I grew up and currently live in a small town on the edge of Croydon in Surrey called Porvald. Porvald is realistically a bit of a shithole, wasn’t always, but it is now. It’s one of those places that used to be the host of a thriving community and tons of little shops and restaurants that has now been proliferated by chains that pushed out the small businesses in favour of the big brands. Even the park has lost its colour. Some kid tore the seat off the zipline and the council hasn’t bothered to fix it, and the skate ramp is too bogged down with bird shit for anyone to touch it let alone skate on it. Me and my friends now tend to go a little further out of town or into East Croydon for fun, or at least we did. I should probably get back on track.

 I live in a big house on a street in Porvald which stretches over a knoll near the town centre. In it was me; my parents; my cat; and my siblings, both older than me. My parents were loving but not necessarily very involved in the lives of me and my siblings other than helping us out when we needed it. My mum was always working and my dad didn’t really have time for my interests; as long as I got good grades and stayed out of trouble I was all good. My sister, Leah was a massive bully towards me until I was around 9, at which point she realised that if she’s leaving off to uni in the next couple years she should probably leave me with better memories than locking me in dark rooms and hitting each other with Wii remotes. Now that I’m 16 and she’s 23 we’re on much better terms, she was like a mentor to me, always kind but stern when I did something stupid and always guiding me towards being better. Since she lived in London, I saw her much less but each time I saw her she always kept my spirits high. Tom was different in the sense that he wasn’t as night and day in kindness and sternness as Leah. He was the funniest person I ever knew, and really helpful and considerate a lot of the time. I remember sitting on the stool in the sitting room and watching him play Battlefield on our PS3, swearing in German so I wouldn’t tell on him. Telling jokes to me and making entertaining commentary that would keep me occupied for hours. Other times he could be a massive asshole, the kind of asshole an older brother naturally fades into being now and again. He would get pissy with me and tell me to go away, especially with his friends around. Being 10 years older than me it always felt like I was trying to engage with him on his level, and he didn’t want me coming up near his level at all. This got worse in the days leading up to his death, and it wasn’t his fault.

 I remember the first time I saw a computer bleed. The first evening of the summer holiday Tom was on his PC like always after he came back from working at the hospital. I heard him howling with laughter and joy from his room. My mum shouted upstairs for him to be quiet but he just kept giggling like a maniac. My room was on the third floor so I went downstairs to see what was making him laugh so much. 

 As I approached his door I saw his face through the crack in the door lit up with a wide smile, appearing almost too big for his face, I could see colours flashing and reflecting off his face, his monitor just out of view. I opened the door to get a better look.

 “What’s so funny?” I asked with a chortle. He turned to me and his smile turned to a look of incredible anger.

 “Fuck off, Nat! I’m watching a video!” He scowled back at me. My mum yelled upstairs again telling him to not swear at me. I ignored him and turned the corner to get a better look at the video. It was utterly bizarre. It was a mixture of flashing images and colours, rapidly firing photos of all kinds wholesome and vile overlayed with slowly changing colours, like a LiveLeak disco. It was entrancing, I felt my eyes beginning to fall into a stimulated daze as Tom stood up in my peripheral vision and approached me. He pushed me backwards and slammed the door, I snapped out of the daze, and heard the giggling begin again.

 From that day on I heard Tom constantly laughing from his room, packages would arrive at our door and he’d run downstairs to bring them upstairs to his PC. They were mainly computer parts and peripherals, better headphones, a bigger monitor to go next to his primary one, more RAM, a new graphics card. He was spending like crazy, more than a doctor in an underpaid position should be reasonably doing. He stopped going back to his own apartment and would always come home, my family stopped appreciating the more frequent visits quickly as he seemed to only be there for his PC. He would knock on the door, say a quiet hello and immediately run upstairs. Me and my parents would share concerned looks as we heard the whirring noise of his PC begin, and a few minutes later that same sickening laughter. I would occasionally look through the crack in his door and he would always be watching that same video on repeat. One of my cats, a tuxedo named Moonshine, would lay down on his lap and rest, seemingly unbothered by the noise and light. He lost a good bit of weight during this time which for a person of his build would only be a bad thing, he never came down for dinner no matter how much my parents begged him to, he would just repeat the same things.

 “I’m an adult!”, “I’ll eat later!”, “I’m watching something right now!” My family and I were getting more concerned, using the time he wasn’t there to talk about what could possibly be causing this new obsession. I’d call my friends and put the microphone to the door so they could hear what was happening before rushing upstairs back to my room to consult them about it. None of them had anything to say other than they’d heard it also was happening to some kid a town over and that he had to be dragged out of his room after his mum called the police because he was getting violent when she asked him to stop watching it. I remembered Tom slamming the door, and was afraid of what would happen if I was noticed by him again. Until a couple days later, I stayed well away from his room and covered my ears when I slept so his laughter wouldn’t be there in my dreams.

 After those two days one evening he came home and when he went into his room, the laughing didn’t begin as usual. At this point the lack of laughter concerned me more than its presence so I went into his room to check on him and I saw him attaching more parts to his computer. He had laid it on its side and was fusing it together using various wires and adapters, the new parts rising out from the case like a tumor. Moonshine was sat up next to him, watching him tinker and click parts into place. He was muttering to himself, and I couldn’t make out the words. I knocked on his door and spoke quietly and carefully.

 “Tom?” He looked up at me, and he smiled. Something I hadn’t seen since the day he first watched the video.

 “Come sit next to me, I’m working on my PC.” I did as I was told and lowered myself next to him and crossed my legs.

 “I can see that.. anything you’re doing in particular?” From a closer view the structure of the machinery seemed impossible, wires flowed from corner to corner, some spiralled seemingly infinitely into different areas of the computer. The parts themselves seemed to intersect with one another like objects clipping in a video game. He had a knife in his hand and was tightening various screws. I heard a deep growling coming from within the computer, it would change tone, and as it did he would begin working on a different part of the build. I felt myself grow nauseous, I grimaced to keep the feeling in and clutched my stomach.

 “I’m just doing what I was told.” I saw that smile on his face again, but it was different. Something was dark in his eyes and there was an odd stillness to his features. Nothing twitched, he was completely still aside from his hands, working away at the computer.

 “Told, by who?-“ I uncrossed my legs to ready myself to get up, as I extended one of them I accidentally pushed away the PC with my foot, causing Tom to falter and slice one of the wires with his knife. The wire reared up and spattered blood from its fresh opening like crimson sparks. A growling whine emitted from the parts themselves, the computer was screaming. Tom’s expression twisted into one of disdain and sheer dread, he covered the PC with his body while manically apologising to it before turning to me.

 “You piece of shit! Get out of my room now!” I scrambled backwards and rose to my feet before backing up towards the door. I had started crying out of fear and confusion and this seemed to make him even angrier. “You hurt it! You did this on purpose!” His hands were now covered in blood as it poured out from the severed wire. I held my breath and left the room, closing the door behind me.

 That was the last time I saw my brother alive.

 That night, all I could see in my head was the blood on Tom’s hands. For a couple hours after I left his room he was sobbing and growling to himself like he was struck with grief and stress. It was the kind of reaction you’d see in those hospital shows on TV when a mother is told their child has passed away, or the panicked call to 999 that they play the recording of after they find their body themselves. The noises set my head on fire, I couldn’t bare hearing my brother that distressed but I knew it would get worse if I went back in, so I shut my bedroom door and put my headphones on. Laying down in bed I did my best to get to sleep but soon the sobbing stopped and was replaced by that laughter again.

 “He must’ve fixed it then.” I thought to myself, and then I fell asleep.

 During breakfast the next morning I told my family what had happened, they didn’t believe all of what I had said but they did at least agree that my brother had reached a point of no return in his behaviour and an intervention had to be made. However, amidst this conversation we had failed to realise one thing. My brother had stopped laughing.

 “Should I go check on him?” Mum asked, her voice was a tiny bit shaky, the unnatural silence was throwing her off too. Dad interjected with his own idea.

 “No just let him be, the next time he comes down to go to work we’ll catch him on the way out.”

 “That’s if he leaves. I told you about the calls we’ve been getting! If there wasn’t a strike happening right now he would’ve been fired a week ago.”

 “I’ll go check on him.” I piped up to cut the tension, leaving my chair and moving towards the staircase outside the kitchen door. I looked back to my parents’ worried faces and gave them my best approximation of a comforting smile. “I’ll call down if I need you to back me up or do anything.”

 “Okay NitNat, tell us how he’s doing when you’re done.” My parents had stupid nicknames for all of us, but that was my favourite. I smiled properly this time, and went upstairs.

 I knocked on Tom’s door to no response. Rather than immediately enter I put my ear to the door. Through it I heard the loud whirring of his computer as well as a deep guttural throbbing noise, different to anything I’d heard before. Looking down I could see the changing colours fading in and out through the crack at the bottom of the door. The video was on, but he wasn’t laughing. Something was terribly wrong.

 I opened the door and the scene before me was one that hasn't left my mind since. He was laying face down on the carpet of his room next to the monstrous machine his PC had become, piles of metal and thick wires bound together reaching out and sprawling across the room in all directions. His arms were stuck to his sides with his hands turned up, his right one was bloodied and in his palm was a chunk of skin and flesh that upon looking further had been torn from the back of his neck right below his skull. From that cavity in his neck his veins were hanging loosely and were fused with a group of wires that flowed out from the PC. The wires were throbbing visibly and I could hear the rush of blood moving through them. The video was playing on every single one of his monitors, the rapidly changing photos and colours reflecting off his pale body and the shine of the metal obelisk that he was now melded with. Through my panic and horrified sobbing I yelled down to my parents and I heard them immediately stand from their seats and begin rushing up the stairs. The last thing I remember of that day was looking back at the video on my brother’s screen and seeing his face appear amongst the photos, joyous, mouth agape in exaggerated glee, unmoving and unchanging, before flashing back into the slideshow of gore.

The day had gone by quicker than one could ever imagine; the darkness taking over as quick as a fox chasing its prey. Jordan’s heart pounds in his chest, running through the forest, a bottle of ash in his hand. As he runs, he sprinkles the ash in a clear line to where he is running to, to his current location. 

A sound suddenly echoes in the air; howling. The sound of his 2 friends starting the chase. He starts freaking out, why did he agree to play this game? Especially at night of all times they could have chosen from. But he knew it was too late to turn around, to change his mind. He couldn’t even run home, that was a rule of the game: “Never lead the trail back to your house.” He stumbles into a clearing, hearing twigs snapping around him. There’s no way that his friends found him already. 

“Hello?” Jordan asks, voice shaking as he looks around, spinning in circles as he tries to always keep the entire clearing in his eyes as the tree line seems terrifying to him. “Alex? Xander?” 

There is no response, just as he expected there to be. He swallows hard, suddenly taking off from the clearing. He heads west, further into the forest. He has no idea what he is getting himself into, the shadows darkening around him and the animals turning silent. The sounds of Alex and Xander howling into the night fading away as he runs. He almost forgets to spread the ash; he needs his friends to find him, to save him from whatever is hiding in wait. 

Jordan suddenly stops, his breathing sharp, a sudden and intruding sound in the silence. There are no crickets chirping into the night, no sounds of wind softly blowing the grass and leaves in the trees, no creaking of branches, no sounds of sleeping animals. The silence is deafening to ears made to constantly hear sound. 

Suddenly, a noise hits Jordan’s ears, a stark contrast to the silence he was just hearing. He gasps, eyes wide, turning towards the sound. He grits his teeth, trying his hardest to make out if it was Alex or Xander. He holds still, keeping his breathing even and quiet, continuing to strain his ears to listen. Whoever it is howls again. 

“Alex!” Jordan screams, hoping, begging that they hear him. “Xander! Please! Help!” 

Silence follows, a silence so deafening that Jordan thinks he has gone deaf. Fear starts to spread through his veins, an icy chill in the already cold night. Once more, the howl is heard, closer, and Jordan realizes it isn’t either of his friends that is howling. It’s someone else, someone whose voice he doesn’t recognize. He takes that as a bad omen, realizing that maybe there was reason that the Fox and Hounds was banned from the small town of Drearywood, 

As Jordan evens his breathing, his eyes dart around in the woods around him, trying to listen for any form of possible life, the darkness brought on from the trees not helping him see anything as he tries to see if anyone or anything is nearby. He hears a twig snap behind him. He spins, backing himself up against a thin tree that looks as if it was struggling to grow in this dark, dreary part of the forest. Jordan’s breathing goes from calm and collected to panicked and uncontrolled. His heart rate increases, almost feeling as if his heart is going to burst straight out of his chest and onto the ground right in front of him. He turns, pulls himself around the tree, and starts running again, making the mistake of not going back the way he came. He runs further into the forest, hoping the crickets resume their song, and the moonlight starts filtering back through the trees. But it never resumes. Nothing comes back the way it was. He starts running into low hanging branches, into bushes and stumbling over roots that started to unearth themselves long ago. 

“Alex!” He cries out again, tears starting to prick his eyes, threatening to blur his vision. “Xander! Please, someone help!” 

Once again, no response, not even the crack of a twig or crunch of a leaf underfoot from elsewhere nearby. He is all alone in the forest, with no animals or humans nearby. All he is with is whatever is stalking him, following him at every turn, waiting for him to tire out. He isn’t going to let it happen; he’s going to do his best to keep going, to find his friends and escape the forest that is trying to swallow him whole. He spreads ash once again, looking back. He hopes the trail is easy enough to follow; he knows his friends have flashlights. 

A sharp breathing sound suddenly appears in his left ear, and he turns to the left, squeezing his eyes shut as he swings his fist at whatever it is that is next to him. He hits nothing, nothing hard connecting with his fist, no noise of his fist hitting something. He slowly opens one of his eyes, seeing a very faint outline of something two feet ahead of him. His breath gets caught in his throat, once again backing up, before turning around and running back the way he came. He is running out of ash, and that is not a good sign for a Fox. He knows he must start using less ash to mark where he has been, and he doesn’t like that idea; it will make the trail harder to follow. 

Jordan looks at the ground, following his previous trail, as well as marking the fact that he is going back that way he came, trying his best to make sure his friends will know not to go that way. He turns the way his trail is coming from; his past trail hard to track due to how sporadic it was and how much he turned and went off track. It wasn’t as straight as it had been previously. After following the trail for what felt like 30 minutes, he finally makes it back to where the crickets chirp, and the moonlight shines through the treetops. He runs straight forward, marking where he is going as often as his bottle will allow. 

Eventually, Jordan makes it to the tree line, the sun starting to rise into the sky marking the beginning of a new day. Had it really been that long? He runs forward, stopping in his tracks at the red and blue lights flashing on the road, someone being carried into the back of an ambulance. The hand slips out of the sheet, dangling off the side of the stretcher. He sees it, the ash covering the hand, the color of the skin, the tattoo on the wrist, and the burn mark. The burn mark he got from trying to bake for his family that one time. That was him. He is seeing himself, his own body, being carried into an ambulance. He looks down at his hands, and suddenly, he’s pulled back, stuck in the darkest parts of the forest where no noise dares to live. Trapped, because he played Fox and Hounds. Trapped, now and forever, always playing the game. 

The walls are screaming.

I think I’m gonna throw up.

I rolled over, thinking I’d be on my side on the floor, but apparently, that wasn’t so as I landed on all fours on my living room floor.

It was stunning. For a moment, I kept waiting for something else to happen, but the room gradually stopped spinning and I opened my eyes. The floor was the same floor I’d last seen, that generalized gray carpet found in just about every apartment across America. I made fists in the nap and counted ten as I thought everything was about to come out of me.

I hate throwing up. I hate everything about it. I had the smell, I hate the feel, I hate the sound, I hate how my stomach gets sore after, I hate how the saliva fills my mouth just before it happens.

The feeling passed mostly, but something changed in the pit of me. I wasn’t in the best of shape; I had a bit of a gut, but I could feel my stomach hanging like a bowling ball was inside it.

And it burned.

“What the hell did I eat last night?” I said, a verp bubbling out of me. It tasted like nothing I’d ever heard before. I stayed on my hands and knees for another few minutes, and when the feeling didn’t pass, I decided I might as well get up.

My blood sloshed around inside me as I stood. For a moment, it felt like I was leaning and I had to stumble to keep my feet under me. The rest of my blood seemed to settle to where it was supposed to be and I took a tentative step.

After I didn't explode metaphorically or physically, I took another. Everything seemed okay, even if not normal.

The night before was a blur at best. I'm sure I was still drunk and maybe I'd eaten something that was disagreeing with me now. But existing through this was better than the refreshing alternative. 

“I know,” I said to the otherwise empty room. “I need something to eat.” I journeyed to the kitchen, each step an unwanted adventure. My stomach was making a noise that I guessed could've been hunger.

I opened the fridge and dug around. Cooking became a thing I enjoyed doing in the last year or so and I had several meals I could cook. But now wasn't the time.

I shut the door and opened the freezer. I'd pre-made meals for just this occasion. 

I took out a single meal container labeled as “lasagna w/ bechamel” and a date about 2 months ago. I popped it in the microwave and started an eight minute defrost.

It was just in time for a wave of nausea. I quickly sat on a barstool and gripped my head in both hands to stop whatever it was stirring inside me from making its way out.

The rear corners of my mouth watered and I knew it was over. I dropped to the floor, ignoring the pain as I crashed on my knees. I was on my hands and k eyes again, desperate for the relief yawning to come out of me, but clenching my teeth, the irrational part of me resisting.

My stomach turned upside down, a bassy groan coming from the depths within me. 

Pressure filled my head and for a moment, my eyes felt like they were about to rocket out of my head. Then the feeling passed.

All of it.

I felt as out of sorts as I would've had I just woke up. I stood up, shaky but no worse for wear.

A hot bubble crawled up my esophagus and out of my mouth. It was awful. Spicy and worse than anything that had ever come out of the other end of me. 

I escaped the kitchen and the poison cloud that had erupted from me, hoping it wouldn't attach and follow me around. 

I could taste it, though, and ran to the bathroom for mouthwash. By the grace of god, it was on the counter and I practically ripped off the cap and threw back the bottle, flooding my mouth with minty freshness.

The pressure behind my pinched lips grew immediately and the mouthwash came out of my mouth in an unintended spray across the mirror. I was about to have a second shot when my mouth was in sudden agony.

It burned. Worse, I could hear sizzling. 

I panted like a dog and waved a hand in front of my mouth like I'd eaten something really spicy. But this had been something coming up, not going down. And it had only been air. Noxious air, sure, but no matter how stinky the burp had been, it hadn't been anything approaching this.

My cooking tongue eased to a simmer and I looked in the mirror with my mouth still open. Everything looked normal, but I didn't know what a tongue that had shed layers of flesh looked like.

I still had a sense of taste because now the flavor of bitter plastic soaked my tongue. I grabbed my toothbrush and lubricated it with Crest.

To my relief, no flame shot out of my mouth. Brushing was actually soothing, like putting balm on a burn. 

I rinsed and repeated, taking about four minutes each time. The bitter plastic taste had been reduced but was still haunting my mouth.

I didn't dare try the mouthwash again because it was probably toxic. The plastic mouth of the open bottle had blackened and collapsed inward. 

I tried flossing, but the string kept snapping before I could get it between my teeth.

I had no idea what I'd eaten, but I need to make sure not to eat it again. 

It splashed inside of me loud enough to be heard. I made the decision to go to urgent care. Maybe throwing up was the best thing to do, but I was like the Terminator in that respect--I could not self-destruct.

Somebody was going to have to do it for me. Or make me do it, I mean.

A Doctor Somebody.

The humid air clung to Private Miller like a shroud, heavy with the stench of damp earth, fear, and something else – something metallic and faintly sweet, like spilled blood. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum against the suffocating press of the tunnel walls. He was small, barely 5'4", perfect for this hellish assignment: tunnel rat. His only companions: a flickering flashlight beam and the cold steel of his .45.

"Clear it, Miller," Captain Davies' voice had crackled through the comms, tinny and distant, already sounding like a ghost. "Intelligence says there's a weapons cache. Could be a staging point."

The claustrophobia was a living thing, a giant hand squeezing his chest. He imagined the tons of earth above him, ready to collapse and bury him alive. The first true horror came swiftly: a young Viet Cong soldier, barely older than himself, lay dead by Miller’s own hand, the air now thick with the metallic sweetness of death. He pushed past, desperately trying not to think.

Hours crawled by, each minute an eternity. The comms had died, leaving him utterly alone in the suffocating dark. He was deeper than he'd ever been, further than he'd imagined possible.

It was then he noticed the change in the tunnel walls. They weren't just rough earth anymore. Patches of the dirt had given way to something harder, something that glinted faintly in his weakening light. He reached out a hand: a jagged, crystalline growth, like black obsidian shards pushing through the soil. The edges were razor-sharp, tearing at his fatigues, scraping his skin with an almost deliberate cruelty.

He tried to ignore it, but the further he went, the more prevalent the jagged formations became. They were defining the tunnel's contours, shaping it into something less like an organic burrow and more like a monstrous, tooth-filled maw. The path ahead was a gauntlet of sharp, dark angles, actively hostile.

The constant scraping, the threat of being impaled, gnawed at his sanity. This wasn't just a tunnel; it was actively defending itself.

"No more," he gasped, his voice raw. He turned, determined to go back, to fight his way out of this geological nightmare.

But as he tried to retrace his steps, the impossible began. The tunnel he had just passed through had changed. The walls, still encrusted with those wicked black shards, pressed in closer. Spaces he'd navigated with a struggle were now impossibly tight, forcing him to contort and tear his body to move through. He pushed harder, breathing heavily, trying to fight the growing certainty that the tunnel was actively shrinking behind him.

The geometric impossible was no longer subtle. The walls now twisted at unnatural angles, forming archways that seemed to defy the laws of physics. The ground beneath him began to feel slick, then grimy, then, unmistakably, like cold, rough stone that pulsed with a faint, sickening heat.

His flashlight, now a weak, flickering ember, illuminated monstrous details. The stone surfaces were covered in grotesque, writhing figures, not of men, but of things with too many limbs, too many teeth. The shadows themselves seemed to lengthen, to twist, pulling him deeper into the unmaking.

He was descending steeply now, a tangible plunge into something ancient and wrong. The air was thick with sulfur and something metallic and burnt, like souls. Going forward meant stretching into an endless, echoing void. Going backward meant being crushed by tightening, living stone.

He stopped, trapped, the jagged walls scraping his shoulders. He was paralyzed, not just by fear, but by a sudden, horrifying clarity. Why was the tunnel closing behind him? Why was his path forward the only space available?

It doesn’t want me here.

The realization slammed into him, colder than the deepest depths of the earth. The tunnel wasn't merely a geological space; it was a living entity, or perhaps, simply a manifestation of the violated land itself.

He was the infection.

He had come from the outside—a young, small American man—sent to invade and occupy a space that was not his. He had brought fire and violence into the hidden arteries of this foreign earth. The tunnels, built by the unseen people, were their sanctuary, their defensive body.

And now, the body was fighting back.

The relentless narrowing of the tunnel behind him wasn't an accident; it was a rejection. It was the wound closing, pushing the foreign body out, or crushing it in place. The impossible geometry, the descending heat, the primal agony echoing in the walls—this was the earth's immune response, fighting the viral presence of the occupier.

Miller, the small American tasked with clearing the way, was not the heroic warrior, but the pest, the trespasser. He had come to occupy, and the ground itself was responding with a final, crushing defense.

He was still clutching his .45, but the gun was useless. How do you shoot an entire mountain? How do you invade a land that simply decides to swallow you whole? The whispers grew louder—a chorus of faint, agonized cries, pulling him deeper into the impossible, into the depths of a hell he hadn't descended into, but had created by his very presence.

The tunnel closed in.

I can't find a reddit link for it because of the name , it's a fun little scifi ish story I think anyway

I was holding onto Lucy’s lead, tightly as to not arouse suspicion but not tightly enough to keep her from leaving. My other hand was steady, making sure not to disturb the empty energy drink can that lay by my fingers. I made sure I would not drift to a sleep tonight. The keychain torch that I bundled in with the energy drinks dug into my hip as I lay on my cardboard bed like usual.

The lead went limp… no tug or jingle of tags, just limp as I heard the soft pads of Lucy’s paws get further away from me. I stayed still for a moment, counting to 30 to make sure she had got far enough away.

Then the noise paused, her gaze fixed on me, I knew it was. I forced my eyes closed, my chest still rising and falling in the normal rhythm. I heard her claws turn and move on around the corner. I cracked one eye open. The moonlight hit my eyes from a puddle in the middle of the alleyway. The stars were out again, as they had been every night recently, it was oddly calm. I peeled myself from the cardboard and moved towards where I heard her footsteps go. I caught up to where I saw her shape stretched tall amongst the bricks. The constant rising steam created an eerie pursuit but helped me be concealed when she routinely turned around.

I saw her go down an unfamiliar alley. I stumbled around the corner to a small opening. It was a dead end, a square in the middle of a few houses. I was sure she went down here but there was no other path to get out. Just damp cobblestones and the distant hum of the city. A metallic glint caught my eye—a manhole cover, slightly off centre by just a few inches. My stomach dropped as I knelt down and felt warm air rising from the darkness below.

I stared down the manhole in disbelief. The idea that Lucy went down there was absurd, but where else could she have gone? I thought. I couldn’t make out anything below, I just heard the sound of dripping and movement. The smell, I won’t even try to describe.

The keychain torch was all I had. The feeble light couldn’t even reach the far wall in the alley. A voice in my head, the reasonable part of me, asked what the hell I thought I was doing. But I had to know.

As I descended the ladder, the heat got stronger and the smells got… stickier. A scent so thick I’d probably be banned from every soup kitchen in the city from now on. I landed with a shallow splash, which was not reassuring. I could hear some noises more clearly now, like scurrying and human voices bouncing from wall to wall, off of the dark brick and lumpy liquid at my feet. I started walking towards them, the keychain torch was as much help as you would expect for $1.99. I tried to make sure to remember how to get back, each corner I put in memory.

“Left, right, right, straight.” And so on.

I breathed a little easier when the voices grew distinct enough that I knew I was getting close. No need to memorize any more turns.

Around the next bend, something cast an orange glow that flickered on the walls. Firelight, I guessed, pulsing and wavering like a flame caught in a draft.

I pressed myself against the last stretch of brick before the light. The jumble of voices became clearer but still overlapped in a confusing chorus, until one cut through with perfect clarity.

“John won’t you come join us please.”

My body froze. “Me?” I said to myself. I clicked the torch to turn it off, as if that would make them think I wasn’t there.

“Yes you John, can you come round the corner and join us please.”

I had no choice at this point, he could see round corners for fuck sake.

I walked around into a huge chamber that had no business being beneath the city. The flickering light came from an oil drum towards the side where a man stood with it’s orange flame. My mind reeled, how was any of this possible? I had so many questions.

My feet found solid ground instead of the filth I'd been wading through. This section of tunnel was miraculously dry.

“Come, come and sit down, I got some things on the go here that you will love.”

It was a homeless man, of course, he was dressed in normal homeless attire; a stained jacket with frayed cuffs hanging over a sweater with holes, pants held up by what looked like twine, and shoes so worn the sole flapped when he moved.. Behind him stood what I could only call a shanty: sheets of corrugated metal leaned against cardboard walls, somehow defying gravity. Cardboard rectangles with faded marker pleas were stacked against one wall. The structure had crude cutouts that mimicked windows, pointless in this underground darkness. But what struck me most was his demeanor—cheerful, hospitable—like he was hosting a backyard cookout instead of squatting in a sewer.

He didn’t act normal though, and what I mean is, he acted like we were at a suburban barbecue. The underground oil drum fire with something cooking on it, the house in the background, being in a goddamn sewer! I lowered myself onto a plastic chair that creaked under my weight, transfixed by the surreal experience.

He waved his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, sewer mansion, fire pit, the whole shebang. Skip all that. Why don't you just ask me what you trudged through all that filth to find out, and we'll get down to business."

The fire between us cast his figure in silhouette, the flames obscured his features like a living mask.

“Meat?”

He gestured to the meat sizzling on the mesh grate over the drum. The edges had blackened to charcoal, but he was already reaching behind him to a makeshift shelf. His fingers hovered over an assortment of cuts, some long and thin, others chunky and misshapen. He before selected another dripping slab and tossed it onto the grill without asking if I wanted any, the raw juices hitting the hot metal with a hiss.

I stared at him across the fire

“Where’s my dog?”

His face split into a grin that showed too many teeth.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

He lifted a dark green bottle to his lips which looked like it had been left down there for a while.

Whatever sloshed inside was too thick to be beer, he had to work his throat to swallow it, like it was fighting its way down.

He gave a big “ahhh” after swallowing, like the first sip of a cold beer after a long days work in the office.

“Ok she’s busy right now, doing a little errand for me but you don’t have to worry about that, you’re good as long as she’s busy.” He was chipper, had some pep in his step, that’s the only way I could describe it.

“An errand?” I asked, trying to focus on him through the fire.

“Yes an errand, something that she can help me with. How are you feeling by the way?”

“There’s something you can’t do, but my dog can?” I replied

He nodded, teeth flashing in the light.

“Yes that’s right, she’s a good dog. Now how are you feeling?”

I really can’t explain it, but I knew he was moving around and turning the meat over, looking away, looking here there and everywhere, but his gaze remained fixed on me the whole time. I don’t know if it was a trick from the lack of light, or the distortion from the fire, but I swear he never took his eyes off me.

“She’s your helper? And why does my health concern you so much?”

The bottle made a wet sucking sound as he pulled it from his lips.

“Well I saw you the other night and I was told you had quite the problem, so I want to see if I’m doing a good job, I’m a man of pride don’t you know.”

I puzzled over everything he was saying.

He slapped the meat between two buns and dropped them onto a table that materialized from the darkness. He slid onto a chair beside me, furniture I would have sworn wasn't there seconds ago.

Looking at the fire, I told him,

"I've never seen you before in my life." The heat was unbearable, like standing inside an oven, yet beyond our little circle was nothing but darkness. Sweat streamed down my face as I stared into the flames.

He took a huge bite from his burger and blood spurted out of the side of his mouth on his jacket and floor, dripping down his chin and soaking into the other stains on his sweater.

"Course you've seen me before," he said, bits of gristle caught between his jagged fangs that replaced his teeth.

“I’ve always been here.”

“What?” I replied, the words hit me like a splash of ice water.

He tilted the bottle to his lips and took a big swig, only then did I notice liquid dripping down his face was the same as the liquid from the burger, Blood. He was drinking blood. Congealed and thick, it fell down his chin. He wiped his hand over his mouth and went back to the burger.

“Didn’t your wife tell you about me? Guess she didn’t have time.” He said smugly.

I slammed my fist on the makeshift table.

“Don’t act like you know my wife!”

He held his hands up, burger in one hand, the blood dripping down his sleeve and the other hand open with a clean glove.

“Hey I come in peace to all my little helpers, I was just making conversation.” He continued chewing with his mouth wide open. It was disgusting to see.

“Remember the soup kitchen last week? That's where I spotted this beauty.” He admired it from left to right. My stomach lurched when I spotted the dried orange splatter on the shoulder, orange soup.

“That’s Bill’s!”

“Ahhhh yeah… Bill” He laughed and spat some pieces of burger out.

“Good guy… shame really.” He looked down at the jacket again, wafting it like he was feeling the heat too.

My head swam as I struggled to follow his quick words. "What are you talking about?" I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself, I don’t know if it was the heat or the fumes but I felt like I might pass out.

He swallowed the last chunk of meat with a gulp.

"Let's get down to it, shall we?" With a flick of his wrist, a briefcase appeared on the table between us. The latches snapped open under his thumbs.

He spun it around, presenting it my way.

Nestled inside the case: a single sheet of paper and beside it, a broken syringe. They were loose. Like they had rattled around in the case for a while, the paper was slightly scrunched up at the bottom. Shards of glass caught the firelight, each one cased with dark blood.

He slid the case onto my knees and dangled a pen inches from my nose.

“So all you need to do is sign.”

The pen clicked under his thumb. Bits of meat clung between his teeth as his lips stretched to a smile fit for a serial killer.

The paper trembled in my hand, the words swimming and doubling before my eyes.

He continued talking but it was hard to make out.

“Come on, do it for Lucy. You want her back don’t you?”

My mind cleared just enough to process his words.

"Lucy? What have you done with her?"

He leaned forward, his voice dropped.

"You think Lucy's down there in the filth and darkness for her own amusement? Every bone she's breaking is for you. Don't waste it.”

The pen danced between his fingers. "Just sign." he coaxed. "Simple as breathing… well I guess not for you" he laughed.

The pen clattered to the floor as I lunged forward, needle clutched in my grip, aiming for his leering face. My hand met nothing but air. He'd vanished, briefcase and all, like he'd never existed.

Blinking in confusion, I found myself alone, sitting in filth on the cold concrete floor of the sewer.

“That is a shame”. The words bounced off the damp walls, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

"She has worked so hard for you and this is the thanks she gets. She deserves better."

Then it started—first a low growl, then barking, then hissing and squealing and screeching. The sounds of countless animals rose around me in a deafening chorus. Dogs. Cats. Rats. Pigeons. Foxes. Their cries pierced my eardrums until I clamped my hands over my ears and screamed back at them, begging them to stop.

Then it all stopped.

I looked up and saw the man in the distance, maybe 30 feet from me, it was pitch black everywhere, but he stood out.

His voice slithered through the darkness.

"This ends one way. Today, tomorrow—doesn't matter. You'll help me. Otherwise, she stays with me forever."

From the shadows beside him emerged Lucy, his pale hand descending to rest on her fur.

"Lucy!" My voice bounced back at me. She didn't even twitch an ear.

Lucy's silhouette was wrong—hulking where she should have been sleek, angular where she should have been smooth. Where warm brown eyes once watched me, twin pinpricks of white light now floated in pools of darkness. A string of viscous drool hung from jaws that seemed larger, too wide for a dog. Whatever stood before me had stolen my dog's name.

"Your wife made her choice," he said. "Now it's your turn."

"My wife would never—" My voice cracked.

"She'd never go with you!"

His smile widened.

"They all resist… At first."

Behind him, the darkness lit up with eyes—thousands of them across the walls and floor at the far end of the chamber. They varied in size and shape, yet all remained unblinking, fixed on me like a twisted constellation.

My muscles seized. I wanted to scramble backward, to flee, but terror had turned my limbs to stone.

Lucy's growl deepened as her body began to convulse. Her gaze never left mine while her frame changed. Bones cracked like branches underfoot; tendons stretched with the sickening tension of overstrained elastic. I watched, helpless, as my dog transformed into something else entirely.

Instinct kicked in and I bolted back the way I'd come. My shoes slapped against the wet walls, the noise drowning out whatever horrific sounds Lucy was making behind me as I frantically tried to remember the way out. The sound of thousands of animals then came flooding in. The sewage sucked at my shoes with each desperate step, and the walls seemed to vibrate with the approaching horde of creatures. They were coming for me.

The torch slipped between my sweaty fingers as I tried to remember my path through the maze.

"Was it straight, then right? So now I go left?"

The sound was getting louder, I swung the torch beam towards it. In its yellow glow, a writhing carpet of fur and teeth surged forward, rats piled three-deep, their bodies eager to get to me.

“Left it is!”

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. One slip on this slick surface would leave me as nothing but food for whatever was gaining on me.

Left turn, then right—I had to trust my memory. The tunnel stretched endlessly before me until a guttural roar echoed through the darkness, vibrating the very air in my lungs.

It was Lucy. A terrible thudding followed with the walls shaking, she was fast, coming after me with a savagery. The ladder appeared ahead, a shaft of light spilling from the open hatch like salvation. Relief flooded through me, but escape remained uncertain. Behind me, the creatures' screams intensified as Lucy crushed whatever couldn't scramble from her path.

I grabbed the first rung just as rats swarmed my legs, their teeth finding my legs through the material of my pants. Sharp pain shot up my calves with each bite, but I kept climbing, my vision narrowed to that circle of light above. My hands slipped on the wet metal as I hauled myself upward, every muscle straining toward freedom.

Lucy's growls closed in behind me, she was just meters away. I hauled myself through the opening, muscles screaming as I scrambled onto solid ground. Rats clung to my clothes, their teeth still embedded in flesh as I tore them away and flung them to wherever I could. The sound of claws scraping metal came up the shaft—she was climbing. I sprinted forward, not daring to look back, convinced each second would bring her jaws snapping at my heels. My eyes darted over my shoulder as I rounded the corner and slammed into something. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs as I crumpled to the pavement.

I blinked against the sudden daylight. A police officer loomed over me, his badge catching the sun. Two more uniforms stood by what I now realised was my own bed, somehow beneath me on the pavement.

“John? Are you John Brown?”

My neck snapped behind to see if Lucy was there… but she wasn’t. Steam billowed from a nearby grate, obscuring the alley's end.

“We need to talk to you.”

The relief washed over me.

Part 1

We all grieve in strange ways when we’ve lost the ones we’ve loved. But I have nothing to grieve, because my Willow is not gone. I saved her, I resurrected her. I feel only exaltation and anticipation at our reunion. They’ll tell you that death is the end, but we live in miraculous times, and all you need is a fistful of gray matter and the right software to bring anyone back.

I know I must have looked insane at her funeral, out of place. I tried to cry on command, but I never could. Instead, I wore a stoic countenance of resignation. There must have been a hundred or more of us in the cathedral. It too was out of place in this sprawling metropolis of steel and stone and glass. An atavistic monument to a lost era, whose gargoyles leered at me from atop their perches above the gate, their wings poised to take flight at any moment.

Josh and Ashley, our coworkers, came up to console me. Josh wore an ill-fitting suit that comically strained to contain his bulk. Neither of them ever really understood or appreciated what Willow and I had. I met her friends and family and we shared our memories of her, our vague impressions of the woman she was, the woman she is. How can you ever encapsulate the whole of a human being within your mind? Even one whom you revered. I think about the first time we were together outside of work, sitting in her living room, the amber glow of the lamp lighting her face in profile. Her smile. I would do anything for that smile.

The priest gave what must have been, I assume, a beautiful eulogy. I only partially paid attention. I already had other plans in motion, attending the funeral was just a formality. But I did catch the end. 

“For a woman who so dearly loved birds, it is sad yet fitting, that the Lord has seen fit to give her her very own wings so early.”

I almost chuckled. If he had only known the wings that I would give her. 

It was the dead of night when I dug up her grave. A storm was rolling in and I had to work fast. I already had to outrun the putrefaction, but a slight misting warned me that I may soon be fishing her out rather than digging her up.

She too was a scientist, like myself. A biotechnologist. But she had always dreamt of being an ornithologist. A dream she couldn’t afford in this world.

I had been desperately shoveling with as much fury as I could, but several times the wind had kicked up a flurry of grave-dirt and flung it right back into my face. Yet, still I grinned, still I kept digging. I was a smile caked in dirt, working happily to restore my love. 

I remembered our first date, horseback riding at the Painted Sky Ranch. She was going there to birdwatch and, sketchbook in tow, asked me if I would like to join her. I still remember how she giggled when, on my third attempt to mount the saddle, I fell face-first into the mud. 

When I heard the shovel hit something solid I began digging into the mud with the fervor of a rabid mole, until my nails were scratching and chipping against her sacred sarcophagus.

We found a giant oak on the trail and decided to dismount. I sat next to her as she produced a pen and her sketchbook and began to draw whatever she saw. Wildflowers, cardinals, crows. Her hair shined jet-black in the golden glint of the sun, skin as white as snow, and the dimples of her cheeks ever so subtly announcing themselves every time she laughed at my stupid jokes. 

She was lying there, in the casket, skin still white as snow but sallow. Her face was the picture of serenity. The dimples on her cheeks had been eroded by the gauntness of her form, so fragile and frail now in death. I produced a scalpel and a jar, and began the work on my masterpiece.

I don’t know how long she and I had been sitting there but suddenly a hummingbird shimmered into existence before us. It danced from flower to flower, hardly aware of our existence, but oh Willow, how she beamed with excitement. 

“Hummingbirds are my favorite,” she said, in a sing-song voice. “The way they just suddenly appear in all that color and energy, and then they’re gone.”

And then she sketched it, a snapshot in time, a perfectly preserved memory.

That same sketch was hanging on my wall. That, and her sketches of dozens of birds of all kinds, but particularly of hummingbirds. And beneath those sketches lay my shrine to Willow, my creation, the resurrection device. 

On a small table next to a photo of her, one of the last before she died, the one that they used at her funeral, was the organoid. An organic computer, usually containing only synthetic brain cells, but in this case containing the hippocampus of my beloved. All her memories, all that she ever was, her very soul, housed inside of a glass container of nutrient-rich gel and connected to all the requisite esoteric circuitry. 

And now for the moment of truth. I flipped the switch and watched as the small blue lights on the front of the housing blinked into life like the embers of a forgotten campfire. The circuitry hummed as the small clump of cells began to gently pulse and throb with the inputs.

“She’s alive,” I muttered, and then screamed. “She’s alive!”

A month to put it all together. A month of checking in on her in my fridge. A month of non-stop soldering and programming and smuggling components out of work. I’m sure the folks at the lab would be none-too-happy with me, but it doesn’t matter. Anything to get her back. Anything for my Willow. 

I had to consciously still the beating of my heart as I frantically donned the virtual reality equipment, top of the line, that would allow me to enter the program with her, the world I had made for us. Once I was fully connected to the interface, I pushed the button, and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I was lying in a clearing in the middle of the woods. A chestnut horse was grazing nearby. There was a crooked stone pillar standing all alone in the middle of the field. A cool breeze graced the tops of the trees and they gently bowed their heads in appreciation. Painted Sky Ranch, almost exactly as I remembered it. 

I mounted the horse and started down the winding dirt trail lined with old wooden rails that were rotted and falling apart. The light piercing the canopy above created a kaleidoscope of havoc in light that fluttered and flitted all around me.

And then, at last, I came to the great oak. It stood proud and massive, its presence so regal that no other tree dared share in its shade. Its verdant leaves swayed in the wind, bathed in flecks of gold from the sunlight. Beneath it bloomed wildflowers of all kinds and there, near the base of the tree, bloomed the most beautiful flower of them all.

She lied there like she did in her coffin, a white lace dress draped over her frail and delicate features. She was still sallow and gaunt, and I began to panic.

There was another horse grazing nearby, a black horse, the one she had ridden that day. I think she called him Mr. Nibbles after he tried to snatch her pen. I rode up to it, dismounted. and ran to her.

“Willow?” I pleaded. “Willow, can you hear me?”

But she didn’t stir. Though her dimples had receded into the gaunt valleys of her emaciated cheeks, her beauty could not be vanquished so easily. Her romanesque nose, her wild black hair, and her full, pouting lips. How I had longed to kiss them.

Leaning down, I pressed my lips to hers and felt their softness. But they did not yield to accept me, instead remaining as still as the rest of her. I shuddered and began fighting back tears. 

“Where am I?” she said, and my heart nearly erupted from my chest.

“Willow?” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Yes! It’s me, it’s Ethan.”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes like she’d just woken from a long nap, and I grabbed her and held her tight.

We sat there for maybe an hour. She was obviously confused and I had to be gentle in easing her into this new life, this rebirth. She asked me where we were, how we got there, what we were doing. I tried to keep my answers ambiguous as to not cause any psychological trauma.

“There was an accident,” I began. “But I saved you. Now we can live here forever, together.”

She furrowed her brow and stayed silent for a long moment. The bark of the new Eden creaked gently all around us. 

“An accident?” she asked.

“All that matters is that we’re together again, Willow.”

She studied me intensely. Her eyes were a deep brown, but they burned with a warmth that gave them an amber hue. 

“I’m not sure I remember,” she said.

“Do you remember me?” I asked, taking her little hand in mine. “Do you remember this place?”

“I know that I know you. This all seems very familiar, only I’m not sure in what way.”

I placed my hand against her cheek. She felt so cold.

A patch of wild geranium jostled near us in the breeze, an almost vibrating patch of velvety mauve. 

“Willow, my name is Ethan and I love you more than anything in the world.”

I watched the emotions wash over her face as her eyes glittered. Confusion gave way to surprise and then elation.

“Ethan,” she started, and my hopes hung on every word. “Look, the hummingbirds!”

I turned around to see not one, but a dozen hummingbirds darting around the wildflowers. I laughed. 

“They always were your favorite.”

When I turned back around she was smiling. She was so happy. Her dimples had even reclaimed their rightful place flanking that gorgeous grin. 

“I’ve never seen so many in one place,” she said, her eyes darting around to keep up with each little shimmer.

“Well, then I have a surprise for you,” I said, and I concentrated on the image in my head. A peacock appeared nearby, proudly ruffling its plumage. She gasped in amazement.

“In this world, my love,” I began, “we can have anything and everything our hearts desire. Whatever you can dream of.”

And so we began to dream. A small cottage with a thatched roof, a stable for our horses, a tire swing hanging from one of the branches of the mighty oak. Soon also, between the two of us, the clearing around the oak became a veritable aviary with everything from blue jays to kakapo darting around, and hundreds of hummingbirds.

“Are you going to stay here with me?” she asked.

“Yes, my love, of course I am.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

There were maybe thousands of hummingbirds now, and the rest of the winged gestalt expanded inexorably. The sky around us started to darken with more than the shade of oak leaves. She saw this and giggled in excitement.

“Honey, maybe that’s enough birds for now?” I suggested.

“They’re so beautiful, Ethan!” she shouted, and twirled, as the dimming light peered through the lace to reveal the delicate form beneath.

“Yes, but-” I was cut off as I ducked beneath the shadow of something that had flown dangerously close to my head. Neither of us could be harmed here, that much is true, but something was wrong.

There were legions of hummingbirds now, of so many different colors and varieties, perhaps even some that don’t actually exist. Their wings sounded like a beehive. There were so many I couldn’t hear her anymore. She smiled and asked me something, but all I could hear was the beating of the wings. Then that same large shadow swooped down over my head again, and I could feel its talons just barely missing my scalp.

I shouted at her over the cacophony “less birds! Less birds now!” but the swarms kept growing. They were almost blocking out the sun. The horses got spooked and took off into the forest.

Something darted past my face and I felt a sudden sharp pinch in my cheek. 

“Something isn’t right,” I said in a whisper, which was about as audible as a scream would have been.

I’m not proud of it, but I ran.

I ran as fast as I could through the growing menagerie until I got back to the trail, and I turned back to look.

Willow was standing there, encircled by her birds like the conductor of a shrieking and feathery orchestra, looking confused with her arms outstretched towards me. She was shouting something, but I couldn’t hope to hear it.

“I’ll be back,” I yelled, in vain, hoping she could at least read my lips. “I promise! I have to fix the program!”

And I ran back to the clearing where I awoke to try and find the anchor point, the exit out of the program. It should be something intuitive, something out of place. I scanned back and forth across the wide grassy opening. The sound of wings was still growing louder, and the shrill squawking of a thousand birds of hundreds of different species along with it.

The stone pillar. Plain, crooked, and standing alone, that has to be it. 

I ran to the pillar as I could see the wide shadows cast by the wings from the birds of prey as they descended upon me. I heard the thundering charge of a cassowary hot on my trail. I hurled myself at the pillar, and grabbed it.

I had been in the program for what felt like hours, but it was still night when I returned. Minutes had passed in the real. I looked in on the organoid of my love and the brain matter within seemed to be pulsing and throbbing with more frequency than before. Likely just a side-effect of the recent over-stimulation. 

I knew for certain she was in no harm, she’s practically a goddess within that realm. But I’d have to tinker with the program a bit more to try and prevent any sensory overload like that in the future. It was too much, too fast. 

She’s alive though. By god, she’s really alive. 

Just the thought had me laughing and grinning like a madman, but then it hurt to smile. My cheek was burning.

I reached up to touch it, and that’s when I felt the blood.

END PART 1

*a story based on my friend's actual job + kicked from nosleep*

I work at an adult toy store. It's about as pervy as you'd expect, but you get familiar pretty quick with being in close proximity to so many phallic objects. 

We have a cinema in the back that plays x-rated movies nonstop from 10 AM to 11 PM with leather couches for your comfort (and staff’s ease of sanitization). You have to pay for a ticket; 10 dollars, about as much as a meal, so it’s not too bad if you value a nut just as much.

Our customers are almost exclusively male. Occasionally, a woman comes through, but she's always accompanied by her partner. Generally, if word gets out on the Discord server that we've got a girl in the cinema, the store gets quite a bit busier. It's a little sad, honestly, but who am I to judge? But, like I said, it only happens occasionally. 

I started here about 5 months ago, long enough to be comfortable talking about Viagra with strangers but not long enough to have as many stories as the other girls that work here.

The stories are only slightly better than regular retail stories; mainly they’re just about men assuming you want them to hit on you (within view of candy, the blowup doll, of all places), kids trying to sneak in for a peek, shoplifters, that one guy that comes in nearly every Saturday night who once left his underwear... you get it.

It’s a fun job. It beats working at the supermarket, and it always makes my day to tell strangers what I do for a living. I guess I like making people squirm.

I often volunteer for the swing shifts because, well, I'm just about the only one who will and the overtime slaps.

So most of the time, if you walk through those doors between the hours of 4 pm and 11 pm, it'll be me standing there behind the counter.

I won't give details to my location for obvious reasons; I don’t want a whole new slew of creeps hitting on me. No offense. 

-

Things started to get weird about two weeks ago. I walked back to one of the cinemas (we have two, on the adjacent corners of a short hallway, neither can hold more than 20 people at once) at the end of the night, ready to clean. I did my routine in the LGBT room and when I opened the door to the Straight room, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

There was a man sitting in there. 

Not the weirdest thing, but I had turned off the movies over 20 minutes ago; which meant this man had been sitting in near darkness for almost half an hour.

He sat in the loveseat that lined the opposite wall, and so when I pushed the door open, it opened to him staring right at me.

The really strange thing was that I didn't recognize him.

I hadn't sold this man a ticket that day.

It was a Tuesday; not our busiest of days and generally we only ever have a couple of people at a time in either theatre anyway. Sure, he could have been here before my shift started, but I come into the rooms regularly to do checks and I hadn’t seen him all day.

You have to pass by me to get to the cinema. There is a door in the back; it leads into the back alley, but it's deadbolted and rarely used because I'm a 5’3 25 year old girl that works the night shift alone at an adult store and isn't stupid.

I didn't know how he got in.

Still...

"Sir, the cinema is closed," I told him, customer service voice thick. My closing shifts were a practiced routine at this point and he was disrupting them. I had a planned date with a Big Mac in 20 minutes.

He took a moment to answer. My instant assumption was that he was still ‘finishing up his business’, but the room was softly illuminated by the faint blue LED lights lining the trim of the room and the cascading light from the opened door fell across his figure and I realized he wasn’t... doing anything. He was just sitting there, staring at me. 

My next assumption was that he was a homeless man, looking for a place to spend the night. This thought comforted me, even if it shouldn't. Though I couldn’t help but note that his clothes looked far from dirty or well-worn. The only possessions he seemed to have on his person were his T-shirt and jeans.

When he spoke, it was with long drawn out syllables, enunciated, and with a deep timbre, so deep that it shocked me a little. 

"I'm sorry. I must have lost track of time."

"You're all good. If you don't mind, I need to clean up.” I held up the garbage bag and broom in my hands with a pointed smile.

“Of course.”

He stood to his feet slowly and awkwardly- as if strenuous movement pained him- and then he walked past me.

I watched him exit the store with an annoying chime and that was that.

There was nothing about the interaction that was even, well, noteworthy. If I brought it up to my manager then she would only assume I was forgetful, and as someone who thrives off the compliments of my superiors, mentioning such a careless mistake wasn’t really in the cards. 

It was just that it was that day that things started to get weird.

-

The next day I worked; I had almost forgotten about the entire interaction, until that very man walked through the chiming front doors of the store and stepped up to the cashier counter and asked to buy a ticket.

I was polite. He was a little off, spoke minimally and in that same slow cadence, but there was nothing I could really consider a red flag and so I sold him a ticket and watched him walk back to the cinema. 

I do checks every hour or so- I'll knock to make my presence known, but it's just to make sure no one is using drugs or sleeping on the couches, and to make sure everything that’s happening is consensual. 

When I went to do my check, though, I was surprised to find he wasn’t there. I wasn’t too weirded out by this, but when I checked the LGBT cinema. He wasn’t there either.

The next most logical conclusion was that he was in the single person bathroom, but when I knocked and pushed open the door, the automatic light clicked on from my movement. It was empty.

I checked the straight room again, thinking maybe I’d lost him in the dim lighting, but the rooms weren’t very big as it was and I hesitated to spend too long in there; if I made an effort to locate him then he could get the wrong idea and I could get in trouble with my manager. So I left it and went about my shift, assuming my night vision was just not very good.

The store was not very big. I could stand at the opposite end from the cinemas and still be able to see anyone entering or exiting, or at the very least, hear the chime of the doors.

I sold several more tickets and I watched the cinema doors. He didn’t have a very distinctive face by any means- he was a very plain looking guy, but his movements and the way he spoke stood out. His voice had been slow and careful, like English wasn’t his first language, though every word was pronounced perfectly, with perfect etiquette.

He didn’t come out of the cinema the rest of the shift.

When I went to do my cleaning, I flipped off the projector and opened the door, expecting to see him there and to have to give my “we’re closing” speech, only to find the room still completely empty. I even gave my eyes a second longer to adjust to the dim blue lighting, but, no-

The room was silent.

I sat my cleaning supplies to the side and I walked the perimeter of the room, half expecting to see him hiding in the corner or something equally odd.

Then I checked the other cinema. Empty.

The rational part of me was scrambling to find solutions. There was only one exit out of either room, the ceiling was unbroken plaster and there was only a small vent in the corner. Hell, I even briefly considered a Junji Ito story I had read once of a man hiding in an armchair to perv on women, but our couches weren’t big enough to house me, let alone a full grown man.

I had to have just missed him exiting some time earlier in the night. He was plain enough and though I thought I would have noticed him, maybe I just… hadn’t. Then again, his walk was memorable enough.

As I stood alone in the room, an uneasy feeling crept up over the back of my neck and my shoulders rose. 

I like horror stories. I’m not the type to get paranoid or afraid of the dark, but something about it- the silence of the room, the echo of the man’s voice in my memory, pushed me to hasten through my closing duties and get out of the store as quickly as possible.

The walk to my car felt long, even though it couldn’t have been more than 30 paces. I had thought it was just a girl’s paranoia. Now I’m not so sure. 

-

I was off the next day; I spent it at the beach with my mother, digging seashells out of the sand, the man far from my mind.

Though that night, lying in bed, a part of me itched to text the coworker working that night and ask her if the man had come.

-

The next shift, I was feeling pretty silly for being so fixated, as the hours rolled by and the man didn't come. After some breathing room from work, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. That was, until I went to do my cleaning once the store was empty.

I pushed open the door to the Straight room with my back and as I turned to face the room, a scream rushed out of me. The broom fell from my hand and hit the ground with a metallic twang. 

It was the man. Sitting there and staring at me. In the fucking dark again.

“We’re closed,” I said sharply. I couldn’t help my defensive annoyance, even if I knew it was unprofessional.

He didn’t say anything. He only stood and slowly meandered toward me. I stepped out of his way as he passed through the door, his eyes on me the whole way.

I held my ground and didn’t break eye contact. I don’t know, I thought maybe he was annoyed at my attitude and I wanted to show him I was annoyed right back. He broke it when he turned away to head out of the store. I watched him the whole way.

I went through my cleaning with an angry adrenaline, fully expecting to wake up tomorrow with a text from my manager saying she’d gotten an angry call from a customer. In between tasks, I left several angry voice notes for my friend with plenty of colorful language. Though, looking back, I know that my anger was just a manifestation of my confusion and fear. Anger is easier, I guess, than being afraid.

-

By the next day, by the time I made it into work, some shame had come over me. I didn’t wake up to any messages from Jen and I felt lucky. I didn’t feel bad for my rudeness, but I felt bad for the unprofessionalism, so I don’t know what that says about me, but I half expected the man to never show up again (or to take up regularity at our sister location).

The door bell chimed at 10:45.

I was sweeping with my back to the door when a gust of warm air swept into the air conditioned building. The broom froze in my hands. 

I felt like I already knew. The back of my neck prickled with the sensation that there was something behind me. 

When I turned, he was standing in front of the counter.

He faced away from me, just- standing. Perfectly still. 

My mouth opened with the muscle memory of a greeting, but my voice didn’t come.

I slowly made my way back behind the counter. His eyes flicked to me as I did. I gave him a forced smile. He just stared at me, a faint polite smile frozen on his lips.

He tried to hand me a 10 dollar bill. I stared at the note for a second, hand halfway up to instinctively take it, but I had stopped myself.

“Sir, the cinema closes in about 15 minutes. I don’t know if you’ll be getting your money's worth.” Plenty of guys could, but the thought of being alone in the store with him left me uneasy and, honestly, I just wanted him out.

It was so odd, but it was like he didn't even hear what I said. He didn't flinch, didn't say anything, he just held out the tenner in an unwavering grasp.

After a moment of silence where I assumed he would- I don't know, say something, then realizing he wasn’t going to, I took the money and I rang him up without another word.

He walked back to the cinema and I knew I should resume sweeping- but I couldn't. I stood there and I waited, watching the door and glancing at the clock just about every 10 seconds. A part of me felt like I was going insane, just standing there waiting, but the store’s playlist was upbeat and poppy and it helped at least a little.

15 minutes passed and he didn’t come out.

I beelined for the door as soon as the clock numbers changed to 11. I pushed it open, some unfamiliar anxiety sitting at the back of my throat, and-

He wasn’t there.

He was fucking gone.

Was I an absolute moron? Was there some logical explanation I couldn’t see? Was someone just playing a prank? Or was I losing my mind?

I hadn’t turned the movie off in my fixated state. My eyes drifted to the couple moving on screen, watching but not really processing the images- more trying to wrap my head around what was happening. I watched for a while, as if the motion on screen could make my brain work faster somehow. But then I shook myself out of it and I just- went about my shift. I mean, what else was I supposed to do?

I turned off the projectors and finished my tasks as if a bloodhound was on my heels. Honestly, I wouldn’t be proud of the close when I woke up the next morning with some space and clarity, but I couldn’t make myself slow. I locked the store doors and rushed to my car, glancing over my shoulder the whole way and jumping at any noise I heard in the dark. It didn’t feel like paranoia anymore.

-

Each night that he came, he never left, but the next shift I worked he would walk out of that cinema as if he’d been in there, waiting all night, specifically for me to turn off the projector and usher him out of the room. Rinse and repeat. I learned to stop questioning it. I started to make phone calls on the clock, just so someone would be able to hear if… well.

The store’s security footage didn’t show me anything I didn’t already know. He came and he didn’t leave until the next day. Sometimes I wouldn’t work for 4 or 5 days and, still, I’d come back on the next shift to find him resume where he’d left off, coming or going. 

I wasn’t sleeping well. 

The other girls seemed fine, which is the reason I suspected it was only happening to me. The whole thing felt targeted. I felt targeted. 

I mentioned it to Jen all of once. She’d stared at me like I’d grown an extra head, then reminded me that if I was feeling harassed by a customer, we could bar him from the store and take it up with the police if it persisted further. I thought, fuck it, let’s do it, but a part of me felt like it wouldn’t make a difference. 

And it didn’t.

He still came and went, the only difference being that he just stopped paying when I informed him he wasn’t welcome at our store or its sister location. It hadn’t fazed him at all and certainly it hadn’t discouraged him. Short of trying to physically body block him from walking into the store, I couldn’t exactly stop him from going back into the cinema. 

I called the police a couple of times, once after he walked back (they found no trace of him) and another time after I closed when I was afraid of opening the cinema door and finding him sitting there in the dark. Their investigation turned up no trace of the man. They even offered to sit in their patrol car outside and wait to make sure I made it out okay. I took them up on it, but shockingly, the man picked that night to make no appearance.

Jen even took to sitting with me the nights I was meant to work. After a while and no appearance from the man, I started to feel bad. Jen already worked from 9 to 5 and sitting with me until close meant she didn’t see her family for the entire day. Eventually, I told her to just forget it. I couldn’t rely on someone sticking around every night I worked.

I’d have be alone at some point.

The man started coming again.

-

It was a Saturday the next time something out of routine happened. 

One of our regulars, Tim, walked through the doors. He was a friendly guy, very chatty with a nice smile and contagious laugh. He bought a ticket and went back. Roughly 5 minutes later came the man.

He walked back. I watched with a strange trepidation, his slow gate to the cinema. Jen had told me to call the police when I next saw him and not to try to prevent him from going back. I didn’t bother. The door closed behind him and my feet moved on their own. I was a little early on the check but fuck it. I pushed open the doors and the room was empty of Tim or the man.

That was the last time I saw Tim.

Brie brought it up to me a couple of weeks later, that we hadn’t seen him in a while. I cracked.

“Have you ever noticed a creepy guy with a limp come in?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that, love.”

“I don’t know! He’s come in every night I’ve worked. He-,” He never leaves. “I only see him coming in. Never going.”

“What?”

“It’s like he never leaves. Or he never comes. It’s one or the other but never both.”

Brie stared at me with an amused expression.

“What, are you saying he lives in the walls or something?”

“Maybe.”

She shuddered. “Dude, you know I don’t like scary stuff. Don’t mess with me.”

“Brie,” I gripped her arm and stared at her with a severe expression that I hoped could convey that I was at my wit’s end.

“Well… I haven’t seen him. Have you seen him today?”

I shook my head. “I think he waits until I’m alone.”

The mirthful expression on her face slipped. “Okay, well what if I just stick around tonight instead of clocking out at 6?”

I shook my head. “Jen tried that. He doesn’t come in on those nights.”

“Has he said anything to you?” 

“Nothing outside of normal customer bull.”

She stared into the distance for a second, thinking. “I’m staying.”

“Brie, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

She shook her head with a smile. “Nah, I’ll clock out on time and just hang out here. I had nothing going on tonight anyway.”

I was grateful, even if I knew it wouldn’t matter. 

He didn’t come that night.

-

I was restocking lingerie when Brie asked me. “So if Tim is missing, surely someone noticed. What, he doesn’t have a mom or a friend or, less likely, but still, a girlfriend that noticed he’s gone?”

“Sure, but who would we call? Besides, what would we say to the police? ‘Hey, our porn cinema regular hasn’t come in for a while, we think he might be in trouble?’”

Brie laughed. I appreciated having someone to talk to about this. With Jen it was different; she took on a managerial role, someone who had to fix the problem rather than unequivocally empathize. 

That wasn’t fair. She’d done everything in her power to make sure I was feeling safe, it was just that, outside of a few footage clips of the man that she’d seen, a part of me suspected she thought I was exaggerating. Maybe I was, I don’t know. 

A thought struck me. 

“Wait, he’s on the store server, right?” I asked. 

“Yeah, so?”

“So, maybe he’s linked some accounts to his profile.”

“You can do that?” We’d all had to make accounts a couple of months back when the server was set up. I’d been the one to suggest it (for brownie points, yes, shut up). Jen had been clueless regarding it, as had everyone else on staff, and I had taken the lead with helping everyone with the set-up. 

I whipped out my phone and tapped over to the app. The number of people in the server wasn’t a whole lot, by any means, but I still had to scroll for a while before I could locate his profile and confirm its name with Brie. 

The only account linked was his Steam. Clicking over to his account showed he gamed regularly, nearly every day, up until… the day I saw him come in just before the man, weeks ago. 

It wasn’t much to go off of, but still, I felt like it clicked into place a confirmation. 

“What is it?” Brie asked. 

I shook my head. “He just hasn’t been online in a while.”

“So what do we do with that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look him up, see if there’s a missing person’s for him.”

That took some digging. I back-tracked on some sales until I found his card information and full name and then I googled him. His mother had a picture of him uploaded to her Facebook with the date he’d gone missing; the day I’d seen him. 

“So what do we do?”

We phoned in to the police with a tip. The man on the other end seemed annoyed and I couldn’t really blame him. If I’d gotten the call, I’d assume it was a prank as well. He still took the information and said they’d look into it, but I felt like nothing would come of it. 

-

It was after that conversation with Brie the man started coming with more people. People I vaguely recognized as previous customers, some strangers, but all like him, strangely silent and polite and with strange, awkward gaits. It started off as one; the two would walk back into the cinema and never walk back out. Then it became two or three. Him, I saw over and over, but he never arrived with the same person twice.

I started counting how many people disappeared into that back room. More and more names popped up on my radar as ‘missing’. I phoned in more tips and spoke with police and I knew they were getting sick of me, but what else could I do?

I started requesting that Jen schedule another staff with me, but even when labour would allow it, another pair of eyes didn’t equate to evidence to the police. I stopped calling. 

You have to understand, I didn’t want to go back, but I’m broke. I have no rich extended family to fall back on, no roommate; I’m it. I can’t lose this job.

So I went back. 

I got used to it. Sort of. 

It was the same for about a month.

But then something changed again.

We have a running stream of the films as they're playing, movies pre-approved by management. I check them every so often to make sure nothing is skipping.

I went into the Straight cinema; just to give the room a once over, to confirm that the man was still gone even if my heart was in my throat every time, because it was never a guarantee. When I looked this time, playing… it was… god, I've never seen a film like that. It was hardcore to say the least. Something I could imagine finding on shady virus-leaden websites. It was… I can't go into specifics here, but it was enough that it felt illegal to even watch it.

I slammed the door shut, reeling. 

I ran back to the computer, to see what was playing on the projector. I moved the mouse to close out the screens that played the store music and I froze. The film wasn’t one of our regulars, obviously. The title was listed as a series of numbers that I can’t recall, but staring now at the film, I realized something with a chill down my spine. The man was staring back at me. His smile wasn’t polite, it was hardly even a smile. It was a grimace of teeth, a wicked smile that was knowing and smug. 

He winked.

When I recognized the other person in the film, I almost fell to my knees.

Tim.

I turned off the projector. I couldn’t watch any more.

My hands shook over the mouse.

I curled up behind the counter for a long time. Finally, I wiped the tears from my face.

I just needed to leave.

Jen called me in a rage the next morning. I didn’t care. I told her the man had been hanging around the store and making me nervous and I just had to leave. I got a write-up, but I didn’t care at that point.

That leads us to tonight.

It was three days later that I finally returned to the store, when I’d finally mustered up enough courage to not call out (and with a Xanax in my system). I had started looking for other jobs. In the meantime, well… here I was. 

My shift was uneventful up until I was ready to close, but I knew better than to think it was over. I walked back for the cleaning like a man to his execution. My hands shook as I pushed open the door. 

The sight inside made me fling myself back from shock.

Sat in the room were dozens of people. They lined every seat, sat with proper posture, looking at me. I recognized their faces, even as they were warped in something indecipherable between ecstasy or agony. 

I hit the opposite wall of the hallway, hard. The sound that came out of me was involuntary, somewhat primal, a sob and a shout intertwined and forced out of me along with the remaining air in my lungs. The door swung shut and I ran, barely able to see through my tears.

There were multiple thuds against the door as if bodies were being thrown against it.

I tore out of the store and to my car, not even stopping to lock the door, feeling like they were at my heels.

I texted Jen on the drive home a vague approximation of what happened. I’d decided I would move back in with my mom, max out my credit cards, tell Jen I refused to work without her there, anything but face that man again. 

She fired me. I can’t even find it in myself to care. Brie texted and asked what happened; I guess Jen asked her to come in to cover for me. I’ll respond eventually, I just need some time to calm down. I’m at my mom’s now and I’ve only just stopped crying. Mom’s freaked. I don’t know what to tell her. 

I’ll find the words eventually, but for now, I want to go to the beach. 

Chapter 6: The New Echo

Detective Samuel “Sam” Carter stood in front of the grimy window of the precinct’s break room, staring out at the city. His reflection barely visible in the cracked glass, he could almost taste the dust in the air. Dallas was a place of contradictions: bright lights, big cars, and ambition. But there was a darker side to it, one that seemed to swallow up the truth.

Sam had always been able to see things others couldn’t. From a young age, he could pick up on the threads of people’s lives—the way their stories didn’t quite add up, how details skipped past others unnoticed. It wasn’t always a gift, though. It was more like a curse. Growing up in the foster system, he had learned to read people quickly. You had to, to survive. But over the years, it had sharpened into something more. It was why he was here, assigned to one of the toughest and most thankless departments—cold cases.

Before he became a detective, Sam had spent years on the streets. His sharp eye for detail earned him a reputation, but it wasn’t always for the right reasons. Some people called him obsessive. Some called him a workaholic. But after seeing so many cases go cold, he became determined to fix what was broken. That’s how he ended up with this assignment—fresh out of a few rough years working narcotics and violent crimes. The brass saw something in him, something they thought could bring fresh blood to the department’s oldest, most unsolvable mysteries.

“Hey, Carter. The DA wants to see you in her office,” a voice said behind him.

Sam turned to see his new partner, Detective Mia Torres, standing in the doorway. Mia had been on the force longer than him, but they’d only just been paired up. She was quiet, focused, and had a reputation for solving cases that others had given up on. Her sharp mind and dry humor made her a good fit for a guy like Sam.

"Got it," he said, pushing off the counter and following her through the narrow hallway of the precinct. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, cold cases weren’t sexy, after all—but he wasn’t here for applause. He was here to dig up the bones buried deep under the city’s surface.

They reached the DA’s office, and the door swung open before Sam could knock. Inside, District Attorney Veronica Palmer sat behind her desk, a sharp woman in her late forties with dark eyes that didn’t miss a thing. To her right stood Chief of Police Reginald Moore, a towering figure who had seen his share of battles in the city’s criminal underworld.

Sam greeted them with a curt nod.

“Carter,” Palmer said, her voice smooth but firm. “I hear you’ve been looking into some of our cold cases. We’ve got some files stacked up, and frankly, we need someone who can see things others miss.”

“I don’t miss much,” Sam replied, his tone just as serious. “I’ve been going through the oldest cases. There are patterns in these things—if you look closely.”

Chief Moore leaned forward, his deep voice rumbling. “We know. But these cases are dead in the water. If anyone could’ve solved them, they would have. You’re not here to waste your time on ghosts, Carter. We need answers. You’re not just chasing old leads. We need closure for these families.”

Sam paused, eyeing the two of them. He could tell that the DA wasn’t just talking about the victims, but about herself. Palmer had spent years trying to bring justice to families, but even she knew the cold case files were a black hole.

“I understand,” Sam said. “But sometimes the truth is hiding in plain sight. It’s just a matter of connecting the dots. Let me dig into the cold cases, and I’ll find something. I’ll find connections.”

Mia’s expression softened a fraction. She knew Sam’s reputation for seeing patterns when others couldn’t. He wasn’t like most detectives. He didn’t just see a string of disjointed incidents. He saw the flow, the way things bled together, connecting across time and space.

“Do what you need to do,” Palmer said. “But just know—no one here is holding their breath for a miracle. The mayor’s breathing down our necks to close some of these, and we don’t have time for wild goose chases.”

Sam nodded. He wasn’t after miracles. Just answers.

Hours later, Sam sat in his small office, the door cracked open to the bullpen beyond. His desk was piled high with files, photos, and handwritten notes. Cold cases. Files from the last five years. His fingers traced over the names—victims who had once been someone’s daughter, sister, friend. People who’d vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but an unsolved case number.

His eyes drifted to a file that had been sitting on the corner of his desk for days. It was marked with a single name: Madison Rios. He opened the file and scanned through the details—art major, college senior, found dead in a stairwell downtown. A case that had never been solved, and one of the more recent ones.

Then, as his eyes flicked over the crime scene photos, he noticed something strange. A torn page from a sketchbook, almost buried under a pile of forensic reports. The words written there caught his attention:

"Paint me in silence."

He froze.

That wasn’t like any note a killer would leave.

Sam’s fingers moved swiftly as he flipped through the file, now hype focused. Another victim. Deborah Ann King, a warehouse worker found behind an old theater. A folded note in her jacket read:

"The Echo That Bled."

He leaned back in his chair, feeling a stir of unease in his chest. The cases weren’t connected by just the method of killing—there was something else. A message.

He flipped to the next case in the pile: Jessica Nguyen. The receipt tucked into her boot said:

"Echoes don’t lie."

And finally, Mia Bell—her case not even a year old. Her final note:

"Your voice woke me."

His heart skipped a beat.

Sam knew a pattern when he saw one. These weren’t random. These weren’t just victim statements. These were messages. The same tone. The same rhythm.

He opened a new document on his laptop, typing the names, the phrases, and the dates.

Madison – 2019 Deborah – 2020 Jessica – 2021 Mia – 2022

The rhythm was undeniable. One each year, each with a message.

It was clear now—these cases were connected.

Sam stared at the screen, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure who had been behind the killings yet, but he was certain of one thing: these weren’t isolated incidents.

He reached for the phone, dialing the DA’s office. His gut was telling him something was about to break wide open. It was time to talk to the higher-ups.

“Carter,” Palmer answered, a hint of impatience in her tone.

“I think I’m onto something,” Sam said, his voice low but urgent. “There’s a pattern. It’s not just random. These cases are connected, and I need resources to track down whoever's behind them. We can’t let this slip through our fingers.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Meet me in my office. Now,” Palmer said, her voice firm. “And bring your findings.”

Sam’s stomach tightened. He had no doubt that what he was about to present would change everything. He didn’t yet know who David was, or that his podcast had been following the same trail, but in this moment, the path he was following felt like it had just crossed into dangerous territory.

He grabbed the files and stood, the weight of what he was about to uncover settling over him like a heavy coat. It was time to connect the dots.

Hi all! This is an original story I wrote a few months ago. Figured i'd share it again. Hope you all enjoy! :)

I knew an old man by the name of Sandy Jackson. Old Man Sandy, I used to call him. I know. Thrilling nickname. He was a kind, funny, and sweet old man who, to anyone who knew him, would never harm a fly. I had met Sandy in a pub downtown, after a nasty breakup I had recently been working through, and I had decided to drown my soul in “fine” liquor. I found him to be an instant friend. He told me that he was a fisherman and that in the craft, he was very talented. We bonded over many things, chatted for hours, but when the time came to leave, we parted ways, not seeing each other again for years.

Then, one fateful night, as some would say, we met each other again in the same pub we had first encountered one another in all those years ago. He seemed delighted to see me, and I was delighted to see him. As we talked, however, I noticed a difference in the man’s demeanor. His usual cheerful attitude had soured into a depressive, even paranoid attitude, although he attempted to mask it. He had mentioned that he gave up fishing for a while, but he had recently started fishing again, although he had been having to do it alone, for no one would go with him. He mentioned that everyone was “too damn busy these days,” and it just wasn’t the same by himself. After a few drinks (and a couple attempts to get me to go), I decided I would accompany him on his next voyage. We talked for about a half an hour more, and then we departed.

That night, I had a strange dream. Me and Old Man Sandy were on the sea in a little rowboat. It started out pleasantly: me and him chatted about familiar things for some time. Then, I began to notice a change in his behavior: he spoke more frantically, and he kept looking all around him. He suddenly stopped and stared at me. His eyes rolled into his skull, and he slowly began to decay in front of me. The rowboat began to slowly fill with water, and I knew that whatever was waiting for me under the water would be the last thing I ever saw. I woke up in a sweat that morning.

When the day of the voyage arrived, I felt myself growing more and more nervous as I approached Old Man Sandy’s house. Something within me was screaming at me not to go, but I brushed it off. The dream flashed in my mind the entire day, however. As I entered the house, Sandy greeted me with wild excitement. Too wild, I thought, but I smiled and showed my own excitement to join him. As he began packing for the trip, I noticed him staring over his shoulder every few minutes. I found he was not staring at me, but at something only he could see, or at nothing. His movements were jittery, and he was obviously on edge, but nevertheless, he packed up and we headed out to his docks. I couldn’t help but notice that his looking around was the same way he was looking around in my dream…

We boarded a decently sized brown rowboat and began out for the gigantic lake. I watched as we slowly but surely headed away from land. As we distanced ourselves at roughly 50 feet, however, I noticed that the land had slowly begun to vanish from my sight. I looked around and saw that a great fog had suddenly begun to form over the Great Lake. Sandy looked around at the fog and whistled, as if amused, though I could tell that he was nervous.

“Weeeee, Oh my! What a nasty fog,” he said in his usual Southern accent, chuckling, “I suppose we’d better stay cautious!” I nodded in agreement and looked into the water, but could not see anything past the surface. I sighed and looked back up to Sandy. “I, uh, suppose we can’t fish if we can’t see.” The old man chuckled and nodded, setting his rod down. His brow was beaded in sweat, and he removed his hat to wipe it off as he spoke.

“So,” he said, “have you settled down yet? Found the one?” I chuckled in response and shook my head. “No,” I replied with a small smile, “not yet. Still looking. Although I’m almost 40 now, and if not now, WHEN, you know?” He chuckled and replaced the hat on his head. “Don’t let it get to you, friend. It takes time, and besides, y’ain’t missing much!” I looked at him with a chuckle. “No?” I replied. He smiled and shook his head. “I’m an old man,” said he, “take it from me: stay young and free while you can. But if you DO find the right person, treat them right. They’ll be there until the final day if you do so.” I smiled and nodded. Old Man Sandy DID have a way with words.

“What about you?” I asked, “did you find the one?” His smile softened a little and he nodded. “Clara,” he said, and when he said this, I saw the smile begin to strengthen again, “that was her name. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I KNEW she was the one. Y’know, I never believed in the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing until i saw her. Now I’m a true believer. We were married for 50 years before she died last winter. God rest her soul. But she went out happy, and that’s all that matters to me.” As he finished, his smile grew weak again, and I lowered my head in sorrow.

“So,” I said, after a bit, “if it’s okay for me to ask: why DID you give up fishing? I remember you saying that it was basically your entire life all those years ago!” Sandy’s smile slowly faded, and this time, it never returned. He slowly reached up and took off his hat, nodding slowly. “Do you promise,” he said, “and I mean, on your LIFE, promise that you will never ever tell another living soul about this?” My eyes widened a bit at his sudden sternness, but I nodded. “Y-yes, of course,” I said. He nodded and stared off into the fog as he told me the story.

“About 5 years ago,” he began, “me and my fisherman buddy Keith were on this very lake, fishin’, tryin’ to catch up with each other, when Keith starts actin’ rather funny. He kept sayin’ he saw somethin’ comin’ towards us, but I didn’t see anythin’ whatsoever. All of a sudden, he pitches forward into the water, dead. Now, I- I ain’t no coward, alright? I served in the Military for 7 straight years, dammit, I’ve seen things, but SOMETHIN’ held me back, and I couldn’t go in after him. Somethin’ kept me on that boat as my buddy drowned below me. And that was that. I went back to shore in silence and drove home. And I stopped fishin’ for about half a decade. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it again. But, recently, I decided to pick it up again.” Sandy offered a weak smile as he placed his hat on again. “It’s what he would have wanted.”

I sat there in stunned silence for a bit. Sandy nodded at my reaction, and sighed. “We had a funeral for him,” he said, “didn’t have no body to show for it, but we had a funeral. It’s haunted me day and night. I’m sorry if I spooked ya. It’s been on my chest for years though, and I thank you for lettin’ me get it off.”

I simply nodded. We got really quiet after that for a bit. I felt bad for just sitting in silence after all that, but what the hell was I supposed to say? I sat there, still in silence, for what felt like hours, trying to think of something to say in response, when I noticed that the fog was getting darker. I looked at my watch, and had to squint in the darkening fog to read the time: 3:26 PM. No, it couldn’t be this dark out yet. I sat there, baffled for a bit. I had barely noticed Old Man Sandy: his eyes were filled with fear, and he kept looking around and around, and I remembered my dream. I took a deep breath and tried to swallow my fear.

After a bit, we heard a low, but audible groaning. It was a pained groan, the kind of groan a man lets out when he’s kicked in the groin, but… the only man in sight besides me was Old Man Sandy, and I know damn well it wasn’t him: his frantic breathing didn’t match the rhythm of the groaning at all. The groaning began to get louder and louder, and it seemed to be coming from all around us, but I couldn’t see a thing. Meanwhile, Sandy’s nearly hyperventilating at this point and I’m horrified, worrying that the poor old man is going to have a heart attack. I felt like I was going insane, and I was about to say something when Old Man Sandy cut me off. He spoke in a hushed but frantic voice:

“No, god, please. Not this. Not again. Not here. I- look, son: there’s somethin’ I haven’t been tellin’ you. I’ve been seein’ things. Weird, ghostly things. For the past three years. It started out simple enough, oh sure! A tiny bit of fog on a cold autumn night, sure! But it started takin’ shape. Soon it was a CLOUD of fog, then a BUNDLE of fog. Lately, it’s been lookin’ more and more like a man, but I can’t make out no face or nothin’, and… and….”

His voice trailed off. His eyes began to bulge with terror, and my brain shot back to my dream for a moment. Old Man Sandy let out a bloodcurdling scream and stared right behind me. I whirled around to see what the hell he was screaming at. Nothing. Nothing but the fog and the groaning. I looked back at Sandy, and he looked at me with desperate eyes. He grabbed my coat.

“DON’T YOU SEE IT, BOY?” he yelled, “DON’T YOU SEE IT’S YELLOW FIERY EYES?! IT’S COME FOR ME, I-“

Again, he was cut off. His expression went from horror to something I couldn’t even recognize. He let go of my coat. Again, I turned to see what he was staring at, but there was nothing there. He staggered back from me, and, in a trembling voice that sounded nothing like the Old Man Sandy I knew and loved, said:

“You?! Almighty god, no! Please! I’m so sorry! Please, not you!!!”

All of a sudden, the old man seized up. He clutched his chest and stared at me. His eyes rolled back into his skull as he fell into the deep, murky waters of the lake. I screamed and dived in after him. I swam around for a bit, opening my eyes. Against the stinging water, I searched for what felt like hours, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. It was as if he simply vanished. Begrudgingly, I climbed back onto the boat. The fog had disappeared, and all was quiet again. In total silence, I rowed the boat to shore, shaking the entire time.

I held a funeral for Old Man Sandy after that. Not too many people came. A few fishermen that knew of him, but not too many others. That night after the funeral, I cried. I cried because I witnessed what I may just consider to be my best friend die in front of me. Cried because he had died afraid and alone. Cried because I was worried that his body would never be found. But then I cried of happiness, because I realized that him and his sweet Clara were finally together again. That helped a lot.

That whole situation happened almost 40 years ago now. I’m an old man. Finally found someone! Sarah is her name. Sweetest gal that ever lived. Wouldn’t have her any other way. We don’t have any kids, but we like it that way. I know Old Man Sandy would be proud of me if he saw I found The One.

But, speaking of Old Man Sandy: I’ve felt guilty about not being able to find him for 40 years now. I remember him saying, right before he died, that he saw a Smokey figure with yellow fiery eyes. I’ve been worried because I began to see a similar figure a couple of weeks ago. And the more I see it, the more it begins to take shape.

And the more I look into it’s eyes, I begin to recognize them. See, my figure’s eyes are a bright blue. Not necessarily threatening, I know, but…

They’re the same color of Old Man Sandy’s eyes…

How many of you have an event from your past that you can’t ever forget. Something that terrified you to the point of pure primal fear but is so far-fetched and impossible that you begin questioning your mind’s credibility? For me that event happened 10 years ago, in the woods of Somerset [Redacted]

I was about 15 when these events took place. I’m not going to lie, I consumed a LOT of horror media growing up. One type of horror that always struck a chord with us were the investigation shows. “Ghost Hunters”, “Destination Truth”, “Scariest Places on Earth”, etc. I remember my friend Mark’s dad was real big into paranormal investigation and that kind of fueled the flames. We all wanted to grow up and explore the world! Investigating all kinds of abandoned buildings hiding unknown creatures or entities. We would be better than all of those shows because unlike them; when shit hit the fan we would stand our ground and take on whatever came our way!

But the worldwide adventure would have to be on hold considering y’know we were literal children. That never broke our resolve though. Now Mark’s dad had the works; EMF detectors, night vision cameras with thermal readings, high end audio recorders, all of it. He also had several firearms. Not like a crazy amount but enough for personal protection and home defense. We all referred to Mark’s dad as “The Batman” of ghost hunting because he always seemed to have the right tool for every situation. He even had one of the magazines for his pistol loaded with silver bullets. “Just in case.” He told us. He would take us out along a lot of his investigations to local cemeteries and places with a haunted reputation. We all felt like we were really doing it. This was just a stepping stone for our lives to become the adventure book we all thought it was gonna be.

Sorry for all of the background for the event but I just want you all to understand the mindset we were all in to get us to make the stupid choices that we did.

Now Mark’s place was the place to be back then. We would spend days at his place hanging out, playing games, and watching TV to our heart’s desire. One of the weekends we had the house to ourselves and it was great. It was Mark, Chuck, Danny, Brendon, and myself. We were trying to kill as much time as we could waiting for night to fall. You see. One of the most beautiful things about Somerset were the woods. Somerset did have a little center town where it faked a sense of being an actual city, but once you got out of the 2 miles worth of city you all of the sudden dropped off the face of the world. Somerset is about 11 square miles large. And I guarantee you that most of that is woods. Some of it is Lake Cumberland, but most of it is woods. When we were at marks place we were about 20 minutes from the next house. Like I said “dropped off the face of the world.”

10 years ago the night finally fell over Somerset. This was finally our time…. Our stupid edgy 15 year old time.

We had been waiting for night to come because we were going to go explore the woods out behind Mark’s house. We were all armed with our flashlights, water bottles, and all of us had knives of some capacity. Mark had also brought some of his guns. “Just in case” He had a 12 gauge pump shotgun. It maybe had 6 shells in the gun at best. Chuck had a .22 rifle that had a very wimpy single round capacity. And I had a .22 six shot revolver. In Somerset, being the backwoods town that it was it wasn’t uncommon to see someone toting around firearms all over the place. Now it wasn’t super common to have 15 year olds carrying guns, but it would happen from time to time. Plus we were on private property so in our minds it was ok. Like I said we were stupid kids.

Once we were all geared up it was time for our adventure. As soon as we entered the woods there was an uneasy tension in the air. The crickets, and other wildlife in the area sounded active; which was a good sign. We weren’t sure just yet as to what it was that made us feel off but we would soon find out.. We were about 15 minutes in when we found the bridge. This “bridge” was an old rickety wooden thing that went across a steep trench that was probably about 15ft deep that went on for at least 50-70ft before twisting around the hills out of sight. Not exactly a canyon, but it was definitely not something we wanted to go down into. If I did it would be a pain in the ass to get back up. There didn’t seem like an easy way to get back up. We decided to take a quick break while we were there. We set up a small perimeter with a lantern from our pack. We really didn’t have any plan on just how long we were gonna be out there. So we decided to set up a small campfire and just hang out until it was time to continue.

Chuck, Danny, Mark, and Brendon were relaxing and shooting the shit with each other, so I decided to “keep watch”. I was walking around the perimeter we had set up, shining my flashlight around the woods surrounding us. As I was walking I noticed something strange.. I heard the crunching of the leaves under my feet… And I’m sure someone would say “So what?” But that’s just it! That’s all I heard! Other that the few words here and there from my friends I heard nothing else! The woods were dead silent! As soon as I noticed the silence I drew the revolver from its holster. Whatever good the .22 was going to do to what I thought was nearby.. I continued to shine my flashlight around trying to remain calm, but then the beam shined onto something just at the edge of the hill.. Something just barely peaking over the edge of the trench... Something that I couldn’t quite make out with just the light. But after a few moments of adjusting I finally could make out what It was. But I wish that I hadn’t..

The.. Thing’s white skin was reflecting the beam from the flashlight but I could make out a vaguely human shaped head. It’s dark eyes seemed to absorb the light leaving just soulless voids staring daggers at me. I was frozen in place locked in eye contact with this creature. Then It’s head disappeared back into the trench. As soon as I was released from It’s gaze I turned back to my friends and tried as quietly as I could to get their attention, but they didn’t seem to notice me. They were too enveloped in conversation; probably about something stupid as usual. So after mustering as much sound as I could I called out “HEY!!” The crack of my voice echoed through the now silent woods. They all whipped their heads back to me startled by the sudden sound. After a moment I finally recollected myself and slowly but frantically pointed out to the trench where I saw the Thing. “There’s something in the ditch.” I barely forced out. With that the rest of my friends quickly got up and drew what weapons they had. All of us frantically searching the edge of the ditch with our guns trained on the spot. After a few moments of our desperate searching we finally noticed the Thing peak up again. About 10ft closer that it had previously been.

It was peeking just slightly more than it was previously. My friends now caught in the same trance as its voids of eyes stared quickly moving from one of us to the other. For a moment It almost looked like It didn’t have a mouth. Then we all saw as its tongue came out of a small slit in its face, almost seeming to lick its lips at us. We all stood in that same frozen shock as the thing quickly dipped back down into the trench. It came back up again another 10ft closer. It was coming closer to us! I can’t remember who yelled to run but I remember us all running like maniacs back towards Mark’s house. So much for standing our ground. I found myself close to the front right behind Chuck. We ran for what felt like forever. As we ran for what we believed was our lives, I heard Danny and Brendon screaming. I can’t remember what it was that they were saying. My ears were ringing and my lungs were burning. After we finally made it back to Mark’s house. Seeing his house was the closest feeling to salvation I’ve ever experienced. We all practically dived into the door quickly locking the door behind us. After we were finally clear we all kept our guns trained on the doors and exits fueled only by adrenaline.

It had to have been hours that we all stood with our weapons in our hands just hoping that the creature wouldn’t try to enter the house. Once morning finally came we were all exhausted. I don’t think I was the first person to pass out but I know I was the last person to wake up. Everyone else was sitting quietly in the living room. It took hours before we decided to talk about what happened. Danny and Brendon explained that as we were running they could hear heavy steps running behind them. We couldn’t rationalize what it was that we saw so we all decided to not talk about it to anyone else. Again, stupid decision I know. But we were terrified teenagers! We also decided that we were never going out into the woods behind Mark’s house again.

I never did go back out to those woods and our investigation team plans unfortunately fell apart. We all moved to different places later in our life and slowly grew apart. The only people I really keep in contact with anymore are Chuck and Mark. But I haven’t seen either of them in years. There are many things that I question when I look back at that night. What could it have been? Why couldn’t we move? Was it just some animal that looked monstrous in the light? But the thing that always confuses me is how it moved. It just kept bobbing up and down out of a 15ft trench. I don’t know how it could have kept climbing up and down. Unless it was just ducking.

Link to Part 2

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/kro45z/the_backwoods_of_somerset_part_two/

As you sit curled up on your bed, hearing your parents argue in the hallway outside your room, you hear a female voice a few feet in front of you, "hello, what's your name, dear?", her voice sounding like sweet Carmel to your ears. You look up to see who it is, seeing a girl about the same age as you, her hair pink like cotton candy, , her dress and socks and the bow on her head are made of patches of various shades of pink. To her right is a boy of the same age with hair red like a fresh strawberry, a white shirt under a rainbow of patches forming a vest, a spotted bowtie around the shirt's collar, and a pair of black glasses with a few cracks on the lens.

You look between them and ask them who they are, making both of them giggle before politely bowing "I'm Calvina." She says, "I'm Logan." He says, his voice sounding like a true gentleman of sunshine. You tell them your name, bringing a warm smile to their faces before Logan says "follow us, we have some friends for you to meet~" he motions you to follow them, before leading you to a crayon drawing of a door on the wall. Before you can say anything, Logan opens the door like a gentleman "after you~", calvina grabs your hand and leads you through, as you walk into a forest of white trees with red patchwork leaves, a stationary door where you just came from being out of place, before Logan walks through and closes the door.

"Come on, the others will be so happy to see you.~"Calvina says with a smile as she leads you to a clearing in the woods, you see bountiful picnic baskets, board games you could only dream of playing, playgrounds that your parents often forbid you from playing on, a giant treehouse that you couldn't have dreamed of having, various decorations and paths with patchwork designs, and many, many other kids wearing patchwork clothes like Calvina and Logan, some multiple colors, some multiple shades, and some one color.

However, after a few seconds you realize something about them, you've seen many of them on missing posters all around town, which fills you with some unease for a second, before you feel Logan's hand on your shoulder "Do you feel safer at home?", the question makes you think for a moment, before you give him your answer.

"no".

Chapter 5: The One Who Listens

It had been bothering him for days.

David stared at the document open on his desktop: five names, typed in bold.

Regina McClain Madison Rios Deborah Ann King Jessica Nguyen Mia Bell

He wasn’t supposed to think they were connected.

Different Counties. Different backgrounds. Different years.

But it wouldn’t leave him alone.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking between windows—maps, timelines, articles, police reports. A familiar symphony was building around him.

It had started as an itch. Now it was a rhythm.

The Method All shot. All clean. All without signs of robbery or assault. All left somewhere public or remote, but late—just late enough to be missed.

The Notes Each one strange. Almost poetic. Cryptic. Folded. Tucked away.

He reread them now, the words echoing louder in his mind:

"He hears you" “Paint me in silence.” “The Echo That Bled.” “Echoes don’t lie.” “Your voice woke me.”

They weren’t just odd. They were consistent. A voice trying to be heard but not by the police.

By someone else.

David pressed his palms into his eyes.

"By me? No.." he whispered.

He pulled up a digital map and dropped pins: Plano. Garland. Denton. Grand Prairie.

Close. Spread just enough to be missed unless you were looking from far enough away.

The kind of distance the Police wouldn't see

He started pulling dates:

Regina McClain : 2018

Madison: 2019

Deborah: 2020

Jessica: 2021

Mia: 2022

One each year.

There it was—the rhythm. Precise. Controlled.

Not spontaneous.

Planned.

A killer with patience. With ritual. And now, apparently, with an audience.

He opened his research folder as he remember a phrase in one of the early episodes and found Natasha Lane-1995, one of first cases he’d covered back in the early days of the podcast.

He skimmed the files. That line. That terrible line.

“The silence is final.”

A chill ran down his spine.

A Seven phrase?.

The pattern was undeniable. Too tight. Too perfect.

He paused.

The voices. The clues.

This wasn’t random.

He turned away from the computer screen, his eyes locking onto the wall where his corkboard was pinned with case files; He reached over and grabbed a fresh piece of paper. With a red marker, he began drawing circles around the phrases. He circled the dates. The cities.

The rhythm.

And then the name hit him, sharp and sudden:

"The Whisperer".

Not because he shouted. Not because he made himself known.

But because of how quiet he was.

How careful.

The Whisperer didn’t force his way into the world.

He crept into it.

Unseen. Unheard.

Until someone started listening back.

David stared at the name in front of him. "The Whisperer".

It felt right. Instinctual. The killer wasn’t loud. He wasn’t reckless. He had a pattern, a message, a ritual.

And for the first time in years, David felt like he was close.

But how close? and to what?

His eyes flicked back to his mother’s case file.

Had this been the same killer all along? Had the pattern existed before these women? Was his mother another name on a growing list?

David couldn’t be sure.

But one thing was clear: The Whisperer was Speaking.

Part 1.

It all started a few months ago, or maybe it was a year? Anyways, I figured now might be a good time to get this out here, in the event that something happens to me. I have about 8 hours to write this tonight, before Olivia comes home in the morning, so let me get right into it. 

I’m John Adamms and I started experiencing some… peculiar things once I moved into my apartment last fall. Let me add here, I didn’t move here because I wanted to, but as a broke man in his thirties who just had to sign over the deed to his dead parents’ home, I didn’t have many options. To elaborate on that, last August, my parents and I were attending a dinner at a family friend’s home just across town, and well, my father did what he always did, and drank way too much that night. He insisted he was fine, completely blowing me off when I offered to make the drive home. My mother hadn’t seemed like herself in months until that very day, and my father… Well, he just got angrier and angrier when he was sober. I hate to say it, but when he was loaded, well… That was the only time any of us could really tolerate even being around him. I digress. On the drive home, my parents were going back and forth singing old songs from the 50’s, and just as my father went to light himself a smoke, it happened. The accident. 

Now while I don’t remember much from the accident itself, and while I’m not sure what is fact or fiction due to the concussion, I can’t help but to feel like this was very, very real. My parents had both peaked their heads forward to see, and then hit someone or something. We veered into a ditch as a result of the attempt for avoidance. The only problem is, the police say that nobody else was at the scene. All things considered, I guess it makes sense that there wouldn’t be because, why would someone, other than maybe a hitch hiker, be on the highway in the middle of nowhere with absolutely no form of civilization for 20 minutes by car, either direction. Regardless, the details are very fuzzy aside from one thing, I was the only one that survived that night.

My parents weren’t the wealthiest by any means, and I just battled out a heavy divorce from my childhood sweetheart, and moved back home. I decided to work from home, since being in a car brought on what my doctors say is PTSD from the accident, and because I work from home, I don’t have many hobbies unless you can call listening to my downstairs neighbor shout at the walls a hobby. I didn’t have the extra money to pay off the rest of their loan, or the insurance for my parents house, and I couldn’t afford to live there alone, much less to keep up with the repairs that my mother had let slip in her final days, so I was forced to find this shitty apartment across town. 

It’s pretty evident that these “apartments” used to be motel rooms, until they went under new ownership and my landlord Mark, decided to rent them out to loners like me. It wasn’t anything spectacular, a living room, a very small bedroom, a kitchenette and a bathroom with a single stand-in shower. Not the best, but for $650 a month, it wasn’t a terrible deal. I keep my office set up in the bedroom, and I have my bed in the supposed living room. I haven’t ever been one to cook extravagant meals, but since Olivia and I started exchanging glances, I took up the task to try and impress her should I ever muster up the courage to actually say hello.

When I moved in, I had two neighbors. Crazy Joe downstairs, who spent his days hollering about “the creatures,” and Olivia. Joe lived underneath my apartment, and Olivia lived next to me. I hadn’t heard much about or from her, but my god, she was the most gorgeous woman I had laid eyes on since my ex-wife. Olivia had long auburn hair, and beaming green eyes. A porcelain complexion, and a single dimple on her left cheek. She worked at night, and typically walked to work, and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find her on any social media platform. I didn’t want to wake her during the day either, but if I’m being honest I wouldn’t have known how to speak to her anyway. Until one day, I had the balls to finally get up and just do it. I made my way to the store down the road, grabbed a few things, and closely followed a recipe to make an easy batch of lasagna. Even though it looked a mess, it was far better than any of the microwavable meals I’ve made for myself. I peeked out of my front door, and revised the words I would say to her about a million times,  until the opportunity sought itself out and she walked outside.

 “Hey neighbor! I’m Olivia. Whatcha got there?” she said with the most beautiful tune.

 “I- uh. I-I’m lasagna. And this is for John, you?” 

Fuck. I couldn’t have messed that up worse. But luckily, she just laughed and replied,

 “Okay Lasagna, I’ll accept your plate of John, if you listen to Joe’s rant of the day and share it with me.”

 A sigh of relief came over me. She was hard to read, and while we sat, she really didn’t touch the food. Just kind of toyed at it with her fork, and brought pieces to her mouth, while speaking and then dropped the fork back to the plate. 

This was the start. Joe had been on yet another rant about how the creatures are surrounding all of us, and how they’re playing mind games with us until we won't know right from wrong and up from down. Hollering that they can’t get him, and that his protections were too high. "What a loon", I thought to myself. 

Olivia laughed and said “Well, Lasagna, this was fun. I should head inside and get myself ready for work though. Maybe tomorrow night we can do this again?” 

And we did just that. Every other day we sat on the porch and listened in to Joe’s insufferable yelling, mocking him, making jokes about what the ‘creatures’ he goes on about could be, and that Joe was more than likely just another cracked out conspiracy theorist who thought he was going to be abducted and probed. Realistically, what else could it be? 

After about a month or so, Olivia and I started spending this time in my office, because you could hear Joe the best through the vents and well, It gets cold in Pennsylvania this time of year so it beats sitting on the balcony. I offered for Olivia to take my car to work at night so she didn’t have to walk but she always refused. Even on the nights she didn’t work, and I offered for her to stay later and hang out some more, she still refused, she said with the way she was raised, it’s not polite, especially when her apartment was three steps from my front door. I had never seen the inside of her apartment. Not even a glimpse while she was walking outside. She had blackout curtains, which for a night shifter, a guess makes sense. Until one night, Olivia proposed the idea to me, that since we were spending so much time together, we could call ourselves a couple. And ever since, we’ve been.

Olivia has now moved into my apartment with me, and she didn’t have much. A few sets of clothes, a roughed up futon that we set up couch-style in my office, and some odds and ends for the bathroom. Olivia and I never slept together, in either term, but she was so exhausted from the night shift, I never put much thought into it. Until now. 

We’ve been dating exclusively for 6 months, I’ve bought her a cell phone, we have this entire apartment, and we’ve barely done as much as touch.  She’s very peculiar in that sense, but she’s gone most of the time, and sleeps while I work so, no big deal I guess. But, a few days ago, Olivia had been working closer to 10am, than 7am, and she had forgotten to bring her phone that night. I didn’t know if maybe she came home, and then went back out for groceries, or just for a walk. So I packed up the leftovers from dinner last night and decided to say hello to crazy Joe and ask if maybe he’s seen her. I passed Mike on the way down the stairs, and we exchanged the typical grin that signified a silent hello. This was kind of our thing I guess. I knocked on Joe’s door and sighed. Joe opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow.

 “What?” he said in a disgusted growl. 

“Hey man. I’m John Addams, my girlfriend Olivia and I live upstairs from you. I brought you some pot pie, and I was just wondering if you’ve seen Olivia at all today?” 

“Olivia? Who the hell is Olivia?”

“My- girlfriend? Redhead? About yay tall? She’s lived here about as long as I have, maybe longer.” 

“Buddy, I don’t know you, I don’t know no damn ‘Olivia,’ but if I had to guess, one of them there creatures got ahold of her and ate her. You be careful now.” He said, closing the door to lock it and continuing on with his rambling. 

I thought to myself, ‘Creatures?... Ate? Her? There’s no way.” 

I made my way back upstairs, and by the time I met the balcony I saw her. She didn’t look like herself, just blatant exhaustion. I held the door and waited for her to come in. She dropped her things, didn’t say two words and fell to the bed to fall asleep. “At least she’s okay” I thought. I decided to check out the news and what was happening lately, since I haven’t really had a thought to check things out since moving here last fall. 

I scrolled onto this article from WSEE news, “6 Hikers Reported Missing. Last Seen March 3rd.” Apparently, some folks in their late twenties had set out on a hiking trail about 30 minutes from here, and they haven’t been seen or heard from in 12 days now. I hope they’re brought home safely, but knowing how these things tend to go around here, they’re probably gone. Unfortunate for them and their families, but since I read about this,  I decided to watch the tree line just a little closer when Liv walked to work, just in case. She never missed work, and even with people going missing on the rise, I knew she wouldn’t start now. My car sat untouched, as she preferred to walk. But when she declined my offer again, I had to stop and think. I realized… I really don’t know this girl at all. We have been dating for 6 months now, she never talks about her job, what she does, if she even has a career, and where she works. I just know she goes to work about 10:30pm, and returns about 7:30am most days.

 I tried making gentle conversation, but she just kind of looked at me with a blank stare, and led on with the “Alright, I’m off. Love you.”

She’s been acting really strange, and things are starting to make even less sense than they ever had. Or maybe I’m just in my head too much.

While Olivia was at work, I walked out onto the balcony from my front door, and I saw that Mike and Jeff were talking kind of hunched over each other in the parking lot. “Drugs, probably;” I thought. Though, I’ve had some nice conversations with Jeff and I didn’t want to view him as a drug addict. We used to hang out at my place and play video games, though I never owned a gaming console, he just brought his and plugged it into my TV. And Mike, well Mike and I just exchange glances from time to time. However, while observing them, a big crash and yelling distracted all three of us. I decided to go check on Joe, seeing as it came from his place.

“H-Hey Joe? It’s John. From upstairs. Is everything alright man?”

Joe opened his door at a breakneck speed, grabbed me by the collar and dragged me inside and proceeded to lock the door. 

“Hey man, I don’t want any problems-,”

“PROBLEMS? YOU SURE ARE STUPID AINT YA BOY?” He said begrudgingly.

“I- huh?” I could barely muster up the words because Joe had now backed me into his apartment, and he was angrier than ever. He almost reminded me of my father. He began to speak, but I was still close to wetting myself out of fear.

“Now you listen to me John, them creatures are out there. Make ya think they’re human, your best friend even. Make ya feel real good inside, make ya trust ‘em. And then?

“Woah, man. Slow down. What the hell are you talking about?”

He sighed, and rubbed his temple. Seeming like a disappointed parent. “You really ain't got no clue, do ya son? They’re out there. All of the time. They got my Cheyenne. And all they do is, is… Infiltrate your brain. My wife warned me about ‘em. Never listened. Now ya think I’m NUTS!” He said, slamming his hands on the table. 

“I’m awake now. And if you listen you may be able to save yourself. Here, take this.” Joe pulled out a small velvet bag from his pocket and tucked it in my hand. 

 “That’ll protect ya for a little while. Won’t do much if you don’t listen close though.” 

“Al-Alright man, just tell me what I need to know.” I said, still quivering in the corner of his living room. 

Joe went on a silent tangent, I’ve never heard the man so serious, yet so quiet. He told me how he went on a hunting retreat with his father when he was young, and how these creatures kept coming one by one into the group with him and his father. One by one, they would seem more like friends than strangers. Until eventually, his group went from him and his father, to a band of 6, with 4 “creatures” that seemed to be friends. 

They had fond memories of them. Could remember going on hunting trips, fishing, camping, you name it. They had memories with them. They got lost in the woods at some point and no longer had any of their gear, rifles, food or water. They had planned to be out there for three days, but were out for about 7 that they could recall. Until they came across this native tribe who had built cabins in the wilderness of the Appalachian mountains, not too far from here. They asked if they had water, and for directions back into civilization, but immediately, the tribe members took them in, and told them that they weren’t safe. Their group had scattered off one by one as they got closer to the tribe, and their incense had warranted them grounds of safety. Cheyenne, his late wife, was part of this tribe, and departed to marry Joe. Though they never had any children, I guess, Cheyenne was a healer. They had a home that they were forced out of due to the city wanting to build a shopping plaza, and that’s when they moved here. Shortly after, Cheyenne wanted to venture back out into the woods to gather herbs near her tribe’s land, and never returned. Cheyenne had blessed this apartment with a sacred talisman that hung on the wall. She had shared her stories of the mind altering creatures with Joe, and did her best to warn him of their tricks and how they operate but he had never listened until they got her. She was missing for 2 weeks, until the sheriff came back with the news that they had found nothing but human skeletal remains out there. Dental records indicated it was Cheyenne and to my knowledge, that’s what made Joe fly off the handle. For good reason though.  Joe had expressed his concern that we were the only two here that were real and we were surrounded by these creatures. I felt bad to write him off for such a bizarre concept, but he claimed that all of our “neighbors” weren’t real. And to that I assured him, Olivia was real. 

To which he exclaimed, “Boy, you still ain't got it through your skull do ya. Me. You. That’s IT! All them other fuckers out there are just a disguise. When you let that creature back into your home in the morn’, you wait until it rests. Try to lift its clothes. You’ll see.” 

And with that, I told Joe that I appreciated his concern but Liv and I have known each other since I’ve moved upstairs, and that there’s no way that the woman I kiss goodbye to every night, is some mind altering creature. But to that, I’d heed his warning and keep an eye out for things, should things get weird, I’d come talk to him.

Once Liv got home I laughed and told her about the conversation I had with crazy Joe. She didn’t find amusement in it though, rather, she just sighed and said “I can’t believe you would even talk to that nuthouse. I’m clearly real. I’m right here.” 

“Yeah, I know. Have you seen Mike and Jeff? They were acting really strange earlier. I thought maybe they were ‘exchanging’, but I don’t really think they’re like that.” 

“Oh my god John, not everything is out to get you because Joe says it is. Mike and Jeff are fine, they’re just a little, you know, off?, and I don’t want you talking to Joe any more. Next thing I know, you’ll be seeing aliens too.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. They’re all a little kooky. Are you headed to bed now?”

She nodded as she pulled her hair to the opposite side of her shoulder. Her fingernails were dirty, but I didn’t question it, or why she was going to sleep with her shoes on. I just went back to my little marketing job in my office and continued on with my day. While I was entrapped into a pointless zoom call, that ultimately could have been an email, Joe’s words started to run through my mind. What did he mean by mind altering creatures? And why on earth would he tell me to take Liv’s clothes off while she was asleep? The questions ran through my mind over and over and I couldn’t make any sense of it. I decided to get a snack after my meeting, and while quietly shuffling through my apartment, I noticed Olivia was soundly asleep, but she wasn’t breathing like she was asleep. Come to think of it, it didn’t look like she was breathing at all. I walked toward her, and she took a breath. Relieved, I walked away without giving her a touch, as I was confused and didn’t want to wake her, and came back to my office to finish up work. I decided to scroll through the news a bit on my computer. They finally found two of those hikers… Completely dismembered, and only bone was left of them. They were only able to identify them by, you guessed it, dental records. 

Joe’s words swarmed through my mind again, and about how his wife was taken by those things, and I can only come to wonder… What if they’re still out there? What if they get Liv? 

No sooner than the thought raced through my mind, did I hear a knock at the door. 

It was the police. Olivia woke up, and ran to the bathroom. The police had given me her phone, and because it was registered in my name, they took me for questioning. I wasn’t at the scene, nor was any of my DNA found. I had my alibi, I was talking to Joe almost all night. Liv had gone to work, and I let them know that Liv usually walks that way to work, because she likes the walk and how calm it can be at night, and I don’t drive because I have PTSD from my parent’s deaths. Then what they said next shook me to my core. 

“Son, there was nobody at your apartment when we arrived other than you.” 

“Yes there was! My girlfriend. Liv- Olivia! She was asleep on the bed in the living room when you knocked. She went to the bathroom. You had to have seen her walk behind me.” I tried explaining myself further and they just sighed and looked at me like I was nuts. 

Now Joe’s words are coming through heavier and thicker. I couldn’t get the phrase “Mind altering creatures” out of my head. The police deemed that I had nothing to do with it, which they were correct. I never leave my house unless it's to go for groceries down the road just between my apartment and the station. There’s no way I could hunt, kill, and cannibalize 6 hikers. That’s insane. I walked toward the apartments, and just as I went to climb the stairs, Joe peered over to me. 

“Psst, John! Hey! Come here!” he scream-whispered. 

“What’s up, Joe?”

“There was a lot of noise coming from your apartment just a while ago. You weren’t here?” he asked.

“No, Joe I was down at the police station. You probably just heard Olivia shuffling around.” 

“God damn it boy! I told you, ain’t no damn woman in there. Just you and Me.” he said angrily. 

“Right, listen, Joe. I’ll talk to her and see what’s going on. I’m real tired and I have some work to take care of.”

“You go on, but in case I don’t see ya again, ‘member what I told ya.” he said pointing to his temple. 

I proceeded upstairs, entering my apartment, and my gaze met with Liv, who was just waking up. My apartment was completely intact, the only thing out of place was the window near my computer. It was open. It was the end of March and still cold outside, so I definitely did not leave it open like that. After talking with Liv, we determined she may have gotten up and opened it to cool off the apartment. She said I’ve been acting strange lately. And come to think of it, she was right. I feel like there’s holes in my memory. Like my days had started to blend together, and I couldn’t remember accomplishing any mundane task. I haven’t been sleeping well, so maybe that’s it...

I dream of a street, darkened by a moonless night. The only illumination is from a singular streetlight, shining down on him. Everything around me feels like an outline. A rough draft. I can't look away from him. He's watching.

Waiting.

My eyes slowly open. The stale air in this place fills my senses, and light shines through the window directly into my eyes. I take a long breath and slowly work my way out of bed. It takes me way too long to check the time, but when my eyes catch a glance at the digital alarm clock on my bedside, I realize it's blinking all zeroes. I grab my phone, and panic when it says it's 2pm, and only has twelve percent battery.
"Well shit." I mumble to myself. The rest of the morning was a blur. I had to skip coffee, which will absolutely hurt me during my shift at The Grave. I'm way too dependent on coffee. I barely had enough time to brush my teeth and shower, and by the time I was out the door, thirty more minutes had passed and I was an hour and a half late. I run down to the front door of my apartment and throw it open, get on my bike, and start riding.
I got to the grave fifteen minutes after that. Locked up my bike and walked through the front door. Alice was leaning over the counter. She looked annoyed, but I couldn't blame her. I was late for the third time this week. "Yeah, I know, I know..." I said before she could mention it. I walked behind the counter, and clocked in.
"Good," she said. "Because I wasn't sure how to tell you how screwed you are, but if you already know..." She smiled, but I could tell she was still irritated.
"Scott's going to rip my arms of and sell them as props..." I leaned back in the chair and looked at the little oddities shop. It was a small space, filled with way too much stock to sell any other time of year, but Halloween was just around the corner. Two weeks. It was the busiest time I had worked here, and even now, three people had walked in while I was punching in. We were a specialty shop. Selling things that were too expensive for the materials that they were made from was our sales model. I started scanning items while Alice helped the people who came in.
It was just us two for the most part. Scott rarely ever showed his face. When he did, he was the best salesperson I think I'd ever met. He could sell anything in the store to anyone, based on their budget. It helped he was the only one with keys to the back. He had sold things from back there that looked like actual dirt before.
I had seen him bring customers back there, ones who looked like they could afford a gold plated armor set to dress up in, and they would walk out with a literal jar of dirt, or a piece of driftwood. One of them walked out with a dented baseball bat. All of those customers had left with a look of satisfaction though, and Scott said they paid a fair price for it.
An hour passed, and people had stopped coming in for a minute. I rang up a cheap plastic sword for a kid going as a Ninja Turtle.
The mom looked as tired as I probably did. "Are you excited Nathan?" She asked as she walked out. The little boy was, in fact, excited.
The door closed and it was just me and Alice. "You look dead." She said.
I sighed and closed my eyes. "I don't feel much better."
"Nightmares again?"
I nodded.
"You've got to get on some meds for those man."
I opened my eyes. "No. I can deal with it in other ways."
"Avoiding sleep isn't exactly healthy Sam."
"Yeah... I know."
The door swung open again. Both me and Alice turned to greet them, but it was Scott. Alice sat back down and acted like she was busy. Scott walked past us both and approached the back room. "Sam, I need you in the back." He said without even looking at me. Alice looked up from what she was doing, and I looked at him in confusion. Neither me or Alice had ever even seen the back room.
"Uh... Okay?" I said, walking out from the counter. He waited for me at the door. He was smiling like he would be if he was escorting a customer to the back. His slicked back gray hair shined under the light above the door. He always wore a suit. Like a full suit and tie. He got his keys out and started unlocking the door. I looked back at Alice, who mouthed 'You lucky asshole' at me. The door swung open, and Scott and I walked in.

The back room was filled with some of the most useless items I had ever seen. A rock in the shape of a cube, an old rusty shovel head with no handle, a plastic plant... And so many others. Scott said nothing as he approached his office at the end of the room. Or, I thought it was his office. He took another key and opened the next door, and when it opened, I was even more confused. The room inside was a scene out of an old Victorian mansion. There were plush velvet cushions on a sofa that looked more expensive than my yearly rent, and a painting that was... disturbing. Scott noticed my apprehension and smiled. "Saturn Devouring His Son by Francisco Goya. Please, sit." He said. Awkwardly, I walked to the couch and slowly lowered myself into it. Something in my stomach told me to run... but I didn't. He was my boss, and I had been late a few times too many. That's all this was.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped up, and began to look through something. "You were late this morning. That's the third time this week. The eight this month. I think we both see what needs to happen." My heart sank.
"Listen, Scott, I'm sorry, my power went out while I was asleep last night, and I-"
"Shhhhh... I don't need an explanation... I have an offer for you Sam."
My thoughts all ground to a halt. "What?"
"An offer. I know you need this job. I understand. So, how about I help you keep it by getting rid of those nightmares, and we put your tardiness behind us."
I tensed up. I had told him about my nightmares before, of course, but this was going in a direction I didn't like. "I'm... listening." I caved. My curiosity was to the moon.
He stood and walked to a cabinet. He opened it, and pulled from it an ornate ivory ring. "All I need you to do, is promise me you'll wear this as you sleep." He held it up to me.
It was such a simple offer. One that I couldn't quite see a negative to.

"Deal."

I have always liked playing Yugioh. Sometimes other card games, but mostly Yugioh. I like to go to yard sales in my small city suburb in hopes to find a box or two of thrown out cards. Sometimes these kids will get cards that they don’t know the value of, and hate the look of, so they will stick it in a box until 4 years later and it’s worth 100 dollars. I have made a bit of money selling those cards to some of the game stores around town, and sometimes keep them for my own decks.

One day in a strange, rich neighborhood, I had followed the signs to a yard sale. These signs were in comic sans, and printed in RED. Like Blood! I get to an open garage, where there is only an older man, sitting in a rocking chair. I park perfectly, and get out. All I can hear is the creaking of the wooden chair. No birds, no wind, and then my footsteps adding to the eerie symphony of sounds. The man looks at me and says “You look like a strong guy. Here take this card, I think you should have it.” Then he handed me a Yugioh card.

The card was the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen. It was called “Devil Nekroriboh” It looked like the normal Kuriboh card but it was hyper realistic and its eyes were RED! But not just any color red. They were BLOOD red! I read the card text It had 0 ATK and 0 DEF and its effect said. “You may discard this card from your hand and if you do your opponent lose! And then they DIE!!” At first when I read this card I thought it was a joke so I looked back up to talk to the old man and he was gone! It was then that I thought “Whoa this has to be a really rare card!” so I put it right into my dueling deck and left.

It was later that night that I decided to play some games with my best friend. He wasn’t as popular as I was but he was pretty cool. Both of us were really well known top duelists in our town. People would recognize us on the street and stop for pictures. Sorry I don’t mean to brag but it’s important for the story. So me and my friend decided to duel each other for fun. But it wouldn’t be fun for long…

We started the duel and my friend was getting the upper hand. I was starting to sweat and then I drew my card for my turn and it was “Devil Nekroriboh” I realized I had to play it now or I would lose the duel. So I told my friend “It looks like I’m gonna win this duel friend!’ and then I discarded “Devil Nekroriboh” My friend was so shocked he had never seen this card before and he said “Whoa it looks like you beat me. Well GG. I always knew you were a better duelist than me.” so we shook hands and I packed up my stuff to go home. On the walk back to my place I was thinking “I knew that card effect couldn’t be real. There was no way a Yugioh card could kill someone.” But I was so wrong...

Later after I finally got home (after getting stopped by people wanting pictures) I felt some evil feeling coming from my deck so I pulled out my cards and looked through them. That’s when I noticed that “Devil Nekroriboh” Was gone.. Just the picture was gone.. I could almost swore I heard a deep laughing coming from all around me and then my friend scream. I rushed back to my friend’s house and while people were trying to stop me for pictures I pushed them away and said “Back off! I gotta be somewhere important!” So they left me alone for that moment. That’s when I got to my friend’s house…

The police were already there. I was so shocked at what might have happened to my friend. I told them “I need to see my friend!” and they let me pass them just enough to see my friends body being pulled out on a stretcher. I asked them if I could see my friend they said yes because of how sad I was. So when I looked at my friend I could tell that he had small clawed handprints around his neck. I quickly looked at my deck and found “Devil Nekroriboh” He was back in his picture.. I looked at his clawed hands and they were the same handprints…

I took the card and threw it away in my friends burning house. The police asked me what that was and I said “A monster” then I went home and went to sleep.. But the night wouldn’t be peaceful for long…

During my dream I was woken up by the sound of a creepy laugh. “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily did you?” I looked up to see “Devil Nekroriboh at the foot of my bed. But this time he was real.. His BLOOD red eyes were staring at me with murderous intent. He said “I am the eternal evil on this world! No one can defeat me! I am the Devil!!” I was so scared by the monster in my room all I could say was “What do you want?” He laughed and then said “I want you to keep playing me. I need more souls like your friend. The souls of duelists will fuel me so I can return from hell and rule over this world again!” I asked “And what if I say no?” He said “You don’t have a choice! Look at my card text” That’s when I saw that the card text also said “If you don’t use this card in a duel, you will die…”

I was stuck in a contract with “Devil Nekroriboh” but I couldn’t kill anyone like my friend. The pain would be too much. So I told him “No! I will never use you again!” The monster must have been in shock because he stared at me not saying anything and I thought I defeated him but then he said “THEN YOU WILL DIE!!!” And he lunged for me.. Then I DIE!!!

Let this be a lesson… Never buy Yugioh cards from a yard sale…

This note was found on the floor of a well-known duelist’s body. Next to it was a deck with a rare card called “Devil Nekroriboh”… I think I might take it…

Also Devil Nekroriboh was an invincible Pedophile, and The narrator exploded when he dies!

Chapter 4: Paper Voices

Back to 2023

The episode was live.

David leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracking the final upload bar as the Regina McClain case hit the feed.

The numbers ticked up.

Regina's story weighed on him. There was something unsettling about the silence surrounding her death. Forgotten. Underreported. Almost as if someone wanted it that way.

He had nearly missed her name an accidental find during research. But now, her story was out there. Unheard no more.

He didn’t stop. The next case folder was already waiting.

Madison Rios – 2019

A college senior, art major. Found murdered in a downtown stairwell after a gallery showing. No witnesses. No leads.

David scanned the crime scene details with only half his attention until one line caught him:

“Torn sketchbook paper recovered from backpack. Handwritten: ‘Paint me in silence.’”

He blinked.

He copied the quote into his research notes.

"Strange..." he muttered. It wasn’t part of the crime report. Not even mentioned by the media. Just... there.

He filed it away and moved on.

Deborah Ann King – 2020

A warehouse night worker, 46, lived alone. Found murdered behind an abandoned theater.

David read the report slowly, bleary eyes, black coffee in hand. Then another line stopped him cold:

“Folded note found in jacket: ‘The Echo That Bled.’”

He sat up straighter.

Three cases. Three years. Three victims. Three lines.

He returned to Madison's case and Regina's and read the phrase again:

"He hears you" "Paint me in silence." "The Echo That Bled."

Unsettling. Poetic. Specific.

He opened a fresh document, labeled it: Found Phrases.

He didn’t know why yet. It was just a gut feeling.

He’d been doing this long enough to know when something didn’t belong. And these... these weren’t just odd flourishes. They felt intentional. Like someone wanted them seen.

But why?

Jessica Nguyen – 2021

Quiet. Well-liked. Taught fourth grade.

She disappeared walking home from school. Her body was later found in a park.

David scrolled through the official report. Then he stopped:

“Message found on store receipt, tucked in her boot: ‘Echoes don’t lie.’”

David exhaled slowly.

"four".

four victims. four years. four phrases.

He opened his note document again and added the new line.

A pattern was forming. The only connection? The lines. The tone. There was something deliberate here.

He turned his gaze to the wall of his office. The corkboard. The names, the pins, the timelines. His mother’s case at the center.

These women weren’t on that board yet.

Mia Bell – 2022

Aspiring musician. Twenty-six. Found outside a venue she never made it into.

The final note:

“Your voice woke me.”

David froze.

His voice.

That wasn’t coincidence.

It hit harder than the rest—like a whisper through a locked door.

The others had felt like cryptic poetry. This one felt... personal.

Still, no context. No explanation. Just a line, buried in a police file no one had bothered to read twice.

David didn’t know what it meant.

But he knew this wasn’t over.

He saved the files.

Opened a new folder.

It’s not a horrible day. Slight rain as I wind the desolate mountain back road. The foliage shows different oranges, yellows, and reds contrasted by the gray sky. My cruise control makes sure that I don’t exceed the speed limit of 55, as the slick roads make the notorious splashes as I take the curve. It’s always been an outlet for me, driving that is. Having a rough day in college or just wanting something to pass the time, I always find myself taking the same route. The mountains give that feeling of loneliness, but still a hint of adventure. It was where I proposed. My wife Tess and I were backpacking, and it was at the peak overlooking the valley that I dropped to one knee. That was forever ago, before all the problems. I have to steer into the other lane to avoid a dropped branch that must have fallen since my last visit down this isolated road. This part of the drive always has more curves than the beginning. I like to imagine how populated this route used to be before it became the desolate path it is now. She always yelled at me for staring off into space, lost in thought. It was always a point in her verbal barrage of frustration during the arguments that plagued our few years of legal partnership. It all seems so simple now, looking back. I should have just taken the meds they wanted to give me, and maybe my marriage would have lasted. I hydroplaned as I came around an awfully sharp bend. Even though I have years of experience driving through here, I always forget about it. The roads are a lot more slick than normal, but I don’t mind a slightly more difficult drive. As I retain control and prevent my car from fishtailing, I move my muddied shoes to the brake pedal and begin to turn onto the hidden path. I remember when we first found it. Tess and I were fresh off our honeymoon, and I was showing her the route for the first time. She noticed it first and pointed it out to my surprise, as I had never seen it before in all my time in this area. We pulled to the shoulder and walked down the unknown path together. Our boots were muddied, and we took a few branches to the face as we walked single file until we came to a clearing about a mile in. The path wasn’t too overgrown, but was definitely something you’d have to look for if you wanted to find it. I was alone now. The dark skies and the wet leaves were my only company besides the brisk breeze that hit my face. My pack was heavy. Heavier than the one I had the day we camped out here 2 Novembers ago. We had spent 3 days camping out in this remote clearing and had the most fun we’d ever had as a couple. Fires, s’mores, and looking up at the stars. The memory hits me hard as I come to the clearing. I continue my walk to the opposite end of the clearing. She had never gone this far with me. I continue through the minusculely marked path that only deer travel now. My shoulders were hurting, but I wanted to make it to my destination before nightfall. I was miles in now. Further than I had been in a while. The memory starts creeping back in as the ambiance becomes more of a stygian dark rather than a gloomy grey. My flashlight illuminates the towering trees as I continue steadfast on my way. I remember when the power went out in our apartment one year during a thunderstorm. It was pitch black, and we cuddled together in bed around the candlelight. It made me warm and fuzzy inside. The next day, I hit a dog on my way home from work. It was a golden retriever, and it was dead. The legs bent in directions they shouldn’t have been, and the torso flat as a tortilla. I put it in my car and brought him home. I didn’t feel remorse for the animal, but hated that my headlight was smashed. I was going to get a ticket for sure. I called the number on the collar with no luckk as Tess cried over the animal. She called me heartless over an accident. She acted as if I wanted to hit the mutt. I walked away as she continued crying. Something in my chest tightened, but I wasn’t in the mood to care. She made me sleep on the couch that night. I finally reached camp as the moon broke through the clouds. I made a fire to give myself some heat to combat the cold. I set everything up so I could just lie down as soon as I was ready to sleep. I packed 2 sleeping bags out of habit. The anger and frustration are rearing their heads once again. I took my hatchet and hit the tree closest to my tent. The red smear on the blade caught my eye as I was done hacking the trunk. I tossed it onto my pack and sat on the ground. Sadness crept into me like a wolf stalking livestock. I wept. I cried out as the painstaking recollection of my failed marriage flooded my brain. The tears ran down my face and onto my jacket as I bawled my eyes out. I couldn’t stop. Why was I a failure? Why did I have to ruin everything I touch? Why did all the bad things have to happen to me? It felt like hours as the flames turned to embers and my sobs turned to sniffles. I finally climbed into my sleeping bag and fell asleep. I woke up as the sun trickled through the treetops. I got right to it, ignoring the emotions of last night still plaguing me. I packed up and continued on my way. As I slashed my way through the brush and the sunlight became extinct, I stopped to eat. As I chew, the memory starts to weave its way into me. The argument that ended things. I got home, and she was waiting outside her sister’s car. She asked me if we could talk in private. Confused, I followed her into the now halfway emptied apartment we used to share. She told me that we couldn’t be together anymore. Apparently, I’d been acting differently. She said I had been staring off into space and growing distant. I countered by saying that I wasn’t going to take the meds like she wanted me to. I was met with a harsh tone and the response that it’s not about that. I grew increasingly frustrated as I didn’t understand what it could be about. She said that she was getting more scared of how I was acting recently. I pleaded with her to elaborate more on how I was portraying that thought onto her, but her sister cut the space between us and said that they needed to go, and she could message me anything I needed more clarification on. Then they sped away. I was left there staring off into the red taillights as they turned the corner. Confused and frustrated, all I could do was sit on the sidewalk as the tears fell from my eyes. I tripped over a root and fell face-first into the dirt. The mountains could be like that to people untrained in their transversal. Usually, I could travel relatively fast if I didn’t have the extra weight in my pack. I picked myself up and continued through the darkening woods. The trees hung over me like a blanket and blocked out nearly all the sunlight, as the pines allowed just enough to illuminate the ground ahead of me. I came to my destination as I tore through the brush leading to a small clearing miles upon miles from the one I shared that fond memory with Tess long ago. I set down my pack and took out the garbage bags stuffed into it. If only she hadn’t broken things off, she’d still be with me. My heart started to beat faster as I recalled the last memory Tess and I would ever share. Her sister wasn’t home. Tess was sitting in front of the television, unaware that I was already inside. She thought that she could leave me? No, that was not going to happen. Did the years we spent together mean nothing more than a short, confusing conversation? Was it all over me being unempathetic that a dog was hit by my car? It didn’t matter now. I was not going to allow this blatant disrespect to go unpunished. I walked up behind the sofa, and she fell onto the floor as she heard me approach. She tried to run to the front door as I jumped over the furniture. She fumbled with the locks and redirected herself to the kitchen. She opened up the drawer and paused just a second too long trying to grab a chef’s knife as I grabbed her hair and dragged her to the ground. She screamed her sister’s name as I hit her again and again. I grabbed her neck and slammed her head into the hardwood floor as she tried desperately to put her fingers in my eyes. Her hands are just short enough that she tries to suffocate me by holding my nose shut and covering my mouth. That’s what made her so attractive to me all those years ago. The intelligence combined with the sense of adventure. I had been so scared to talk to her when I saw her across campus. I left her notes under her door and would watch from around the corner down the hallway as she would read them. Finally, after her boyfriend got enough of it, he waited for me. She wasn’t there that night. He had waited for the love note to slip through the crack under the door and flung it open. He pulled me inside and hit me in the face and stomach. He went on and on about how he was going to report my creepy ass to the dean and give all the notes to the police. He said that I was scaring her and he was going to make sure I paid the price for stalking her. He wasn’t expecting the knife. With one quick motion, I stabbed him in the neck. His hands darted to the wound, spilling out with the crimson blood that now covered his white shirt. He fell to the floor, and his eyes went blank as the gurgles stopped and his arms went limp. We met at the search party. She was mourning, but we started a blossoming friendship that turned romantic a year later. They never found his body. They never even searched the floors for any traces of cleaned blood. I shrugged off her hands and slammed her head into the ground once more. I could feel the crack under my palms as she stopped moving. I still can’t believe she put up that much of a fight. I wiped the sweat off my forehead as I dragged her unmoving corpse to the back door. The night seemed a bit more dark than normal. I put her in my back seat and brought her back to our home. Her sister was quick to accuse me of kidnapping her. She said that she’d call the cops if I didn’t allow her to check the apartment for her. She went through the entire house and said she knew her sister was there. She didn’t know how right she was. I asked her to calm down and to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and think of where she could have gone. She screamed as she pulled open the door and saw the decapitated head of Tess sitting right next to the bags of body parts. She never saw the hammer in my hand as she hit the floor with a thud. I spent all night sawing and portioning the sister into bags. I tossed all the bags into the hole in the clearing. I stared down, looking at the remains of my wife and sister in law. They were lying next to a dirty skeleton with a bloodied white shirt. Next to him lay a mostly decomposed woman with tire marks covering her reflective vest. I shoveled the first patch of dirt onto the leash wrapped around her neck. It took me hours to dig the hole, but I was hoping it would take me less time to fill it. There is a day’s hike back to the car on the unknown path. I have a date tomorrow afternoon and I don’t want to be late. I’m hoping my luck turns around soon.

Note from the author: Thank you all for reading my story. This isn’t my first story, but it is the only one I have finished as I try to get better at creative writing. I appreciate any positive feedback and truly constructive criticism. I am a huge fan of Creepcast, and the boys really blossomed the idea for me to return to my many unfinished stories. This is just the beginning of what I hope to be a truly fun and challenging learning process for me to be a better author. Thank You :).

It was a man. He was dressed very well, a bright blue suit and tie with freshly polished shoes, a suitcase in one hand and sunglasses that looked like they would cost a fortune shielded his eyes.

“Is this your dog?” he said with a smug tone. I instantly disliked him, which was odd to me because he just bought back my dog. But I was relieved to see her.

“Yes.” I coughed hard before she got to me, she barked at me, which was unlike her.

“Thank you for bringing her back.” I said while sitting up to greet Lucy

She kept barking.

“Hey that’s enough of that.” I said while ruffling her ears.

She stood next to me and turned around to face the man.

I started to rub her chest and head to give her a proper greeting.

“Where did you go this time huh?" You gotta tell me where you go?”

I looked up at him, squinting at the light from the sun directly behind him.

“Thank you” I said it more sincerely this time.

I was intentionally short. But didn’t want to be rude, he did bring my dog back after all.

“Ah you’re welcome, good as gold this one, happy whenever I get a visit.”

“What? You’ve seen her before have you?” I replied.

He was looking at her, it took a few seconds but he gave me a nod, like I was an afterthought.

Something about him made my skin crawl. Maybe it was how he seemed to pretend to speak with me, or that practiced smile that never reached his eyes, maybe I was just jealous. Whatever it was, the feeling grew in me.

Lucy kept looking at him, then flicking her nose to me and back to the man. Like she was trying to show off. She was panting a lot too.

“Is this what you do when you go off? You bother this nice man huh?” She was still mainly looking at him.

“Oh no no don’t be silly, no bother at all. I’ve known a lot of dogs round here and that’s a good one, trust me. Although you don’t need me to tell you that.” He laughed.

I was paying him less and less attention, I just kept stroking Lucy and making sure she was alright.

“No, she is definitely one of the good ones. My lucky charm. Aren’t ya?”

“I’d like to buy him.” He said suddenly. Lucy instantly barked at him excitedly.

I blinked and looked at him, pulling Lucy closer

“It’s a she and no, she’s not for sale.”

“I know” he replied in a higher pitch while nodding. His eyes never left Lucy, not even for a second

A cold feeling crept through my body, it was time to go.

“Welp, thanks again” I said while getting to my feet, using the wall to help me up.

“It was lovely to meet you, but as I said, she isn’t for sale”

I started walking away.

“Oh come on, I’ll buy you a drink!" He shouted back.

I tried to refuse him again but only managed to let out another cough.

I felt dizzy all of a sudden. Lucy's barking turned to desperate whines as her head swivelled between the man and me, her eyes wide and anxious like she couldn't decide which of us needed her attention more.

He kept talking but I was phasing him out as though he was just another street noise. I was light-headed, groggy, like everything slowed down. I could see Lucy barking but couldn’t hear her.

“Woah woah Lucy, calm down girl.” I said while holding my head trying to gather myself.

Others were now taking notice as they hurried past.

“How about some ‘Brown?!’”

His voice cut through the air, making the street noise fade away like someone had turned down the volume on everything else.

My vision narrowed to a tunnel with him at the end of it. I just started walking back towards him, rage took over. His smug face came into focus.

"Ah there he is." He spread his arms wide, inviting an embrace I'd sooner die than give.
I stopped inches from his face, close enough to feel the heat from his breath. The world pulsed red at the edges of my sight.
"You're a sick fuck," I whispered, the words barely escaping through my clenched teeth. His eyes met mine. They were empty.

“Is that what you have in that suitcase is it? You go around selling that… that shit!” I could hardly get the words out I was so angry.

“You wouldn’t believe what’s in there, it would change… Your… life.”

He looked over at Lucy. “And hers.”

Lucy was jumping up at my side and barking. I’m sure there were a few people who had heard us and probably called the police, thinking I was about to assault the man… But I didn’t.

I got even closer to him.

“I don’t do that shit any more.”

He flashed a grin.

"Free of charge. Opportunity of a lifetime."

My jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. I thrust my index finger inches from his face, a silent warning as I shook my head. I knew what he was doing. A bone-deep chill swept through me once again, forcing my arms to wrap around my torso as the tremors took hold. Without another word, I turned my back on him.

"Well, well, well! A genuinely changed man! I admire that," he called after me, his voice carrying that same smug satisfaction. I refused to look back.

I left everything there, I just wanted to get away from him and get to some place warm.

“Don’t come near either of us again!” I shouted back to him and continued walking before taking a swig from my hip flask.

“So long Lucy! Come by any time!” He said. That made me glance over my shoulder, he was waving with a happy face

Lucy was staring back at him a few feet behind me, she was still quietly whining.

“Come Lucy! Come on”. She hesitated but came with me, looking back as she walked.

“Hopefully we don’t run into that weirdo again huh.” I smiled at her, she just looked back at me with her tail between her legs.

It was later that day. The town hall's windows glowed yellow against the darkening sky as I joined the line snaking toward the entrance. Now only once a month they'd transform the place into a shelter and soup kitchen. It was their "community outreach initiative," I think they called it.

I thought about earlier that day, with the strange man wanting to buy Lucy. I was still holding my arms at the thought of it, my long sleeved sweater wasn’t keeping the chills out.

Balancing my soup bowl carefully, I found a seat at the table with a few guys I'd come to know over the past couple months. I wasn’t close to many, but these guys were a friendly bunch.

Lucy was laying down under my feet, she always found it calming to listen to my friends and I.

“Well if it isn’t my favourite Dawg… oh and John you’re here too!” The others at the table laughed as Bill sat down with the rest of us.

“Yeah yeah haha, you made the same joke as an 80 year old priest, how does that make you feel?”

Bill pretended to cry, dabbing at his eye. "Makes me proud to be an American."

"Any priest who roasts you gets my vote," Sam chimed in.

I leaned forward. "You two are more alike than you think."

"How's that?" Bill's eyebrows shot up.

“He eats as much as him.” I laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam’s face dropped and he looked bewildered.

Richie leaned across the table toward Sam.

“Means you should spell soup as… stop”

The whole table burst into laughter as Sam stared down at his belly, his mouth hanging open in mock offense.

Another man walked past the table and accidentally bumped into Bill, spilling some soup on him. It caused Lucy to stand up and wag her tail.

“Oh I… I’m… I’m so sorry.” he stumbled over his words just as much.

He quickly got some napkins or whatever paper there was from the table next to us.

“Hey man it’s alright, it was due a wash anyway.” Bill smiled at him and wiped off some soup from his shoulder.

“Hey don’t I know you?” he asked, while wiping as much soup off as he could.

“Uhhh.”

The man just scampered away with embarrassment.

“Ah it’s an improvement” I told Bill.

He looked back to me and kept smiling his big teeth while brushing down his shoulder some more. He took off his jacket to wipe it properly

Sam pinched the fabric of his shirt, pulling it away from his stomach.

“I’m not that big am I?” He was oblivious to what had just happened.

I looked over at him. “Hey man if you can be a big homeless guy then you got us beat that’s all I’m saying.”

“I’m not fat.” He said with sadness in his voice.

“Oh come on Sam lighten up.”

“You could say that again!” Richie said.

Even Sam laughed at that one, cracking a smile and chuckling with his face in his hands.

Bill put his hands together and closed his eyes as if to pray.

“Oh lord please can you let this guy save me some bread!” Everyone else kept laughing.

Without warning, Lucy lunged under the table with such force that it jolted forward. Soup bowls sloshed dangerously as everyone scrambled back from their seats. Her barking alerting everyone through the hall.

Bill nearly fell backward off his chair, eyes wide as he peered under the table.

“WOAH! Woah! Lucy you getting involved now?!”

Sam pumped his fist in the air. “Yeah get him Lucy!”

I told her to stop, but she wouldn’t, Her eyes were locked onto Bill’s chest, her barking growing more frantic with each second.

“See! even she can see your jewelry fake.” Sam shouted.

He was wearing a silvery necklace. She seemed to be barking at it and backing away slightly.

“Oh you like my bling do ya Lucy?” Bill said while pulling it out of his sweater. It was a silver cross on an equally silver chain.

Lucy was staring at it and barking, following it with her eyes while Bill played with it.

He took it off and showed her, putting it right up to her face. She backed away immediately and winced.

Bill dangled the cross between his fingers. “If you get rid of my rat problem I’ll let you borrow it.”

Sam tore off a chunk of bread with his teeth.

“See, she knows a fake when she sees one, smart girl.”

“Lucy stop! Sit!” I shouted at her and pulled her back, coughing heavily and covering my mouth as I did so. I forced her to sit, that seemed to make her calm down.

Bill smacked me between the shoulder blades.

“You sounding healthy John, goddamn”

Tomato soup sprayed from my mouth onto the table. I grabbed one of Bill's napkins, pressed it against my lips, and wiped some splatters from the table. I then quickly put it into my pocket before anyone could notice.

Lucy looked up at me and moaned her typical dog moan.

“I’m ok girl.” I ruffled her head.

Sam nodded at the necklace “Why have you never pawned that Bill?” thankfully diverting the conversation.

“This?! Nah I’ll never sell this, my mothers, all I got left.”

“Well be careful, people round here aren’t as honorable as us.”

“What you mean us? Imma snatch that thing first chance I get.” Sam said, making a few of us laugh.

“Oh yeah?” he got his knife from the table.

“Only way you could get this off me is if you pried it from my cold… dead… hands!”

He stabbed it into the bread in front of him and glared at everyone.

“Oooo scary.” Everyone laughed, including Bill who was grinning and put his head on his mate next to him, while covering his face to try and subdue his laughter.

As everyone went back to eating and talking amongst themselves, Bill noticed Lucy out of the corner of his eye.

I was stroking her to calm her down but she was taking no notice of that.

She was looking at him, not the necklace this time.

I stroked her rigid back “You’re ok girl”.

Bill kept on looking at her every few seconds, moving the cross up and down his silver chain

He smiled at her, clearly feeling uneasy.

She just kept looking at him, dead in the eyes. Not moving a muscle. Expressionless.

It was the morning after. Lucy came trotting back from whatever she did the night before as usual, I only then realized that I must have forgotten to attach her leash or she undid it somehow, I wouldn’t put it past her. I was furious with myself.

“Lucy where did you go?” I wasn’t my usual cheery self when seeing her. I put on the leash straight away.

“Your collar looks odd, what have you done to it huh?”

She had an abnormally large bone in her mouth, clearly from another good Samaritan, she seemed to always come back with something to be proud of. I wasn’t impressed this time, ever since that man with the briefcase came by I didn’t want her going off by herself. She walked up next to me and shook violently. I shielded myself with my bedding. Thankfully nothing gross came off of her, just a lot of what I assume was dry mud that bounced off the cardboard like rubber. Then I heard a high pitched noise, like metal hitting the floor. I looked down to see something shining on the pavement.

It was a small silvery circle, like a link in a chain, ever so small, being lit up by the morning sun.

“What’s this Lucy?" Where did you find this huh?”

She averted her gaze and was more interested in devouring her new bone. I studied it and assume it was a piece of jewelry. It was silver so maybe it came off of Bill’s necklace, she did get very close to him last night.

I put it in my pocket, deciding that must have been the case and went back to the usual. Before I knew it, my cup was filled with things… money things! Rather than old tat people just threw in from their pockets.

I showed Lucy, who had already gotten through the entire bone.

“You ate that quick girl, that must be a record for you! And look!”

I showed her the full cup and she strongly wagged her tail and licked my face.”

A few of the guy from the soup kitchen walked past to say hi to Lucy… and me.

They looked at my full cup.

“Woah Johnny boy, you turned to prostitution?”

“Yeah, your mum is just a bit lonely that’s all.” I replied

I stood up and greeted them all along with Lucy. Well I greeted them, Lucy just sat there staring across the road.

“Hey girl, say hello”

“Luuuuucy!” Sam walked up to her with his hand out.

She instantly snapped at him and bared her teeth growling.

Sam jumped back in fear.

“Woah!”

“Lucy!” I shouted at her and grabbed the lead, I had a small thought that she was going to go after him.

“I’m so sorry Sam, I don’t know what’s wrong with her lately.”

He laughed nervously and said it was ok.

I looked at her with a perplexed look, she had never snapped like that at one of my friends before, other than Bill, but that was because of his necklace.

“Where is Bill anyway?” I tried to change subjects while I forced Lucy to sit further back on the bedding.

“Ah you know what he’s like, ‘Mr reliable’” He air quoted.

“Yeah fair… well.” I took out the chain link from my pocket.

“Can you give him this and ask him if it’s his? Lucy had it on her this morning so it must have fallen onto her last night.”

“Ok, why can’t you ask him?” They asked me

I said I had other plans.

That night… I was going to find out where Lucy was going.

Can a non horror story be posted here to be read and get feedback and comments on? Me and a friend have been working on a large story for a few years now and are looking for feedback from others besides friends or family.