no. I paused for a second, contemplating what I should press and how the game would react when I realized that I couldn't select no. Taking a deep breath, I pressed yes, and the screen faded to white with the words, dawn of a new day, with the subtext of seven vertical lines beneath it. Where I was ported to, and I was ported to the screen, Portatou have filled me with the most intense sense of dread and impending fear I've ever experienced. The only way I can describe the way I felt here is having this feeling of inexplicable depression on a profound scale. I'm normally not a depressed person, but the way I felt here was a feeling that I didn't even knew existed. It was such a twisted, powerful presence that seemed to wash over me.

I appeared in some kind of weird twilight zone version of Clock Town. I walked out of the Clock Tower, as you normally do when you start from day one, only to find that all the inhabitants were gone. Usually with the fourth day glitch, you can still find the guards and the dogs that run around outside the tower. This time they were all gone. What replaced them was the ominous feeling that there was something out there in the same area as me and that it was watching me.

I had four hearts by my name and the hero's bow, but by this point I wasn't even concerned for my avatar. I felt that I personally was in some kind of danger. Perhaps the most chilling thing was the music. It was the song of healing, ripped right from the game itself but played in reverse. The song would get louder, building up as if you should expect something to pop out at you, but nothing ever did. And the constant loop began to wear on my mental state.

Now and then, I would hear the faint laugh of the happy mask salesman in the background, just quiet enough so that I wasn't sure if I was just hearing things, but just loud enough to keep me determined to find him. I looked in all four zones of Clocktown, only finding nothing, no one. Textures were missing. West Clocktown had me walking on air, the entire area felt broken, hopelessly broken, as the reverse song of healing repeated for what must have been the fiftieth time. I just remember standing in the middle of South Clocktown, realizing that I'd never felt

so alone in a video game before. As I walked through the ghost town, I don't know whether it was the combination of the out-of-place textures and the atmosphere and the haunting melody of the once peaceful and soothing song being butchered and distorted, but I was literally on the verge of tears, I had no idea why. I hardly ever cry. Something had gripped me here and this powerful sense of depression. was both foreign and crippling. I tried leaving Clocktown, but every time I attempted to zone out, the screen would

fade to black, and I would just zone into another part of Clocktown. I tried playing my Okarina, I wanted to escape, and I did not want to be here, but every time I played the Song of Time or the Song of Soaring, it would only say, your notes echo far, but nothing happens. By this point, it was obvious that the game didn't want me to leave, but I had to be a long no idea why it was keeping me here. I didn't want to go back inside the buildings. I felt that I would be too vulnerable there to whatever I was terrified of.

I don't know why, but I came up with the idea that maybe if I drowned myself at the laundry pool, I could spawn somewhere else and leave this place. As I zoned in and ran towards the pool, that's when it happened. Link grabbed his head and the screen flashed for a brief moment of the happy mask salesman smiling at me. Link, me with Skulk hit screen playing in the background, and when the screen returned, I was staring at the Link statue from playing the song Elegie of Emptiness. I screamed as the thing just stared back at me with that haunting facial expression.

I turned around and ran back into South Clock Town, and to my horror, the statue followed me, and the only thing I can compare this to is like the weeping angels from Doctor Who. Every so often at random intervals, the animation would play of the statue. It was like the thing was chasing me, or I don't even want to say it, haunting me. By this point, I was on the verge of hysterics, but not even once did the thought of turning off the console occur to me. I don't know why, I was so wrapped up in it. The terror felt all so real.

I tried to shake the statue, but it would literally appear right behind me every single time. Link started to begin to make weird animations I had never seen him do before. He would flail his arms around or spasm randomly, and the screen would cut to the happy masked salesman smiling again for a brief moment before I was face to face with that damn statue again. I ended up running into the swordsman's dojo and ran to the back. I don't know why, but in my panic I just wanted some kind of assurance that I'm not alone here.

To my dismay, I found no one. But as I turned to leave, the statue cornered me in the cubby in the back. I tried attacking the statue with my sword, but to know of my sword. Vail. Confused and backed into a corner, I just stared at the statue, waiting for it to kill me. Suddenly, the screen flashed again to the Happy Masked Salesman and Link turned to face my screen, standing upright, mirroring the statue, looking at me along with his copy, literally staring at me.

Whatever was left of the fourth wall was completely shattered while I ran out of the dojo, terrified. Suddenly the game warped me to the underground tunnel and the reverse Song of Healing queued up again. as I was given a brief moment of rest before the statue started appearing behind me again. This time, aggressively, I could only take a few steps before it would summon behind me again. I hurriedly made my way out of the tunnel and appeared in southern clocktown, as I ran aimlessly in a sheer panic. Suddenly a rededad screamed and the screen faded to black as dawn of a new day and nine vertical lines appeared again.

The screen faded in and I was standing on the top of clock tower with Skull Kid hovering over me again, silent. I looked up and the moon was back, looming just meters above my head, but the Skull Kid just stared at me, hauntingly, with that damn mask. A new song was playing. The Stone Tower Temple theme played in reverse. In some sort of desperate attempt, I equipped my bow and fired a shot at the Skull Kid, and it actually hit him, and he played an animation of him reeling back. I fired again, and on the third arrow, a text appeared saying, That won't won't do you any good, he-he. And I was picked up off the ground, levitated upwards on my back, and then Link screamed as he burst

into flames, instantly killing me. I jumped when this happened. I'd never seen this move used by anyone in the game, and Skull Kid himself didn't have any moves. The death screen played. My lifeless body is still burning. The Skull Kid laughed, and this screen faded to black, only to have me reappear in the same place. I decided to charge him, but the same thing happened. Link's body was lifted off the ground by some unknown force, and he immediately burst into flames

again, killing him. This time, during the death screen, the faint sounds of the reverse song of healing could be heard. On my third and final try, I noticed that there was no music playing this time, that all there was was eerie silence. I remembered thinking that in the original encounter with the Skull Kid, you were supposed to use the ocarina to either travel back in time or summon the giants. I attempted to play the song of time, but before I could hit the last note, Link's body once again horrifically exploded into flames and he died.

As the death screen neared its end, it began to chug as if the cartridge was trying to process a lot of something. When the screen came to, it was the same scene as the first three times. Except this time, Link was lying on the ground dead in a position I'd never seen in the game before, his head tilted towards the camera, with the skull kid floating above him. I couldn't move. I couldn't press any buttons. All I could do is just stare at Link's dead body.

After around 30 seconds of this, the game simply fades out to the message, you've met with the terrible fate, haven't you, before kicking you out to the title screen? Upon getting kicked back to the title screen and starting again, I noticed my save file was no longer there. Instead of Link, it was replaced with Your Turn. Your Turn had three hearts, zero masks, and no items. I selected Your Turn, and immediately when I did, I was returned to the Clock Tower rooftop scene of my Link dead and the Skull Kid hovering over, with the Skull Kids laughing looping again and again. I quickly hit the reset button, and when the game booted up, there was one more save file added. Below, Your Turn,

Then there was Ben. Ben's save file is right back where it was before I deleted it, at the Stone Tower Temple with the moon almost crashing. I turned the game off at that point. I'm not superstitious, but this was way too messed up for even me. I haven't played it at all today. Hell, I didn't even get any sleep last night. I kept hearing the reverse song of healing music in my head and just remembering the sense

of dread I felt exploring Clocktown. I drove back to the old man's house today to ask him some questions with a buddy of mine. No way I was going back there alone, only to find that there was a forced sale sign in the yard, and when I rang the door, no one was home. So now I'm back here, recording my thoughts and what happened. I'm sorry if this is rushed and doesn't make a lot of sense. I'm running on no sleep here. I'm terrified of this game, even more so now that I've relived it a second time in talking

about it. But I feel there's still more to it. it than meets the eye, and that there's something calling me to investigate this further. I think Ben is something in this equation, but I don't know what. And if I could get a hold of the old man, then I would be able to find some answers. I need another day or so to recuperate before tackling this game again. It's already taken a toll on my sanity, I feel like. But next time I do this, I'm going to record my footage all the way through.

The idea to record only came to me towards the end. I'm going to stay in this thread for a little while longer before I fall asleep to answer any questions you might have or hopefully listen to your ideas or theories to help me shed some light on this or maybe things I should try to do. I think I'm going to play Ben's file tomorrow to see what happens. Maybe I was supposed to do that all along. I don't believe in paranormal stuff, but this is a little messed up. But maybe this Ben guy was just a really good hacker and programmer.

I don't want to think about the alternatives. if he isn't. I'm going to post what happened and link the video footage, but last night everything got too real for me. I think I'm done messing around with this. I passed out pretty much immediately after making the last post, but last night, that elegy of emptiness statue, I had a dream about it. I dreamed that it was following me, that I would be minding my own business when I'd feel

my neck hair stand up on end. I would turn around and that thing, that horrible, lifeless, status. statue would be staring at me with those empty eyes, merely inches away. In my dream, I remember calling it then, and never before had I had a dream that I could remember so vividly, but the important thing is I did get some sleep, I suppose. Today, I put off playing as long as I could. I drove up to the neighborhood to see if that old man came back. As expected, the car was still gone, and no one was home.

As I was walking back to my car, the man next door, lowing the grass. He asked, killed the power to his lawnmower, and asked me if I was looking for someone. I told him that I was looking to talk to the old man that lived there, to which he told me what I already knew. He was moving. Trying a different avenue, I asked if the old man had any family or relatives I could talk to. I discovered that the old man had never been married, nor did he have any children or grandchildren

through adoption. Starting to become worried, I asked one final question, one that I should have asked from beginning. Who was Ben? The man's expression turned grim, and I learned that four doors down, around eight years ago, on April 23rd, the man informed me that it was the same day as his anniversary. That's how he knew the specific date. There was an accident with a young boy named Ben in the neighborhood.

Shortly after, his parents moved, and despite any further attempts to talk to the man to get more information, he wouldn't divulge anything else. I went back home, started playing again. I loaded up the game and I immediately jumped at the title screen where the mask flies by. The sound that played was not the normal, whoosh sound. It was something much more higher pitch. I pressed start, bracing for the worst, but just like two nights ago, the files Your Turn and Ben were displayed.

Truth be told, I looked at the Ben file earlier. It seemed to fluctuate between displaying the Owl's Save and not. I brought up the Benfile, hesitated for a moment, noticing that the stats were not the same as the original were two days ago. It seemed like he had already completed the Stone Tower Temple this time. Summoning my courage, I selected it. Immediately I was thrust into complete chaos. Sure enough, I was outside the Stone Tower Temple.

But that's about all that was expected. The zone itself wasn't called Stone Tower Temple, but rather Stone. And immediately, a dialogue box of complete gibberish that I couldn't make out greeted me. Link's body was distorted. His back was cocked violently to the side where his posture was permanently disfigured. Link's expression was dull, almost monotone. He had an expression on his face that I didn't recognize before. It was a blank look as if he was dead.

As Link stood there, his body spasmed irregularly back and forth. I examined what had become of my avatar and noted. I noticed I had a C button item I'd never seen before, some kind of a note, but pressing it did nothing. Sounds played back and forth that I didn't recognize from the game, almost demonic in nature, and there was some kind of high-pitched yip or some kind of a laugh or something in the background. I had all of two minutes to take in the environment before another one of those damn elegy of emptiness statues was summoned, and immediately after I was cut into the dawn

of a new day screen, except this time without the line subtext. I was a Daku scrub in Clocktown. This scene would normally play after the first time you traveled back in time. Tattle would say, what just happened? It's as if everything has, but instead of saying, started over, she finished her remark in broken text as the laugh of the Happy Masked Salesman played in the background. I was put back in control of my character, but from a messed-up camera angle, I was looking from behind the door to the clock tower, watching my avatar run around as a decou scrub.

Seeing as how I really had no place to go because I couldn't see anything, I begrudgingly went inside the door. There I was greeted by the happy Masked Salesman, who simply told me, you've met with the terrible fate, haven't you, before the screen faded to white? I was in Terminna Field as a human again. I might as well not have been playing the same game anymore. I was being warped around and there was no sign of a day clock or anything. I took a moment to get my bearings as I looked around the field and immediately I could tell

that this was not normal. There were no enemies and a twisted version of the Happy Masked Salesman theme was playing. I decided to run towards Woodfall before I noticed a gathering of three figures off to the side, one of them being a pona. As I approached them, to my horror, I saw the Happy Masked Salesman, the Skull Kid, and the elegy of emptiness statue just standing there. I figured maybe they were bugged out, but by now I told myself that I should know better. Nevertheless, I approached them carefully and found that the Skull Kid was playing some kind

of idle animation on loop. Same with the Pona, and the Elogy of Emptiness Statue has been doing what it's been doing all along, just standing there eerily. It was the happy Mask salesman that scared me more profoundly than the other two. He too was idle, wearing the same. that shit-eating grin, but wherever I moved, his head slowly turned and followed me. I had not engaged in any dialogue with him, nor was I in combat with him, yet his head still continued to follow my movements.

Reminded of my first encounter with the Skull Kid on the top of Clock Tower, I pulled out my ocarina, to which the game played the ding sound when you're supposed to play your ocarina, and tried a song I hadn't played yet. The Happy Masked Salesman's own song, and the song that had been played. lying on Loop in day four, the song of healing. I finished playing the song, and as I did, an ear-piercing shriek blasted on my TV. The sky immediately started flashing, the Happy Masked Salesman's twisted theme song sped up, intensifying the fear inside me, and Link exploded into flames and died.

The three figures stayed lit during my death screen as they watched my lifeless body turn. I can't describe to you how sudden and terrifying the transition from Erie to terror was. was, you're just going to have to watch the video if you want to see firsthand. That same fear that caused me to lose sleep two days ago started to grip me again as I was met with the text. You've met with the horrible fate, haven't you, for the third time? There has to be some kind of meaning behind that. I had little time to ponder as I was immediately given another small cutscene of transforming

into Zora, and now I found myself in Great Temple Bay. but curious to see what the game had in store for me, I slowly made my way towards the beach, where I found Apona. I wondered why the game had decided to put me here. Was the game implying she was trying to get a drink? Unable to take the mask off, I decided that riding the steed wasn't the reason she was placed there. Suddenly I realized that Apona kept neighing, and the way she was angled made it look like

she was trying to signal a point to me off in the distance. It was a hunch, but I dove into the Great Bay and started swimming. Sure enough, I almost missed it. I found something at the bottom of the ocean. One last elegy of emptiness statue. I went down to examine it, and suddenly my Zora started doing a choking animation I'd never seen a Zora do before, which didn't even make sense because Zores can breathe underwater. Regardless, my character choked to death and died, and again the statue was the only thing

that was highlighted in my death. I didn't respond this time. I was booted back to the main menu as if I restarted the console. The press start screen was before me. I knew the only reason why it would put me here is because the save file had changed again. Taking a deep breath, I pressed start, and I was right. The new save files told me about Ben. Now it made sense why the statue appeared when I tried to go to the laundry pool.

The game must have anticipated how I would try to escape the day four clocktown. The two save files told me his fate. As I suspected, Ben was dead. He had drowned. The game obviously isn't through with me. It taunts me with the new save files. It wants me to keep playing. It wants me to go further, but I'm done with this stuff.

I'm not touching any more of the files. This is already way too horrifying for me, and I don't even believe in the paranormal, but I'm running out of explanations. Why would someone send me this message? I don't understand it. I just get too depressed thinking about this. The footage is up here for those who want to see it and try to analyze it. Maybe there's some kind of coded message in the gibberish or something symbolic in what I went through.

I'm too emotionally and mentally drained to mess with this anymore. I know it's early in the morning. I've stayed up all night. I can't sleep. I don't care if people see this. That's not the point. I just want the word to get spread so I don't suffer for nothing. I've lost the will to talk about this.

The less I dwell on this, the better. I think the video just speaks for itself. I did what you all told me to. I played the Elegie of Emptiness Song at the first prompt by the game I was given, but I don't think that's what the game or Ben. Jesus, I can't believe I'm even humoring the absurd idea that he exists in the game wanted me to do. He's following me now, not just in the game, he's in my dreams.

I see him all the time, behind my back, just watching me. I haven't gone to any of my classes. I've stayed in my dorm room with the windows closed and the blind shut. That way I know that he can't watch me, but he still gets me when I play. When I play, he can still see me. The game, it talked to me for the first time, not just using text that's already in the game. It spoke to me. Talk to me.

It referenced Ben. It talked to me. I just don't know what it means. I don't know what it wants. I never wanted this. I just want my old life back. Stuff like this doesn't happen to people like me. I'm just a kid, not even old enough to drink yet.

It's not fair. I just want to go home. I want to see my parents again. I'm so far away from home here at this school. I just want to hug my mom again. I just want to forget that statue's horrible blank face. My original game file is back. the way I left it before it was gone.

I don't want to play anymore. I feel like something bad will happen if I don't. But that's impossible. It's a video game. Haunted or not, it can't hurt me, right? Like seriously, though, it can't, right? That's what I keep telling myself, but every time I think about it, I'm not so sure. Hey everyone, let me clear a few things up.

I know you're all worried, but he's okay. He finished moving out today and he said he's going back home. He's just taking this semester off. I'm not really sure what's happened. I have a vague idea, but you all probably know more than I do. I'm Chad Usable's roommate, and obviously I knew something was going on with him for a few days now. He stayed in his room all the time, fell out of contact with literally all of his friends.

I'm pretty sure he hadn't eaten hardly anything. After the second day, I couldn't stay in there anymore. So I've been crashing at a buddy's place, only coming into my room to get the stuff I needed. I tried talking to him several times, but he would cut me off or keep the conversation brief when I asked him about his strange behavior. It's like he was convinced something was hunting him. Yesterday I came to grab my philosophy book and he approached me, looking awful, like horrible

bags under his eyes. He handed me a flash drive and gave me specific instructions. He told me that he needs me to do one last favor for him. He finally explained to me what's been going on, gave me the account info for his YouTube channel and told me that he's getting away from here, that it lured him to play it again instead of trying to change things, and that he shouldn't have done that, and to upload the footage and inform people of what happened. I told him that he could do it himself, and he got this wild look in his eyes, and told me

that he is never looking at that game again, and that's the last thing he said to me. He never even said bye when his parents came to pick him up. I never even got to meet his parents. I honestly can't tell you what happened. When he spoke, it was kind of hard to understand him, and his messed up appearance really distracted me. On the flash drive, there was footage of the game last night, a text document with his name and password for YouTube, and a third document called The Truth, containing what he told

me were his notes that he'd taken. He told me that this meant everything to him that I follow his instructions exactly. Normally I wouldn't be so to the letter for a quest about a video game, but the way he She spoke and the way he looked made me know this was really serious, and I'm going to honor that. I've had this video since yesterday, but had to have someone help me use Pinnacle. That's not really my forte. After watching it, I had to go back through and look at his other videos on his YouTube

account to realize what was going on, and even then I'm really confused. The video I'm releasing tonight, The Truth Thought TXT, will be released on September 15th, just like you requested. I haven't dared peek at it yet, so the first time I'm releasing tonight. I see it will be the first time you all see it out of respect of my friend. To answer your questions, no, I haven't tried calling him. I think I'll give him a call tomorrow to see if he's okay or not. He should have gotten back home by now.

About the video. In this video, I cut straight to when he loaded the Ben file in the game. Looking back, I realized that Jad Usable left the save select screen in because it said different names sometimes. So my bad for that, but all it said this time was the same at the end. of his last video, Link and Ben, nothing different. I wasn't there when he played it, but it looks to me like in the beginning, when he first spawns, he's testing out his equipment or seeing what items he has or something, because apparently

they've changed randomly before. Then after that, I think the game just got too personal for him. Hey everyone, Jed usable here. This will be the last time you'll be hearing from me, and this is my final gift to you. These are the notes that I have taken and the realizations I have made. Before I delve into this, I want to thank you for following me and thank you for listening. I feel like the weight of a powerful burden is about to be lifted. By the time you hear this, I won't be around anymore, but after spending four days with

this maddening game, I have begun to understand what's really at play here, and hopefully after reading this, we can ensure that this will never happen again. There are things that I could not share with you while this was going on due to the circumstances. circumstances, to which I'll explain. With Ben blocking any attempt I made to try to relay the truth to you, I tried ever so subtly to warn you in various ways. Amidst the chaos and my delirium, I devised to make a barely noticeable pattern in my videos. In all five videos I recorded over the four days, I've either had the mask of truth, interacted

with the gossip stone, or the lens of truth, equipped at some point. For you, Zelda enthusiasts, these are all symbols of honesty and trustworthiness, and I would hope that one of you may have picked up on the reference. As I played the file, which I would name Ben, being mindful of how Ben was watching over my every move in the game, I made a point to avoid doing anything too obvious, but I sent out a hidden message to you. I never equipped the lens of truth, nor the mask, nor visited a stone. It worked, and the videos are uploaded.

I would pray that someone would notice the pattern didn't apply to Ben. The tags followed suit, too. I hope you all paid attention to those as well. They were my little messages to you. Nothing big enough that would catch Ben's attention or make him suspect anything. With Ben manipulating and changing my files, I honestly hope that what you all saw was close to what actually happened, but there's no way for me to know. September 6, 2010, 11 p.m.

I can't believe what happened. Not sure if this is some kind of elaborate hoax. Despite the fear, I can't help but be exceptionally curious about this. Who or what is the statue? A lot of questions here. I'm starting this document as a diary so I can keep track of everything. I'm recording a summary of what happened so I can come back to it later. September 7, 2010.

A.m. The summary was posted here. You can go back and look at my first post for day 4.WM.V for that. 4.23 a.m. I can't. I can't sleep. I've been trying so hard, but the harder I try, I just get more restless. I just feel like the statue was appearing whenever I close my eyes.

8.20 a.m. I didn't sleep at all, just going to start my day. I don't think I have the energy to go to class today. I'm going to drive back down to talk to that old man, taking my buddy Tyler with me just in case. 1.18 p.m. Back home now. No sign of the old man.

Really weird that he appears to be moving the next. day, but maybe the forced sale sign was up there yesterday and I didn't notice it. Tyler wants to know what's gotten me all worked up. I didn't tell him. Going to eat, I feel like death. 3.46 p.m. could have sworn driving back from subway that I saw the elegy statue buried in some shrubbery, staring at me go by. No, I definitely need sleep.

5 p.m. Don't think a lot of people would believe me if I told them about what's happening. I think I'm going to try posting this on the internet. I think I'll just use the summary. These notes are pretty sporadic. 6 p.m. Connected my capture card to my computer to upload the footage. Thought my computer froze for a second.

Made this strange popping sound when I hooked everything up. But now it seems to be working fine. My computer can't die on me now. 8 p.m. Footage is finished uploading. My quality is a lot better than I thought it would be. Gee, I guess this is a really special cartridge. I've never had it come through this clear before.

8.45 p.m. Thought I saw an icon pop up on my desktop that looked like the statue's face for a split second, gave me quite a scare. Getting really unnerved and delirious. I'm going to crash after this. 9 p.m. Begin uploading my YouTube video on my alternate account. 9.03 p.m.

I don't remember having uploaded a vampire, the masquerade bloodline video this last year. This was probably the account that I shared with a friend of mine last summer. I hope he doesn't mind me using it to upload this. 9.55 p.m. Posting my summary of day four with a link to the YouTube video. Going to try to stay awake, but I'm so tired right now. September 8th, 2010. 10.48 p.m.

I had a dream about the statue. I dreamt that it was following me in my dream. That I would be minding my own business when I'd feel my neck hair stand up on end. I would turn around, that thing, that horrible lifeless statue would be staring at me with those empty eyes, nearly inches away. In my dream, I remember calling it Ben. Power of suggestion, most likely. Never before had I had a dream that I could remember so vividly.

11.21 a.m. I really don't want to play this game again. I think I'm going to go back to see if that old man's there instead. 1.35 p.m. No old man, but... I had an interesting conversation with his neighbor. I'll post the full thing with my summary of tonight's attempts at playing the game. I'm going to wait for a bit to see if I can dig up any information on this Ben guy.

245 p.m. I've been getting random, inexplicable headaches due to the lack of sleep and keep hearing that song in my head. Also, it's flu season, so I need to be careful not to get sick. My immune system is going to be shit right now because of that all-nighter. 3 p.m. 302. My computer just on its own. I opened up a text document and wrote the words, Hi, and Cleverbot.com by itself.

What the- 346 p.m. I went to the website. It's one of those bot chatting programs. I think it's best if I just let the conversation speak for itself. September 8th, 2010 conversation. Hello? Hello?

Who is this? And how are you able to control? control my computer. Who am I? Oh, right, I forgot. You're a bot. Do you really think that? Listen, I know whoever's fucking with my computer can see my screen right now.

Yes. Yeah, and I'll wager that you're one of those IT kids who think he's tough shit. You know what you're doing right now is illegal, right? Is it? No shit. Are you familiar with the terms invasion of privacy? Get the fuck off my computer, kid. I am your computer.

Cool story. Anyway, I'm calling DPS. You picked a bad time to fuck with me, kid. with me, kid. Should I wait until you play the game then? What? That game. Mujoy's Mask?

Yes. How did you know about that? Because. Because what? I did it. Did what? I played with you. What the hell?

Were you scared? Who the hell is this? Ben? The statue? You're inside my computer now? Yes. How? You connected me.

How the hell did I connect you? Cables and cords. How? Tell me about yourself. What? Tell me about yourself. What do you mean? What is it that really scares you?

What the hell? Answer. No. Answer. What the hell? How did you just open that by yourself? I am your computer now. How much can you control?

All. What do you want for me? To entertain. You're stuck inside there. You can't hurt me. Go play. No, you can't hurt me. Took you longer to type that.

So? You're not sure. If you're so, Powerful, why use a ridiculous website like this to chat with me? Less messy. More structured. Fun. Fun?

Yes. Tradition. I like it. You think it's funny? Amusing. End my notes? You may write them down. Why are you letting me?

It is amusing to see what you think of me. 3.50 p.m. What have I done? I've invited it into my computer. I continue to record these notes, write my summaries. I feel like I'm a prisoner in my own place of security. I don't know. I don't know if I'm hallucinating or not.

I feel like I'm fucking insane right now. I can feel it watching over me, even as I record this. Ben is controlling everything in the game, toying with me, leading me like a sheep, but for what? What's the purpose? I know Ben drowned, but why these hauntings? It can probably even hear this right now. 4.35 p.m. 7.18 p.m.

Then called me to Cleverbot again. He tells me that he's sorry and wants to be free, and that I can free him. That's just like how he got on my computer from the capture card. He can spread, but he needs my help. He says that I'm special because I can help him. That is the first nice thing he said. He promises to leave me alone if I do it. He swears he will.

I don't know what to think right now. How can I even trust this thing? 7.20 p.m. I'm terrified of it. Now it's saying that it was just having fun. It's twisted and messed up version of fun. He's saying that the game is over. I do want it to be over.

He says that he just wants to be free. He's trapped in the cartridge and now my computer and he wants to be freed. I don't want to have to deal with this shit. I don't know how long I can deal with the watching. It's watching my every move, every keystroke. I have nothing private anymore. It knows everything that's been on my computer. It tells that if it wanted, it could do horrible things to me, but it hasn't, so I should trust it.

8.01 p.m. Something tells me that I'm being played again, just like in the game. 9.29 p.m. Ben called me to Cleverbot again. I ignored it, and I went to go take a shower. When I came back to my laptop, I was welcomed with an image. It was an elegy statue staring at me with those dead eyes. I don't want to talk to him.

9.44 p.m. Fuck you, Ben. I'm not talking to you. 9.56 p.m. Fuck you, Ben. I'm not talking. 10.06.m. Fuck you, Ben. I'm not talking to you. 10.12 p.m. Fuck you. Ben. I'm not talking to you.

10.45 p.m. It's been more than a half hour and the messages have stopped. Ben has stopped. I'm beginning to think that Ben isn't confined to just my computer and cartridge. I'm beginning to feel something. It's hard to explain. I've never been spiritual, but there's something different about the air in my dorm room now. 11.42 p.m.

I'm beginning to see the elegy statue randomly as I search the internet in places I shouldn't, places where he shouldn't be. I'd be scrolling down and suddenly I'd be staring at a picture of the elegy statue, always the elegy statue. I don't know how much more of this I can take. September 9, 2010, 1235 a.m. My worst fears confirmed, Ben has tempered with my summary of Ben.wmV. I looked at the summary that I posted on various forms and files and parts of it have been

omitted. There is no mention of Ben existing outside of the game. There's no mention of the moon children. How could he have been that quick to delete the posts without me noticing? I'm wondering if maybe it appeared to me that I was posting everything, but in reality Ben had posted his own censored version. I'm going to ask Ben why he did it. It.

12.50 a.m. He isn't responding to me on Cleverbot. It's just the generic responses it usually does. I'm just talking to the bot this time. 124 a.m. I think Ben is mad at me. 10.43 a.m. The moon children appeared in my dreams last night.

They lifted up their masks to reveal their hideously disfigured faces, maggots crawling out of their orifices, sunken black holes where their eyes should be, a yellow smile that slowly grew bigger and bigger as they came closer to me. They told me they wanted to play. I tried to run from them, but the four children pinned me down on the ground with surprising strength. Over them stood the happy mask salesman, announcing that he had a new mask that he wanted me to try.

In his spastic, sudden movements matching his in-game appearance, he took out a mask modeled off someone's face that I couldn't recognize, a younger-looking face, and handed it to the moon children. They latched it to their face. Their horrible broken bodies bounced up and down. Two of them held me down while the other two began to sew the mask onto my face. My shrieks and screams caused the happy mask salesman face to turn into the most horrific smile I'd ever seen.

He sporadically moved around, examining the procedure like a curious doctor. I flailed around, but it was no use. My eyes rolled into the back of my head because of the pain. It felt so real, but I couldn't wake up. I couldn't wake up no matter how hard I tried. After the mask was melded onto my flesh, they began sewing my legs together, then my arms. The horrific feeling of a needle puncturing your legs and pulling them in, rupturing your Achilles tendon and tying them together resonated throughout my entire body.

I tried to scream, but the mask was pressed so tightly against my face that it was my new face, and my new face had no mouth. I didn't make a sound. I tried telling myself in my head that I was dreaming. I'd telling myself again and again, and suddenly the moon children stopped and looked at me. They just stared, and the happy mask salesman slowly bent down and stared at me, inches away from my face, and grinned when he simply said, You've met with the terrible fate, haven't you? Before the moon children resumed with increased vigor, I couldn't wake up.

It wouldn't let me wake up until they had crafted me into another elegy statue. I woke up sweating and crying and shaking uncontrollably. I immediately ran to my computer and went for Ben. September 9th, 2010, Conversation 1. Answer me, Ben. Welcome back. What is the point of doing this? Why? Amusing to see.

How? Fun to play. Fun to tour with you. Make you feel safe. I wonder how you would have reacted. To what? If I hadn't revealed myself and stayed hidden, only doing little things to play with you,

close out your. Windows, turn off your computer, move your mouse by itself. Little things, make you wonder if I am there but you never know. Give you little hints that I am. I wanted to do something different with you. You did this before? Yes, and I will do it again. To who? Ben? Hmm. Did you know Ben? Won't tell that information to you. How did Ben die? You know. No, but did he drown? Won't tell that to you. Why? It is reserved to you. for another. Who?

Another who asks. When? Later. The window closed. I'm beginning to think that this thing maybe isn't Ben at all. In its sadistic nature, I wouldn't be surprised if it took the boy's name after it killed him. 12.4 p.m.

The room is beginning to feel different again. There's something out there. I feel really threatened, like there's something that is trying to reach out to me and strangle me, but it can't quite get there. 12.46 p.m. I think Ben doesn't want to play with me anymore. I'll play again. I'll play the game again, Ben.

Can you hear this? I'll play the game again. Please just, please stop. 141 p.m. I'm going insane trying to decide what is real and what isn't. Is Ben just playing a trick on me, or is this for real? Is Ben generating these replies, or are people actually posting them? Did I just see that screen?

Screen flicker or wasn't my imagination? Imagine depending on the internet and trusting your eyes for your entire life and then being blinded. You can't rely on it anymore. You second guess everything. For the brief moments, I am looking at my responses to the videos. People were pointing out things that looked fake or photoshopped or whatever, and there's literally no way for me to know if Ben changed something on purpose to try to shut me up, or if maybe those replies were just constructed by Ben to try and discourage me from even reaching

out. See, I get fucking caught in an infinite mind loop like this, and this is what has been wearing on my sanity and pushing me to the edge. As I'm recording this, there's no way of even telling if anyone even cares as much as I think they do. Just another fucking trick. Does this whole document and recording even exist? Am I saying nothing? September 9th, 2010, Conversation 2. What is it? What's the point of playing? I die whenever I do anything. You die because you can't figure out the secret. What?

Thematic. What the fuck are you talking about? Their beauty in your suffering. The window closed. 4.09 p.m. Ben is making me play the game again. It tells me that it has something very important to show me. 6.23 p.m.

909 p.m. September 10th, 2010. 11.52 a.m. The drowned W.M. He play-through was up when I woke up today. I remember recording it, but I don't ever remember posting it. He censored it again. There is no mentioning of the old man.

I have no voice anymore. I'm only posting what he wants me to. I am the mask he uses to disguise himself as he lies. 11.55 AM. There's an entire video summary of a video that I don't remember doing. Reading through the summary, this sounds morbid, resembling my dream from two nights. ago, except on a far more sadistic scale. These moon children, there's something more to them, almost as if they're another entity

from Ben. Something happened last night that I can't remember. I'm posting the fourth summary to the forums now. Shadow of my chair moved. 12 p.m. Ben won't let me visit YouTube. I can browse the rest of the sites, but he keeps on exiting the window when I go to YouTube. Why?

2.2 p.m. I'm feeling the air start to constrict. I don't think I'm alone here. Whatever aura has been here is getting more violent. 244 p.m. I'm trying to contact Ben on Cleverbot. He's not responding. I just get the AI.

351 p.m. My ears aren't fooling me. I'm hearing the reverse song of healing. I keep hearing it. 4.23 p.m. Now I'm positive. Earlier I thought it was. a weird coincidence, but now I just went to open my window and three floors down at the ground

level, I saw the old man. I'm completely positive I did. The same guy, he was just staring up at my window, standing in the middle of campus. If any students took notice of him, they didn't seem to acknowledge it. That's where my notes end. I fled my room, taking the cartridge with me. I don't want to go into details of what happened. I'll lose my train of thought as I hammer out these last details.

It's been roughly two days since then. This is my last summary and service to you of the final videos you all saw, mat.wmv. The last video entry I made, Matt WMV, began as normal. I was spawned in Clocktown as usual, and nothing seemed to be out of place. Determined to set things right and play the oath to order on top of Clock Tower on the fourth day, I prepared myself. I sped up time and got to the final day, making me. my way to the observatory.

As I got to the telescope room and approached the astronomer, he would not let me look into the telescope. He told me that it would be cheating and that I should follow the rules. Despite my repeated efforts, the game would not let me do the fourth day glitch, no matter how hard or what I tried. I tried working around the game and doing the glitch, but it was adamant this time. Regardless of if I simply had the illusion of free will and prior games, this time the game became more aggressive than anything I've ever seen.

It eventually told me to go to Icona Canyon, where the game would end and it would stop haunting me. Anxious and desperate to end this nightmare, I played the song of soaring and ended up there. I was told to check my inventory that I would find the answers there to end the game. I arrived at Icona Canyon and saved my progress at the Owl Statue. As I searched through my inventory, I finally noticed that I was missing a reoccurring song. The elegy of emptiness. Obviously, once I traveled there and learned the song, I suppose that was the last thing

it needed before Ben decided it had enough fun playing with me. Ben is a manipulator. He tries to fool his victims into security and makes you drop your guard like a Venus fly trap. Then he ensnars you. I am nothing but a puppet to him. He enjoys seeing what kind of human emotions he can tap into by doing different things. There are still some things about this whole experience that still don't make you.

sense, but then again I was never good at figuring out these things, and I'm not exactly in the right state of mind, too. I'm giving you all the pieces of the puzzle for you to analyze and piece together the missing links. I'm recording these closing thoughts on the library computer on campus. I've emailed myself the notes I have stored on my infected computer from the last four days. I'm then going to combine those notes with the closing and openings that I've typed here on the safe, public computer into one text document.

I'm not taking any chances spreading Ben. I would not wish this horrible torment on anyone, and I've made sure to have my basis covered here. I didn't run into any problems with Ben, and when I was back on my computer, trying to email myself the notes, went right under his damn nose. He has no idea what he just let me do, had no problems opening the text documents from my infected computer in my email either. I can't describe to you how it feels to finally be able to get the word out in this post.

The nightmare ends here. That said, do not download any of my videos or anything about my videos through a YouTube video ripper, the screen grab, or whatever. I don't know how he can spread, but I know that just watching them on YouTube, reading my text, won't be able to allow him to spread. Otherwise, he wouldn't have needed my help in the first place, but I strongly recommend you do not take anything you see online onto your own personal computer. This will be my last posting.

I'm putting up on this form here for the world. If you see any further posts from me after today's current date, September 12th, and after the current time, 1208 a.m., discredit them. It already has proven to me that Ben can access my account and password and manipulate my computer. Like I said, I have no idea to what extent it can do this, but I know that it will do anything to break free. He is desperate.

To ensure your safety, just forget about me. Please. And obviously this goes without saying, but from here on out, do not download any images I may have put up, any files, anything. The fifth day will be my last day. I'm going to burn the cartridge and then come back and destroy my laptop. Lastly, thank you for taking the time to open this and to open yourselves up to me and hearing my story, despite maybe not believing me.

You didn't have to do that, really. You shouldn't have. support this entire time has kept me going and now I really am free of this. Thanks again, Jad Usable.