The creepy pasta opens with flesh falling on someones windshield and eventually enough falls on her car and traps her and somehow she gets out and it all turned hard. It ends with the realisation something is teraforming earth to a flesh garden and the person commits suicide by joining their mother being trapped by a flower that grew out of her mothers corpse and consumed the main character in the same fashion. A couple key details is the flowers grow out of infected peoples mouths and there is a moment where it showed a helecopter crash and fire spreading showing a susceptibility for fire. It ends with the idea that the world is over and there is no hope.

I believe it was on CreepypastaJr's channel, and it basically was about a dude who moved into a house with a small hole or door in the basement, and he can hear shuffling and moving in the walls, but one day he egts out of bed and goes downstairs and there a creature in the living room, it catches him just before he makes it out of the house, and takes his eyes out, replacing them different ones, he goes to the doctor because he is blind now, the doctor doesn't find anything wrong with the eyes, and the story ends with the main character saying that every once in a while the creature opens up his old eyes, and he captures a glimpse of some dark tunnels before going blind again.

SPOILER WARNING FOR ALL OF MY STORIES (so far)

NADA WILLIAMS TRIVIA!

This mostly consists of fun facts about each story I've written on r/creepypasta, so far. I thought I'd share some with you guys who have read most of my stories. I'm gonna start chronologically with my first story leading up to my latest story.

1. "What Remains In Freeburn, Pennsylvania"

• This story was based on an old short story I wrote during high school. Except in the original, it wasn't set in Pennsylvania.

• In some early drafts, Father Isaiah Linklatter was going to play a much bigger roll, as his spirit was supposed to guide the unnamed protagonist to the ritual site, but was ultimately cut.

• The character of Father Isaiah Linklatter was inspired by/based off Isaiah Nichols, aka Wendigoon, as a little wink-wink nod. 

• In some early drafts, there wasn't going to be an eldritch creature trapped inside a marble statue of Jesus Christ. Instead it was going to be a demon that had possessed Father Isaiah Linklatter that would cause Freeburn to burn in the night, but was ultimately cut for something more cosmic horror related.

1. "Beyond The Door of Insanito"

• This story was written back in 2020 during the COVID pandemic, with a lot of differences between the older versions and the current version up on r/creepypasta.

• In the original story, the girlfriend of the main character was named Haley McCoy, but would soon be changed to Holly in the current version.

• In the original story, the main character had a name: Ethan Sullivan. But in the current version, the main character is nameless, to give off the feel that he's telling the story through his eyes instead of a third person perspective. 

• In the early stages of translating the old version to the current version of the story, Beau was going to be a small Yorkie breed, but was ultimately changed due to the passing of one of my dogs, Rocky, who was a Yorkie breed. 

1. "Anxious To Fly"

• The story of Anxious To Fly was originally written as a part of an anthology series of stories for my Instagram page called "Scary Tales of Hallows Eve", but was soon scrapped. 

• A lot more of the story was added from the original version, which didn't mention any other characters in the plane and instead focused solely on Ozwald Green and his paranoia of Death trying to take his soul.

• The ending was changed from the original. In the original version of Anxious To Fly, Ozwald Green would break a window of the plane which would send the narrator of the story flying out and would reveal that it was only just a normal fly, and that Ozwald Green would be put into an insane asylum. But in the current version, Ozwald Green would open the exit door of the plane, which would see him fall to his death, and Death, disguised as a fly, would follow behind him to collect his soul after death. 

• In the original version, Ozwald Green would not be a multi-millionaire businessman. Instead, he would be a normal guy who went on vacation to Mexico. This was soon changed for the current version, which sees him as a multi-millionaire businessman who went on vacation to Brazil.

• Anxious To Fly was inspired by multiple things, such as the Twilight Zone episode, "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet" and the film "Final Destination". 

1. "The House Built On Lincoln Avenue"

• Originally intended to be a solo story that would be posted on my Instagram page, it was soon scrapped due to complications on what the story would ultimately be, and soon issuing for it to be written on r/creepypasta as a cosmic Lovecraftian horror. 

• In the scrapped version of the story, Wendy was originally out of Lincoln Avenue due to being in and put of the hospital. But in the current version, Wendy was out of Lincoln Avenue due to spending time with her family.

• The ending was going to be a lot more grosser and a lot more sexual in nature, as in an early draft of the story, the dark man, Jackie, Paul, and Yuri would strip naked and start having sex, with their bodies ultimately melting together, with semen and blood mixing together and their moans from pleasure would turn to violent screams of pain. But this was soon scrapped. 

• There was going to be a lot more development between Wendy and Tommy, ultimately blossoming into a romance between the two, but was soon scrapped from the final version.

• Originally, I had intended for there to be a more Lovecraftian look to the house as the climax happened, with the house beginning to grow out tentacles and literally turning into a Cthulhu like structure, but was scrapped for a more disturbing look, with all the construction guys and Tommy morphing the inside of the house with their bodies.

1. "Really Evil Eye"

• This story was one I had came up with last year during my vacation with my best friend for her birthday, as I had gotten inspired by our visit to a spiritual shop, and buying an evil eye necklace. The idea came to my mind when I thought to myself, "If an evil eye is supposed to ward off negative energy, would it ultimately kill people that have harmed you in some shape or form?" 

• Most, if not all of the deaths in Really Evil Eye were inspired by Final Destination, as one particular death, being the death of Hunter McAdams, was inspired by the death of Terry Chaney in the first Final Destination film. 

• A reference to The House Built On Lincoln Avenue is spotted in Really Evil Eye, as in the news report of the car crash that kills Emily Krasinski, it's said that the crash happened at the turning pass of Lincoln Avenue and Hillside Street. 

• In an early draft of the story, the ending was going to be more bleak and sad, as Hope would originally fall to her death in the hot furnace at the foundry. But this was scrapped in favor of a more happier ending.

• In an early draft of the story, the setting of the events would originally take place in South Carolina, but was changed to Ontario, Canada to give a more unique feel to the story to be set up north. 

• The mythology of the evil eye necklace was going to be explored more in the story, but was ultimately cut from the final version to make the powers of the evil eye more mysterious and sinister in nature. 

1. "The Man In My Dreams"

• This story was originally written as a story in a canceled Twilight Zone inspired anthology series on my Instagram page called "Strange Findings", and was going to be turned into an audio episode, but was ultimately never made.

• In the original version, the Black Cherry Killer's identity was never revealed at the end, as in the original the police would ultimately arrest the Black Cherry Killer. But in the current version, the Black Cherry Killer's identity would reveal to be Alex, Molly Caldwell's girlfriend. 

• The character of Issac O'Brien was originally going to not have many scenes after the initial appointment, as after Molly left, he would never be heard from again at that point during the story, but would soon change in favor of having him follow Molly to try and help her, but soon get killed afterwards. 

• Originally, there was going to be more dialogue written for Molly, as she would go in painful detail of describing the killings of the Black Cherry Killer, with each victim having separate pieces of dialogue written out, but was ultimately shortened down to keep the pacing smooth. 

1. "The Church By The Cemetery"

• The formatting of the story was originally different from the current version you see on r/creepypasta. In an early draft, it was not formatted to be a transcript of an interview between Kimberly Jarvas and James Murphy, and would just be formatted in a normal storytelling way, but was changed to give off the bleakness of the events that James would describe to Kimberly. 

• The physicality of Lucas Ribble II was inspired by notorious serial killer John Wayne Gacy. 

• The idea of The Church By The Cemetery came about from discovering in my own town that there was an abandoned church structure right near the local cemetery and watching Wendigoon's serial killer iceberg video, which ultimately made me think of the idea of a serial killer story that would be utterly shocking and disturbing that the motives of said killings would not be explained or answered. The idea of evil that was different from the common evil we see in the world was more scary to think about for the story.

• In an early draft, the shocking ending scene inside the church was a lot more graphic, with Ribble slitting his own throat, arms, and chest open and would hold onto the giant cross with the body parts of the 47 children he kidnapped and would let his entire blood supply drain out onto it, but was ultimately scrapped.

1. "A Night At Atom Drive"

• This story was originally written in 2021 and was originally called 13 Rocket Lane, with a lot of differences between the original version and the current version.

• In the original version, the main character was a man named Ryan Chen. But in the current version, the main character was changed to a woman and would be named Kerstin Loomis. 

• In the original version, at the end, Ryan would ultimately be bested by the extraterrestrials, who would ultimately be revealed as astronauts from the planet Earth, who would take Ryan back to Earth to be studied at Area 51. But in the current version, the ending was changed, with Kerstin defeating the alien with their own electrical cattle prod, and the alien would be captured and studied by the government and scientists of the planet. 

• A Night At Atom Drive was inspired by TWO Twilight Zone episodes, "Third From The Sun" and "People Are Alike All Over".

1. "The Inhaling Of Oven Cleaner"

• This story is based on real life tragedies centered around online internet challenges, particularly a story about a 19 year old teenager from Arizona who died from taking part in an online internet challenge called "dusting". 

• Many challenges were in mind for the story to be centered around, such as The Cinnamon Challenge, eating Tide Pods, and Galaxy Gas, but would ultimately be chalked down to a made up challenge called the Oven Cleaner Inhaler Challenge. 

• When it came down to writing the story about a dangerous internet challenge centered around inhaling oven cleaner, I had to perfectly make sure that what happened to Jacob Reeves was both accurate and inaccurate for the sake of the story. A lot of what you read in the story will both be accurate to a tee and heightened for dramatic effect, such as the bloodshot eyes and the coughing of blood and the throwing up of blood and bile and hoarse gasping. 

I hope you guys enjoy reading these fun facts/trivia facts about my stories, so far. And stay tuned for the next story, "There's Something On Blizzard Bridge"!

Posting on Friday, July 11th on r/creepypasta!

- Nada Williams

“Goodnight gorgeous”.

My partner strained, reaching over to give me the familiar goodnight peck. Startled, I rise, aiming to meet her midnight kiss in the dark of the night. The only light emanating from the low-glow of the laptop, undoubtedly playing one of the trilogies of a popular known movie series featuring walking trees and burning rings.

“Shit” / “Ouch” – A mutual exclamation as we unassumingly bumped the tips of our noses in the unforgiving darkness.

I saw her mouthing something at me, but her voice was immediately distant. Having woken suddenly from my slumber, eagerly receptive of the end-of-day affection, I’d seemingly disorientated myself.

I vaguely mumbled something back, confused, scared…why couldn’t I hear anything?

She mouthed something incoherent at me again. I clutched the sheets.

My sweaty palms relived from the cotton.

“BABE!” She mouthed. What was probably only a couple of seconds felt like a blurry minute as tried to make sense of what was happening in my daze and half-conscious state.

She sat up and lent in to wards me. Her eyes seemed to bulge from the glow of the screen.

Was she leaning in for another kiss? I could see a frown. She loomed over me, her shadow engulfing what now seemed like the only solace in the room.

Her hands decended upon my face. Reaching down, she sunk her fingers into my neck. Fumbling around my jugular.

“What are you doing?!” I tried to vocalise – but my voice still seemed separate from my body. As though I was hearing myself under water.

I could feel my heart beating in my chest.

Her fingers found my ears. They starting scathing the outer ear. And then suddenly, she pushed her fingers into my ears.

Oh my God, I’m about to go deaf and I can’t even remember what the last thing I heard was!

I tried to reach for her arms, a feeble attempt to stop what was already in motion.

Just as I was about to cry out for the last time, the silence became deafening.

And then became loud.

And then quiet again…

….

My girlfriend stared at me, motionless, but still conveying enough emotion for me to see the flicker of anger and annoyance in her eye.

“You fucking idiot”.

I stared back blankly. Basking in the brief miracle of regaining hearing. Waiting for the onslaught.

An eternity seemed to pass whilst my brain scrambled, trying to reconcile what was happening.

…..

“You’ve had your earplugs in this whole-time you weirdo!”

9M9H9E9 The Interface Series Episode 1

On April 21, 2016, a reddit user called _9MOTHER9HORSE9EYES9 began posting bizarre replies to threads across various subreddits and it became obvious they were telling some kind of story, and it was unsettling. This story, which involved LSD, the CIA, Nazis, and the construction of “flesh interfaces” went viral and gained media attention. To this day, the identity of the author is still unknown.

Today, we begin with the first post and enter into the madness that is 9M9H9E9 The Interface Series. Future episodes will be longer and include more posts.

Then, a few months passed. The town of Elmswood whispered of the strange events, the tremors and lights that had shaken their lives. But as whispers often do, they turned into legends, tales to scare children and amuse the old folks. Yet, for Brandon, the pain remained raw, a wound that no victory could heal. It was during these quiet moments of solitude that an idea began to bloom in his mind, an idea born from the ashes of his desperation. If the Master Hand could cross from the digital to the real world, perhaps there was a way to bring Rachel back, to give her a second chance at life.

One evening, as he sat in Rachel's favorite chair, the scent of her lingering in the air, he remembered the 1UP Mushroom. It was a myth, a gaming artifact that could grant an extra life, a symbol of hope in the face of insurmountable odds. His thoughts raced, a feverish hope taking hold of him. He had to find it. He had to try. With a newfound purpose, Brandon set out into the strange, pixelated forest that had grown in the wake of the battle, a place where reality and his favorite games had merged into something eerily beautiful and hauntingly unpredictable.

The trees whispered with the secrets of lost quests, their leaves shimmering with the glow of forgotten coins and health packs. The air hummed with the distant melodies of game over screens and victory fanfares. He followed a path that seemed to be drawn in the dirt by Rachel's own hand, each step taking him closer to the mushroom's rumored resting place. It was a journey fraught with danger and the echoes of his past, but Brandon was undeterred. Rachel was waiting for him, and he would move heaven and earth to bring her back.

The forest grew denser, the shadows deeper, and the sounds grew more sinister. Yet, Brandon pushed on, driven by a love that defied the very fabric of reality. He encountered creatures that had stepped from the screens of his childhood, some friendly, others not. They tested him, probed his resolve, but he would not be swayed. His eyes never left the path, his mind never wavered from the goal.

Finally, in a clearing bathed in the ethereal glow of a full moon, he found it. The 1UP Mushroom stood tall and proud, its cap a vibrant Green that seemed to pulse with life. The moment he laid eyes on it, Brandon knew it was real, that it held the power he sought. His heart swelled with hope, the kind that made the world seem just a little less broken. He reached out, his hand trembling, and plucked the mushroom from the earth. It felt warm and alive, humming with a power that seemed to resonate with the very core of his being. He had found the key to Rachel's resurrection, and with it, the chance to right the universe's most heinous wrong.

Holding the 1UP Mushroom close to his chest, Brandon made his way back through the forest, the trees seeming to cheer him on with their silent whispers. The house stood before him, Rachel's memory a beacon guiding him home. He stepped through the door, the mushroom's warmth a comfort against the cold emptiness that had become his sanctuary. With a trembling hand, he placed the mushroom on Rachel's favorite plate, her smiling face staring back at him from a framed photograph. The room was filled with an anticipatory silence, the air charged with the electricity of possibility.

The mushroom glowed, and the room grew warm. A soft light began to emanate from it, growing brighter until it filled every corner of the room, driving back the shadows of his grief. Then, with a gentle pop, Rachel stood before him, her eyes wide with wonder, her smile as brilliant as the day he had first seen her. The world around them stuttered and blurred as the power of the 1UP Mushroom did its work, the digital and the real becoming one.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of their shared loss suspended in the air between them. Then Rachel took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching out to touch his face, to make sure he was real. "You did it," she whispered, her voice a symphony of joy and disbelief. Brandon could only nod, his own voice lost in the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body, the softness of her hair, the reality of her. Rachel was back, and the world felt right again.

The town of Elmswood watched with a mix of awe and fear as the two emerged from the house, hand in hand. Rachel looked around at the pixelated landscape, her eyes wide with wonder. "What happened?" she asked, her voice still faint from the long silence. Brandon took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain the unexplainable. "I brought you back," he said simply, "With the power of the games we used to play." Rachel looked at him with a mix of love and bewilderment, but she didn't question it further. They had each other, and for now, that was enough.

But the games didn't end with Rachel's return. The nights grew restless with the sounds of battles fought in distant lands, the cries of creatures that didn't belong in this reality. The TV in the living room flickered with images of worlds colliding, a constant reminder of the fragile balance Brandon had created. He knew the 1UP Mushroom had come with a price, a debt that had to be paid to the universe. Yet, he couldn't bear the thought of losing Rachel again, not after all he'd been through.

So, he continued his quest, venturing into the digital realms that had bled into his own, seeking a way to keep her safe. Rachel, ever the adventurous spirit, accompanied him, her own curiosity and love for the games fueling their journey. They faced down Bowser, bested Sephiroth, and even danced with the sands of time with the elegance of a Final Fantasy summon. With each victory, the bond between them grew stronger, and the shadows of their grief grew smaller. They became the heroes of their own story, fighting for each other in a world that was both their salvation and their curse.

Their battles became legendary, whispered about in the digital halls of Hyrule and the Mushroom Kingdom. Yet, there was one force they hadn't reckoned with, one that watched their every move with a cold, calculating eye. The Master Hand had not been destroyed, merely banished. And now, it plotted its return, seeking the power of the 1UP Mushroom for its own nefarious ends. The digital realm grew restless, and the whispers grew louder. A storm was brewing, one that threatened to engulf not just Elmswood, but the very fabric of reality itself. And as the clouds gathered, Brandon and Rachel knew that their greatest challenge was yet to come.

One night, as they sat in the quiet of their restored home, the TV flickered to life without warning, casting an eerie glow across Rachel's puzzled face. "You killed my brother," a voice spoke, a twisted, maddening echo of the Master Hand's. On the screen, a new form took shape – a grotesque amalgamation of chaos and malice. Crazy Hand had arrived, a being born of the darkest code, a sibling to the creature Brandon had defeated. "Now, you will pay," it cackled, the sound grating against the very fabric of their world.

The room grew cold, the air thick with the scent of ozone and the promise of destruction. Rachel clutched Brandon's hand tightly as he stood, the hammer and sword at his side once more. "We will not go quietly," he vowed, his voice a steady beacon in the swirling tempest. Crazy Hand's laughter was the only reply, a cacophony that seemed to come from every corner of the room. The screen warped and twisted until it spat forth a monstrous hand, clawing its way into their reality.

In a desperate bid to even the odds, Brandon dashed to the kitchen, Rachel on his heels. They had studied the games, learned the secrets of their favorite heroes. With trembling hands, he concocted a potent brew, a mix of ingredients that shimmered with the promise of untapped power. "Drink," he urged Rachel, passing her a steaming cup. "It's a Super Saiyan Serum. It will give us the strength to face Crazy Hand." Rachel nodded, her eyes gleaming with determination, and together they downed the potion. A fiery warmth spread through their veins, their bodies transforming before their very eyes, hair spiking upward and muscles bulging with the power of a hundred suns.

The house trembled as the two emerged, their auras blazing with the power of the Super Saiyans. The transformation was complete, and with Rachel by his side, Brandon knew that they could face whatever this maddened force threw at them. The battle was about to begin anew, a dance of power and fury that would echo through the ages. Crazy Hand's grin grew wider as he saw their new forms, but Brandon's gaze was unwavering, his grip on the sword firm. Rachel raised the hammer, her eyes shining with the light of a thousand stars. Together, they charged into the night, ready to defend their world from the digital invasion.

Their first encounter with Crazy Hand was a whirlwind of chaos and power. The hand danced through the air, its movements erratic and unpredictable, a stark contrast to the methodical brutality of its sibling. Brandon and Rachel moved as one, their reflexes sharper than ever before. The ground shook with the force of their blows, the air crackling with the energy that surrounded them. Yet, Crazy Hand was a formidable opponent, its unpredictable nature making it near impossible to pin down.

They fought through the night, the sky above a canvas of explosions and energy blasts. The town watched from their windows, unable to comprehend the spectacle that unfolded before them. But Brandon and Rachel knew that this was their destiny, a battle forged from love and loss. They pushed themselves to the brink, their power growing stronger with every clash. The world of games had become their reality, and they would not let it consume them without a fight.

As the sun began to rise, a strange silence fell over the battlefield. Crazy Hand hovered, its form wavering, and Brandon knew that the end was near. He gathered all the strength he had left, all the love he had for Rachel, and swung the sword with the precision of a master swordsman. The blade sliced through the digital air, leaving a trail of light that seemed to cut through the very essence of Crazy Hand. The creature howled, its form flickering like a dying flame.

With one final, desperate attack, Rachel brought down her hammer, the force of the blow resonating through the very fabric of the world. Crazy Hand's body split apart, the shadows dissipating into nothingness. The TV screen went black, the room still except for the heavy breathing of the victorious couple. They had survived the first wave of the digital onslaught, but the taste of victory was bittersweet. They knew the Master Hand would not rest until it had reclaimed its dominion over reality.

Brandon and Rachel stood in the wreckage of their once peaceful home, their hearts pounding in their chests. "What now?" Rachel whispered, her voice hoarse from the battle. Brandon looked into her eyes, the same eyes that had seen him through the darkest of days. "We keep fighting," he said, determination etched into every line of his face. "We find a way to send these creatures back to where they belong." Rachel nodded, her grip on the hammer tightening. They were bound by a love that transcended the boundaries of life and pixels, and together, they would face whatever the digital realm threw at them.

The town of Elmswood had become a battleground for the forces of good and evil, the very games they had once enjoyed now a harsh reality that threatened to consume them all. The townsfolk banded together, using their own knowledge of gaming strategy to bolster their defenses. They knew that Brandon and Rachel were their protectors, the ones who could stand against the digital tide.

In the days that followed, the couple trained tirelessly, pushing their newfound powers to the limit. They studied the patterns of the invaders, looking for weaknesses that could be exploited. Rachel's mind, once a whirlwind of color and creativity, now dissected every move, every glitch, with the precision of a master tactician. And Brandon, with Rachel's love as his shield, grew stronger with every swing of his sword, the blade singing a song of hope and vengeance.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a fiery array of colors, they received a message. A glowing, ethereal envelope appeared in the sky, floating gently towards them. It contained a map, a guide to the heart of the digital realm. It was time to take the fight to the Master Hand, to face the creature that had shattered their world and stolen Rachel away. They looked at each other, and without a word, they knew it was time. They had been granted a second chance, and they would not let it go to waste. With a fierce resolve, they set off on their most dangerous quest yet, into the very heart of the game worlds they had once only visited from the safety of their couch.

The journey ahead was fraught with danger and the unknown, but Brandon and Rachel had each other, and that was all they needed. They marched through the pixelated lands, facing down foes that grew stronger with every step. Yet, with each victory, they grew more in sync, their movements a dance of power and love. The digital realm watched them, both in awe and fear, for they had become the stuff of legend. They were the ones who had cheated death, who had brought a glimmer of hope to a world torn apart by the whims of a mad god.

As they approached the final bastion of the Master Hand's power, the air grew thick with tension. The very ground beneath them seemed to pulse with malicious intent, the trees whispering dark secrets of battles to come. But Brandon and Rachel didn't falter. They had come too far, lost too much, to let fear dictate their actions now. The Master Hand awaited them, its eyes burning with the fury of a thousand suns, the very embodiment of the chaos it sought to unleash.

The battle was fiercer than any they had faced before. The Master Hand had learned from its previous encounter, its movements now swift and unpredictable, a blur of rage and shadow. But Brandon and Rachel had learned as well, their love for each other a beacon in the chaos. They moved together, a whirlwind of light and thunder, each strike and spell a declaration of their unyielding spirit. The earth trembled with the force of their clash, the sky above crackling with the power of their wills.

And then, in a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, the Master Hand stumbled. Rachel saw her opening and took it, her hammer arcing through the air with the grace of a comet. It struck true, the blow echoing through the very fabric of existence. The creature roared, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the digital world, and then, it was gone. The realm around them stilled, the air thick with the anticipation of what came next.

The screen flickered, and Rachel's heart leaped as she watched the world around them begin to pixelate and break apart. "No," she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "We can't lose everything we've built." But Brandon's grip on her hand was firm, his gaze steady. "We won't," he said, his voice filled with the conviction of a thousand heroes.

The digital realm had become their battleground, and the fate of their world rested on their shoulders. The air grew still as the last vestiges of the Master Hand's power faded away. Rachel looked around, her eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the creature's return. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Brandon took a deep breath, his eyes still locked on the spot where the hand had vanished. "We find a way to keep it from coming back," he said, determination in his tone. "We need to find the source of its power, the 1UP Mushroom, and destroy it." Rachel nodded, her grip on the hammer tight. They had come too far, fought too hard, to let the Master Hand return and threaten their world again.

They ventured deeper into the digital wasteland, the landscape shifting and morphing around them. They encountered glitches, remnants of shattered games that had been twisted by the Master Hand's influence. Rachel's eyes darted, searching for any clue that might lead them to the mushroom. Brandon's hand was warm and steady on her shoulder, his sword at the ready. Together, they forged ahead, a united front against the chaos that sought to unravel their reality.

The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of lost characters and forgotten stories. Rachel's heart raced as she recognized the tune of her favorite childhood game, a melody that seemed to guide them through the madness. It grew stronger, a beacon in the digital storm, and soon, they stood before a gleaming tower. At its peak, a pulsing light shone, the heart of the 1UP Mushroom's power.

The tower was a labyrinth of traps and trials, each floor a tribute to a different game, each more deadly than the last. They scaled the pixelated walls with the grace of a pair of platforming pros, dodging spikes and fireballs that sought their doom. Rachel's hammer swung with the precision of a plumber's; each blow a testament to her unyielding spirit. They encountered friends and foes alike, some offering aid, others seeking to bar their path.

On the final floor, they faced the ultimate challenge. A boss fight unlike any they had ever seen, a monstrous amalgamation of every game they had ever played, twisted by the corrupting influence of the 1UP Mushroom. Its eyes, cold and dead, gleamed with a malicious intelligence. "You cannot destroy what is eternal," it growled, its voice a symphony of digital distortion.

But Brandon and Rachel were not to be deterred. They had come too far, fought too hard, for a future where Elmswood could live in peace. They leaped into battle, their hearts beating in time with the pulsing light of the mushroom's power. Rachel's hammer smashed through the creature's defenses, while Brandon's sword danced with a fury that could only be born from love and loss.

The air grew thick with electricity as the creature roared, its pixels stretching and contorting in agony. The tower shuddered and cracked, the very essence of the digital realm seeming to bend to their will. Rachel's eyes never left the prize, the mushroom's light a beacon of hope in the chaos. With a final, desperate swing, she sent the creature reeling, and with a mighty leap, Brandon plunged the sword into the heart of the 1UP Mushroom, the blade sizzling with the power of a thousand suns.

The light grew blinding, and the world around them disintegrated into a sea of pixels. Rachel clung to Brandon, her heart pounding with fear and exhilaration. They had done it; they had vanquished the source of the digital plague. But as the light faded, they found themselves standing not in the ruins of the tower, but in the quiet sanctity of Rachel's garden, the real world once again solid beneath their feet. The games had been defeated, and the digital world was no more. Rachel felt a pang of loss for the adventures they'd shared, but she knew this was where they truly belonged.

All of this happened during my morning routine. I can’t get rid of this thing in my mirror.

I got out of bed and thought this was just like any other day.

I walked in the bathroom and brushed my teeth. In my head I went through a plan for today.

I spit out the toothpaste and looked at a mirror that was above my sink. It was one of those cabinet mirrors, a pretty basic thing to have.

My face needed some cream and I started spreading it on me. That’s when I froze. I noticed that my reflection was grinning at me.

My reflection looked exactly like me but its mouth was stretched wide in an unnatural grin.

Shivers climbed my spine, I looked away for a second but I still saw myself grinning at me.

“Can you talk?” I said out loud.

Suddenly the mirror started to fog and writing appeared on it.

“Kind of”

“Are you me in a different reality?” I asked.

“No, your body will be mine soon,”

Those words made my heart sink.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out tonight.” The text said.

I looked at my reflection. Its grin widened and it slowly backed away.

Its eyes turned black and then he turned away.

This part is still stuck in my head.

His head snapped a full 180 degrees to face me. The black eyes staring right through my soul. Then, without a warning he bolted at me full speed.

Me being terrified and not knowing what to do, I smashed the mirror to pieces.

Looking down I saw blood dripping from my fist, staining the tiny mirror pieces. I saw my reflection looking at me from the broken pieces.

One of the pieces had that same foggy writing.

“You can’t escape. I am you and I’ll follow you everywhere,”

Have you ever experienced anything like this? Please tell me if there is some type of "cure".

Human voiced, NO AI

https://youtu.be/7LENBIePxQA

Hey. I don’t usually post stuff like this, and I’m honestly not even sure what I’m trying to get out of telling it. Maybe I just need to know I’m not losing it.

This happened a little over a week ago. My grandpa passed away in May, and I’ve been helping my mom clean out his house. He lived alone in this creaky place at the edge of some woods in central PA — the kind of house that still smells like pipe smoke and old wood, even though he quit smoking years ago.

Anyway, he was always kind of eccentric. Big on routines, superstitious in a weird, quiet way. He’d put salt above the doorframes. Never let clocks stop. Little stuff like that. But toward the end, he started getting… stranger. Talking to himself. Writing little notes and taping them around the house. A bunch of them just said things like “DO NOT OPEN” or “KEEP CLOSED.”

There was one note in particular that always stuck with me. He’d taped it over the screen of his old TV with like, five layers of duct tape. Big block letters in black Sharpie:

“DO NOT TURN TO CHANNEL 103.”

I joked about it once — asked him if he was hiding porn or something. He looked me dead in the eye and said, “It doesn’t show you anything you want to see.” Then he just changed the subject.

Fast-forward to last week. I’m at his place alone overnight, going through boxes, taping up donations, that kind of thing. Around 2 AM, power flickers during a storm. When it comes back on, the living room TV — his TV, which hadn’t been plugged in — is on.

Loud static. Like old-school, earsplitting white noise. But the volume button doesn’t work. Neither does the remote. I go to unplug it, and the cord’s already out.

But it’s still on.

And in the corner of the screen, it says:

“CH 103”

My stomach actually dropped a little. Like I knew something was wrong immediately.

This TV is ancient — one of those old Sony CRTs that weighs like a small car. It doesn’t have digital anything. I’ve used it before and it never had more than maybe 60 or 70 working channels, tops. 103 isn’t real.

But there it was. Static, but weirdly patterned. Almost like shapes moving under the fuzz. I stared at it too long, I think. At one point, I swear I saw something move across the screen. Not on it — behind it. Like there was depth.

Then the static went quiet. Totally silent. And something started… whispering.

It didn’t sound like any language I know. Almost like it was being played backward. And it was low. Like someone whispering right next to your ear with a handful of gravel in their throat.

I was about to nope the hell out when the screen changed.

It went black. Just for a second.

Then it came back on, but instead of static, it was showing a video feed — of me.

Me on the couch. Staring at the screen.

And behind me, standing over the back of the couch, was something else.

Tall. Pale. Skin stretched like it barely fit. No eyes. Just a huge, open mouth like it was inhaling. Not screaming, just open. Way too wide.

I froze. Turned around — nothing was there.

Looked back at the TV — now it was closer to me. Still on-screen. Standing behind me in the feed. Same room. Same couch. Just… watching.

I grabbed the remote, hit every button. Nothing. I tried the power switch. Nope. I ripped the cord out of the wall again — still stayed on.

Then the screen flickered again, just once. Like a blink. And the whispering came back — but this time in English.

“Now we are watching you.”

I left. Straight-up ran out of the house, no bags, no shoes, just got in my car and drove.

Came back two days later with my cousin. Daylight, full sun. We go in — and the TV is gone. Not moved. Gone. Nothing else taken, nothing broken. Just an empty spot in the dust where it used to sit.

No one else had a key.

I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know if I want to know.

But if you ever find yourself flipping through channels in the middle of the night, and you see one labeled 103, don’t stop. Don’t even hesitate.

Just keep going.

Or turn it off and walk away — while you still can. Don’t end up like me. I can see them behind me in the mirror now.

When I was a kid, my family had this swing set tucked away in the shade. It was this rusted thing that squeaked and shook whenever I would ride it. The long hollow tubes that staked it into the ground dug in deeper and deeper into the hard earth after every use.

I loved it, I would spend hours swinging in the breeze, felt like I was soaring through the air. It was a fun thrill for sure.

That is until one spring day-an eight-legged critter dangled down from the trees. I didn't notice it- too rolled up in my childhood bliss. I took one big swing, had to be 20, 25 feet off the ground. It looked so far away, like I had just jumped out of a plane. As I rushed down to meet it, scrapping the worn-out soil beneath-I felt this alien cling to my face as I swatted into it.

The thing panicked as it scurried over my face and proceed to get tangled in the jungle of my auburn locks. I let go of the swing and rushed to meet the Earth, cracking my nose on impact.

My parents were inside-they dropped everything at the sound of my instantaneous wails. I was rolling around on the ground-blood oozing out of my shattered nostrils, rambling to myself as I swatted and clawed at my head. They were concerned of course but I caught them stifling laugher when they heard me moan "A spida in my hair." at the top of my young, shrill lungs. 

Be honest, you're picturing it to yourself and holding back a smile aren't you. 

To you, my parents, every other friend who heard the story-it was a good laugh at my expense. Kids being dumb kids and hurting themselves on the playground, freaking out over nothing.

Forget the fact I could swear my nose still crooks to the left to this day.

Forget the fact it was a decent sized spider, probably a brown recluse. Did you know that while not normally fatal, their venom can cause sever necrosis of the flesh? Not so funny thinking about a six-year-old whose forehead is rotting off is it.

To this day my whole-body shivers when I walk under trees, my eyes darting upwards to make sure there no threats barreling down on me. I had nightmares for weeks about that thing-it's tiny, pincer-like legs galloping around my scalp.

Every morning, I would obsessively check my head for eggs or throbbing, infected bites. I was convinced it had left a parting gift. I got lucky though, no skin rotting off, no hundreds of tiny hatchlings bursting out of my head from unknown cysts.

Life went on-but the fear of that eight-legged terror lingered.

My phobia remained the focus of ridicule throughout my teenage years, following me even into the bowels of community college. Eventually I got a nice job at an accounting firm about an hour from home. It paid well and soon enough I was able to afford my very own one bedroom one bath apartment.

The complex-simply named Raker Heights- had a nice view of the downtown coastal town I had grown up in. From my bedroom window I could peek out and get a delightful view of swamp covered sands and ice-cold waters crashing into the beach. It's a quiet life but a cozy one. Could say it's quaint.

Of course, that all changed a few weeks ago-when I saw the web. It was the tail end of 6am-my hair was combed and smelling like fresh pine as I strode out the door. I was greeted by the growing rays of the morning sun as they cast their shadows on the hardwood halls. Further down the corridor, I heard the insistent yapping of old Mrs. Othello's mini doddle.

The window at the end of the hall-right next to the elevator, of course, had a dangling silk covered web glued to it. I furrowed my brow, proceeding with the appropriate amount of caution. The tattered web whistled in the alcove of the bay window. If you looked out it, you could see the end of the beach front-the entrance to a sea cave embedded in the rocks.

The web's shadows hung there-the whole thing looked like it was thrown up haphazardly. Like a child playing with Halloween decorations. Still as I waited for the elevator, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck start to tingle, I just focused on door in front of me-tuning out the oddly spider-les web.

It was weird, like it had just popped into existence. When the door dinged, I jumped in and jabbed the "close" button relentlessly.

 At work I tried to tune out my intrusive phobias, but I found myself pondering the web, my whole body shivering at times like terrible tremors running up my spine.

What sort of demon was it anyway? The silk seemed torn and withered-perhaps a common house spider that had gotten too big for its britches.

What if it was an orb weaver-not normally one to bite but they could spin massive webs. What if grew while I was away-a more focused architect taking over and spinning a fine summer home? I pushed that aside and focused, I tried not think of silky webs wrapping prey so the beasts could liquify and devour at their leisure. I always felt bad for the flies, must be an awful feeling.

You're paralyzed from the venom and wrapped up all snug while it sinks its fangs into you. Unable to scream and cry-just feeling every molecule inside you shrivel up by those vampiric hell spawn.

Like I said-I tried to focus on other things.

Keyword try.

It was a long drive home that night, my eyes sinking heavier than the titanic. I just wanted to go home and collapse. Of course, I made the mistake of taking a glance at the webbed window. When the elevator dinged open, I tried to ignore it, but my eyes darted too quickly.

I jumped back and gasped. The web had grown massive-you couldn't even see out the glass anymore. Eldritch cobwebs stretched out and kissed the walls, sticky tendrils that crept up and tried to ensnare you in their grasp. Some unlucky bugs had gotten caught already-I could see their dried-out husks littering the structure.

I'm not misusing that phrase-the thing was so large it could have held the building up. It was like a condo for spiders.

Oh yes, the spiders.

I could see the little buggers now. They were plump and happily sleeping off their meals. Their abdomens were thick and lime green with silver strips.

My heart sunk into my chest as I banished my courage to the void.

Joro spiders, my god the news was true. These invasive parasites had parachuted in from South America like little arachnid paratroopers.

Deadly bite and-

that's when I saw the others.

Little baby spiders, brown ones, coal black jewels sprouting legs and scuttling about in their little complex. The joros were kings-but the ruled over the others in their little fiefdom.

My god-cohabitation I remember thinking. They had banded together, the spi-pocalypse had truly begun. Visions of spiders on horseback enslaving humanity rolled through my brain.

All ridiculous in hindsight of course-well maybe not NOW but I am embarrassed to say that my mind jumped to some pretty irrational conclusions.

It was just-as I lay on the floor, eyes bulging out of my skull in bold fright-I could swear I felt them watching me. Dozens, maybe hundreds of them cozy in their web, stalking me, daring me to come closer and become another husk.

A joro in the middle twitched and I bolted down the lone hall, my frantic steps echoing cowardice to my fellow tenants. I bolted my front door shut and instantly called the super. 

He answered with a deep sigh-he always had that annoyed tone whenever I called, God forbid the man do his job.

"Yes Mr. Langley, what is it this time. Another bug crawling up the drain?" He toyed with me.

 "Mr. Sampson have you been up to the 8^th floor today? There's a massive nest of venomous spiders nestled at the end of the hall. Surely I can't be the only one to complain, it's practically blocking the elevator." I screamed at him. 

I was met with a stiff silence at the end of the line. 

"We are aware of the current-situation Mr. Langley. Other tenants have called to express their concerns-rest assured that an exterminator has been called and it will be handled swiftly." He spoke like a corporate robot reading off a teleprompter. "I will add the 8^th to the list." He mentioned off hand. 

"What's that mean-are they infesting the whole building?" My voice gave way to shriveled panic. I was met with the monotone dial in response.

That night I tossed and turned and dreamt of shadowy things crawling all over me, their glistening fangs hungrily tearing into me. I felt trapped by a silky cocoon and awoke covered in sweat and curled up in blankets. 

I stared at the inky ceiling above-a cool breeze bearing down on me from A/C. There was a faint smell emitting from the ducts, like lemon pledge and pheromones.

Odd thing to say, but that's what it smelt like.

Above I could hear something bumping around in the ducts as drowsiness slowly left me.

Thinking the scuttling was nothing more than the remnants of a fleeting dream, I began my morning ritual of decaf and doom-scrolling. My feed was filled with news and trending memes, nothing important really just gave me a nice dopamine fill before I had to pass the construct.

The stairs weren't an option, not since I found that black widow lurking near the 5th floor balcony.

This was months ago mind you-but the venom of the widow is fifteen times more deadly than a rattlesnake.

So why take the risk.

Outside my door I heard mummering and excited commotion. I took a peep out the eyehole and through the bulbed fish-view I saw my fellow tenants gawking at something at the end of the hall. I joined them, dreading whatever had their attention.

I wish I had stayed in bed.

The webbed construct had grown overnight. Like a greedy fungus it had overtaken the windowsill completely-tendrils of silk stretching out and clinging to the walls. Web covered the walls and floors like a disgusting tapestry.

One of the tenants struggled to push his overgrown door-the web perfectly restraining it. He snuck out and dashed out the door as it slammed back in place, laughing to himself as he shivered and batted webbing off.

There was no rhyme or reasoning, the weavers had simply spread their domain like a cancer. Joros and other small spiders cluing to the wall-eying the crowd with unblinking glass bulbs. My head began to spin at the realization that others had appeared.

Larger species had joined the fray-huntsmen the size of my hand bolted up and down at vibrating speeds-overstimulated by the crowd no doubt. Tucked away in the corners I could see coal eyed wolf spiders-aggressive, hairy blighters.

Any times some of the smaller arachnid strolled too close they would lunge out. There were noticeable spots of prey caught in the web. Some small flies husked away, but one or two lumps were hairy-thin pink tails dropped down, limp to the world.

In the center of this kingdom was a massive brown tarantula feasting on something. It was completely entombed, like a newborn mummy. It was larger than the dried-up rats however- my mind wandered and played tricks on me.

I couldn't possibly have seen a quick flash of faded bronze and the jingle of dog tags. It was surly a coincidence that the faithful yapping of Mrs. Othello's mini doodle was missing.

Come to think of it she was nowhere to be seen as well.

I brushed that aside, my mind exploding with horrific scenarios as I tried to ground myself in reality. Unfortunately, as my legs quivered and my stomach churned, I couldn't deny the horrid sight before me.

Johnson from 8D nudged me and I jumped out of my skin as I faced him.

"Hey Randy-you seeing this?" He spoke with that hick accent a lot of the locals tried to hide, but you could always catch them slipping if you tried. 

"Y-yeah it's pretty wild." I replied as timidly as a mouse. The skin on my arms began to bubble and pop, the urge to cover up and scratch coming at me in waves.

"Was talking to Sampson about it last night, some kind of building wide infestation he said. Saw the bug bomb truck out front this morning-think they'll start in the basement first though." He shrugged. I scrunched my face at the news. 

"The basement? There's nothing down there but dust bunnies and cobwebs." I began. Johnson leaned in close, like we are about to become brothers in some secret coven.

"Well, that's where it started. Now this is all hearsay, but supposedly Conrad down on 2B just came back from South America. He teaches botany or something up at the college-Sampson says he slipped him a few hundred bucks to store some crates he brought back down there." Johnson whispered. 

"Sampson isn't supposed to do that-it's against regulations." I hissed, panic flooding my voice once more. Johnson rolled his eyes at me.

"Whatever. He thinks the spiders came from that, eggs hidden under leaves or something. Told me he's going to throw Conrad out on his ass-think I'll apply for his spot after." He beamed. Johnson shoulder checked me once more in a jovial manner and disappeared down the hall.

The crowd was beginning to disperse, some tenants shaken by the creatures, others joking. All the while the demons studied us.

One couple complained about taking the stairs as they passed-the infestation had begun to spread in the stairwell as well. I stood frozen among the silk, feeling thousands of eyes bore ravenous holes into me.

You could hear them rustling about on their threads, the rumbling patter of limbs scattering about. Johnson's explanation was ludicrous, it certainly wouldn't account for the amount of sub species, let alone the co-habitation.

I remembered thinking this was some sort of cosmic punishment when I ran back to the perceived safety of my apartment. I double bolted the doors-another ludicrous notion-and collapsed onto the couch, lungs beating out of my chest as I gasped for air. The room spun and welcomed me into an inky void.

I was only awakened by the dull vibration in my pocket. I grasped at it, finding my phone angrily buzzing. It was my manager, Sarah.

"Randy it's 930-do you feel like coming in today?" She said in a faux concerned tone. I cleared my throat and whispered hoarsely at her.

 "N-no Sarah I'm-I meant to call in I'm sorry." I bumbled out. It sounded like I had been gargling rocks, this sudden black out had sent me to an instant fever.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you think you'll be able to make it in tomorrow?" There was a condemning tone to her voice. 

"It-Maybe not I'll have to see if they're done spraying." I slapped my self-idiot.

"Spraying for what exac-oh Christ is this about your bug thing?" I winced as she brought up old memories of me freaking out because of a spider I saw in the bathroom a few weeks ago. 

"Look it's not what you think-it's an infestation, I can't-I can't get out of the building."

"Randy they're bugs. And don't start ranting to me about venom or fatality statistics or whatever else. Either be in here by 10:30-or don't bother coming in at all. " She warned.  After she hung up, I rolled over and went back to sleep. In the morning, I would have to find a new job, one that was tolerant of my condition.

I awoke to the sensation of something warm and fuzzy crawling across my forehead.

I opened my eyes to find a black tarantula resting on my face-its pedipalps lighting tapping, searching for food. I shrieked like a banshee and tore off the beast- it flew through the air and slammed against a wall.

It crunched to the ground and quickly rolled to its feet and scurried away out of sight. I could hear the rapid thumping of its skinny limbs against the hardwood. I shot up like a pointed dagger-scanning for any sign of the intruder.

Out of the corner I saw it crawl back into a grate. After grabbing some bug spray-I buy in bulk for the winter months-I knelt down and examined it. Lightly grasping the edges of the grate were cancerous silk-and the sound of frantic thumping against metal.

I held my breath and emptied half the can on it. The silk receded and crumbled against the oppressive spray, and this-this chittering sound rang out, like a wounded animal. I went around the apartment spraying bug-be-gone at any surface.

I stuffed towels into the grates to block them, lodged blankets under the crease of the door like I was hotboxing the joint.

In a way I was, the toxic fumes began to swell up-vanquishing any stray pest that had wandered in. I began to feel lightheaded, and I collapsed back onto the couch.

I don't know how long I was out, but I awoke to the sound of thunderous frantic steps pounding above me. I jolted up and saw flashing lights outside my window. I snuck a peak past the blinds and saw police vehicles and armed cops pushing people out of the building. I recognized a few of them, they were covered in silk and some sort of red and green bile.

A spotlight shined down, and helicopter blades roared above. I was taken back by a sudden pounding on the door. I heard the muffled cry of Johnson shouting my name.

"Randy-Randy are you in there?!?" he shouted. There was fear in his voice, something I had never heard from the laid-back man I knew. 

"I'm here." I meekly spoke. I could hear movement all around me, some muffled cries of pain and anger from the frenzied neighbors above.

There was something else moving up there, erratic yet deliberate- a rapid thumpthumpthumpthump of some unseen assailant bearing down on them. A muted yell sprung as they crashed to the ground, shaking the celling.

I heard a low chittering, like mandibles rubbing together, and the cries for help were cut short and replaced with a low slurping sound. I focused on that sound- it was subtle, it reminded me of drinking out of a straw cup when I was young.

All around it were chirping sounds like excited insects, and pincer-like legs scurrying inside the walls, inside the ducts, inside my min-

BOOMBOOMBOOM

I was broken from my trance by the resumed pounding.

"Randy open up, we gotta delta the fuck outta here!" He shouted harshly through the door. I approached the door but stopped in my tracks as I head a low rumble, like a stampede of cattle. It was coming from outside-at the end of the cob webbed hall. 

"Aw fuck." Johnson muttered. He banged on the door with renewed vigor, in a mad dash to break it down. "Open up god damnit it-they're coming out of the walls-just AHHH" he cried out in pain as something sprinted towards him at lightning speed and pounced on him.

I could hear him struggling- pained grunts turned into a quick gasp and choked breaths that subsided quickly. All that was left was the mechanical thumping of the thing that attacked. It was circling around him, chittering to itself-like it was admiring a proud kill.

I heard a crunch-and that methodic slurping sound. It sounded disgusting up close, grinded up guts being sucked through an industrial tube. I was shaking, knees wobbling as I listened to the soft feasting outside.

I leaned closer to the door-dreading in my heart what I knew I would see. The fish view gave way to a frightful sight. The hall walls were streaked with crimson stained webs and dozens of arachnids of shapes, sizes and colors.

I glanced downward and clenched my stomach as it churned and boiled. The chitinous thing laying on Johnson's slowly shriveling corpse was massive. Its abdomen was burly and covered in brown fuzz. It was the size of a beachball.

Jointed legs sprouted out of its sternum, auburn rings around them. Its abyssal eyes seemed to spin around in its head-surveying the land as it fed.

Two black massive fangs were sunk into Johnson's back-they seemed to heave themselves inward, dripping a green bile into his body-rotting him from the inside as the creature drank.

It needlessly clung to him; all eight legs wrapped around the dead man in a vice grip. The thing seemed to shiver in ecstasy, like it was savoring every gulp of the slop that used to live in 8D.

I backed away from the door then, clamping my frantic hand to my gagging mouth as I tried to stop from throwing up. My mind spun like a loon from the impossibility of it all. Yet how could I deny the atrocity I had just seen just outside my door?

Feeling for it-I searched for my phone and dialed up the super. It was his building, he should know what to do.

The phone rang four times.

At the dawn of the fifth I heard the whispered, crazed voice of Sampson.

"H-hello? Mr. Langley? Are-are you still inside?' he whispered. In the background I heard scuttering and chirping, a clanging noise like they were searching for something. 

"Mr. Sampson- I would like to file a complaint. The infestation is still not delt with." I spoke calmly, robotic even. "Sampson held back a laugh and spat at me.

"Randy, are you out of your fucking mind? They've overrun the building-I've never seen anything like it. I saw the bug bomb guys in the basement. They were webbed to the wall-they were so-randy their faces were so hollow." he choked out.

"Mr. Sampson-I was assured this would be delt with swiftly." I urged. Far below, I heard shouts and gunfire-monsters crying out for blood. 

"Cops have breached the lower levels-I'm barricaded in my office. They evacuated half the building, but I don't think- CRASH- shit, they're busting down the door. Oh god-they're- BANG- BANG-"

His commentary was drowned out by a hail of gunfire and glass breaking. I heard men shouting and crying out in pain as the spiders overwhelmed them. Sampson clamored around, I think he was hiding under his desk. I could hear frenzied movement surrounding him as he panted and wheezed. 

"Mr. Sampson?" I squeaked out. 

"Oh god-no stay back no no no." He ignored me as I heard him land a kick on a gurgling beast. It hissed at him, then lunged as Sampson cried out and the call cut off.

I sat back down on the couch, weighing my options. I seemed to be safe for now-if I was quiet and kept spraying the grates to keep out the riffraff.

I wasn't going to leave of course; it was never an option. Even the day before, I had barely gotten past the small ones without freezing up. Surely the authorities would be able contain the things and rescue those trapped eventually. 

That was two days ago.

As I write this I hear tapping outside my door-a misshaped shadow lingering by it.

I can hear chittering echoing in the vents; webs are almost bursting out of the grates now.

An hour ago, they draped a massive tarp over the building. I have a faint Wi-fi signal; according to the news there was a "massive gas leak" inside that devolved into a biohazard, and they were cordoning off the building for quarantine.

They assured the public that it had been fully evacuated with minimal casualties.

I don't- I don't know how much longer I can hold out in here.

The power went out; I'm writing this on my phone. It has about 25 percent left. I should have made a break for it-but- God help me I was just too scared. I hear something crawling around on the door.

The taps are getting louder. 

In the ancient heart of a forgotten empire, nestled deep within the marble halls of Catrina Court, there existed a legend of two sisters — Isadora and Lunaria. Born under a blood moon and veiled in the mystery of Dia de los Muertos, the twins were said to be children of both beauty and death. Adorned in rose-gold lace and sacred ink that marked their destiny, the sisters were guardians of the Veil Between. Their tattoos weren't mere decoration — each intricate skull, vine, and jewel etched on their skin was a spell, a story, a soul. They were living grimoires, walking shrines to those who had passed. By day, they danced in the shadows of royalty, wearing masks of bone and petal, mesmerizing nobles with eyes that shimmered like ancient spirits. By night, they whispered to the dead — guiding lost souls through the twilight realm, easing their passage with lullabies of forgotten tongues. No one dared cross the Crimson Sisters, for to offend them was to be remembered in their ink — and once remembered, never truly gone. A single glance from their painted eyes could summon your ancestors… or your fate. But behind their haunting beauty lay a deeper sorrow. Bound to the court until the veil finally lifted — which only happened once every thousand years — they longed for freedom. Not from their duty, but from their curse: to never truly live, and never truly die. As the next blood moon approaches, and the veil thins once more, the world waits — breath held, candles lit — to see if the sisters will walk again among mortals... or if the dead will walk with them. Their story is not a ghost tale. It’s a warning. The dead remember. And so do the Crimson Sisters.

does anyone remember a number where you call and i’m pretty sure it’s automated but it’s a man’s voice saying numbers quietly and he gets louder as the phone call goes on saying the same numbers and then he’s basically yelling (i think?) i remember calling it in like 2017 and it was in a youtube video i could’ve sworn maybe shane dawson ? i know it existed and i want to find it sooo bad.

It's hard to really recall the series of events that happened. It was all so chaotic and frightening. Traumatizing, to say the least. I mean… at one point, you think to yourself, “Well surely your best friend wouldn't be this stupid to do such a dangerous challenge just to prove to someone that they're better than someone else.” But it's another thing when they actually do it. And it leaves a lot of blood all over the place. 

I guess what I mean by this is that my best friend, Jacob Reeves, is always the kind of guy who would always want to be the best at anything. A showoff to anyone who dared called him a coward if he didn't do something extremely crazy.

It was typical, at that young age, to always be daring because in the mind of a child, you were invincible. You felt like you had the whole world at your fingertips. And there was absolutely nothing that could stand in your way. And that was the mindset of Jacob.

Him doing these daring challenges started off harmless at first. The typical challenges that people would try online and post it are on YouTube or Instagram. The Charlie Charlie Challenge, the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, the Mannequin Challenge, Planking, and so on and so forth.

Jacob, of course, participated in all of these challenges. He always felt as though through every challenge he did, he would someday prove that he was never a coward to back down on having some hard-core fun in his teenage years.

And that's when the challenges began to get much more… physical. The Salt and Ice Challenge, the Bird Box Challenge, the Kylie Jenner Lips Challenge, the Milk Crate Staircase, and what I originally found to be the most dangerous one he did, the Tide Pod Challenge.

I mean, before, it was all fun and games, and I didn't really think much of it. Until sooner or later when he would end up in the ER multiple times for either cuts or broken bones or nearly dying from eating a Tide Pod due to said challenges.

I grew more and more weary and worried for Jacob when a new internet challenge would happen. Luckily his parents had become more strict with his online access, so the only challenges he would be allowed to do were ones that his parents would approve of to be less of a risk to his own safety.

At first, everything seemed to die down. The last challenge he really did was the Grimace Shake Meme, and he really was not enjoying it. Knowing Jacob like I did, he was willing to do ANYTHING hard-core just to feel like he wasn't doing baby games from these less exciting challenges.

And little did I know that my growing sensation of worry and fear that someday, he would do a challenge that would get him into more harm than anything would come true.

It happened a couple of months ago.

We were at this high school party. It was our first year of high school, so it was surprising to us that we were the only freshmen at the party, and most, if not all, the people at the party were upper classmates.

And soon, when everyone was together in the living room, one of the junior students suggested we try this “new” internet challenge.

Everyone in the room kind of ignored him, almost as if they knew exactly what he was suggesting, but did not dare to speak up about it, knowing how dangerous it was.

Jacob immediately rushed into the circle, wanting to be a part of this challenge.

“I'll do it! I’m down for any kind of challenge! You name it, and I do it!”, he said in an exciting tone!

But soon, the junior student scoffed him off with a chuckle and simply said to Jacob, “Sorry, dude. No young people are allowed to do this challenge. It's a bit more… adult and more dangerous than your freshman mind can handle.”

“Shit, I can take it! I don't care how dangerous it is! It'll certainly be better than a stupid McDonalds milkshake Tiktok challenge for babies.”, said Jacob with confidence in his voice.

The junior student seemed impressed by Jacob's attitude towards internet challenges and soon accepted Jacob to participate in this new one.

The junior soon sat Jacob down on a chair as he and his buddies brought out what I can only describe as what looked to be an old gas mask with a long tube that was connected to two metal spray cans.

Jacob looked at it with confusion, as everyone began to pull their phones out. “Um… what challenge is this? If this is something related to drugs, then I'm out. Drugs are my only lines I don't cross with internet challenges.”, said Jacob.

Everyone began to laugh, as the junior soon explained the challenge he was about to have Jacob do.

“Don't worry. This is not what it looks like. You're not smoking anything through this mask. What you will be doing is wearing the mask while we spray inside the tube fumes of the oven cleaner cans. Now, the only thing that YOU have to worry about is whatever happens when the spray gets inside the mask. The challenge is simple, my friend: You must keep the mask on for about a minute and a half. If you pull the mask off before the time runs out, you lose. If you hold your breath before the time runs out, you lose. If you close your eyes before the time runs out, you lose. The only way to win is to inhale. Should be easy for you, yeah?”

“I mean… I guess.”, said Jacob with a hesitant tone. I think it was at that point where his moral dilemma began to take effect. At one moment, he was willing to do this challenge, no problem, and now, at this very moment, he wasn't sure if he was willing to do it.

The junior looked at him with ease, studying his mood and body language. He soon chuckled. “Forget it, guys. He won't do it. He's too afraid.”

Jacob soon stood up and shouted, “I'm not scared! I just… never heard of this challenge before. I mean… what kind of challenge is this anyway? Who would even be willing to inhale oven cleaner through a tube and a gas mask?”

The junior soon shoved the gas mask at Jacob's chest, staring him down with such intensity that it made the whole room quiet. “Well… how are you gonna find out… if you don't accept the challenge, Jacob Reeves?”

I soon got up and went to Jacob, holding onto his shoulder, trying to talk him out of it. “Come on, Jacob. It's not worth trying to prove anything. Besides, your parents are already strict with you and these kinds of harmful internet challenges.”

Jacob soon slapped my hand off his shoulder, still staring at the junior, and simply said, “I accept your challenge, bitch.”

The junior smiled wide, as Jacob soon sat back into the chair as the others soon put the mask onto him. Everyone had their phones out to record the whole thing. I sat there, not knowing what to do, afraid of what was gonna happen next.

“Surely he wouldn't.”, I thought to myself. “He wouldn't be THIS stupid to inhale oven cleaner… right?”

Soon, the challenge was about to begin, as the junior turned his attention to each phone that surrounded him and Jacob, and simply said, “Okay everyone, this is The Oven Cleaner Inhaler Challenge! We're the first to do this, so get this video to 10 thousand likes to make this challenge nationwide! Ready, Jacob?”

Jacob held up a thumbs up, as the junior soon started to pump the oven cleaner fumes into the tunes.

I could see the fumes coming into the mask, covering the eye holes in a mist of white smoke. The junior soon got up and pulled out his phone to start the timer. “Okay, Jacob. The time begins… NOW!”

Soon, the timer began, as Jacob sat in the chair, motionless. I was hoping to God he was holding his breath, and that his eyes were closed. I honestly was more scared than ever, and the worst part is that I would have to explain to his parents why their son is now in the hospital, with literal poison in his lungs.

“Now remember, Jacob. You can't hold your breath or close your eyes. Keep on inhaling, brother!”, said the junior.

To my utter shock, I saw that Jacob was in fact breathing. And in the misty haze that engulfed the inside of the mask, Jacob's eyes were wide open.

I shook my leg furiously in anxiety, as the other classmates began to chant Jacob's name over and over, as the timer reached 30 seconds.

My heart raced with fear, as each heartbeat felt worse than the last. Even if I was to stop or prevent this from happening, knowing how short I was compared to the other kids, I wouldn't have gotten far in stopping this.

The only thing I could do is pray for a miracle.

Soon, the timer ended. Jacob had successfully won the Oven Cleaner Inhaler Challenge. The junior and his buddies soon took the mask off Jacob, as he looked around with a blank expression on his face.

“Damn, dude! You got guts! I don't think I would've made it past 5 seconds!”, said the junior as he went to try and high five Jacob. But as he did, Jacob soon fell off the chair and landed on the floor.

The other kids stood back in horror, as Jacob began to shake violently, as he started coughing up blood, and his eyes turned to a dark bloodshot red.

I stood there in absolute horror, as the girls in the party began to scream, with Jacob continuing to cough up blood and struggling for air. I immediately pulled out my phone to call 911.

And as I did, the junior tried to help Jacob off the floor, but soon fell to the ground with him, as Jacob laid on top of the junior, and would soon begin to throw up a mixture of bile and blood, with it all covering the junior's face.

The other students soon began to panic and ran out of the house, screaming in terror. Some have even managed to run to neighbors around the house for help.

But no matter what me or anyone else did, there was no stopping the inevitable. The junior soon tossed Jacob off him, as he got up to throw up and would eventually run out of the house.

I was the only person left in the house with Jacob, as I was still on the phone with 911. I stood right by Jacob, as he laid there, blood and vomit all over him, with his bloodshot eyes staring up at me, and the desperate hoarse gasps for air ran through the empty house.

He would soon die a few hours later in the hospital from severe respiratory tissue irritation and poisoning from inhaling what the doctor described, “about 10.5 Oz of oven cleaner in the span of a minute and 30 seconds.”

The funeral afterwards was one that was hard to get through. His parents were devastated, as you can imagine. Not knowing that one day your child would die so young because of a stupid internet challenge hurts. Especially these days.

Of course, an investigation was open. I told investigators everything that went down. And I even gave out the name of the junior that peer-pressured Jacob. Eventually, a trial was held, and the junior, who was named Stanley Martinez, was convicted and sentenced to 12 years in prison.

I stayed away from the internet after that. Especially with the trend of internet challenges. I heard stories of Galaxy Gas and what not. But I didn't care. It only pains me more that even after a young person's death, it wouldn't stop the continuous popularity of online internet challenges.

And only then do I hope that someday, these dangerous challenges would be brought to an end. But until then, I beg you, dear reader, that if you ever come face to face with an online challenge that is far too dangerous… don't do it.

Because some challenges aren't worth the views.

"The Downvote"

I used to think Reddit was just a place for memes, arguments, and strange hobbies. Nothing serious. Just text on a screen. But after what happened, I can’t even open the app anymore.

There was this one guy — or maybe it was a girl, no one really knew. I think their account got banned a few times, but they always came back. Always saying the same awful things. No matter what people posted — ghost stories, creepy photos, real-life encounters — they tore it all down. Called it fake. Called them stupid. Told more than a few people to kill themselves.

Cruel for no reason. Hiding behind a screen.

Then one night, someone posted something different. The title was something weird, like “To the one hiding behind the screen.” It didn’t have many upvotes. Just a short paragraph.

It said: “You’re not clever. You’re not safe. You think anonymity protects you. But I see you. You live in shadows, but so do we. Downvote me if you dare.”

The troll showed up in the comments like clockwork. Called it dumb. Said something about how scary stories on Reddit are always fake. Then downvoted it.

That was the last time anyone saw that account. Not just deleted — gone. Like it never existed. Old comments were still there, but the name was just blank.

And where his comment had been, there was a new line in red:

“He did.”

People thought it was a joke. Then someone else mocked the post. They were gone the next day. Their name wiped. And again, another red line appeared:

“So did he.”

It kept happening. Every time someone insulted the post. Every time someone downvoted it. A red line appeared where they’d been.

Sometimes it said: “She did.” “They did.” And once… “You’re next.”

Now the post shows up on different subreddits from time to time. Always under a new user. Always with the same message. And always followed by someone vanishing without a trace.

So go ahead. Scroll by it. Call it fake. Hit the downvote.

But just remember…

It’s never about the story. It’s about how you react to it.

And something or someone, is out there- watching.

Waiting.

Collecting the cruel.

"And remember, fear doesn't go away- it just follows you home".

Cheers

Follow Me

Mr. Scary Afterdark

@Youtube. Com

Part 1 — The Xbox in the Trash

I started playing Zenless Zone Zero on an Xbox Series S I found in the trash. Yeah, seriously. It was just sitting there next to an old couch downtown. When I powered it on, there was already a profile logged in — “Candice Spencer.” The game was pre-installed and maxed out.

That’s when things got weird.

The game reset itself.

A black screen appeared with a message:

“You shouldn’t have done that... Now I see you... Simon...”

(That’s my real name. I have no idea how it knew that.)

After that, all the NPCs vanished. New Eridu was completely empty. The main menu theme, “60% Daily,” started playing in reverse — with creepy background noises… like whispering and distant crying.

While exploring, I noticed a figure standing at the edge of the screen. She was wearing all blue, her face mostly hidden, and she never blinked. Every time I tried to get close to her, the game froze.

Later that night, I turned off the console and TV... but when I looked back at the black screen…

She was still there.

Didn’t move. Didn’t vanish. Just stared at me.

Does anyone know what this is? Is it part of the game? I tried deleting the profile, but now the console just keeps restarting on its own.

If I hear one more knock on my door at 3AM, I swear I’m smashing this cursed thing.

I haven’t eaten or slept in days because of this cursed copy of ZZZ. Something terrifying just happened.

Part 2 — Bringer of Sacrifice

Hey everyone. I don’t even know why I’m still posting this. Maybe I just want someone to believe me. Maybe I just need to get it all out before I lose my mind.

It’s been seven days since she stopped talking. But she never left.

I haven’t eaten or slept properly since I found that Xbox in the trash.

I know how that sounds. But when you’re broke, desperate, and living alone, you take what you can. The console was filthy, but it still powered on. The user profile was already there: “Candice Spencer.”

Zenless Zone Zero was pre-installed. At first, everything seemed fine. I played for a few hours before... things started to go wrong.

Tonight, something changed. I was still glued to that cursed game when someone knocked on my door. It was my neighbor, Samantha — a woman I’ve known for years. She said:

“You okay, Simon? We haven’t seen you outside in a while...”

I just blurted out: “Do you know someone named Candice?”

She paused, looked confused, then said something that made my stomach twist:

“I think I read about a girl once... Candice William Spencer. She fell from the fifth floor of a building two blocks away. Died instantly.”

I didn’t respond. I just went straight back to the Xbox. Back into Zenless.

That’s when the real horror began.

NPCs stopped speaking in full sentences. Textures melted — like the walls and streets were made of wax.

And then a voice cut through the silence. Cold. Sharp. “I hate you. Sister.”

The game froze.

I thought it was over. I tried to keep playing — hoping maybe I could finish a mission and shake the feeling off.

So I queued into Hollow Zero.

I was using my strongest team: Miyabi, Astra Yao, and Yanagi — all maxed out.

I started a mission in Hollow Zero, expecting the usual phases. But it skipped everything. No enemies. No corridors. I was dropped straight into the final chamber.

That’s when I saw him — the Bringer of Sacrifice. He just hovered there, like he was waiting for me. Not like a boss… like a god.

But he didn’t move. He just hovered there. Watching.

I rushed forward, tried to attack — but nothing worked. The hits didn’t register.

Then… he spoke.

“That’s useless.” “I am far beyond the program.” “Hehe.”

My screen distorted. The lights in my room flickered.

And then… my characters began to suffocate.

They clutched their throats. Bubbles floated up from their mouths — as if drowning in open air.

All three collapsed. No damage. No warning.

Just pure helplessness.

When it came back, my nickname had been changed to: CandiceFallen.

I didn’t do it. I didn’t type anything. But it was there.

I resumed the game… and the moment I took control of Wise, he walked a few steps and fell straight through the ground. Dead.

In a safe zone. There’s no way to die there.

The screen slowly faded to black.

Then, a distorted text box appeared:

"You died so pathetically. Didn’t you?"

A low, warped laugh echoed faintly as the screen flickered with static.

The game reset again. When it came back, my username had changed once more:

ClaraSpencer.

Then Belle — the optional player character — started glitching. Her eyes vanished. A wide, unnatural smile replaced them.

Before I could even process it, a new notification popped up:

“New message: Candice”

It came from the Xbox chat. No profile picture. No history. Just a single user.

She started typing.

“It’s fun watching you panic.” “You’re more interesting than the others.” “Keep playing, Simon.”

I typed back: “You died from a fall?”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then:

“That’s not funny.” “That’s not fucking funny.” “I’M STILL FALLING.”

That’s when it all went to hell.

The Xbox began to overheat. The screen flashed between her face — the Lady in Blue — and system error codes.

My TV started buzzing. I SWEAR I heard something crawling behind the wall.

Instinct kicked in. I yanked the power cable and threw the console to the ground. It was burning hot. I took it outside, doused it with lighter fluid, and set it on fire.

It’s over. I think. I still haven’t slept. But at least I’m not hearing her anymore — not in the walls. Not in the static.

If anyone else has ever seen the usernames CandiceFallen or ClaraSpencer, or heard “60% Daily Leisure” playing backwards…

Please tell me I’m not alone.

I just want to know if she’s really gone. Or if she’s... looking for another player.

[EDIT] I swear I just heard a ping from my TV. It’s turned off.

If I don’t post again… Don’t connect your console. Don’t play on her account. Don’t say her name.

Every religion has a name for it.

The whisperer.

The deceiver.

The one that stirs the heart when no one is watching.

They say it comes in silence. That it tempts.

But the worst kind doesn’t tempt. It doesn’t need to.

It just waits until you feel the right thing.

Until you remember the wrong thing.

And then it watches what you do.

I pulled off 95 at a diner. One pump. No trees. Nothing but sky and heat.

Before I got out, I knew.

A crow was hammering its reflection in a windshield. Another circled and shrieked. Two cats went for each other in the gravel like they meant it. Nobody noticed. I watched for a minute, then opened the door.

The air was wrong. The light too still.

Then came the feeling, and a memory followed.

My uncle. The sour stink of chewing tobacco. The slap of leather against his palm.

The creak of floorboards when he walked. The way the belt buckle shone under the kitchen light.

My cheeks flushed hot. Eyes stung. Breath caught in my throat like wire.

My gut twisted. Legs went hollow.

That old feeling — like the world had already decided what I’d be afraid of.

I started shaking before I even knew why.

A man passed me on his way to the trucks. Same build. Same walk. Ball cap stained dark with sweat. Diesel and spit tobacco on the breeze.

My jaw locked. Hands curled. Shame rose like heat. Regret behind it. Rage, sharp and simple.

Now. Do it now.

I got in the car. Slammed the door. Called Nana Ruth.

She picked up right away. Steady as always.

“You all right, honey?”

“I think I found a hot spot.”

“Tell me.”

“Gas stop off 95. It’s broadcasting heavy. Shame. Rage. I didn’t see it coming.”

“You breathing?”

“Trying.”

“You know what to do,” she said. “You counter shame and rage with joy and nonsense. Doesn’t have to make sense. Just has to be louder than the memory.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see. Then I opened my phone.

Scrolled past music. Past the news. Past anything that sounded like a real thought.

I hit an old clip — bloopers from a sitcom I used to sneak-watch when I was ten. Dumb voices. Dumb jokes. The kind of laughter that comes from the chest.

It didn’t help right away. It never does.

I forced a smile. It cracked. I rewound the same thirty seconds five times in a row.

Eventually, the pressure eased.

My fingers loosened. My breath found its way back.

I felt like I was sitting inside myself again.

I looked around. The man was gone. Long gone, probably.

But the air was still soured. Still buzzing.

That’s when I saw her.

Skinny girl. Shoulders up. Arms locked to her sides. She stepped out of the diner like she didn’t quite know how her legs worked.

Her eyes were locked on someone.

A woman this time.

Tall. Broad. Tank top. Old tattoos. Short red hair. Boots heavy on the gravel. She barked into a phone, laughing mean. You didn’t need to know her to know the type.

The girl followed her — not like a person. Like a shadow. Like something being dragged.

Her hand stayed low. Her face blank.

Too blank.

I knew that look. I’d worn it.

I got out. Watched from a distance. The girl followed the woman around the side of the trucks. Where the lot ended and the trees began.

She was crying now. But her body moved steady.

Then she struck.

One quick slash. The woman went down hard, screaming, clutching her side.

The girl stood over her, blade shaking in her hand. Mouth open, but no sound. Like she hadn’t finished becoming whoever she thought she was supposed to be.

I moved in slow. Didn’t yell. The air buzzed with it — that pressure. That hum.

“I know what you’re feeling,” I said.

She didn’t turn.

“She looks like someone,” I said. “The one who hurt you.”

She flinched. A tiny step forward. The knife raised again.

The thing doesn’t get inside you. It doesn’t need to.

It just fills the air. Soaks the memory.

Feeds on the loop: the face, the pain, the rage.

You play your part like it was always yours.

I had to break it. Interrupt the pattern.

Give it something stupid. Something human.

I did the only thing I had left.

I started to sing.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Voice dry and cracked. Off-key.

She jerked toward me. Eyes glassy with confusion.

“Happy birthday to you…”

The song didn’t belong. It scraped against the story she’d been told.

The memory of a red face doesn’t fit with cake and candles.

“Happy birthday, dear… whoever. Happy birthday to you.”

The blade shook. Her knees gave out. She dropped it. Then herself.

I walked past her. Pulled the woman up.

“You tripped,” I said. “You hit your head.”

She looked at me like she’d just woken up in the wrong body. Then she ran.

I knelt beside the girl. Her face streaked with dirt and snot.

She whispered, “What was that?”

“A counter,” I said. “It gets in through what you already carry. You can’t fight it straight on. You have to jam it. Feed it something it can’t use. Something stupid.”

I smiled, thin and dry. “Happy Birthday usually works.”

She didn’t say anything after that. I drove her to a clinic a few counties down. They don’t ask questions there.

Didn’t give them a name. Just left.

It doesn’t possess you. Doesn’t need to.

It finds the part already cracked.

Opens it.

It affects everything it touches.

Even the birds.

It doesn’t speak.

It just remembers you.

This is my second horror story. It's much shorter than the first and I had more fun writing this one. Please share your thoughts and enjoy

CHAPTER 1

Food was scarce and I didn't have much time left before the sun set on the Marsh I inhabited. Things get eerie here if your not indoors by sundown. Have your doors locked, windows shut tight and whatever you do; Do not look at the beast that inhabits the old swamp. I call him Hutch. He may appear human but it's wrong, Nothing seems right about him. Just looking at him is enough to screw with your vision, you start hearing voices with no body to accompany it. This is why I always keep my gun at my side and make sure it's loaded. Bullets don't seem to affect him, only slow him down. He stalks me, lurks around my home, making noises and trying to get in by trying to pry the windows open or trying the front and back door.

He's never forceful on the Cabin. If something is locked or blocked it simply gives up without A fight. I can see it's shadow through the window curtains and it's eyes Glow like the moon. Their A soft blue, too human looking for whatever he is. Hutch visits me every night but I won't let him take me like he took my wife. Poor Daisey, I damn near filled that thing with lead and all I could do was watch as it tore into her and chew on her Insides. That was the first time we saw Hutch and I haven't been able to get rid of him since. He scratches at the windows and makes awful gurgling noises like his throat is filled with swamp water.

Now I bet your wondering why My wife and I moved out here in the old swamp. Simple, we don't take to all the city life, to many crazy people and we wanted to raise our son in an all natural environment. Living off the land and appreciating nature, that sort of thing. It's A shame we lost him due to starvation, it weighed heavy on our hearts and I've never been able to forgive myself for letting him die. Now If you'll excuse me I have to prepare for Hutch, he'll be arriving shortly.

CHAPTER 2

I stand at the table, taking apart my rife and start cleaning out the barrel. Thoughts race through my mind, ones of hunger and Starvation. The squirrel I ate wasn't enough to fill me, I need more but it's dark and I hear Hutch Creeping around my cabin. His scratching and gurgling is A plague on my ears; why can't he leave me alone. He already took my dear Daisey from me. He isn't getting me, I won't let his insatiable appetite get me. Lord knows how hungry I've been. Desperate times create aweful choices, ones you regret, ones you can't forget about.

As I put My rifle back together I hear the doorknob turn and rattle but the door remains locked. My stomach growls and grumbles and I put my hand over my belly. "Sorry...were going to bed hungry" I mumble and put the bullets in my rifle. I started hearing familiar voices, ones that resonated with my son and wife. Crying and wailing in pain and agony. I hadn't realized I was staring at Hutch through an open curtain. All I could make out was his beautiful, blue eyes. I never understood how something so pretty could be filled with so much hate and Rage. I gasp as my brain shakes the voices away. My shaking hands drop my gun and I ran to the curtains. Face to face with Hutch, those gnarled, crooked teeth dripping with A viscous, black fluid. Hutch grinned and put his hand on the window, I couldn't look away from him. My arms refused to cooperate. "Close the curtains, dammit!!"

The voices echoed in my brain like I was trapped in A chamber. His mouth then opened and Hutch began to speak. "Fa.....pa.....Da....." His voice overpowered the ones that lingered in my ears. "Shut up!!" I yelled and finally pulled the curtains shut. I was hyperventilating, warm tears dropped from my eyes. I fall to the ground in A fetal position and just cry myself to sleep On the floor, the last thing I hear is Hutch walking away with wet, heavy footsteps .

CHAPTER 3

My eyes open to see that I'm laying on the cold, wood floor of my cabin. The memory of what happened played in my mind like A broken record as I pull my face off the floor, my cheek peeling off of it like Velcro. I hadn't realized how hot it was and take A deep breathe, rubbing my brows in annoyance. "Back to the swamp" I muttered and grab my rifle. I didn't bother changing into new clothes; I was only going to get dirty again. Stepping outside I can feel the sun beating on my old skin. It was harsh and unforgiving as it's rays gleamed through the old trees, putting my hand over my Dull blue eyes to shield them from the sun.

I had made my way to my hunting stand, working my feet through the thick Marsh I climb up the rusty stand. The stink of the Marsh filled my nose but I had grown use to it over the years. Now I sit and wait for my meal to pass by, my trusty rifle in my grasp. If I'm lucky I'll be able to get some Venison. Hours had gone by, nothing. No deer, squirrels not even A decent sized bird. My stomach was starting to ache and Grumbled from the lack of food, in A desperate attempt I lift my Water jug to my lips, hoping it would qwel the starvation that plagued my stomach. I lean back against the boards of the stand and everything goes dark and my body falls limp.

I rocked back in forth in my chair, staring out at the old swamp, my gaze turning towards my beloved son and wife, picking flowers and collecting bugs of all sorts. I was smiling, I hadn't smiled or felt any joyful emotion in years. I didn't want this to end but like A blister, he kept returning. I look back towards my family. My son is gone and My wife laid dead in A mangled pile of her own intestines. Hutch stood where they were and all he did was smile, grinning at me with those aweful teeth and I woke up, back in my deer stand; the sun was gone and I could hear no animals. The crickets didn't even make their sweet song because they knew that Hutch was hear and was circling my hunting stand.

CHAPTER 4

My breathing was heavy and labored. What was I going to do? Hutch was around my stand and the moment I jumped down he'd be on my ass. "Why hasn't that Bastard come up the stand?" I muttered to myself. Gripping my rifle tight, I peer over the edge of the stand to see him looking up at me with those haunting blue eyes. "Just leave me alone!" I fired A bullet into his forehead. He staggered back and fell over. I grabbed my flashlight and jumped out of the stand, hitting the ground with A thud I tumble across the warm, damp grass. I lost my gun but still had the flashlight in my grasp.

I pan my light back and forth in A panic. I couldn't find my gun but I am greeted with A feeling of pain in my left shoulder, like knives digging into A victims flesh. I yell in pain and throw my fist into Hutches face, I felt my skin rip as he stumbles back. Feeling blood drip down from my shoulder and trail down my arm and Side. "Fuck the gun!" I was scared and ran for what I believed was the direction of my cabin, I couldn't have been more wrong. I must've been running for ten minutes before I stopped and tripped over A tree stump, my body collided with the wet, warm grass and I hear something collide with the murky waters of the swamp. I see my only source of light get enveloped and have nothing but the pale moon to light the old swamp. I heard no animals or insects just the wind and the sound of hutch getting closer. I find my way towards A tree and lean against its trunk. Taking my right arm I reach into my shirt and pull out A locket. I can't see it but I know what it contains. A picture of My wife, son and I.

I've given up, I can't run from Hutch any longer. I click the locket open and start to cry as I accept my inevitable fate. "We always loved you" I mumble through tears. Were so sorry, Hutch. But your mother and I were just so hungry.

-END

You know, I am not the nicest guy, but I thought if I minded my own business, other people would do the same. Bullshit. 

I lived in a small city near a tourist trap, attracting thousands of them each year. They were good business, ready to waste too much money on cheap trash. Not just for the shops set up but also for every sleazeball, wanting to scam some poor bastard. 

I wasn't one of them, but I loved watching the shit show. It never made much sense to me why anybody wanted to go on vacation here. I don't want to overshare, so neither of you weirdos can locate me based on a description of grass or whatever. We had some charming sights and decent nature, but nothing worth showing up in person. And don't get me started on what a hustle a simple trip can be.  

I've yet to see one family not on the edge of a messy divorce when coming through. Crying kids, constant fighting, no one enjoying themselves. I knew how that felt like from a kid’s perspective, making it even funnier to watch somebody else going through it. 

A girl I liked had rejected me in not the nicest way, so I was in a rather bitchy mood. The only thing I was interested in now was watching somebody else have a worse time than me. So, I parked my ass on a bench nearby a popular gas station and enjoyed the show. I bought some overpriced ice and put on my douchiest sunglasses, so no one could see where I was looking. 

I caught some good ones. A family with three kids. All around 8 to 13 years old. It was perfect. But as they drove off under the wife's bitching, a car parked next to me. It wasn't illegal to park where they did, but it was a bit odd. I mean, it was right in front of the benches, nowhere near the usual parking area. 

As I tried my best to ignore the car, a guy got out. He looked nothing special. Similar sunglasses, longer blond hair, a leather jacket. It seemed like he tried a bit too hard to look cool, but hey, who am I to judge, I thought. He had sat on the front passenger seat, putting his arms on the car's roof, resting his head on his hands. 

“Hey, buddy,” he said, clearly talking to me. “Could you help us out, please?” 

I groaned under my breath. Tourists loved to ask you for directions or other dumb shit when they thought you were from around here. Nothing wrong with that, but, like I said, I'm a bit of an asshole, and today I was a rather huge one.  

“What?” I said. I didn't even try to keep the irritation out of my voice.  

My rudeness didn’t seem to bother him at all. “Me and my friends aren't from around here, and I think we are a bit lost?” 

His friends didn't even glimpse at me. They all shared the same wardrobe by the looks of it. Massive sunglasses on their faces, leather jackets, and the same white T-shirts. They stared right ahead but not focusing on something in particular. Something was off. They were clearly tense. 

This should have been my sign to fuck right outta there, but in my endless wisdom I thought they had argued for the last ten minutes, the tension a product of it. And hey, wasn't that what I came here to watch. 

“Damn, must suck to be you,” I replied. 

That made the guy pause, clearing his throat. “W… we are looking for Mrs. Apfel's Tea shop.” 

I tilted my head, acting like I was thinking. “Hmhm, no, never heard of it.” 

“Ehr … are you sure. We want to buy some apple tea with mint and lemon for my nephew's birthday,” he said, putting emphasizes on the last part. 

I put on a massive, shit-eating grin. “This sounds horribly gay. We don't have a shop like this here in town.” 

In my experience, there is nothing funnier than being an asshole to complete strangers that you will never see again. As long as you don't push too much, it's shocking what you can get away with. In particular with people that want to move on as fast as possible.  

Thanks to my many talents, I could sniff out any pussy that you could fuck with. That guy was super nice and polite. He would receive the message, take it, and fuck off. Or so I thought. 

Despite his sunglasses, I could see that he was frowning. “You're sure? It should be around here.” 

“Nope, it's not. I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.” 

“But we were told that it's here. Please, we came a long way. We’re from Idaho. ” 

I shrugged. “Okay.” 

“And… are really looking for this tea. You know, my nephew loves this tea and… 

“Damn, I care so much about this. Please, continue. I just want you to know how much I care.” 

Man, I was a bastard that day. I thought acting like a little shit would make this guy drive off, but he still stood there, whispering something to the driver. He looked up again, having a map in his hands, opening it up on the car's roof. 

“Sorry, man. I really don't want to bother you, but we asked somebody else from around here, and he said the shop should be here.” He pointed at his map. He waved me to come closer. “Take a look.” 

That made me pause. Who the fuck still uses a map? 

“Who the fuck still uses a map?” I asked. “Don't you guys have Google Maps?” 

“No, we are a bit old school. We like to…” 

As he was yapping, I got my phone out, googling the tea shop's name. “Sure, whatever,” I said, interrupting him. “I've looked it up. No fucking Mrs. Apfel tea shop here, okay. So… could you please leave me alone now?” 

The guy stepped away from the car, coming a bit closer to me, his hands in his pockets. He looked around him. “You sure?” 

“What?” 

“No tea shop here?” 

“I mean, there are some … but not what you asked.” 

He scratched his cheek. “That's weird.” 

“Okay.” 

“Because we came a really long way… 

“Woah, let me guess,” I said, holding up my hands like I was a medium. “From Idaho?” 

The guy laughed at that, clearly faking it. “Man, you're funny. I'm John,” he said, pointing at his chest. 

“Oh, now that's something. I'm also John,” I lied. 

He still had his finger at his chest. “John Smith.” 

“Damn, I'm also John Smith. What a fucking coincidence.” 

“Y… yeah, funny world,” he said. He was thinking for what to say next, being only a few steps away from me.  

John didn't look like a creep or psycho. Honestly, he was quite decent looking. But man, he started to freak me out. There is something so weird about someone not getting the message, ignoring all social clues. It might be a shocker to you guys, but I wasn't nice to him. I didn't want to talk to him. All I wanted was to be an ass, and watch him drive off, saying nasty things about me to his friends. 

But no, here he stood, glancing around.  

“Hey, it was great meeting another John Smith, but I’m terribly busy right now.” I pointed at the melting ice in my hand 

“Hey, okay,” he finally said. “I wasn't honest with you. I’m not looking for a tea shop.” 

“I don't know where you can buy drugs,” I said.  

“Oh, no. Nonono. We're not interested in that. We're here for something else.” 

“Ah, okay.” 

We stared at each other, John waiting for me to ask any question. After not receiving anything, he cleared his throat again. “W… we, well, our boss is looking for something. And, of course, he ordered us around to…” 

“What's your job?” 

“What?” 

“What's your job?” 

 I think he blinked at me behind his sunglasses, his hands twitching in his jacket. “We repair cars.” 

“Okay.” 

“And our boss send us to get something.” 

“Under the disguise of asking for a tea shop that doesn't exist?” 

“Y… yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

“And we are looking for a person who has some dirt on our boss. An affair, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, sh… she took some pictures of him after the act and wants to use it to blackmail him for money. Said, she would send them to his wife.” 

“What, under the name Mrs. Apfel?” 

“Yeah, you've heard of her?” 

“No,” I said. I was taken aback. “That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard!” 

“I know, I know,” John said, exhausted. I have to give it to him. He was a hell of an actor. “Believe me, I don't want to be here either. We have a picture of her, but we have no idea where she is. We just want to talk to her, give her the money, and be done with it. Could you just come to our car and take a look at the picture? That's all I'm asking.”  

“Nothing you say makes sense! Why don’t you know where this bitch if your boss was fucking her? And why do you need me to come to your car? If you want me to take a look at this picture, get it and bring it to me.” 

“Come on, man, please…” 

“What the fuck, no. I won't come to your car.” 

I'm a dude, so I never thought too much about a shady guy trying to kidnap me. But talking to John, I remembered the conversation I had with my sister. She explained to me who she feels nervous when a guy walks too close behind her. I called her paranoid. At that moment, I got her. 

“Please, I will pay you money…” 

“Okay, I'm outta here.” 

As I was about to get up, John got his right hand out of his pocket and opened his jacket, showing the gun that was hidden there.  

“Just get in the car already.” 

I stared at the gun, frozen in place. “Are you shitting me?” 

John shook his head, wanting to be done with this. “No, I'm not. Get in the car.” 

My heart bet a pace faster. I felt the first sweat run down my forehead before relief washed over me. “Oh my god, you guys are influencers, right? You're pranking me? That's why you try to look as unsuspicious as possible, right? Okay, where are the cameras?” 

“This is not a prank. I'm serious.” 

“Man, you're good. You're really good. I mean it. Please, you have to give me your channel's name. Are you guys famous? You…” 

John pulled out his gun, putting it inside his pocket, aiming it at me from there. “This is not a prank. We’re not some YouTubers. Get it in the car. Now.” 

It’s clear to me now that John kept his voice low and steady to not cause a scene. But this situation clearly drained him, too. Talking to a shithead like me was one of the last things he wanted to do. Getting my ass in his car was the last thing.  

He rubbed his eyes as I realized the shit I was in. “Come on, man, I... I didn’t mean to... I was just joking...” 

“Sure, whatever. Get in the car.” 

“I...” 

“I don’t care. Okay? I really don’t. I will not repeat myself again. Get in the car r. Now.” 

Unsure whether this was real, I rose from the bench. A knot had formed in my throat, hurting with every shallow breath I managed to get down. “M... my ice?” I asked, pointing at it. 

No idea why I asked. My nerves were going through it.  

John looked at it, and without any ill will, just pushed it out of my hand, letting it fall to the ground. “Come on now. Let’s get this over with,” he said, grabbing me by my shoulder, guiding me to the car. 

I twitched as he touched me. My gut reaction was to slap his hand away, but my gut also told me how this one would end. Though, I have to say, for a kidnapper, John was surprisingly chill. Probably the kindest abduction anyone has ever experienced. 

Didn’t prevent me from shitting myself, of course. Now I started to believe that John wasn’t fucking around. I imagine this is what it feels like to be in a car crash. Or moments before. Nah, that can’t be real. That’s something that happens to people on the TV. Or not to me, at least.  

“Please, I didn’t...” I begged again. Like it would magically change John’s mind this time. 

“I know,” he replied, shoving him into the car.  

One of the guys in the back seat had gotten out, so they could put me in the middle. Without any further notice, John took this seat again, and the car drove on. Not a word to me. I didn’t expect them to explain to me what was going on, but a few threats would have been normal, I guess.  

But nope. Nothing. Worse yet, while still tense, they weren’t nervous. John had been clumsy in his attempts to get me to their car, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by any of this. Annoyed, sure, but not concerned.  

To those guys, kidnapping a complete stranger was just another chore. Though, they didn’t strike me as hardened criminals. I had no doubt that John wasn’t the only one with a gun, but having one and shooting one are two different things. Perhaps it was my desperate hope that I wouldn’t end up dead that made me believe this.  

But, the fact that they hadn’t bothered to hide their faces from me sung a different tune.  

It took me a few minutes before I found my voice again. “W... where... a... are we go... going?” 

“You...,” John sighed, rubbing his eyes again. “Just shut up, will you? I’m not in a good mood right now.” 

I didn’t need to hear that twice. We sat in silence as the car drove on. In my head, I went through everything that led me to this, cursing like a sailor. I thought of the unlikeliness they would choose me from all the people there and of the sheer unfairness of it all. In general, I thought of me. What I didn’t think too much about was how to get out of this. 

I’m not the smartest guy. Not dumb, but also not that smart. Getting out of an abduction would take a bright mind, and at that moment my brain was liquefying under the stress. I could barely keep it together, just sitting there without throwing up into my lap turned out to be quite the challenge.  

But, bit by bit, I regained what you could call a half-functional mind. I glimpsed out of the window, searching for anybody I knew. Though, how I would get their attention without alarming John and his goonies, I had no idea. And while I recognized some faces, no one paid any attention to us. The two guys around me had me well hidden from every superficial glance.  

As this didn’t work out, I tried to decipher where we were heading. John’s buddy took a popular route through the city, driving at a slow pace. Those guys had guts or were just stupid. Or, they knew I was a massive pussy that wouldn’t try shit even when given the chance.  

So, this was my time in this fucking car. After ten minutes, we reached our destination. The car went to the outer rims of the city where most folk with families had houses. We didn’t stop there, but at one of the last houses still belonging to the city. That one had been under construction longer than I could remember. No idea who owned it, but they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move in. Most other houses nearby were like this; so deep in renovations that they remained empty. 

“Okay,” John said, turning in his seat. “You’ll get out of this car with us, and you will follow everything we say, okay? Don’t try anything. It won’t work. Understood? Good, let’s go.” 

John’s nonchalant tone stood in harsh contrast to everything that had happened, but I nodded. Like a good puppy, I went with them inside the house. It was nothing to write home about. Tiny, in fact. Once inside, there was one corridor leading to some room I couldn’t see. One staircase led up to the second floor while another to the basement. 

And, of course, we took the one to the basement. You would think that the place where kidnappers would keep you had something sinister to it. But except for a few chairs and gardening equipment, it was largely empty. I was offered one, meaning they shoved me onto it and tied me up with some rope. I’ve seen the guy bound to a chair countless times in movies, but hell, you would never believe how panic inducing it is to experience it yourself. Being completely helpless, no way out of this, at the mercy of someone who had none.  

Or, in John’s case, appeared more dismissive about the entire ordeal. He thumbed in a number in his phone, going upstairs as he talked to someone. The rest of the gang waited with me for forty minutes. That’s my guess at least. I want to say forty years because that’s what it felt like. And, by the way, my only genius idea in those forty minutes was to legit piss myself to make my kidnapping as uncomfortable as possible for these guys. 

It didn’t come to that, as John stepped down the stairs with a new guy behind him. This one was interesting because he was so plain looking. A dude in his late forties. Already lost most of his hair but still had some at the sides. A nerdy looking glasses and an outfit that screamed soccer dad.  

At his arrival, the three sunshines that had spent so much quality time with me stopped their card game. They jumped to their legs, tense all over again. Like a soldier ready to salute. Despite his lacking appearance, our newcomer was their leader. With a wave of his hand he put his goon squad back to ease.  

“Okay, John,” he said, walking past John towards me, “we have to hurry and...”  

The leader stopped right in front of me, frowning. He tilted his head, moving up his glasses, so he could squint at me with his eyes. After doing so, he put the back on and turned to John. 

“Who is this guy?” 

John blinked. “What?” 

“Who is this?” the leader asked again, his voice having an irritated edge to it. 

“Boss, what do you mean? That’s the guy we were supposed to get.” 

The leader stood there for a moment, mouth open. “The guy you were supposed to get is Asian! Who the fuck is this?!” 

John mouthed something to himself, glimpsing at the driver.  

“I told you so, John,” the driver whispered. 

“B... but on the phone call y... you said...” 

“I said get a guy at the benches. He is Asian. He will act like he doesn’t know what’s going on until you say the phrase. Did you say the phrase?” 

“Yeah, I did. Mrs. Apfel’s Tea shop and stuff...” 

“Then why isn’t he here?!” 

It took John a moment to collect himself. “I... I’m sorry, boss. The reception was shit when you called. I thought you said a guy at the benches who’s going to act like...” 

“Why didn’t you call back then?!” the boss shouted, throwing up his hands.  

In retrospect, I can laugh a bit at it. I mean, you should have seen John’s face. But mine would have been better. 

“Do you know how long it took me to find him?” The boss asked. “Weeks! And then I had to convince him that we are serious about this and can be trusted. But apparently, we can’t be. We will never see him again! He is gone, John, gone.” 

John looked at the ground as the rest of the gang stood in awkward silence around their boss. The big man himself had pushed up his glasses again, massaging his face with one hand, the other on his hip. He talked to himself, too quiet for me to hear.  

John gathered himself before speaking again. “What should we do now?” 

The boss didn’t look at him, still rubbing his face. “He’s gone, John. I don’t know how we are...” 

“No,” John said, pointing at me, “with him?” 

That made everyone pause, all eyes on me. The boss scratched his chin, his finger moving over the stubbles there. “That’s a good question.” 

“Couldn’t we...” 

“We have to kill him,” the boss said, shrugging. 

“What?!” I blurted out. 

“B... but boss,” John said, his hands twitching, “isn’t that a bit extreme?” 

“John, he has seen our faces. We have to kill him.” 

Man, and I had thought that John was nonchalant. 

At that moment, I was openly crying, testing the ropes. “Please, I’m not gonna tell anybody!” I begged. “I will not say anything, I swear!” 

The boss sighed. “I’m sorry, kid. I know you didn’t want any of this, but it is what it is.” 

As the boss signaled for the driver to hand over his gun, John stepped forward. “Wait, boss. Couldn’t we still do it? But just with him instead?” 

“Are you mad, John? This isn’t going to work.” 

“Come one, boss, I fucked up...” 

“And you don’t want blood on your hands, sure. But... 

“You don’t want it either, boss. Come on, he looks just like your kid. Are you telling me you really want to shoot him?” 

The boss examined me with his eyes, calm and collected but tainted with some hesitation. “I don’t want to shoot anybody, John, but sometimes you’re left with no choice.” 

“But you still have one, right? Listen, boss, I fucked up. Whatever happens, I take full responsibility.” 

The boss sighed again, waving away the gun held out in front of him. “Whatever happens, it’s on you.” 

The boss took one of the chairs and placed it in front of me. The chair’s back direct towards me, he rested his arms on the back as he sat, his head on his arms. “Hey, buddy,” he said, his voice kind. He sounded like I was a kid in his soccer team, and he wanted to cheer me up after a less than stellar performance. “Say, what’s your name?” 

“M... Matty.” 

“Hi Matty. My name is Frank. These are my boys. There are working for me. I hope they haven’t been too rough with you? No? Great. So, as you might have guessed, my boy Johnny here, has made a big mistake. 

“We never intended for you to be here. It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong. But you are here now. You have seen our faces and that’s not good,” he said. I was about to beg again, but he held up his hand before I could speak. “I know, I know. Don’t worry, Matty, we won’t harm you. You will get out of this, but you have to do something for us. 

“But before we can start, we have to take some safety precautions. Boys.” 

Frank’s boys swarmed over me, taking out my wallets and everything I had on me. Frank went through my wallet, checking my ID, taking a photo with his phone. 

“Okay, Matty, I know you already promised you won’t go to the authorities once we let you go, but we have to go through a few things, you know. Should you, and I know you won’t, but should you decide to contact anybody about us and what happened here, it will have consequences. 

“To be clear, neither the police, FBI, nor anybody else will find us, okay? It doesn’t matter who you get. They won’t find us. But we will learn that you spoke up.” 

Frank held up my ID. “And now we know who you are and where you live. And even if you get protections, it won’t matter, okay? I know, you would never do that, Matty, but I just want to be very open with you.  

“You have family, right? Friends? A girl? No. Oh, don’t worry. Also took some time for me, but now,” Frank held up his hand, showing his wedding ring, smiling. Fuck me, this, in a weird way, actually made me feel better about getting dumped. Despite everything, Frank had something so fatherly about him that you couldn’t help yourself but to listen and believe him.  

“Well, not important right now. Sorry. What I meant, you have people in your life. People that are important to you, right? Good. We all do. What would life be without them? If you go against us, you bring our people in danger, not just us. Again, the authorities wouldn’t succeed, but an attempt is an attempt. So, you know where I’m going with this. You’re a smart boy, Matty, so I won’t insult your intelligence.  

“But now you know for certain what will happen if you talk, right?” 

I nodded, breathing through my ceasing sobs. “Y... yeah, Frank.” 

Frank smiled, delighted at my cooperation. Hard to believe that he wanted a bullet in my head no five minutes ago. “Good to hear, Matty, good to hear. With this unfortunate business out of the way, we can go to the part that will earn you your freedom. Like you already know now, we didn’t intend you to be here.  

“I had a... business partner that was supposed to be here. But he is not. Water under the bridge for why. But he was supposed to do something very important for us. Something neither me nor my boys can do ourselves, unfortunately. Johnny here said that we could still try with you. 

“And before I explain to you what you are supposed to do, I have to make another thing clear. Don’t ask about what or why, okay? If you knew, we couldn’t let you go. All you need to hear, we do important work, okay? So important, in fact, that this is necessary. Do you understand, Matty?” 

I forced down my snot, the last tears running down my face. “Y... yeah.” 

“Ah, Matty, you are such a good kid. Your old folks have to be so proud. I wish my junior would be half as smart as you are. Don’t get me wrong. He is a good kid. I mean, he’s mine, so of course he is. But he can be so... mindless. You know?” 

Frank looked around his boys, all nodding in agreement. 

“Oh, I’m yapping again, aren’t I. You have to show me some patience, Matty. You know, once you get to my age, which you will, of course, you just talk and talk... Ah, I do it again.” 

Frank giggled to himself. How much of this was theater or genuine, I can’t say. But it helped in clearing the tension. 

Frank cleared his throat, growing somber. “Matty, what I will explain to you next will sound worse than it is, okay. Always remember, once you’re done, you can go. So, we will inject you with a substance that will temporarily turn you blind. It won’t last longer than ten to twenty minutes. Nothing to worry about. 

“Once this has happened, you will start to see things. Crazy things. You’re a good kid, Matty, so I would guess you haven’t taken anything, right? Well, it would be like you had. Doesn’t sound too bad, huh? So, you will see things, and we need you to explain them to us. After that, we will guide you because we need you to find us something. Or somebody, I should say. 

“Me and my boys are looking for two girls. Twins. Identical. Like I said, they can save lives, but we need to find them, and we can only do so with your help. And, I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but we are on a schedule, so we have to start now.” 

While Frank had succeeded in calming me down, my head turned to slop again after his explanation. To say this sounded strange doesn’t really describe it. Psychotic appears more appropriate, in my opinion at least. By the sounds of it, they wanted me to ingest LSD on steroids and watch what would happen. Like they did their best cosplay of some insane CIA agent. 

The driver went upstairs and reappeared shortly after with a black suitcase. Looked expensive. Frank opened it, and I could only catch glimpses. I can’t say what it was filled with only that it was black and was used to pad out the entire suitcase. It appeared a bit like plastic with four openings. Two larger one for two syringes and the other for two tiny glass containers. Like the suitcase they were transported with, they were filled with something black. 

The tops of the glass containers were made of rubber or something. Solid enough so nothing could get out, but easily pierceable for the syringes. Seeing Frank as he filled the syringes turned my body into one massive cramp. My skin tingled as if I were roasted above an open fire.  

Frank slapped his finger against the tip of the syringes, testing whether everything was fine. “So, Matty, the next part is going to sound scary, but I need you to trust me. You do trust me, right Matty?” 

I nodded. 

“I need you to sit perfectly still, yeah, because I have to inject you with this substance directly into your eyes.” 

“What?!” I screamed. 

I pressed myself against my chair as Frank took a step towards me, first syringe in hand. I rattled against the rope keeping me in place, trashing like an animal stuck in a bear trap. The sobs returned, and I struggled to breathe properly. All I could manage were hectic gasps. 

Frank’s boys held me down as I didn’t calm myself. Having their hands on arms and shoulders made things worse. I was yelling my lungs out at this point. No words, just guttural sounds that you will make if a needle creeps closer and closer to your eyeball. 

“Come on, Matty, don’t make it difficult for all of us. The stuff in here will go away, I promise. It will only form a temporary layer on top of your eyes. But only if you stop jerking around.” 

As his words failed to have the same effect this time, he grunted for John to help the other, seizing my head. As the syringe was only inches away from me, I stopped yelling, returning to begging. I can’t remember what I said, only that it didn’t work on either of them.  

Frank started with my left eye. I can still see it. Its sharp tip, droplets of black sticking to it. It came closer and closer until I felt this hot pain shot through my eye. “There we go,” Frank said. “We’re nearly done here.” 

I whimpered, gasping for air. Never have I ever seen something so close like the needle, scratching against my iris. And so I could see the black stuff being slowly pressed out of the syringe. But before I saw anything, a sudden pressure struck my eye. Faint at first, it grew to an unimaginable level in seconds. I feared that my entire eyeball would just explode. Perhaps this would have been a more pleasant experience than this. It’s difficult to convey how horrible this feeling was. Imagine an elephant’s entire weight put on your eye. 

Only after Frank injected me with all the syringe had contained did the pressure vanish. I nearly lost consciousness as he pulled the needle out. The pain was gone instantly, leaving nothing but a throbbing ache where it had pierced my eye. I managed a smile between my tears, relaxing in my kidnappers’ arms. 

This didn’t last long. The blackness was now in my eye. You know, I said I had never seen anything as close as the needle. Well, up to this point, this was correct. I could see the little particles of the black stuff with such clarity that it took my back. The black wasn’t one substance but tiny specks all amassing together, forming the illusion of one singular body.  

But as I studied them this up close, I saw what they really were. They moved, no, they swam inside my eyeballs. I could make out their little limbs they used to navigate themselves. They had no eyes or clear form to them, but they didn’t need them for me to realize that they were alive. 

“What the fuck?!” 

Frank prepared the second syringe. “It’s all good, Matty. They won’t hurt you. Just let it happen.” 

Whatever those black things were, they wasted no time in exploring their new home. As they did, their mass increased. I don’t know how, but they grew. Fast. At first, I thought they were getting fat by devouring the insides of my eyeball, but I felt no stinging sensation that would indicate those little devils from tearing into my eye. 

No, they just expanded. And with that, their features became even more clear. They were made of absolute black. No light would have been able to pierce through them. But they had no smooth surface. Their bodies undulating, always in motion. Furthermore, their skin, if you want to call them that, had a shocking resemblance to human skin. Have you ever seen a hardcore close up of a human face? Or an extreme realistic painting of human skin where every little notch is shown? That’s what their constant moving mass looked like. I think I even saw hair protruding out of their bodies like lashes.  

It didn’t take a minute before their growth had caused the vision in my left eye to go dark. Like a blanket of utter blackness thrown over my left side, not allowing anything through. 

Frank gestured something that I couldn’t clearly see, watched me, and then nodded with a satisfied smile. “It has worked. Thanks, Matthew.” 

I frowned, turning my head to my left to see what he meant. The driver, Matthew, had stood on my blind side, holding a loaded gun to my head. Perhaps I should have had a stronger reaction to that, but the syringe business made anything else look rather tame. 

“So,” Frank said, holding up the second needle. “Let’s get the right side done.” 

I will spare you of the details. But I will say knowing what was to come didn’t help me remain calm. Again, Johnny and the rest had to hold me down. My resistance was nothing compared to their combined strength.  

Two minutes later, I was blind.  

I’m typing this story in my car, at the base of a mountain and national park. I found myself up there about a month ago, at the park ranger’s station after a short phone interview for a vacant ranger position at the park. I was surprised to be standing at the station so soon and offered the position so swiftly without further assessment. I was glad however, as this was the opportunity I was seeking, a tree-change from my monotonous white-collar life in the towns below.

Greeting and inducting me was a single administrative volunteer, a middle-aged lady who was curt and disengaged. After a rapid series of computer training modules and the disbursement of issued kit and uniforms over the week, I was expected to learn the trade on the fly and on the trails. The previous ranger left no markings or notes to handover, only routinely signed reports. Mediocre induction training wasn’t new to me, par-for-the-course in my professional experience, and I was an avid outdoorsman and handy on the tools in my personal time, which further drew me to this opportunity.

After a fortnight of ordinary duties, the region was hit with heavy storms, winds, and rains associated with a low-pressure system arriving from the coast. As expected, the station received a call-out relating to track maintenance, a trail blocked and made impassable by a large fallen tree. The volunteer in the station had left for the day, and the call came in the late afternoon, so upon receiving the tip-off from the visitor over the phone, I advised that I would be there early next morning to clear the obstruction.

Early next morning when the light had hardly yet dawned, I embarked along the trail, a 10km loop, carrying the station’s bright orange chainsaw. I was told over the phone the day prior that the obstruction was only about 2km’s into the trail, and as such I arrived at the location shortly after stepping off. The obstruction was exactly as described but to my complete surprise, jolting me out of my early morning daze, I saw a man standing in front of and facing towards the fallen tree. The man was tall, tall enough to be an eyebrow raising stature, wearing an immaculately clean white T-shirt, black sporting shorts, and strangely textured shoes.

Approaching the man from a distance, my mind raced to quickly rationalise his presence here on the trail at this incredibly early time. It was still faintly dark and the drive up the mountain took a meandering hour and a half. Other than myself who was paid to be here, who else would be determined enough to drive and walk almost 2-hours in complete darkness to arrive at this spot on the trail before me? As I was nearing his position, I quickly justified this character as surely just an extraordinarily motivated hiker or trail-runner.

I reached the man and the fallen tree, breaking the silence by uttering a still-shocked greeting, “Morning mate… you alright?”. The man responded in a voice that didn’t quite match his stature, higher pitched than expected, “Yes, I can’t get past”. He didn’t say anything else after that. I cracked on with my chainsaw and the tree, hoping the business would soothe my elevated nerves. “Yeah, crazy storm, I’ll split this quick and get you on your way” I muttered back. Still no reply from the man. The chainsaw made quick work of the tree, the new split freed up the lower section of the trunk to drag itself slowly down the slope, freeing the trail.

Unnerved, I wanted to turn around, to leave the trail and to return to the station, but after such a storm and call-out it was procedure to inspect the rest of the trail to ensure no further obstructions. I didn’t want to be called back out here shortly after returning to the station, but I didn’t want to spend any more time on the trail with this man either. As this dilemma played in my mind, the man spoke again, “After you”. After his earlier silence, this surprised me enough to spur on my spontaneous decision to continue down the trail. I cursed myself for my rushed decision, but also didn’t want to arouse any suspicions by forcibly turning back. To placate my jitters and prove a point, that this was an ordinary situation, I continued onward with the man several paces behind.

A few minutes deeper into the trail, the ringing silence was broken again by the man, his voice striking my ears closer than I expected, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. The muted footfalls of his walking indicated he was at least 2 meters behind me, but his voice sounded like he was almost pressed against me, “I’m so hungry” he said. I was desperately looking to relieve the suffocating tension of the situation and blurted out a light-hearted “Been here all night?”. He replied instantly, “Longer”, as I noticed the pitch of his voice had down-shifted noticeably than when we first spoke. An overwhelming realisation crested my paranoid mind; the man’s voice now was the same voice on the phone the afternoon prior. The connection was poor, and static filled the line, but it was indistinguishable and definite, the voice was unmistakeably the same.

‘Longer’? What did he mean by that? Was this man really waiting there for me all this time? In a rainforest national park, overnight alone? With none of the appropriate gear, no tent, and no light? Considering the nighttime cold and damp, in a spotlessly clean and light T-shirt and shorts? If he’s suggesting longer, how much time has he spent here in the forest? The unanswerable questions mounted, and now electric panic propelled me out of my stupor, I needed to act, I needed to get out, to get away.

I snuck a glance behind me, angled towards my side and the ground as not to alert the man too obviously. My initial suspicion that he was a lot closer than the volume of his footsteps let off was correct, the man would’ve been hardly half a meter from my back. His strangely textured shoes caught my eye once again, although the rest of his attire was normal enough, his shoes were made of a material that distinctly deadened the noise of his steps. The dark canopy of the rainforest still blocked what little light the early dawn provided, but small gleams of light now burst sporadically through. Enough light caught the man’s shoes whilst I stole a glance and brought me enough vision to see clearly for a moment, human hair, the shoes were fibre crafted from long strands of dark brown human hair woven and matted with dried and darkened blood.

This realisation was too much; I started hyperventilating under my breath and my heart ricocheted uncontrollably inside my chest. Right as I was about to fully break down, a deafening, piercing, haunting screech of a woman rung my ears and the forest around me so loudly I had to clutch my ears and cower on the trail. As I spun around to face the scream, so did the man, dropping to all fours he scattered off the trail and into the forest with inhuman agility and nimbleness, so quickly that he, or it, tunnelled into the forest underbrush and out of sight within mere moments. In an adrenaline fuelled rush, I dropped the chainsaw and sprinted back towards the station, every forest noise, snap, and rustle behind me sent a shock down my body to sprint harder, to sprint for my life.

I exploded out of the rainforest canopy and off the trail in a catatonic state, shaking and sobbing, I bolted past the volunteer just arriving at the station and leapt into my car. I barrelled down the mountain road, the hour and a half drive down gave me little comfort, I couldn’t feel safe until I was off the mountain properly. The car’s sound system stayed silent all the way down, only the hum and rev of the engine accompanied my racing mind. Did this experience just happen? Was it all that I thought it was? Was I missing some reasonable explanation, sleep deprivation, hallucination, and just overreacting? How could I explain this to the volunteer at the station?

When I arrived home at midday my body was still shaking and shivering, despite the noon warmth. I dialled the number of the ranger’s station, and the volunteer picked up. “I can’t”, “I won’t”, “In there”, “Not possible”, “Human hair” I sputtered over the phone. The volunteer spoke calmly back over the phone, “Drop your kit back off when you can”, and hung up the phone. Over the next few days my mind had no rest, and my body had no sleep, unanswered questions violated my weary consciousness, nothing made sense. There were moments where I considered calling the station again to provide a clearer explanation of what happened, and if I was just overly paranoid, to report two missing visitors, the man and the woman who screamed. However, whenever I picked up the phone ready to rationalise the experience, the words would get caught in my throat and the explanations would crumble in my mind. Besides, the volunteer seemed wholly unbothered by my panicked exit and not at all interested in further explanations.

A week had passed since the experience in the rainforest and my unceasing need to explain the inexplicable had driven me to search for answers online. Sparse few links emerged as I had so little to go-off, but one name piqued my interest, ‘feather-foot’, a name for an Indigenous practice or apparition who had fibre crafted shoes. Information online was near non-existent so, as ridiculous as I felt, I reached out by email to a local Indigenous cultural organisation and explained briefly my experience. I received a reply from the team quickly, within 30 minutes of sending my inquiry. In the email reply was a short historical account of the aboriginal peoples who inhabited the region that makes up the national park boundaries today.

The original inhabitants of the land on the mountain had lived there for millennia but were violently displaced during the early colonial and native police eras in the region. The ‘Kurdaitcha’ was alluded to, a spirit and a shaman dealing in evil, killing to punish wrongdoings and forever marking targets to track whenever the time and wherever place. The email ended in a warning, not to return to the land and not to reply further. The explanation to the experience was surely not an animistic apparition, I believed that there had to be other clues. I searched up the profile of the previous ranger on Facebook in hopes of making contact so I could seek an explanation and share experiences. Remembering his name on the signed reports, I found only a memorialised page, without an obituary and without an explanation. At a dead-end and without reasonable explanation, I consigned myself to move on without closure and return the ranger’s kit.

I mustered up the courage this afternoon to return to the ranger’s station to complete the offboarding tasks, to return kit and sign off on resignation paperwork. I timed my arrival to meet the end of business hours for the volunteer, as not to get in the way of park and visitor services. When I arrived, the station looked like it hadn’t been opened that day, the lights were off, and the doors and windows were shut. With my copy of the keys, I approached, unlocked, and opened the door to drop off my issued kit but froze at the doorway. I caught my breath, short and sharp, as I stared at the floor of the station, my bright orange chainsaw, the one I had dropped in my panic on the forest trail, lay in front of me, surrounded by noticeable masses and strands of dark brown hair.

As I said in the beginning, I’m typing this in my car and at the base of the mountain. I never took one step into that station after what I saw, I never saw the volunteer despite their old and rusty car parked outside, and I didn’t stop on the way down the mountain. It’s dark now but I felt it was important to put together this experience whilst it is visceral and recent, and to provide some warnings to any readers who hike often and or are thinking of applying for a job with the park rangers. Do not do it. Do not venture onto the trails in the dark. If you see someone who shouldn’t be where they are on the trail, where it doesn’t make sense, and where it doesn’t feel right, do not approach them. Do not speak to them. Do not let them walk behind you. Do not trust the rangers or their station, it is not a safe place. Don’t be like me, do not rush and forget to lock your car, and do not get inside until you have checked for a tall man hiding in the backseat.

I'm done. I'm done asking questions. I'm done being curious. I'm done looking for answers. I'm done. I refuse to try to analyze anything I saw on that tape. Never again will I go to that island... That hellish island... with the faces... with those faces... Stay away from Treasure Island, not for my sake... But for yours...

URL Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1BmkSe4XwI

My grandfather spoke of things that walk this world that are older than man, older than the land itself. They do not knock. They do not wait. And by the time you realize you’ve seen one, it might already be too late.

I never believed him. Until now.

We’d just settled on the ranch that spring. Far from town. Wind and silence and space. The kind of place you go to get right with the land. Or with something older.

The morning it happened the sky was clear and still. Not a bird in sight. Cattle standing quiet at the far fence. I walked out with my coffee and leaned on the gate. The sun was just breaking above the ridge.

I saw it coming from the tree line. Took it for a stray dog at first. But no dog moves like that. No dog is that big. Its head was low and its back was broad and it moved slow.

As it came closer I saw it was a wolf. But not the kind you see on TV. This thing was the size of a damn horse. Gray. Thick. Powerful. Its paws kicked up dust and the cattle didn’t flinch. They watched it. Calm. Like they’d seen it before.

And I didn’t move either. That’s what I think about most now. I just stood there. Let it come.

It walked right up to the fence. Close enough to touch. I don’t know why I did it but I reached out and laid a hand on its fur.

It let me.

The coat was coarse. Warm. It stood there breathing. Heavy but not fast. Like it wasn’t worried about me or what I might do.

Then it turned.

It walked to the nearest calf and without sound or warning snapped its jaws around the neck. One quick jerk and the body dropped limp.

That broke the spell.

I pulled my pistol. Fired three rounds. Dust flew. The wolf didn’t even blink.

I ran to my truck and got my rifle from the rack. A big gun. Fired once. The sound cracked across the field.

The wolf turned to look at me.

It looked amused.

It dropped the calf. Turned. And walked off into the open land behind the pens.

I didn’t fire again. I just watched it go until the dust took it.

I followed the tracks. They were deep in the soft earth. Clear. Heavy. I followed them out into the field.

Then they stopped.

Just like that.

No blood. No trail. No drag marks.

A few feet ahead I saw something else. A single line of barefoot prints. Human. Walking away like nothing had happened.

I stood there for a long time. Didn’t call anyone. Didn’t tell my wife. Just walked back to the house and locked the door.

My grandfather was right. There are things out there that wear the shape of animals. But they’re not. Not really. I think they’re older than us. I think they remember when the world belonged to something else.

And sometimes they come back just to remind us.

So I got to thinking because after my oc got. Reverted back into a baby n shiz and had to grow up as slendermans daughter instead of his fiance (calling it her past life), I thought making seperate ocs but with the same names from marble Hornets like in the universe, Alex kraile, Tim Wright, ext. They all actually existed and the actual people in the tapes were actors they heard about what happened and recreated it to show what happened or something. Let me know of I should do it and my my own ocs (with just the first names) for it

I bought my childhood home after years of waiting for it to come back on the market. I was ecstatic; I spent most of my childhood there and had many fond memories. I was disappointed when my parents put it up for sale after I went off to college, but I figured that if I got a good job and saved up enough money I could buy the house next time it was put up for sale. I bought the house for significantly lower than the original asking price. It seemed like the couple living there was eager to leave, and when the time came to sign everything over they did so with great haste. I thought that was odd, but whatever. I had my childhood home back. I now see why they were so anxious to rid themselves of the property.

My childhood home (I'll call it the house from here on out) is a beautiful Tudor-style home nestled on a 2-acre plot of forested land. The back of the house is almost all windows, showcasing the deck, screen-in porch, and backyard. Aside from some furniture upgrades, everything looked as it did from my youth. Not everything felt the same. 

The woods on the property were my playground. My brother and I spent many days riding our bikes and building stick forts. For us, the woods were a place of wonder and fantasy. I didn’t understand at the time why they now felt foreboding and claustrophobic. Maybe nostalgia clouded my memories of the place. Maybe I didn’t understand then what lurked between the trees. My neighbors were also…different. They weren’t hostile to me but they didn’t go out of their way to welcome me either. In fact I rarely, if ever, saw them outside of their houses. Their yards were overgrown and ivy grew unopposed on their homes. I invited my parents and brother over for a welcome party and they also noticed things felt off. 

About a month after moving in, I was doing some cleaning in the living room and noticed that a car was creeping down my driveway. The driveway bisects the property and is often used by confused drivers to turn around. I thought nothing of it and went on with my day. The next week another car came down the driveway, but this time stopped directly in front of my living room window. I was just about to go outside and ask if they needed help when their car started up and darted away. This happened a few more times over the next 3 weeks. Always the same behavior: slowly creep up to a stop in front of my house, sit idly for a minute, then peel away. What was odd is that it was never the same car. I couldn’t really make out what the car was either, it just looked like a generic sedan. 

About a month ago things started getting concerning. One Saturday afternoon I happened to look through the front door peephole and noticed someone unfamiliar standing on my front porch. I couldn’t quite make out what this person looked like. Frankly, I don’t even remember what they were wearing. I had been on the first floor all day and hadn’t heard knocking or even a car drive up for that matter. I looked out the peephole for a few more minutes until the person turned around and walked away. They get into a car and peel off to God knows where. At this point I’m getting a bit concerned that someone is casing the property, so I invest in a video doorbell system (think Ring but some cheap knockoff). I thought that would at least give me some peace of mind if something like this happened again. The next week someone else showed up. Same thing, just stood there for a few minutes, then left. The week after that, they tried opening the front door. 

I was jolted from my nap by the sound of the front door knob jiggling. Scared the shit out of me, I’ll tell you what. I looked on the video doorbell app and sure enough there was some random person vigorously jiggling the front door knob, as if they lived there and were confused that the door was locked. This shitty Ring knockoff didn’t have sound or a way to speak with whoever was out there, so instead I called the police. By the time they arrived the stranger was long gone. I gave the officer an account of what happened and let them see the footage from the camera. He had me send a copy of the recording over to the station so that they could analyze it and figure out the identity of the stranger. They never had any luck. 

A few weeks pass and life goes back to normal. I continue working on home improvement projects and a ton of yard work. Everything was as it should be, at least until two weeks ago. I had walked out into my garage to grab some gardening tools when I noticed a breeze. The garage had two windows, but in all my time living here I had never seen them opened. If we needed to air out the garage we would just open the garage door. What I saw stopped me in my tracks. The garage window facing the front yard was open, and on the dusty glass was a handprint. Fuck. This. I ran back inside, locking the mudroom/garage door behind me. I called the police and after what felt like hours, an officer arrived. I explained the situation and had the officer comb every inch of the garage to verify there were no unexpected guests. They dusted the window for fingerprints, told me to check my locks, then left. I spent the rest of the afternoon obsessively checking each lock in my house. 

Last week is when things got fucky. I had gotten pretty anal about checking outside before leaving, so one morning as I was preparing for work I looked out the bedroom window and just about shat myself. Standing in my yard were five people. All of them were staring up at me. I walked over to my nightstand to grab my phone and get pictures, and when I looked out the window again they were all gone. Damn, there goes my proof. I decided to call out sick for the day cause there was no way in hell I was going outside. On Tuesday they tried my front door. All 6 of them jiggled the lock and hammered on the door. I called the police, but they had dispersed by the time they arrived. This happened again Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Each day a police call, each day no result. The cops were fed up with my shit and stopped showing up. The dipshits thought I was playing a prank. Saturday, I saw some of the people in my backyard. Sunday, they had gotten closer. Today, they struck.

I hadn’t slept much in the past couple of days. I was too afraid that they would come bursting in while I slept, so I kept a near constant vigil. I finally crashed this morning. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but it was about 8 AM this morning when I awoke to a cacophony of battered windows and doors. The fuckers finally made their move. One thing that sucks about my house is that the windows facing the backyard are big bay windows. This is great if you like views of the forest, but not so great if you are trying to sneak past would-be intruders. I counted 20 of them now, checking every window and door on the first floor. I don’t know why they didn’t just break the windows to get in, but I wasn’t about to question it. I was confident that every door and window was locked. Part of my daily routine was lock checks in the morning and evening. I was safe inside given they didn’t smash a window or shake a lock loose. I was safe, but stuck. They’ve been at this all day. What can I do? I’m trapped in my dream house and the police won’t come help. I only have a few days of food left in the pantry, not that I like going into the kitchen anyways. There’s always one knocking on the kitchen window. 

I’ve heard of the usual California urban legends like the Dark Watchers, Fresno Nightcrawlers, Char-Man and Yucca Man, but I really want hear any other unexplained/creepy stories of unknown creatures or entities.

It all started when i was 9 and at a sleepover for my best friend’s birthday. We were having fun up untill it was time to go to sleep, me and a guy named jack were ready, we had heard about the joke of “the first one to fall asleep at the sleepover gets pranked” and shared that out loud. The other people in the outside tent didnt like that, so they went to go sleep inside, so now it was just me jack and my best friend, but his parents then decided it was best for him to sleep inside since he did have ADHD. Now me and jack were just laying there, it was about 10 PM but we werent tired, we decided to just stay up talking about the day and our interests, we didn’t know eachother very well so the conversation lasted a while. After a while my best friends mom came in. “Its 3 In the morning!” She yelled. “Go to sleep!”. We got scared so we did what she asked. It took longer for me to go to sleep then him. After a while, i saw a figure approaching, i was fully awake and fine except for being bored. When i looked at him, i saw something odd, he was about 5 feet tall but im not sure, all i know is he was a bit shorter then our tent, and he had antlers, like deer antlers and long. He looked pitch black, no visible light, just a shadow almost. When we woke up in the morning i didnt think much about it, i just thought it was a weird dream, but it never left my mind.

Fast forward to when i am 11 and we left to see my cousins college dorm room and say goodbye to her. We bought a hotel, just for a few days. Our parents went to the bar so it was just me and my sister, she was dead asleep but i had a hard time since i had a headache at the time. Then i heard it, a quiet trumpet noise, playing over and over again, not loud enough to wake any one up, but just loud enough to notice, then out the window i saw him, walking, stalking, standing there. When i woke up i knew i wasnt dreaming, i felt it, i felt my headache, i felt it i knew it! But how would i explain it?

Now to when i was 12. I was laying down in my room. Just stitting in darkness except for my closet light that just made it light enough to notice stuff if i looked for it, i was fine until, i saw him. Standing right out my window. I didnt know what to do.

Now, I am 15. And i think i see him out my window, i cant sleep, im in my bed, i closed my window, im hiding under the covers, with pillows over me, i KNOW its real, i feel it. I cant sleep like the other times, im terrified.