10 Creepypasta Stories from another Reality | Creepypasta Compilation

Three months ago, I got a job offer from a company I'd never heard of. No interview, no background check, just an email. Dream research assistant needed. Quiet night work. High pay. Must be discreet. I thought it was a scam, but I clicked it anyway. And I was 2 months behind on rent and tired of grinding delivery apps and night shifts at a gas station. Two days later, I was standing in a Windowless room at the back of a warehouse on the edge of town, reading a non-disclosure agreement that might as well have been written in

blood. You will not share any details about the work, equipment, or subjects. Any breach will be met with legal and appropriate consequences. They signed it. They shouldn't Have. The room I worked in had two chairs, two monitors, and one machine. A dome-shaped thing about the size of a watermelon covered in metallic wires and nodes. The label read Mimir neural sync unit. They said that it could interface with REM wave activity to let us observe and catalog dream visuals in real time. I didn't ask how it worked. I just did what they told me. Every night

from 11:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m., I came in, put On the headset, and watched people's dreams play out like grainy halffinish films. My job was to log what I saw. Tags, colors, symbols, emotions, distortions. Most of them were forgettable, bizarre, disconnected messes like the the mind dumping its trash into the subconscious. I watched a woman relive her wedding as a loop where her groom's face Kept changing into her dead dog. A man had a recurring dream about drowning in cereal. One guy just sat in a red chair in an endless desert for 6 hours. I

didn't care. I just tagged and logged. The pay was good. The work was quiet until shift 27. That night, the dream opened with a man walking through a long white hallway. Fluorescent lights buzzed Overhead. He wore a dark hoodie. I couldn't see his face. steps echoed. The hallway had doors, each with numbers. Room 11, room 12, room 13. He stopped at room 16. He opened the door and stepped inside and I felt cold. I wasn't just watching anymore. It felt like I was in it. Like my thoughts had shifted into his. The room inside was

Familiar. Too familiar. Cracked white walls. A humming mini fridge. A ceiling fan with a broken blade. A desk with an old laptop and a blue chair. My room. down to the scratch on the window frame and the photo of me and my sister at the carnival. This was my apartment. The the the one I lived in right now. On the desk was my journal, the the one I kept Locked. In the dream, the man opened it. One line was written over and over in a shaky block lettering. They're watching you, too. I ripped off the

headset, hit the emergency alert button. First time I ever used [Music] it. No one came. The next day, I demanded answers. I found Dr. Calder, the lead researcher. What the hell was that last dream? I Asked him. That was my apartment. That journal that I I've never shown anyone that. She didn't blink. ID number 616T. I said, "Who is that?" She stared at me for a long time, then said calmly. "You were told not to ask questions." "But that's me, isn't it? I'm the subject. if you've been watching me. A pause, a smile. No, she

said. You're just the Receiver. Then she walked away. After that, things got worse. The dreams weren't random anymore. They all started in the hallway that the same man, the same doors. Room 17, room 18, room 19. Every night he'd open the next door. And each time it was another place from my past. The classroom where I wet my pants in first grade. The church basement where I found my uncle passed out drunk. My sister's old Bedroom. The night of the accident. Sometimes he just stood there and stared. Other times he'd whisper things. Once he looked

directly into the dream feed and said, "Why did you lie?" I stopped sleeping. I'd go home, lie in bed, and feel like I was still being watched. the black van across the street, the flicker of the hallway camera, even though no one Passed. I started having dreams outside of a lab. Dreams had felt like the ones I saw at work. Same angle, same man, except now I wasn't sure who was dreaming whom. Then came shift 42. The hallway ended. No more doors. The man stood at the last one. Room 23. Inside. It was pitch black.

For a long time, he just stood There. And then he stepped in and the feed went dead. A message appeared on the screen. Mamir sync terminated. Accessing deep core files. Another screen popped up. A split feed. One on the left, a live camera view. The breakroom where I sat on lunch 20 minutes ago. On the right, an old video, grainy black and white footage. I was watching myself Sleeping. Years younger, electrodes on my head, someone whispering to me off camera. You're going to forget this. It's better if you forget. I threw off the headset, ran

down the hall. The door I thought led outside was gone. In its place, a white hallway with numbered [Music] doors. Room one. Room Two. Room three. I don't know how long I've been here now. Some nights I think I've escaped. I wake up in my bed. The world looks normal until I spot the man in the hoodie across the street. until I turn on my phone and see a recording of my dream from the night before. I think the job was never real. I think I never left the lab. Or maybe I never applied in

the First place. I just wanted a paycheck. What I got was a front row seat to my own breakdown. And if anyone's reading this, if this shows up on your feed, ask yourself, when was the last time you really woke up? Because I'm starting to think that some of us, some of us are still dreaming. [Music] Danny's parents told him never to go into the basement. I was over at his place the first time that he tried to open that thick dark oak door. I remember we were seven at the time. I think him flashing

me that cheeky lopsided smile before standing on his tiptoes and straining for the handle. I remember his dad snatching him away a second later and slamming him back down next to me with a force that brought tears into Dy's eyes. Mr. Johnson was a very big man. And although I'd known him all my life, he had always been a slight source of fear for me. As I grew older, this infantile nervousness around him subsided a little, but he always made me wary. Mr. Johnson knelt, gripping Danny's shoulders. His face was red with anger, but he

also looked shaken. I noticed he was trembling almost as much as his son. "Listen to me, Danny." His voice Cut like a knife. "You never ever open that door. Do you understand me? Never. I've told you before, and I'll tell you again. Under no circumstances do you go down there." Then he bundled his sniveling son into a tight hug before inviting us to come watch cartoons. Afterwards, I had asked Danny what was behind the door. He told me in a roundabout way that it was his basement. He seemed only half interested In the conversation, always

distracted by the tinkle of an ice cream truck or an interesting stick. Danny's zealous imagination could take anything innocuous, anything everyday, and turn it into something extraordinary. Sometimes I thought that he could actually see the things that he dreamt up. Danny and I had always been friends. We were never really given a choice in the matter. Our families neighbored each other directly, and our Parents had known each other since college. They just heaped the infant Danny and I together and waited for a bond to grow. There was a bond. In the simplest sense, we were

best friends. We were always together in the same class at school, in the same scout group. We even ducked into and out of each other's houses like they were connected. For me, there didn't exist a life where Dany wasn't there to get me into trouble or to get Me out of it. Of course, we had our differences. I was always the quiet one. Good in school, rarely to be found without my nose in a book. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the influence of the popular and gregarious Dany, I might well have been subject to

harsh teasing throughout my education. That was how our unspoken trade-off played out. Dany would vouch for me amongst our peers, seeing that I was invited to games of tag and birthday Parties, and I would help Dany with his schoolwork. He never had a head for sums or science, but his weakest spot was English. Spelling, creative writing, a rare point of humiliation for Dany. He can never wrap his brain around which words fit to which meaning or which meanings fit to which word or what the word was for a particular meeting, etc., etc., etc. Looking back,

he was at the very least dyslexic and probably had other conditions which meant he Struggled in school. I'm sorry. Let me get to the point. Danny's parents told him never to go into the basement. And after the first incident, met by harsh parental discipline, he obeyed the command. Whenever we were at his house, he would stick strictly to his room or the lounge or the garden. But over time, as it always did, Dany<unk>y's insatiable curiosity grew. His 8-year-old brain feared Punishment too much to try opening that door again without intel on what lay behind it,

and any questions directed at his parents about the contents of the basement were either ignored or met with rebuking. His parents probably rightfully realized that if Dany were going to gain the smallest morsel of information about that room or catch the tiniest glimpse of what would lay inside, that his wild imagination would create the other pieces of the puzzle. Causing his curiosity to become too much to bear. Dany would often bring up the basement in conversation, presenting in childish dialect his latest speculation on what could be in there. To my appraising ear, an alien egg,

a robot clone, a baby dragon. For my part, I was not terribly interested in the contents of my neighbor's basement. as well as being too timid to ever aid Dany in a Break-in. Dany was convinced that his parents were hiding something in there. And it was precisely his parents cinjunist in the face of his inquisition, which strengthened his theory. His older brother, Aaron, 15, only laughed when Dany brought his theories to him and called him stupid. But then one day, something changed. That morning when Danny came galloping From his front door to join me on

our walk to school, there was a strange air about him. He kept shooting me sideways looks and suppressed smiles as if he knew a secret and was bursting to tell. Of course, knowing Danny, his lips did not remain sealed. There's a man in the basement. The words came tumbling out of his mouth in a pile, leaving him panting. It caught me off guard. My Rational brain couldn't comprehend such an offload of information. What? What do you mean? I heard him whispering through the floor. He heard me and I unlocked the door. Dad was at work.

I opened the door and there were these dark steps. I could see the man down there. And wait, wait, Danny, you really saw a man in your basement? Yeah. Yeah, I heard him whispering to the floor, whispering for help. Okay, stop messing with me, man. No, I swear. I double triple swear. Only this most sacred of oaths made me pause in my denial of Danny's story. For the first time, I let the thought cross my mind. Was it true? I began to question him hesitantly. Slow down. What about your dad? I told you he was

working late. Your mom, she was home, but I couldn't just ignore it. She'd kill you if she catches you, man. She won't. I shut the Door afterwards. So, he whispered through the floor. Yeah. Okay. He must have heard me walking around the house. It was really quiet. I heard him whispering. I put my ear to the floor near the molding floorboard. You know what I mean? I could hear him. His voice was like really scratchy like like he had a cold or something. He he sounded pretty cuckoo. You know, kept repeating Himself, asking for help

over and over, mumbling about being alone in the dark or or something. I resigned myself reluctantly to believe Dude, that's that's really weird. You should tell your parents, I advised. Well, here's the thing, Cam. Danny whispered, voice crackling with excitement. What if they're keeping him in there? No, man. That's crazy. What are You You remember that film Aaron showed us? The one that mom got mad at him about? There was that guy, the the mad uh uh scientist. That's what I was going to say. That mad scientist. He kept those two dudes in his basement

all chained up. He put that kneel in them, you know, when their their eyes exploded. Both of us paused to screw our faces up in disgust at the memory. And then he came in with a knife And they were screaming. And then mom walked in and switched it off. But what if that's what mom and dad are doing? You know, keeping him down in the basement. I took a moment to digest this. Think about it, Kim. All the facts add up. This was a catchphrase Danny had learned off TV. Faced with Danny's, to me, flawless

logic, I had no choice but to agree. Looking back, I find it strange, particularly on my part, but more so on Danny's, how we were able to establish such a mental disconnect. How we could wholeheartedly believe that Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were carrying out the actions of a serial killer and yet harbor no ill feelings towards them. In Danny's case, love them. Our attitude towards them did not change at all. Sometimes we forget how simple the mind of a child really is, how innocent, and conversely how easy it is shatter. Danny filled me in further,

Explaining how the man had been on all fours, the bottom of the dark steps, and how thin and bony he had looked. Dany seemed to imply that at one point he had made direct eye contact with the man, but he appeared to grow slightly uncomfortable at that point, quickly moving on with his description of the events. He had been able to go down those steps when he heard his mom calling for him from upstairs. Then he had exited the basement, locked the Door, and replaced the key behind the toaster where he knew his dad kept

it. Over the next week, Dany updated me regularly. He'd been unable to find a moment where it was possible to open the door again, but he told me that at a few quiet moments in the evening, he had whispered through the floor to the man, and the man had occasionally whispered back. He was careful not to let his parents catch these strange conversations. Doing so would alert them To the fact that he knew their secret. He was always vague about the exact contents of those talks to the floor. I took this as a way of

him guarding his secret like a serpent guards its horde of treasure. But that Sunday, Danny granted me access to the treasure trove. Like most Sundays, I arrived at his house early in the morning, ready for a day of cartoons and fort building. But as soon as Danny had closed the door To his bedroom, he explained that he had a new item on the agenda. You're going to talk to him today. I didn't have to ask who he meant. Looking back, I'm not sure I even wanted to take part in this eerie ritual. I'm sure I

was terrified by the idea of whispering to an unknown man underneath the floor. Danny led me downstairs, led me over to the spot near the moldy floorboard, his communication Link. He bade me kneel down, put my ear to the floor, and speak. As it was, I only had to listen. No sooner did my ear touch the floor than I was assailed by a strange sound almost like a stormy wind or nails on a blackboard. Straining my hearing, I could make out sounds and then words and then sentences. My brain came to terms With the fact

that it was all true. There really was a man. This man mere meters below me. I jumped up with a start, heart suddenly racing, sending Danny into fits of giggles. But I wasn't laughing. There was something altogether not right about what was happening. My young mind couldn't place it exactly, but it had something to do with that awful rasping Voice. Slowly, this time I dipped my head again. this time paying attention to what was being whispered to me. Hey, hey, you still there? Help me, please, kid. You got to help me. There's nothing down here

but the shadows. Shadows all around. Help Me. Help me. Help me. Help. Help. Help. Help. This frantic repetition did not come with a rise in pitch or even a waiver in tone or consistency. The speaker spat the words out at a ferocious rate, concentrating only on clarity and speed. They whispered as someone who had learned they must whisper regardless of how much they want to scream. Slowly as I listened to the repetition, the begging for aid, I Detected a rising urgency. No, it was it anger. Yeah, it was discernible now. A clear and growing hate

behind the words. Little [ __ ] I begging you. Please, please, I'm [ __ ] begging you. Come down here and help me. What are you doing? What are you doing? Help me. Help me. And then as I listened in petrified silence, not breathing, just Listening, he began to say other things. I'm not going to put them down here. I haven't spent 20 years in therapy trying to burn them from my mind to put them down here. I just know that from what he said and how he said it, all I could think was that

this man, this wretched thing below me, was the most desperate person I'd ever come into contact with. To prostrate himself like that, to abase himself, to make himself little better than an animal, It made me think that he was absolutely terrified out of his mind. I had heard enough. I turned my head away from that crack in the floor and I made my mistake. I looked down. It was only for a second. A second was all it took. I saw his eye. In that dark crack, I saw what I first thought to be a fat

cockroach or a bulging woodlouse. Some kind of rotunded insect bulbous and Chittering. Then the ruptured dirty brown shell-like eyelid opened. Time slowed down. The red tinted pupil frantically flitting, resting on me. The eye was milky white with collections of dank yellow goop collecting in the corners, veins bulging across its surface, giving the impression that it was just about to burst. I couldn't look away. I felt like that Blighted eye was staring straight into my soul like a madman, a wild thing. I fell back, let out a cry of fear. I pushed past Danny, running for

the front door, tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn't stop until I was under the covers of my own bed, croaking sobs echoing into my pillow. I wouldn't tell my parents what was wrong. Looking back, I wish I had. After a while, guilt and boredom conquered my fear, and I returned to Danny's house. He let me in sheepishly, treading on eggshells around me, unsure of what had caused my reaction. They found my outburst to be humiliating and resolved myself to pretend nothing had happened. Yet, I still refused to look over at that door or the

spot on the floor where that voice had whispered to me. That evening, shortly before I returned to my own home for supper, Danny and I sat on his bed talking. "What are you going to do?" I asked him. What do you mean? I mean, what are you going to do about him? A brief moment of hesitation, remembering that horrible eye emerging from the dark. Well, I'm I'm Gee, man. I don't know. What do you mean? You're really going to let your parents just keep him down there? He Doesn't sound like he's having fun. You're right.

Danny's eyes gleamed. I I should rescue him. No, no, Danny. I meant like tell me says Carter or somebody. But Danny was far away. Imagining himself playing the part of the hero. Crowds thanking him, the president meeting him, all the chocolate he could eat. I realized for Laurenly that he would not be persuaded. I'm going to get Him out. I I don't think that's such a good idea. What about your parents? Danny, if they catch you, they won't catch me. I'm quick and I've opened the door before, remember? Besides, Danny attempted a macho persona. What

are they going to do? Ground me? No cartoons for a week? He scoffed. But before punishment had been enough of a threat to deter him, it was now useless. Danny had too much to gain. No, Danny. I attempted to put into words a concept my young mind could not fully realize. Something unpleasant. A darkness hatching at the back of my brain. Something beyond being grounded. Something beyond the simplistic idea that a parent loves you no matter what. I also think that I didn't believe in my heart of Hearts that Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were truly

capable of holding someone in their basement against his will. Yeah, they were truly capable of hurting [Music] Dany. My warning came out is vague and feeble. I think that if they catch you, they're going to do something really bad. But Danny wasn't listening. He explained to me how that night after His parents had gone to bed, he would sneak downstairs, grab the key from its hiding place behind the toaster, unlock the door, go down those dark, dark steps, and bring the man in his basement into the light. He said that he would be careful and

if he heard his parents coming, he would just lock the door and hide. As I left that evening, he told me that he would tell me all about his excade The next morning. Looking back, I marvel at how we could have possibly thought our daily routine would just be the same. That night, I was racked with fear. Not the same fear that I had felt after seeing that eye. That was short and sharp, painful, like an electric shock. This fear was far worse. It was slow and creeping, slithering around in The pit of my stomach,

strangling me. I didn't touch my food. I was sent to bed early. My parents thought I was ill. Danny's parents told him to never go into the basement. And the next day, Danny was gone. I waited for some time on the sidewalk outside of his house, praying to see that cheeky, lopsided grin, but he never came. Eventually, Mrs. Johnson saw me through The front window and came out. "Is Danny sick?" I asked. "I already knew though what was coming." "No, we thought he'd gone to yours." A look of fear spread over Mrs. Johnson's face, and

the nightmare began. Over the next three months, I got accustomed to seeing the flashing lights of police cars and seeing cops coming and going through the Johnson home. At First, the Johnson's were panicked. There was no sign of a break-in. The front door was still locked, and the neighborhood was so friendly. Everyone knew each other. There was absolutely nothing, which could explain Dy's disappearance. I remember after the first week, adults began talking in hush tones around me. That must have been when they made the development in the case. On the third day, the story made

It onto the local news. The Johnson's were interviewed outside their home. In the short time, their initial panic had faded to anguish and despair, at least from the outside. Only I knew the truth. Dany had been caught. His parents had done something horrible to him if I had been afraid of Mr. Johnson before. I couldn't be in the same room with him now. I tried to tell anyone who would Listen of my secret insight, but nobody would pay it any notice. Indeed, I was scolded by my parents for being insensitive and inappropriate. Over the years,

I stopped trying to convince people. My pain just became a numb Dannyshaped hole. But I never forgot. When I was older, probably around 13, my mother decided it was time for me to know the truth of the case. What they had found at the end of The first week. She explained that Danny's house didn't have a basement. Behind that thick, dark oak door, there was an old, unused supply closet. His parents told Danny to never ever go in there because they stored bleach and other harmful chemicals inside. Danny had never been told it was a

basement. That was pure speculation become fact, a product of his troubles with words and his overactive Imagination. Inside that closet, behind the mops and boxes of clutter, the police found a hole. The bricks and planks of one corner ripped away. And in that hole, there was a dark, dark flight of stairs formed from rubble and broken stones. The dark, dark steps led down into the large sewage tunnel directly beneath the Johnson's house. And in the sewage Tunnel, they found many things, a used mattress, a kitchen knife, and the opening that had been made in the

top of the tunnel, a chair, which had been used to reach the floorboards of Danny's living room to whisper through. There was writing on the wall, scribblings about shadows and being alone in the dark. Danny hadn't been Caught. Unfortunately for him, he had made it down there. The police searched the local sewage network and its reservoirs. Nothing. But eventually, they found the last clue they would ever find. several miles away in an old decrepit storm drain. Danny's watch, half submerged in the mud and slime and a single bloody handprint made by a small hand against

the wall of the Drain, elongated along its length where someone had fought desperately to not be dragged away. I was wrong. The voice I heard under the floor that day wasn't the voice of a man filled with [Music] terror. It was the voice of a man who was utterly utterly deranged. And this is why I told you That we should have left the house at least 4 hours before we actually did. I let out an exasperated sigh and shot a glance into the passenger seat where a pair of blue eyes glowered back at me. Look,

let's not fight right now, Paula. Okay, it's late. We're both tired. Let's not start off our first ever vacation to Vegas by turning into a bitter old couple. You've only been married for what, two days and change? For a moment, the eyes continued To try and pierce my skin. Then they closed as my wife let out a sigh of nodding. You're right. I'm sorry. Just having to look at nothing but desert for the last 5 or 6 hours kind of got to me. She shot me a look that conveyed equal parts love and mild irritation.

And if someone didn't insist on holding on to an almost 30-year-old BMW and listened to me on getting a new one with A navigation system, we wouldn't have gotten turned around on those side roads and ended up almost driving to LA. I let out a soft laugh. Paula Clemens, you knew damn well when you married me that I'm not the kind of man who sells something that works perfectly well just to have something new and flashy and end up with 70 years of debt jammed onto my shoulders. She snorted, "Yes, I most certainly did, honey."

She reached around the center console and Stroked a finger across my cheek. "Just count yourself lucky I find you cute with a good sense of humor. Otherwise, I wouldn't have put up with it for the last 5 years, let alone married you," she said teasingly. I laughed loudly. "I love you, too." Giving a small, sly smile to show that she was satisfied with our little quip, she leaned forward and pulled a rather battered road map from the glove Compartment. Paula and I had met each other over 6 years ago to the day. And to sum

it up in 30 words or less, even though she seemed completely out of my league, we made a perfect match. We dated for 4 and 1/2 years before I finally popped the question to her, resulting in her bursting into tears, screaming yes when I dropped to one knee while at a friend's barbecue, holding out the engagement ring that I had secretly Bought. A half a year of planning later, and the two of us officially became husband and wife. As part of our honeymoon, I decided for us to spend it in a place we'd both wanted

desperately to visit, but never had a chance, Las Vegas. Neither of us really did any research on the city, deciding to wing it by driving the day after our wedding from our home in Washington to Nevada. The only thing we did look up was a Hotel booking, getting a room at a place called the Venetian. But unfortunately, we left too late and instead of arriving in the city at dusk, we arrived in the middle of the night. According to the orange glow of my 7 series clock, it was approaching 3:00 a.m. Paula clicked on the

dome light and studied the map in her lap, tracing the route with one finger while slowly winding her platinum blonde hair around the finger of her other Hand. It looks like from the road signs, we'll be coming into the city from the southwest. So, just keep going straight on Vegas Boulevard and it'll take us right there, she declared before putting the map away. We could already see the bright white glow of the city lights ahead of us. And a few minutes later, we passed by the world famous welcome to fabulous Las Vegas sign. As it

disappeared behind us, I began grinning like an idiot, seeing out of the corner Of my eye that Paulo was smiling as well. See? Told you it was a good idea to come out on Vegas Boulevard instead of the highway, I said. To which she gave my shoulder a playful shove. Yeah, you're right again. Now, let's just find our hotel so we could check in and get some sleep. I'm into that statement, babe, I thought. A minute later, and a mixture of confusion and irritation washed over me. I let out a sigh. What's wrong, darling? No,

I asked as we came to a stop at a red light. I gestured ahead of us. Honestly, sweetheart, I have no freaking idea where we're going. Might have made a mistake by not researching exactly what all the hotels were named and where they are on the strip because I'm completely freaking lost. And to make matters worse, I'm getting more tired by the minute. As if my words had triggered it, I let out a massive yawn. I put my head On my hands and waited for the light to turn green. I don't know what to do,

I admitted. I shot a look at Paula, who was gently biting her lip. The trademark sign that she was thinking. Finally, she spoke. Look, it's extremely late right now. Why don't we just randomly pick a hotel to stay at for the night, and tomorrow we'll find the Venetian, and then we'll check in there. What could it Hurt, right? I turned her words over in my head for a moment. She had a point. I booked our stay for 2 weeks with a 48 hour grace period for check-in. Staying somewhere else for one night would be okay.

All right, sounds like a plan. I gestured ahead of us, putting on a regal accent. So, since you were the one to come up with the plan, Mrs. Clemens, how about you pick our stay for the night? A Corner of her mouth turned up in an amusing smirk. Why certainly, Mr. Clemens, she retorted as the light turned green, and I continued on. Surprisingly, I didn't see many other cars on the road, even though I knew most of the city was open 24/7. "Well, can't expect everyone to be up all the time." My thoughts were broken

through by Paula's voice. "What about that one?" she asked, quoting it a rather unique and honestly neat sign Appearing ahead on the left. That sign looks really neat and old school," she added, almost as if reading my thoughts. I leaned down slightly to get a better view of it. It wasn't a hotel and casino I'd ever heard of, but I shrugged my shoulders. "Why not?" I said. "Looks about as good as anything else." Turning into the cutoff, I looked left and right and then Crossed the street and pulled into the driveway which led to the

hotel's entrance. Driving in under the orange lights of the awning, I brought the car to a stop. Through the window, I saw what looked like a valet and bellhop jump to attention from by their posts and hurry over to us. I let out a soft laugh. Looks like they didn't expect anyone else coming in tonight. That's when I felt a small wave of Puzzlement wash over me. Both men who appeared to be in their early to mid20s were still walking towards us, but they were looking at my car with an odd expression, one which I

can still recall perfectly all these months later. I could see them quickly muttering to each other as they approached us, pointing and shrugging. The heck about my car had them so so so I don't know off. It's nothing more than a BMW 7 Series from 1995. I pushed the thought away. These people were probably used to much newer, much more expensive luxury cars. Seeing one as old as mine was probably a surprise. Well, no time like the present, I said as I shut the car off and pulled the keys from the ignition, turning to look

at Paula. She nodded and we both pulled our respective door handles, pushing them open, stepping out into the Night. The rather chilly air caught me off guard, and I flipped up the collar of my jacket to protect my neck. "Hello, sir, welcome," him a young man's voice. I turned to see the valet striding across the back of the car, his prior odd expression gone and replaced by the traditional professional smile. I returned it with a smile of my own. Thanks very much. Apologies if you didn't expect anyone coming so late. He waved away my apology.

It's quite all Right, sir. You two people arriving at all hours of the day and night. He gestured to the car's trunk. Can the bellhop assist you with you and your wife's bags? I nodded, aiming the keys to the trunk and hitting the trunk release button. Obediently, and with a small squeak of protest from the aging hinges, the lid rose up, presenting our bags to the bellhop. For a moment, the same odd, almost surprised expression caught his face as he stared at the open Trunk. Then, same as the valet, it was replaced with a professional

smile. He reached in, pulled out the two suitcases, placing them on his cart, and closed the trunk before beginning the walk towards the entrance. I shot a look over the roof of the car to see if Paula had caught it as well. The expression on her face told me that she did, and she gave me a puzzled look back. I shrugged my shoulders and then turned To the valet who stood waiting patiently. I shook my head, snorting softly. "Sorry, here," I said, feeling a little sheepish and handing him the keys. He nodded, handing me a

valet stub to retrieve my car before climbing behind the wheel. For a few moments, he simply sat in the driver's seat. I was just about to knock on the window and ask if everything was all right when I heard the engine start and the car pulled away. Stepping next to my wife, I looked at her and shook my head slowly as our eyes met. Okay, what the hell was that all about? I asked quietly. She shook her head as well. I honestly don't know. Maybe it's just how the place is late at night. Anyway, it's

late. Let's just check in and get up to our room. We can figure out the weirdness tomorrow. Nodding in agreement, I let her lead the way. We just pushed open the doors and stepped inside when the Thought flared into my mind. "Shit," I hissed, stopping dead in my tracks. Paula turned to me, a look of concern on her face. "What is it?" she asked, reaching out and putting a hand on my shoulder. "I left my damn phone charger plugged in the cigarette lighter," I said. She let out a small laugh in my words, arching an

eyebrow. "That's all. Let's get it tomorrow." I shook my head, pulling my phone out and clicking the button to bring the screen up. Can't. Only got 10% of juice left in the battery. For a moment, I debated what to do. Look, uh, going ahead of me to the lobby and start the check-in, I said, gesturing towards the end of the hall where I could see the bellhop waiting for our bags. I'm just going to double back and grab it. It won't be long, she shot me a slightly exasperated look, but nodded and turned away. Fine,

just don't take too long, okay, she said over her shoulder as she walked towards the Lobby. I promise I won't, I called, then turned and headed back out the main doors into the night. The wind once more smacked me in the face as I emerged under the entrance lights. I looked around, trying to figure out where the valet had parked my car. I decided to wait by the stand that he had been stationed at and leaned against it, waiting for him to return. And after a few minutes, I glanced at my watch, noting with a

slight pang of Irritation that 10 minutes had passed. Paula was likely standing next to the check-in counter right now, tapping her foot in the way that she always did when she began to get pissed off. Didn't want to show it. I turned to look out the other entrance, noting that due to the bright lights above, I couldn't really see out into the darkness. That was when the feeling came over me. It sent an electric bolt of Lightning up my spine. And as I'd grown up with more than a bit of a rough crowd, it was

one that my sense of survival knew well. It was the feeling of being watched. Feeling every muscle in my body tense, I slowly turned and looked behind me, but nobody was there. The feeling persisted, though. Cameras, maybe. I I always got that sensation when someone was staring at me Through CCTV. Even though I couldn't figure out how or why, and I knew that I was being observed, but as I swept my gaze in the usual areas where I figured cameras would be, I saw none. Either whoever owns this place has an expert in hiding security

cameras, or they have none out here. Gutsy move in a seat like this. Now, the feeling of being watched began to be crept up by something else. It wasn't exactly what you would call fear or dread, more like an intense uneasiness. Not being able to see who or what was looking at me was a feeling I didn't like. And it made me feel vulnerable as anything, especially because I had grown to be able to interpret my gut feelings. And this one was telling me that who or whatever was watching me wasn't exactly the friendly type.

scrape. The sound made me go rigid as a Statue. Every one of my five senses instinctively flashed on full alert. For a moment, there was silence, only broken by the distant sound of a police siren starting up somewhere. I began to relax. You're just hearing things, Danny. I chided myself. Scrape. Now, that one I hadn't imagined. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I looked around trying to figure out where the sound had come From. But I couldn't see a damn thing beyond the lights. My heart began to beat a little harder, and

I glanced back at the entrance doors. Okay, maybe time to forget the charger for the night and just go back inside. I took a single step towards the entrance. A hand fell upon my shoulder from behind, heavy and cold. [ __ ] I involuntarily cried out, jumping about a foot off the ground. I whirled around, my fist already baldled up and ready to Suck whoever snuck up on me in the face. Instead, I was met with a startled face of the valet as he took a step back. For a moment, we both stood still. Then,

I finally let out a shaky breath. "Fucking hell, man." I muttered, running a hand over my face. "Please don't sneak up on me like that." I let out a soft laugh, trying to ease the tension which had built up inside of me. The poor man looked apologetic. Raised His hands. I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't realize he didn't hear me coming up behind you. Forgive me. I let out another soft chuckle, raising one hand and waving it to show all I was forgiven. As I bent down and put my hands on my knees to study

myself. After catching my breath, I looked up. It's quite all right, I said simply. He nodded. Is there anything I can help you with? Did you come back out to ask a question? The task at hand flooded back To the forefront of my mind, and I nodded. "Yeah, actually, I left something rather important in my car. I forgot to grab it before getting out." "Can I possibly have the key back quickly go get it, and I'll just return it when I come back?" He nodded, his smile returning. "Of course, sir. Uh, here you are." He

said, holding out my keys that he still held in his hand, now adorned with a small tag with a number written On it. I took it and managed a small smile. Uh, which direction did you park it in? I asked, gesturing out in the dark. He latted a soft laugh of his own and shook his head. Of course, my mistake, sir. He walked to a stand and pulled a small map of the hotel's large parking lot from behind it, pointing to a space near the far right edge. You're parked over here. I quickly examined the

map, making a mental note of the route in my mind, and then nodding at the man. Thanks. I'll be right back. And with that, I set off. For a moment, I hesitated at the edge of the lights, staring out into the dark and remembering both the feeling and the [Music] sound. Got a freaking grip, dude. It was a damn valet, nothing else, I muttered softly to myself and shot a look back over my shoulder. I felt another odd sensation Shoot through me as I saw he was staring after me. the same peculiar expression adorning his

face, one I couldn't place. Deciding to get it over with so I could just get away from him, I took a breath and strode out into the dark. As soon as I was out of sight of the valet, I began to relax. I shook my head and laughed at how jumpy I was. My father had been a prison guard, therefore had prepared me for anything, and I grown up in a less Than stellar neighborhood. So why was I so jumpy in the middle of a populated city? I chocked it up to nasty stories about what

happened to people from the country that visited cities and kept going. The darkened shapes of parked cars passed by me on all sides, too dark for me to make out any distinguishing features. Still, I kept walking, keeping the map of the lot at the forefront of my mind. I stopped, realizing how stupid I was Being. All I had to do was tap a button on my key, and I'd instantly know where it was. Snorting at my sudden lack of common sense, I raised the key and clicked the button. Beep. A few hundred feet ahead of

me, I saw the lights of my BMW flashed like a lighthouse out in the night. Moving quickly, I jogged the distance to the car and walked around to the driver's door. Opening it, I dropped into the driver's seat for a moment. "There you are, you little devil," I Said as I pulled the charger from the outlet, grabbed the wall adapter, and slid both into my jacket pocket. Stepping back out of the car, I began to shut the door, but something caught my eye. I let out a low whistle. "Damn," I whispered to myself as I

caught sight of the car I was parked next to. "A 1957 Ford Fair Line." "Someone staying here had good taste." I admired the Two-tone paint job for a moment longer and then slammed my car door shut, plunging the lot back in the darkness. Regardless of how much I wanted to examine further, my wife was waiting for me. I stepped around to the front of the car and clicked the lock button. The car beeped twice, signaling the alarm was activated, and the headlights flashed again for a moment. As they did, I caught sight of the car

directly across from me. Another classic car looking Like an Impala from the early 60s. I allowed myself a small smile. Maybe there's a classic car show happening here soon. A thought cheered me up somewhat. I mean, I love classic cars and being able to attend such an event would be a perfect addition to my honeymoon. But then all thoughts were wiped away as in that same moment, my headlights revealed something else. What appeared to be the darkened shape Of a man stood just beyond the reach of the lights. Standing a little ways behind the impala.

Instantly, I started. I hadn't heard anyone walking around during my trip to the car, and I'm someone who has ears like a hawk. It was rare, if ever, for me to fail to notice anyone else around. This fact made me even more on edge. As my car's headlights died away, the Area was plunged again into darkness. For a moment, I didn't move or say anything. Then I cleared my throat. Um, hello. There was no reply, but I could still barely see the figure. I decided to try speaking again. Uh, can can I help you with

anything, man? Still, the figure stayed silent. Now, I began to feel alarm bells Going off in my head, and I brought myself to my full height, trying to sound as intimidating as possible. Look, man, I don't want any trouble, but um I have no problem defending myself if I have to. So, find someone else to go try and rob or something." The silence seemed almost deafening as the seconds drew on with no answer and no movement. Okay, [ __ ] this, I muttered, then aimed the key behind me in my car, pressing The unlock button

again. The car beeped and the headlights came on again, illuminating the impala in front of me and the surrounding area. I felt a pang of surprise, almost shock, shoot through me. What the the figure was gone. I hadn't turned away for more than a split second to make sure that I was aiming the key correctly. There wasn't enough time for someone to book it. And yet, the area behind the parked car was Empty. I felt my pulse begin to race as I looked around, trying to see into the darkness beyond the headlights, but I couldn't

see a damn thing. The headlights died away again, allowing the blackness to return. For a few seconds, there was silence. Scrape. I spun around. The sound almost seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. came Again. Scrape. The same sound that I'd heard while waiting for the valley to return. I'd come to the conclusion that it it had been him simply dragging his feet along the ground. But now I began to think it been something else. That sound came again, almost seeming closer. My breath was coming fast and shallow now. My mind suddenly screaming

at me to hit the button on my keys again. Thrusting my arm out, I jammed my finger down on the lock Button. Beep beep. The headlights flashed on again, and I almost leapt backwards. The figure was back, standing just beyond the edge of the lights to the right, standing in between me and my way back to the hotel. Oh, [ __ ] I suddenly gripped the keys tightly in my fist, remembering the trick my father had taught me, how to use it as a weapon. The figure stayed still and silent as it had before. I

pulled in several lungfuls of air before finally Finding my voice. What [ __ ] do you want? Just as before, I got no answer. But for a second, I thought I heard something. Something that almost sounded like a whisper or a mutter coming from the direction of the figure. It seemed almost muffled, just like someone would if they were wearing a mask or a or a balaclava to hide their face. "Shit," they whispered. The notion of having to fight off an attacker was Looking more and more probable by the second. It was a notion I

was not a fan of, especially one as highly skilled as this one seemed to be. To move around so silently and quickly, then it moved. I couldn't see what it did, but I saw something fly through the air and land with a clink somewhere near me. I felt like an idiot to this day for what I did, but I foolishly took my eyes off the figure, seemingly on instinct, to see what had Been thrown my way. And by the time I realized my mistake and snapped my head back up, the figure had disappeared again. My

eyes widened as I swung around trying to figure where he' zoomed off to, but I saw nothing. The sound of a car passing by on the street grabbed my attention, and I quickly looked over to see a pair of headlights and tail lights passed by the hotel on the main drag. The BMW's Headlights clicked off again, plunging me back in the darkness and causing my heart to begin pounding again. Where the [ __ ] is he? Almost as if an answer, the sound, which had by now begun to fill me with a sense of dread

returned. Scrape. Just as before, I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. I quickly shot a glance at the hotel where I could see the glowing lights of the entrance area. It looked like heaven with me sitting Out in the middle of purgatory here. Being stalked by God only knew who. I decided to call out one final time, though I doubted he had deter the dude at this point. This is your last warning, [ __ ] You come at me and I'll put you in the [ __ ] ground. Now, [ __ ] off. As

soon as the final word had left my lips, all sound ceased, the scraping sound stopped and silence fell over the Parking lot. But it wasn't a normal silence as if the person had heeded my warning and split. It was a deadly silence, one which was so tensionfilled, it was almost palpable. Instantly, I realized I'd made a huge mistake with my threat. Oh [ __ ] I whispered under my breath. As I looked around, I couldn't hear a damn thing. And standing in the darkness for this long was making me Feel more vulnerable by the second.

My breath was hitching in my throat, and I felt the first tendrils of genuine fear creep on me. I wanted to make a break for it and dash for the entrance, but where I didn't know where the figure was, I didn't want to blindly run straight into them. So, I made a split-second decision. I would hit the lock button on my keys one final time to make sure they weren't still off to my right. If I didn't see them, I Would book it and not look back. I swallowed hard, realizing my throat had gone as

dry as sandpaper without realizing it. Slowly, I raised the key back up, pointing it towards my car. My heart was now thundering in my chest, as if I just run a marathon. And for a moment, I hesitated. Then I hit the button. The car beeped and the headlights pierced the black veil, banishing it away. I stealed myself and looked to the right, Expecting the figure to be there again. But instead, I saw nothing. For a second, I stared out, trying to see any minute detail, but the figure was gone. I let off a shuddering breath.

For a moment, a shred of relief passed through me as I thought that they had heated my threat and took off. And that's when the realization slammed into me. I had left my back completely exposed. The [ __ ] my life. In that Moment, the feeling of being watched returned along with the dread, and I whirled around to face the other way. But I only got halfway when I was slammed into. The impact lifted me off my feet and sent me flying through the air before slamming onto the side of a parked car. Before my

brain had a chance to catch up, I felt myself being grabbed and flung to the ground. The pavement slammed into my shoulder, but my instincts had now kicked in. I flipped Myself onto my back and looked up to see the figure falling towards me. One arm outstretched. I rolled myself hard to the left and with no momentum to spare. I heard the sound of something heavy slam into the concrete. Hard enough, I swear I heard it crack. The guy just tried bashing my head in. Scrambling to my feet, I saw them do the same, squaring

their shoulders to charge me again. Realizing I didn't have the advantage in this fight, I did the only Smart thing I knew to do. I turned and sprinted for the hotel's entrance. The darkened shape of parked cars flew by me in a blur as I ran, my ragged breaths seeming to echo back at me, my lungs began to feel as though they were on fire, a consequence of not working out much in the last few months. But I kept running. I could hear my pursuer behind me, and to my dismay, they were rapidly gaining. Their

footfalls seemed to even louder than my own as I could hear them More clearly. The entrance was just in front of me now, and not even 100 ft away, I felt something brush against my back. Either I'd almost been grabbed or my attacker had just taken a swing at me with his weapon while running. The realization that they were that close sent a new burst of adrenaline through my veins, giving me a second wind and allowing me a new burst of speed. I ran faster than I had since my high school track and field days.

Still, I could Feel my pursuer close behind me, but I didn't dare look back. And then I burst from the darkness into the lights of the entrance. I could see the valet shoot up from where he drifted off behind the stand. He dashed out from behind it, running towards me. "Sir, what's the matter?" he exclaimed. I finally gathered my courage and wholled around, expecting to see someone directly behind me. But instead, I I saw I was alone. Completely Alone. Snapping my head around, I saw no signs of my attacker beyond the lights. What the hell?

For a moment, I stood there trying to catch my breath. Then I turned to the valet. I was I was just I was attacked by someone. I choked out between gas of air. Someone tried attacking me while I while I was at my car. Instantly, I saw the valet's eyes Harden. He turned and ran back to his stand, pulling a corded phone handset from behind it. I realized it must have connected him to the inside. He spoke into it for a moment and then hung up. Not even a minute later, a large burly man wearing

a security uniform joged out of the entrance. Stay here, sir," he said to me as he and the valet jocked past into the dark. "Be careful," I called after them. And then I was alone Again. I didn't dare leave the seeming safety of the lighted area and instead stood by the valet stand for them to return. As the minutes dragged on, terrible thoughts tore through my mind. Thoughts of the two men being ambushed and knocked out or or worse. A few minutes later though, the two men returned. The security guard shook his head at me.

"Whoever it was, sir, they're gone." His words Disheartened me somewhat. In my mind, I knew they'd long since been vamued, but part of me hoped he'd been caught skullking around in another car. I let out a sigh and nodded. "So now what?" I asked, still trying to return my breath to normal. The guy shrugged. Call the police in the morning. Make a report. Until then, there's nothing we can do. The valet spoke up. I spoke to concier in the lobby. I'm going to bump you up to one of our vacant premier Suites uh as a

way to apologize for this incident. He gestured towards the entrance. Your wife's waiting for you by the check-in desk. Head on inside, but it's out of your mind. I don't think you'd be troubled again during your stay. He flashed me a perfectly white smile and for a moment I stood there felt flabbergasted how calmly both men were taking the situation and I reminded myself it's Las Vegas Danny. [ __ ] probably happens on The regular here. Even still, my mental words did little to comfort me. Despite the valet's words, something inside me silently whispered that

it wasn't the end of it. Then I shook my head. I was letting the attack, however horrifying and terrible, cloud my judgment. For a moment, I'd almost allowed myself to think that this entire hotel felt off wrong. Something about it just didn't gel, but I rationalized that it was all Due to my experience. Besides, they're bumping us up to one of the luxury suites. can't be that bad, especially when you were going to stay in an economy suite in the other place." Feeling satisfied with my own conclusion, I nodded at the valet and handed back

my keys. Making sure I still had the paper slip in my pocket, I followed the guard back inside. The warm old school style decor seemed to put me at ease as I walked From the entrance hall into the lobby itself. Older style places always had that effect on me. As I approached the check-in desk, my mind turned over the possibility of cancing my other reservation and simply making this place where Paula and I would stay for the entire duration of our honeymoon. Speaking of Paula, my wife stood by the check-in desk, turning to me with

a worried look. I'm pretty sure she found out what happened, I thought. I'd been Turning over the idea of simply not telling her about the attack, but it seemed the choice was out of my hands. She ran to me, cupped my face in both of her hands. "Darling, are you all right?" she asked, her voice carrying a trace of desperation in it. I took a second, then locked eyes with her and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm all right." I looked harder at her. I take it you heard what happened to me. She nodded. The man here

picked up the Phone. A look of relief crossed her face. Danny, I'm just glad you're okay," she said, giving me a quick hug. I refrained from telling her exactly how close I come to not being okay. "I am, too," I admitted. "I'm just glad we didn't start out both 2023 and our honeymoon with me in the hospital." "It'd suck trying to woo you from a hospital bed or a wheelchair." She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at my joke. I leaned forward and kissed her on The forehead. "Come on," I said softly. Let's

check in and get up to our room. You both need the rest. She nodded and I glanced at my watch. It's close to 4 in the morning. I approached the check-in. The man standing behind it looking up and giving an award-winning smile. "Glad to see you're all right, sir," he said, his voice containing what seemed like genuine empathy. "And it cemented my idea further to propose to Stay our entire trip here." Thanks very much for saying so, I replied. He nodded. Of course, sir. And in addition to bumping you up to a premier suite as

compensation, please allow us to provide you with a few sets of tickets for you and your lovely wife, both to see shows going on right here in our hotel and in the city itself. Uh, as our way to apologize, Paul and I exchanged a rather surprised but happy look. Maybe it might have started out on a bad note, I Thought. But at this pace, this is shaped up to be a better honeymoon than I thought. Paula smiled at me. "Thank you ever so much, sir," she said, gripping my arm. "I see my husband and I,

we just got married, and this is our honeymoon." The smile almost wider than I'd ever seen someone give across the man's face. He held out both of his arms. "Then, my dear, I bid congratulations to you and to your lucky husband." He gestured all around him. And I bid you both welcome. Welcome to the Dunes Hotel and Casino. I'm honestly not sure where to even begin with this. It's been well almost a year to the day now and I still can't fully understand or comprehend what happened that day. Neither have I been able to fully

get over it. I floated from one psychologist and Psychiatrist to another. All which tell me that what I experienced couldn't possibly have occurred. And yet, as much as they try to make my mind believe that, both with words and medication, as much as I try and make my mind believe it wasn't real, I know deep deep inside myself that it was. So, I'm choosing to post my account of this here, both as a admittedly rather pathetic attempt to Release some of the guilt and horror that I've carried with me since that day, and more importantly,

as a warning to anyone who listen. You see, I used to love scuba diving. I became certified when I was 16 years old. I've dove both in freshwater and saltwater ever since. I've met and become friends with many great and Talented people because of it. And Tyler Tyler was one of them. Daredevil at heart and always up for an adventure. I took him under my wing as he was less experienced than I was and a few years younger than me. We eventually became close enough that we called each other brothers. And though we lived in

different states, we always met up at least once a year to go on a scuba diving trip. That was up until the pandemic hit A few years ago. And when it hit, due to the quarantines and difficulty to travel that it made, we rode off our annual meetup for 2020 and 2021. We kept in touch, but it just didn't feel the same. One afternoon in April of 2022, I received a phone call from him. All the usual cheeriness and the bravado seemed to have been sucked out of his voice. He told me that his work

had chosen to lay him off as a way to cut Back spending costs due to the strain his business had been put under and he'd been forced to go on food stamps and cash assistance as a result of it. To make matters worse, Veronica, his longtime girlfriend of almost 7 years, had decided at the same time to break off her relationship with him. Let me tell you, that woman truly did complete him. And losing her, on top of the stress from losing his job and the inability to find a new one, Quickly it quite literally

deflated him. I felt helpless, unable to do anything to cheer him up. standing in my kitchen holding my phone. An idea that had been floating around in my head sprang to the surface. "Hey, Ty," I asked, trying to fill my voice with as much excitement and mystery as I could. "I thought of something we could do that might make you feel better." "Yeah, what?" he asked, his voice inflectionless and Hollow like that of a robot. "Well, I've been thinking. I mean, I have a few days off coming up in the next few days from my

remote work. So, what about just packing up? You know, having me come drive and get you and we take a scuba diving trip. I heard a slight stir on the other end of the line, but his voice remained the same. I mean, I guess so, but where could we go? So many places are off limits due to the, you know, I mean, Have you taken a look at the news? A slight smile crept across my face as I prepared to spring my little idea on him. The place I'm thinking of is one where there won't

be as many people right now just because of the season, you know. My smile grew wider. What's one of the places you've wanted us to dive together the most, but we we've never been able to? A pause. I mean, there's plenty of places Like Superior Blue Hole, Great Barrier Reef. I cut him off. No, I'm talking about some place much closer to both of us. I dropped my voice low. I'm talking about Crater Lake. There was the longest pause of the call yet. And then he spoke, his voice now filled with something I'd been hoping

for. Curiosity and a bit of excitement. Crater Lake, huh? he asked. "That's one place you and I have had on Our bucket list for years." A hint of doubt crept into his voice. "But I mean, how? You know as well as I do that scuba diving isn't allowed there. I If we get caught," I cut him off again. "Don't worry about that, bro. I've been doing some scouting of the area, and there aren't many park rangers in the area, as there would be in the summer or fall. If we go at a certain time, we'll

have a few hour window to check out what we can and grab some quality pics and video. Another second of silence, then why the hell not? I got nothing to lose, and this might help get my mind off the world of [ __ ] surrounding me. So, yeah, let's do it, man. A grin spread across my face as I heard the first hint of his old self creep back in. We spoke for a few minutes longer, fine-tune the details, and then we hung up to both get some sleep. As I walked to my bedroom, I

glanced at a framed picture of the lake that hung on my Wall. I couldn't help but grin as my gaze lingered for a moment more. Looking from the edges of the water to Wizard Island, I climbed into bed and drifted off into a sound sleep. That night was honestly the last decent night of sleep I ever got. The next morning, I packed all the gear we'd need into the back of my battered Ford Probe and then made the many hour-long drive from Northern California To Salt Lake City. When he answered the door, he was clearly

beyond excited. He almost seemed like a kid on Christmas morning, ready to open his presents. He was infectious. As we left back west, couldn't help but revel in the same feeling of excitement and a bit of risk and danger that we were about to undertake. After a few fill-ups, combined with many snack and restroom breaks, we passed into Oregon, stopping a final time in Clemth Falls to spend the night before entering Crater Lake National Park. The next day, we told the ranger at the entrance that we were merely heading in to do some snowshoeing around

the lake, showing him the snowshoes we bought in town as a front. After a moment of taking down our names, he smiled. "Be careful, boys," he said. We had some recent snowfall and some areas are tricky going. He thanked him, then drove Up into the parking lot, getting out and retrieving our packs, attempting to hide the obvious yellow glow of our scuba tanks underneath them. After a few minutes hike, we were rewarded with an amazing view of the place we'd come for. For those of you who had never seen Crater Lake, it used to be

an active volcano called Mount Mazama. When the volcano collapsed around 7,000 years ago, it formed what is known as a Caldera. The view is amazing. You can look from the top ridge and see the rim of the dormant volcano wrapping around and the forested sides leading down to the water's edge. On the west side of the lake lay Wizard Island, having pushed out of the water from a secondary eruption. You could also see Miam Conn, smaller spigot of land rising up. Tyler and I shared a grin and a high five before carefully making our way

Down to the shore of the lake. We looked around for a few minutes, catching a glimpse of some snowshoers disappearing into the treeine before hiding our packs behind a rather large group of rocks that's dripping off our clothes, revealing the dry suits that we had underneath them. Helping each other put on our tanks, vests, and weight belts. We made our final checks of our gear before pulling the hoods up over our heads to protect them from the Cold water. I glanced at Tai as I picked up my flippers. You ready for this man? I asked

him. He gave me a dopey grin, his trademark sign that he was beyond stoked. Does a bear [ __ ] in the woods? He asked, earning a shared laugh between both of us. I picked up both cameras and handed one to him. "Let's do this while we still can," I proclaimed, slipping on the flippers and turning to walk backwards under the water. Even with a dry suit on, the Water temperature still sent a small shock wave through my body. As soon as the water reached my waist, I pushed off to get myself into deeper water.

A moment later, Ty joined me. Staying close to each other, we dropped below the surface, marveling at the view around us. The waters of Crater Lake were extremely clear and very blue, giving a large amount of visibility. It feels so surreal to say The least. Flashing each other the okay sign, we pushed out towards the shoreline of Wizard Island, snapping photos and taking everything in. There have been a few other people to scuba dive here over the years with the National Park Service's approval of course, but recreational diving was barred to, according to the reasoning

that was given, not wanting to bring any invasive species or creatures into the Lake or to mess up the ecosystem in any way. As we followed the rocky bottom next to the island, I felt at peace. The only sound that could be heard was the streaming of bubbles each of us made as we breathed in and out. I checked my air gauge quickly, noting that we had about 2 hours of air remaining. Plenty of time to enjoy everything, I thought to myself. The thought was interrupted by a poke in my shoulders. I glanced and saw

Tai pointing out ahead of us. After a moment, I saw what he spotted. Swimming just ahead of us was a large school of cocon salmon, one of the two species of fish that the lake had been stocked for. Their large, bright red bodies stood out clearly in the clear water, and it made for an amazing shot. I brought the camera up to my mask and snapped off a few photos, then noticed Tai motioning to me. He began heading out towards the salmon, And after a hesitant moment, I followed. As I followed him, I spared a

glance downward and felt almost a sense of vertigo overtake me. Even underwater, not far off the shore of the island, the bottom simply dropped away into nothingness. The bottom of the lake is over a,000 ft deep, making it the deepest lake in the United States and one of the deepest in North America. It was so deep that submersibles had traversed the lake bottom Before. I stared down, feeling an almost unwilling sense of unease creep over me as I noted that for all the water's clarity. It was so deep that you couldn't see the bottom. I

shook my head. Get a grip, Marcus. This is landlocked lake, not the Pacific Ocean. Only salmon and trout in here with you. Nothing that could attack you. Refocusing, I noticed Tai had Gotten a little too far ahead of me, and I kicked hard to catch up with him. He had drifted close to the school of salmon, and as I approached, I must have been making too much noise because they quickly scattered into the distance. Tai shot me a bit of an annoyed glance over his shoulder, and I raised both hands to the universal sign of

sorry. As I joined him, something caught my eye out in the distance. Something bobbing up and down in the Water. A large cylindrical shape. I tapped Tai on the shoulder, then pointed. After a moment of looking, he gave me a cry of excitement, the sound muffled by the regulator in his mouth. The old man of the lake. I'd seen it countless times from the shore of the lake and others from the tour boats which crisscross the lake in the summertime. It was a huge floating tree stump almost 30 ft in length. The thing had become

as famous as the lake Itself due to the fact that it had been floating around in the lake since at least 1896 when it had been first spotted by a man named Joseph Diller. For one reason or another, even after over a 100 plus years in the water, it refused to sink and floated freely from one side of the lake to the other. It also held a lot of superstitious significance, as in 1988, a submersible expedition tied up the stump on one side of the island, Resulting in storm clouds to immediately move in. They disappeared

when it was released, and thus the legend of it being more than just a dead tree began. All this flashed through my mind as I watched it at Bob up and down in the water like a buoy at least a mile away from our location, deep out near the center of the lake. I spared another glance at Tai, could immediately tell what he was thinking by the look in his eyes. I knew It was one that I shared. He pointed toward it. He held up a finger before again checking my air gauge. Two hours left.

I held it up and pointed at him. He came beside me and showed that he was roughly the same amount of air in his tank. Nodding, I pointed toward the log and gave a thumbs up. Tai gave an underwater fist pump, and I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of an underwater fist pump, letting in a small amount of lake water Into my mouth around my regulator. Shaking my head, I led the way out into open water. It took us about 10 to 12 minutes to reach it, but when we did, we couldn't help

but stop swimming, bobbing up and down vertically in the water as we marveled at how big it was close up. At the water line, the top of the stump rose about 4 ft out of the water and was about 2 or 3 ft thick. Down here though, it was much thicker. I mentally Calculated that it had to be about four or 5 ft thick in the middle. The entire underwater section of the stump was covered in a thick green moss. It was also present much farther down in the lake, but this was the only place

near the surface in which it resided. I raised my camera and snapped off a few pictures, some looking headon in the massive shape, and others looking down as it fell away from us. At the few roots, which still clung to its Bottom, Ty patted my arm, then motioned for me to go float next to the stump. He raised his camera, indicating he wanted a snapshot of me with it. I shrugged my shoulders, then fulfilled his request by kicking over a few times until I floated almost directly in front of it. As he prepared his camera

for the shot, I felt an odd sensation begin to creep over me. I wouldn't call it outright fear, but it was Almost uncomfortable. It felt like all the hair on my arms and legs had stood straight up underneath my dry suit. I glanced around trying to figure out what had caused the instinctive reaction in me, but I saw nothing. I glanced at Tai and motioned for him to hurry up. He motioned for me to be patient and kept fumbling with his camera. The feeling amplified within me, now accompanied by a feeling of being Watched, and

not by something that you would want its eyes to have on you. I glanced around, but aside from the stump, I saw nothing. And that's when I realized something odd. All the while, before we'd been diving, we'd seen dozens of salmon and trout. I mean, hell, the salmon population in the lake was over 60,000. But now, I couldn't see a single fish. A chill went up my spine. Something's not right here. As much as I wanted to shrug it away as a paranoid thought, I knew better than to ignore my instincts. I waved a Tai,

but he was too preoccupied with the camera to see me. I made a grunting sound around my regulator, but I still got no response. That's when I felt something slide against my leg. It was only for a Moment, but it was the most unnatural feeling I've ever felt on or over my body. It felt It felt like bark, but alive at the same time. I shot a glance down but saw nothing near my body. As I looked, I felt the sensation again, this time on my shoulder. I spun around quickly, so fast that I left

a small trail of bubbles behind me. There was still nothing There, only the stump. Okay, [ __ ] this [ __ ] I thought it began to kick back towards my friend. And that was when I felt something wrap itself around my ankle. This time, however, it didn't let go. In fact, it tightened almost painfully so. I instinctively reached down to swat at whatever it was, hoping I'd frighten it off, but instead, I felt something thin and hard there, still refusing to let go of my leg. I shot a glance behind me and Couldn't help

but let out a muffled scream at what I saw. What the [ __ ] The object that was gripping my ankle looked like a [ __ ] tree root. He was thick and black and covered with green moss. That wasn't what had caused me to scream, though. What had caused that was where it was coming from. It came from the godamn stump. I could see where it had slid out from under the very bottom of the log. And it was not alone. from the bottom and sides slid out many more of the tree things. For

all intents and purposes, looking like the roots they appeared to be, but slithering through the water in snake- like fashion, they were coming for me. I screamed again, kicked out as hard as I could, attempting to free myself, but unable to. A blur appeared beside me, and after a moment of confusion, I realized it was Tai. He'd seen and heard my struggling, and now Floated beside me, his eyes wide and full of fear. Reaching down, he attempted to pry the root from my ankle, but to no success. The other root appenages had almost reached me

now, and I involuntarily let out another muffled scream, almost in defiance at my fate. In that moment, I felt with certainty that I was going to die. Ty reached down and unshathed the knife from his ankle, and with a fury I didn't know he possessed, began slashing at the Appendage that clutched me. Within a few cuts, the water began to cloud with a strange greenish fluid. I felt the grip on my ankle loosen and unwind, and I instinctively kicked forward to fully free myself from its clutches. And after a few kicks, my mind caught up

with me, and I realized something. Tai wasn't with me. I turned and was met with a horrific sight, one which I still see when I close my Eyes. The reason the route had loosened itself from me was to go after what was attacking it. Tyler. Oh my god. It had caught him by the arm that he had used to slash at it with. It was tightening its grip far more than it had on me. I heard the sickening crunch of his wrist breaking, the sharp sound that pounded through the water along with his muffled scream.

And worse, the other roots had reacted as Well. They had reached him. One large one as thick around as my thigh, wrapping around his chest and squeezing. Still more of varying sizes slid in and wrapped around his arms and legs. Breaking myself free from the horrifying sight, I kicked back towards him rapidly. When the root had broken his wrist, the knife had fallen from his hand, disappearing into the depths. But I had to do something. And as I approached him, however, the stump Seemed to move away from me, almost to keep me just out of

reach of my friend. A particularly large route made its way out beyond all the rest. But unlike the ones which were gripping Tai's body, this one lashed out like a squid's tentacle. It struck me upside my head and my vision blurred as I spun in a circle from the impact. For several seconds, I saw nothing but fuzzy shapes. And then then my vision cleared and I saw a Red cloud begin to surround me. I reached up to feel a rather large gash near my hairline. Trying to keep myself conscious, I turned back towards the stomp

and tie. And God, I wish to God, as much of of a coward as that makes me, that I hadn't. If you've seen John Carpenters's The Thing, you remember the scene where Cooper attempts to defiulate Norris, who Turned out to be the thing in disguise and how his chest his chest opens to bite off his arms. That was the sight that greeted me as I fell frozen in place. It was opening up. The middle of the stump split apart and opened like it was on hinges, like it was a mouth. More roots slid out from

inside the darkened shape. And I I heard my friend let out another muffled scream as his air tank was ripped off of his back by a few of them. The regulator torn from his mouth as the appendage tossed the tank out to the side and more wrapped around his neck and head, effectively rendering him unable to move. I tried again to kick towards him, feeling my head spin with dizziness as I thought to keep from passing out, but I already saw it was it was too late. The roots had a firm grip on him and

rapidly pulled him back towards the opening. I wanted to look away, but I I couldn't. He still had his mask on, and behind the lenses, I could see his eyes wide with fear as he fought in vain to free himself. And then he was pulled inside. I heard my friend scream one last time as the opening in the stump closed. I saw a quick flash from the camera still attached to his wrist, Momentarily illuminating the hellish interior. And then it sealed up. It floated further away from me and the roots, the tendrils retracted back. In

the span of 30 seconds, it again looked like nothing more than an ordinary tree stump. Feeling a wave of nausea pass over me as well as a growing blackness envelop the edge of my vision, I could do nothing but kick for the surface. My head broke the water into the chilly afternoon air, and I spat the regulator From my mouth. I began kicking backwards towards the shore as hard as I could, all the while keeping my eyes locked on the 4-ft tall white shape bobbing up and down above the small waves until I reached shore,

where I passed out. I awoke two days later in a hospital. A bandage covered my head where I had been gashed open and hurt like hell. I was greeted by the nurse along With two policemen and park ranger who had led a center. After a few questions from the nurse about how I felt, I was left alone with a policeman and the ranger who, after telling me that the snowshoers that I had seen earlier that day had found me unconscious on the shoreline on their way back, proceeded to bombard me with questions. I tried explaining

what had happened to them, knowing full well that I would sound insane and not caring. They needed To know what had happened. You've got to believe me, I shouted. I swear I'm not making this up. The [ __ ] thing is [Music] alive. But of course, they didn't believe me. They chocked my story up to my head injury. They also decided Tyler had drowned. Having something faulty happen to his air supply. He he barely even got a mention in the Local paper. Just another drowning victim. I was slapped with a huge fine for illegally diving

and given a lifetime ban from the national park with a penalty of jail time if I ever step foot in it again like I would ever want to. Veronica and Tyler's parents blamed me for his death. And as much as the doctors I kept seeing tell me that it wasn't. I can't help but feel consumed With guilt. After all, why shouldn't I? I mean, I was the one who thought it up. He still be alive if it wasn't for my [Music] idea. Now, the one-year anniversary of that horrifying day is fast approaching, only weeks anyway.

I can't help but think about anything. But it says, "I sit on my couch night After night and try to drown my memories and guilt with bottles of whiskey and vodka. But not even the alcohol is enough to chase away the memories of that day, of that thing which pretends to be a stump. One which has floated around the lake for over a century. Every year there are a few people who reportedly drown in Crater Lake. oftentimes their bodies are never recovered. The lake being too deep to Retrieve the remains. I'm pretty damn sure that

the true reason swimmers disappear is much worse than that. Because when the camera flashed in Tyler's hand before it closed around him, I saw something that still wakes me up in the middle of the night. screaming as it closed. I saw the roots forcing their way into his mouth, down his throat. I I think about trees, about how their roots Dig into the soil to slowly extract the nutrients from it. And I shake uncontrollably at the thought that that thing might have had a similar purpose for my friend. So I'm posting this as a warning.

You can go visit Crater Lake National Park. I mean, it's a beautiful place. You can even go walk around the edge of the lake or take a tour on one of the boats. Both perfectly safe. But whatever you Do, stay the hell out of the water of Crater [Music] Lake. This footage is going to change everything, Darius. It's the biggest scoop you'll ever get your hands on. and my close friend James told me he was sending a few encrypted files over my office laptop for review. I really didn't think much of it at the time.

James has always been a kind of sensationalist, touting stories, being Larger than they really are for the entire time I've known him. Of course, he successfully managed to make sure our paper can grab a few exclusives before the other big names in the city. So, I knew his intel was not always bad. I just simply didn't understand the significance of this until I got a different phone call, alerting me that our downtown office building was on fire. I was in the middle of dinner with My girlfriend, but she understood why I had to drop everything.

Our entire business was depending on saving as many laptops and documents as I could from the blaze. I could see it from about a quarter block away. The fire had started somewhere near the fifth floor. It didn't occur to me at the time that was where James' cubicle was located. The fire department did their Best to stop the inferno, but they refused to let me rush in to save our devices. All I could do was watch as they douse the flames and continued to make sure the area was roped off. It was an excruciatingly long

20 minutes and I was on the phone about three times with my boss chewing me out that I didn't try to supersede the first responders and get into the building. Once they gave us the all clear, I covered my mouth and rushed up The smoldering staircase to our offices, fully expecting to see the majority of it torched. I told myself I was ready for that inevitability. But seeing all of our offices and file cabinets and camera equipment turned into char flooded me with anxiety and despair. After trying my best to avoid having an anxiety attack,

I began to search through the wreckage for anything that survived. Picking apart the black And rubble and watching as electronic devices crumbled in my hands was heartbreaking. But I did manage to salvage a few things here and there and miss the rubble. I told the firefighters we wanted a full report about what caused the blaze. We went home late that evening feeling dejected and defeated about the experience as a whole. But I never would have imagined a few hours later that I would also be Adding fear and trepidation to the list. It had to be

at least 2:00 in the morning when James pounded on my apartment door. I live in a very small complex just south of the river, unless my co-workers have been there a few times, but never at this hour. I groggy asked what he wanted, but instead of responding, he barged into my apartment and laid down a few stacks of papers. You went to the fire. Of course you did. Good. This will be easier to Explain then. It's gone, Darius. I was still trying to wake up and asked him what he meant, to which he pointed at

one of his stacks of paperwork and answered, "The video footage I snagged, the one I told you was going to change the world." I was just at the office trying to see if there was anything to recover from the inferno, and it's it's simply gone. "You mean your laptop got burned? I mean, That's it's no shocker. The majority of the stuff on the floor did," I commented as I went to pour some coffee. His wideeyed look told me that I needed to be fully awake to hear whatever he was about to tell me. No, it

was stolen. I'm sure of it. Most of what was in my cubicle I could recognize amidst the rest of the debris, but I didn't see anything that looked like my laptop. So, I brought the paper copies here to give you a look. It's not the same, but it Could help us find another version of the the evidence. Maybe. James, you're not making much sense. Are you saying the fire was intentional? The only reason these arsonists would risk jail time was to destroy your stuff, not the rest of it. What story could you possibly have that

would be worth that much? I said as I went over to the first stack and started to sort through the papers he brought. A lot of it was charts and Biological scans. A few sheets down, I noticed strange geometric designs and patterns. the kind of thing that you might associate with the occult. What What exactly is all this? Remember how I told you that I had a contact in Europe a few months ago? Someone that was a whistleblower, he said, pointing to the next part of the document that was written in what looked like Latin.

Forgive me, but I haven't slept Since then. Can you just get to the point? Tell me what this supposed conspiracy is all about. James took the second stack and showed me a transcript with a seal that I immediately recognized. My defector was from the Vatican, worked in the archives, actually, he told me. A deacon that defected. I guess that's a headline. I started to read through the transcript, Bit perplexed by what the document was claiming. The Vatican representative had some crazy out there ideas, especially about angels and demons. I stopped reading when the interviewer claimed

that these supernatural beings walked among us. Please tell me you didn't believe this pile of horseshit, I said, giving him a dry look. Immediately, James went on the offensive. This is exactly why I needed the video files. They said they Would send them discreetly, but the fire proved otherwise. Don't you see? The attack on our office proves that I was on to something here, James insisted. I finally got a chance to look at the clock. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. in the morning. My patience hit its limit. Okay, let's talk about this tomorrow. I need

sleep. So do you. We can present your findings to the boss when we have lunch. James shuffled the papers together, giving me an ugly look. You think this is nonsense? You'd be saying that if you saw what I saw. The found footage was raw proof of this cover up. He growled as he gathered what he'd brought. A few of the stray papers fell to the floor as he hurried out of my apartment. I wanted you to see this first you would be on my side. I can see now coming here was a mistake. You're no

different than the rest. He snarled as he slammed my door shut. I leaned over and picked up the papers he brought. One included a few names of a clinical trial in Boston. Another was a sigil that reminded me of the Knights Templar. And the third looked like it was a page ripped from the Da Vinci Code. I couldn't help but chuckle at the similarities to his wild goose chase and That famous book. Then I crumpled them all together and tossed them in my trash dispenser. I went to bed angry and disappointed in James, but also

fearful because of what he claimed about the arson. There were other conspiracy nuts willing to hurt us because of this footage. And if it's one group of people I knew not to piss off, it was the crazy religious ones. I got up to make sure my door was locked. then somehow found a way to get to Sleep. For reasons I couldn't explain yet, my dreams were troubled and filled with strange imagery of demonic spirits and angels chanting in the name of God. Neither sight was pleasant to behold, but the angelic host actually frightened me more.

I got perhaps an hour and a half of sleep before I was rudely awakened again. this time by the police. Two junior detectives were at my doorstep, alerting me to the fact that James had Been found dead. What? My mouth felt dry the moment they gave me the news, and my mind flashed back to the strange conspiracies that he tried to convince me of. It's looking like it was a suicide. His note references you, hence, uh, why we're here, the first officer explained. What did it say? I asked. But the officers told me they weren't

at liberty to say. They told me that nothing had been found Near his body, which troubled me even more, and then added there was still going to be an investigation because the circumstances were suspicious. "What do you mean?" I asked, "Oh, there are a few marks on his back that didn't look like they were self-inflicted, so can't help but to wonder if perhaps someone forced him to write the note before also making sure he didn't survive the night." the second officer explained. I asked Them to keep me in the loop about anything they find, and

the two of them bid me a good night, leaving me alone in the morbid thought that James' conspiracy had likely been the reason for his death. I didn't believe him to be a suicidal person. And the fact the police mentioned that nothing was found near him troubled me. He had gone through the trouble of trying to collect all of his papers before he left here, and Yet not a scrap of evidence existed. Someone was trying to make sure that the whispers of this bizarre angelic tale he spun to me would never see the light of

day. I reached in my trash and plucked out the papers that had been discarded in his haste. I was going to find out the truth. I realized that I would need to do my own research into this mystery. I didn't even attempt to sleep again for fear that whoever attacked and murdered James might find me next. Instead, I spent the last dreary hours before daylight trying to find anything I could on the clinical trials near Boston. I figured it was the best lead from the papers James had given me, but it still proved difficult to

discover anything related to the names. Eventually, I did stumble across a few names that seemed to connect to a nursing home just past the river. So, without much else going on, I drove there at first light with coffee in my Hand. All the while, I had the image of James in my head, strangled from a belt dangling above his bed. While the police didn't tell me precisely how he died, the image I had conjured up felt accurate, and I had a premonition that someone bearing the tattoo of the sigil from the other paper was the

one responsible. Now, it was a simple matter of bringing them to justice. The nursing home actually proved to be not only for the elderly but also developmentally disabled adults. And I soon discovered the three individuals I came searching for fit this category. All of them were in their late 20s or early 30s, all men, and all of them looked like they had been brutally tortured at one time or another. Most of their mental capacity seemed gone because as I tried to communicate, all I found were the three were in Vegetative states. "Excuse me, but are

you family?" a nurse asked as I tried to get one of them to respond to my prompts. "Uh, I'm sorry, no, I came here as part of a an insurance case," I said, thinking fast on my feet. I knew that these people value privacy and one wrong thing could get me thrown out. Insurance? We were told that was resolved last year, she said skeptically. It's a review. Um, can you Tell me what happened to this client? I asked, pointing to one of the comeos. Look, just because you have huge money from friends in the holy

city doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. You've hurt these people enough, the nurse said, growing louder and more irate. A holy city? Do you mean the Vatican? I asked as I recalled the sigil. Now I knew where I had seen it before. On a crest In an old movie connected to that place. James had claimed his source came from there as well. Do you have any records of when they were first brought here? I asked. But the nurse had apparently already figured out I didn't belong and started to walk to find her supervisor.

It's time for me to disappear. I went the opposite direction, searching for the record department. and making sure they didn't see which way I went. When I did Find the right room, I started to pour through the files, trying to find the names that were connected to those trials. I did find them. I immediately started to see connections written in their first data here at the home. For one thing, all of them were registered as being originally from Europe. No actual birth data or anything related to their time before coming to America. Almost as if

they didn't exist At all or had been created the moment they came here. Where had they been before that? Why had the Vatican sent them here? I also noticed that all of them shared a similar tattoo on the right ankle. Reminded me of that sigil I now recognized as being connected to the holy city. Along with the tattoo, each client had scars in their back. Both the left and the right, all the way down. Scars reminded me of what you Might see if you pluck the wings off of a bird. As much as I didn't

want to even fathom the possibility of James being correct about his strange conspiracy, it was almost sounding plausible. I decided to try one last thing before leaving the home. Returning to the comeomaos woman that I had been speaking with earlier. I showed her the sigil, asking If she had ever seen it before, but I didn't anticipate her visceral reaction to my inquiry. She actually started to shake and act like she was having a seizure and moan. And then she startled me and grabbed my arms, her nails digging into my flesh as she gargled incoherent words.

She spat and foamed against my face, pinning me to the floor. I found myself shocked that this elderly woman even had such strength. I pushed her away, scrambling To stand and protect myself as she kept trying to protect me. It was as if she was possessed with superhuman strength. Behind me, a few orderlys pushed me aside and sedated her as a new nurse walked in, giving me a judgmental look. "You're from the insurance," he said? He asked as I was escorted to their office. I'm guessing that story isn't sticking, I realized as soon as I

saw two police officers. Everyone was waiting for me to give an answer that could get me out of This mess. Instead, right before they led me into the office, I bolted in the other direction. Not my best reaction. I could hear them frantic to find me. I hid in a linen closet and listened for the noises to die down. Then I snuck out towards the eastern wing in my car. I was just about to leave the place entirely when the nurse from earlier spotted me. I was certain she was about to squeal again, but Instead

she passed me a small copper key. There's a storage center over in Midtown. Big one. Box 306. That's where you'll find the remaining footage. They get out of here before they find out you were here. She insisted. I heard the shouting coming from another part of the wing and wasted no time to appreciate her gift. Racing to my car and then getting away from the building Before more enforcement was called. As I got on the highway, I finally found myself able to calm down. But everything was spinning out of control inside my head. It was

clear to me now that the people at the home had been experimented on somehow. Their superhuman abilities weren't explainable any other way. I needed to get to the heart of the matter, I thought, as I glanced at the key that I've been Given. The nurse had mentioned tapes, so I automatically connected it to the footage that James had died for. Apparently, there was more. I wasted no time making it to the storage center to find out, telling them which box I was searching, and opening it without a second thought. Inside I found only two dusty

VHS tapes, both marked with Hebrew letters. And right below them, someone had hastily scrolled the Translation. It's all the same word pen. I took them and left before anyone was the wiser. On my drive back to my apartment, I researched where to buy a VCR and the meaning behind the Hebrew word. Penaniel was said to be the spot where the Bible character Jacob wrestled with an angel all night. A verse said that it was called the face of God. Some sources said that you could still go to the spot In the modern day and see

a glimpse of the supernatural. I didn't believe that nonsense, but but I found it interesting that these tapes were connected again to James' claim of angelic experiments. The Vatican was hiding something. I was intent to find out what. It took me a few hours to find the right pawn shop that sold a VCR, but I sped back to my apartment right after. I felt certain that the forces, which had Already taken out James, were watching me, so I immediately started to watch the tapes. I'll do my best to record what I saw, but I dare

not to repeat the experience. The first video started out quite boring. I wasn't sure what I was looking at because most of the people were speaking Spanish and Arabic with only minimal English from the cameraman. I took notes because the video was so Scratchy. I knew that it would likely be impossible to reproduce. It was clear whoever created it wasn't intending it to be used for anything besides revealing the secrets that the holy city had covered up. The cameraman was also extremely nervous because it often was difficult for him to keep his filming steady. And

what I could see, even without the language I understood, was Terrifying. The man had discreetly placed himself with a camera inside one of the patient wards from the hospital they visited, allowing him to observe visitors coming by and checking on the comeomaos woman. They would examine the scars on her back or try to get her to vomit, but I couldn't tell you why. The cameraman made a note that the scars showed no signs of healing and that this was a good thing. As long as she doesn't sprout, She'll remain safe, he explained in a low

tone. The next few images proved me with a detailed look of the secluded room which the man was hiding in. Apparently, it was right next to the room where I had attempted to speak to the woman myself, and the mirror that was facing her was in fact a false one, allowing the cameraman easy access to anything within. "We'll stay here as long as necessary," he told whoever he intended This video for, and then placed the camera down and lay on the cold stone floor. I became alarmed when sounds of whales filled the video until the

camera had caught the woman leaning back on her bed and screaming towards the ceiling. She would rear her head back, then scratch at her back as best she could and keep shrieking for help. But none of the nurses came to visit her. The first part was the worst of All. Showed her trembling on the floor as dim light seeped through a glass window above. Her body was bare. Two doctors watched in awe as she underwent the transformation. The cameraman and I both found ourselves holding back a gasp as the woman grew white wings from her

back. They spread almost as wide as the room. The doctor shouted at each other in excitement and sedated their newly formed creature, Dragging her out of the room. The second video looked like it was filmed on a ship. The cameraman had somehow stowed aboard the vessel and kicked open a door to reveal what looked like dozens of cages, all of which had more strange mutated people inside. All of them were weeping and gnawing at themselves, unable to stop the angelic transformation that was happening to their body. The man was talking in a low whisper, explaining

That the ship was headed for the Vatican's secret lab somewhere in the sewers of that holy city. There they'll try to unlock the secrets of heaven again. and the ones that don't belong will be cast out. His video showed that the experiment seemed more successful on men and he speculated this was connected to the biblical references to masculinity in angels. He also mentioned a man who Was purchasing these people from stateside hospitals and selling them. Sinners, forgotten people that no one cares to look for. They're trying to make gods, the cameraman whispered. The footage ended

as he told the unseen audience that he would send him more when he arrived at the Vatican, and it was apparent that James Was the recipient. As I finished them, I came to grips with the awfulness of these experiments and what they revealed. The people in charge of representing God were making monsters. I took them and I tossed them in the dumpster, tearing out as much of the tape as I could. No one would ever see these horrors. I couldn't help but feel guilt creep into my Soul. My friends died for this. So many would

keep being tortured and experimented on because of my silence. But I'm just one man against a force that's creating God on Earth. Hiding wasn't a brave move, but it was the only way for my survival. There was a new pay phone in town. At least if you believe what some anonymous conspiracy theories had posted on the Internet. Someone on the local paranormal forum had posted a photo of a pay phone, which to be fair, was in fairly decent condition, and they had insisted that it had been installed recently. More likely than not, it had been

there for a few decades, and neither the poster nor anyone else had noticed it until recently. I'm pretty sure the only people who pay those things any mind anymore are kids who genuinely just don't know what they are Or what they're for. But the poster remained quite adamant this particular pay phone was a new addition. It's only evidence being some lowresolution screenshots from Google Street View from the approximate location where he was talking about none of which showed the phone. Even granting that the phone was new, that still didn't make it paranormal. The guy wasn't

really making a very Coherent argument about it or why it was. He just kept rambling on and on about how the phone would only work if you put in a shiny FDR dime minted prior 1965 when they were still made from 90% silver. He said, "Give it silver and you'll see." H. When he refused to elaborate on exactly how he figured out the phone would only work with old American coins, everyone pretty much just assumed that he was full of it. And the thread Fizzled out. But I just so happened to have a coin jar

filled with interesting coins that I found in my change over the years. And it only took a moment of sorting through them before I found a US dime from 1963. I honestly couldn't think of a better way to spend it. I decided to check out the phone just after sunset in the hopes that there wouldn't be too much traffic that might make it difficult to make a phone call. It was right with Post said It would be. And as I viewed it with my own eyes, I was instantly convinced that I would have noticed it

if it had been there before. The thing was turquoise, like some iconic household appliance from the 1950s. Its color and its pristine condition clashed so much with the surrounding weathered brick buildings that it would have been impossible not to notice it. Standing in front of it, I could see That there was a logo of a cartoon atom, a silver inlay beneath the name Oenheimer's Opportunities, and a calligraphic lettering. Beneath the atom was an infinity symbol followed by the number 59, which I assumed was supposed to be read as forever 59. It had to have been

a modern-day recreation. There's no way that it could have been over 65 years old and still look so good. It had a rotary dial and Was befitting its alleged time period, beneath which was a small notice that should have held usage instructions, but instead it held a poem. If it's gold, it glitters. If it's silver, it shines. If it's plutonium, it blisters. Won't you please spare a dime? That at least explained how the original poster figured out that he needed silver dimes to operate the thing, but why he didn't just come out and say It.

I'm not sure that I would have gone looking for something that might give me radiation burns. I briefly considered leaving and possibly coming back with a guy counter, but I figured there was no way this thing was the demon core or the elephant's foot. I also didn't have the slightest idea where to get a geer counter. And by the time I found one, it was entirely possible the phone would be gone before I got back. I wasn't willing to let this opportunity slip through my Fingers. Even if the phone was radioactive, brief exposure couldn't be

that bad, right? I gently reached out and grabbed the receiver holding it with a folded handkerchief for the radiation, I guess. Shut up. It was heavy in my hands, and even through the handkerchief, I could feel it was ever so slightly warm. It was enough to give me an uneasy Feeling in my stomach, but I nevertheless slowly lifted it up to my ear to see if there was a dial tone. I was hardly surprised, you know, it was completely dead. After testing it a bit by spinning the dial or tapping down on the hook, I

put a modern dime in just to see what it would do. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. So, with nothing left to do, I dropped my silver dime into the slot. I waited to see what would Happen. As the dime passed through the slot with a rhythmic metallic clinking, I could feel soft vibrations as gears inside the phone word to life, and the receiver greeted me with a melodic yet unsettling dial tone. I would describe it as forcefully cheery, like it had to pretend that everything was wonderful, even though it was having the worst day of its life.

It was a sensation that sank deeply into my brain and lingered for long after the Call had ended. Thank you for using Oppenheimer's opportunities psychotronic ataphone. An enthusiastic pre-recorded male voice greeted me, sounding like it had come straight out of the 1950s. Here at Oppenheimer's, our mission is to preserve the promise of post-war America that the rest of the world had long turned its back on. A promise of peace and prosperity, of nuclear power too cheap to meter, and nuclear families too Precious to measure. A world where everyone has his place and knew his place.

a world where we respected rather than resented our betters. We're proudly dedicated to bringing you yesterday's tomorrow today. You were promised flying cars and at Oenheimer's opportunities, we've got them. We'd happily see the world reduced to radioactive ashes, then fall from its golden age. Which is why for us, year after year, it's forever 59. Please keep the receiver pressed firmly against your ear for the duration of the returning procedure. We're honing in on the optimal psychotronic signal to ensure maximum comfortability. Suboptimal signals can result in serious side effects. So for your own sake, do not

attempt to interrupt the signal. If at any point during the procedure you experience any discomfort, don't be alarmed. This is Normal. If at any point during the returning procedure you would like to make a phone call. We will get to inform you that service is currently unavailable. If at any point you would like the returning procedure to be terminated, you will be a grave disappointment to us. For all other concerns, please dial zero to speak to an operator. Thank you again for using Oenheimer's Opportunities Psychotronic Adafhone. Your only choice in Psychotronic returning since 59. The

recording ended abruptly, replaced with the same insidiously incipid dial tone as before. I started pulling the receiver away from my ear, only to be struck by a strange sense of vertigo. Everything around me started to spin until my vision cut out, refusing to return till I place the receiver back against my ear. When I was able to see again, the scene around me had changed Into the silent aftermath of a nuclear attack. No, not just an attack. an apocalypse. Not a single building around me was left intact. Everything was toppled and tumbling to dust. Dust

that I could feel fill my lungs with every breath. The air was thick, gritty, and filthy. I was amazed it was still breathable at all. Didn't smell rotted because there was no trace left of life in it. It was Dead. It was dusty air that no one had breathed in years. Radiation shadows from the victims caught in the blast were scorched into the numerous nearby surfaces, many of which still bore tattered propaganda posters that were barely legible throughout the haze. The city had been bombed to hell and back, and no effort at clean up or

reconstruction had been made. It had been abandoned for years, if not decades. And Yet, there was no overgrowth from plants reclaiming the land. Nothing grew here anymore. Nothing could. The sky above was a strange shiny canopy of rippling clouds illuminated only by a strange pale light. Somehow I knew that radioactive fallout still fell from those clouds even to this day. Long ago, hundreds of gigatons of salted bombs had blasted civilization to ruins in a day while sweeping the earth In apocalyptic firestorms, throwing billions of tons of particles high up into the atmosphere. Now all was

silent except for that intolerable psychotronic dial tone and the insidiously howling wind. Only when I realized that those two were the only sounds did I realize that they were perfectly harmonized with one another. I looked up into the sky at the ash Clouds that should have washed out long ago and I realized it wasn't the wind that was howling. It was them. The ripples in the clouds were constantly forming into screaming and melting faces before dissipating back into the ash. I was instantly stricken with dread that they might notice me. I wanted so desperately to

flee and and cower in the rubble, but I was completely unable to Move my feet. I wasn't even able to pull the phone away from my ear. So, I did the only thing I could. Summoning all the strength and will that I could manage, I slowly lifted my free hand, placed my index finger into the smoothly spinning rotary, and dialed zero. Don't worry, came the same voices before. Through the phone, it sounded much more like a live person than Recording. This isn't real. Not for you and not for us. You just needed to see it.

Nuclear annihilation is an existential fear no one ever knew before the Cold War. And it's one that's been far too quickly forgotten. One can never be galvanized to defend a world in decline the same way they would a world under attack. A world rotting from within invites disillusionment, dissent, and despair. A world facing an external threat forces you to fight for it, to Love it wholeheartedly, warts and all. Without the threat of annihilation, every crack in the sidewalk is compared to perfection. And we bemoone the lack of a utopia as if that were something we

were entitled to and unjustly denied. When you see the cracks in the sidewalk, don't think of utopia. Think of what you're seeing now. Think of how terrifyingly close this came to reality and how terrifyingly close it still is. And yet, you must not let the terror Keep you from aspiring to greater things as the fear of nuclear meltdowns, radioactive waste, and mutually assured destruction stunted the progress of atomic energy in your world. The instinct to fear fire is natural, but the drive to understand and tame it is fundamental to humanity and civilization. Decline is born

of complacency as easily as it is from cynicism. You must love and fight for both the present and the future. Do you Understand yet, or do I need to turn the adaphone up another notch? What? What are they? I managed to choke out, my head still turned upwards, eyes still locked on the faces forming in the clouds. "Now, son, I already told you that this thing can't make phone calls," the man said. "But not without some irony in his voice. But to put it simply, they are the dead." The nukes that went off in this

world weren't just Salted, they were spiced, too. The sound waves produced by blasts were designed to have a particularly psychotronic resonance to them, causing every human consciousness that heard it to literally explode out of their skulls. "Explode?" I asked meekly, the tension in my own head having already gone far from comfortable. "That's right, Kablammo!" the man shouted. The intention was just to maximize the body Count. But there was an even darker side effect that the bomb makers hadn't dared to envision. Those disembodied consciousnesses didn't just go and line up at the pearly gates. No sir.

Caught in the psychotronic wave. They rode it all the way up into the stratosphere and got caught in the planet spanning ash cloud. Their minds were perpetually stuck in the moment of their apocalyptic deaths. And since their screams are all In perfect resonance with each other, they just grow louder and louder. That wind you hear, it's not wind. It's billions of disembodied voices trapped in the stratospheric ash cloud, amplified to the point that you can hear them all the way down on the ground. So, my head's going to explode and my ghost is going to

be stuck haunting a fallout cloud for all eternity, I demanded in Disbelief. Disbelief I desperately clung to as it was the only thing keeping me from succumbing to a full existential meltdown. "Oh, not to worry, son. As long as you don't resonate with them, you'll be fine," he assured me with a warm fatherly tone. "Your head won't explode and you won't get stuck up there in the ashcloud. Just listen to the dial tone. Let your mind resonate with it instead. Once you believe in the wonders of the atomic age, you will be free of The

fear of an atomic holocaust." "No, you're lying. The only signal is coming from the phone, not the sky." I managed to protest. Son Paxton Brinkman doesn't lie. My psychotronic returning makes it impossible for me to consciously acknowledge any kind of cognitive dissonance. The man tried to assure me. So when I tell you something, you had Better believe that this is the one and only truth in my heart. That's what makes me such a great salesman, CEO, and war propagandist. Honestly, the screaming coming from the cloud is both real and fatal. And if you don't let

the atapones counter signal do its thing, I'm telling you, your goose is cooked. I'm sorry. Is it just cooked now? Is that what the kids are saying? You're cooked, son. Sans's goose. You said it Yourself. You said it yourself. This isn't real. You wanted me to see the apocalypse so that I'll embrace salvation. Your salvation. I managed to croak. There are no ghosts in the fallout. You just want me to be too afraid to reject you, to hang up before you finish doing whatever it is you're trying to do to me. There was a long

pause where I heard nothing with the screaming ghosts and screeching dial tone before Brinkman Spoke again. "If you really believe that, then go ahead and hang up the phone," he suggested calmly. I stood there panting heavily, but saying nothing, my finger still clutching the receiver and pressing it up against my ear. I closed my eyes, tried to ignore the nuclear hellscape around me, trying to focus on the fact that if it wasn't real, the dial tone that was trying to Rewrite my brain was the real threat. not be imagined ghosts in the fallout saturated stratosphere,

but the louder the dial tone grew, the less forcefully cheery it sounded. Didn't sound sincere necessarily, but it sounded better than eternity as a Fallout ghost. I began to wonder if it would if it would be better to end up like like Brinkman than risk such a horrible fate. But it'd be more rational To choose the more pleasant hell, or was it worth the risk to ensure that my mind remained my own? Slowly but surely, I gradually loosened my grip on the receiver until I felt it slip from my hand. As the sound of the

dial tone faded, the vertigo that I had felt from before came back tenfold and an instantly debilitating cluster headache overcame me as I cried out and collapsed to the ground. The pain was so intense That I could barely think. And for a moment, I did truly think that my head was about to explode that my consciousness was to be condemned to a radioactive ash cloud for all eternity. Before I lost consciousness, I remember hearing the Brinkman's voice again, wafting, distant, and dreamlike from the dangling receiver. Son, you've been a grave disappointment. When I woke up,

I was in The hospital. Someone had called an ambulance after they found me collapsed outside. When I told the healthcare workers and police my story, they told me there had been no phone there. It never had been. They weren't sure what was wrong with me or if I was lying or delirious. They kept me for observation. The fact there was no phone and no evidence that any of it had been real was enough to make me seriously Doubt it had ever happened. I spent several hours just thinking about what else could have possibly explained what

happened to [Music] me. And that's when the radiation burn started to appear. The doctors estimated that I was exposed to at least 200 rads of radiation, maybe more. It's too soon to say if I received a fatal dose, but it definitely would Have been if I stayed on the phone much longer. The doctors are flabbergasted over how I could have received so much radiation. And there are specialists sweeping the streets with geou counters to find an orphan source. I wish I knew where I could have gotten one of those earlier. And again, I suppose I

didn't really need one. I was warned after All. If it's plutonium, it blisters. Now, it seems that I and my goose may be [Music] cooked. I'm not young. I'm not exactly old either. Probably older than most of you reading this, though. I grew up in a time before cell phones. The internet was a pretty new thing. Mostly didn't have places like This to share weird or scary stories. I wish there had been something like that, though. Maybe I would have gotten some advice or at least had a better record than a spotty memory hazed over

with the alcohol and drug use of my 20s. Honestly, I had mostly forgotten about the truth of this incident. That is until recently. It all came flooding back like a nightmarish wave. I think my brain protected me from the trauma. Buried it so deep that it took a long time to come to the surface. No, it's at the surface now, though. Now that it's back. I'm jumping ahead though. So, let's let's start at the beginning. The year was 1996. I was 14 years old and living in a small California town. My parents had purchased a

house in the mountains. My father had become disenfranchised with life in a city and wanted to go Somewhere that our closest neighbor was nearly a mile away. I can't say it made me or my sister Katie too terribly happy. We lost all our friends and ended up in this small town school that involved an hour-ong bus ride to and from the campus. She made new friends quickly. She was 2 years older than me. Pretty popular and the kind of person that people were drawn to. I, on the other hand, was short, Awkward, and quiet. Suffice

to say, I got picked on a lot and didn't adjust super well. My father saw it as an opportunity to toughen me up and teach me some things about how to take care of our new home. If you're just going to be sitting around the house all summer long, then you might as well learn some life stuff." And that was that. I took one last look at my new PlayStation and my copy of Resident Evil That I'd saved my allowance for, and I was put to work. I cleaned gutters, mowed the lawn, helped my dad

repaint the garage, and finally the most important task to the story. I helped him build a new woodshed. I say helped, but in reality, he talked me through it and I did the majority of the labor. I think he always wished I was more the type to work with my hands, even though especially at that age. I was more into Drawing, writing, and video games than sitting in the sun and building a shed. "You got to get you some calluses, kiddo," he would say while slapping my back. "Builds character." I'm honestly not sure if I

built any character, but I for damn sure built that woodshed. Old grocery store pallets made up the flooring, but the walls and roof were these huge corrugated aluminum sheets to make sure the rain ran off and away from The wood piles. I cut myself so many damn times getting those sheets in place. It looked like I'd lost a fight with a razor blade factory. Sometimes I wonder if all the blood I spilled in that grass. Summon them. Like I accidentally performed some ritual that I was totally unaware of. One, spill a pint of blood on

your backyard lawn. Two, curse profusely while putting up a woodshed with your Dad laughing at you the whole time. Three, spend every night praying to whatever deity will listen. You don't have to spend another second working in that damn shed. And four, summon an unholy entity that permanently scars you and leaves a broken mess repressing memories for the majority of your life. It's a pretty [ __ ] ritual if you ask Me. I'm joking though. It has nothing to do with the blood or the shed. The shed is just where he first appeared. I can

remember that night with more clarity than I wish to. It was the night I finished building. I remember my dad actually telling me I did a good job as he inspected my work. He brought me a Coke with dinner. Said it would be a beer if I was a little older. And honestly, I Appreciated the gesture. I know I made him seem like a hard ass, but the reality was he was a good man, just very old school in his sensibilities. After dinner, I went up to my room and finally spent some time playing my

game. My sister had left for the night. She was going on her first date with a boy that she'd met at school. Since she was going to be out late, my parents agreed I'd earned it and said that I could stay up as late as I wanted. My hands hurt and I was exhausted, but I honestly didn't care. I felt like I'd earned my time to relax and enjoy myself. Felt good. I stayed up way too late. The clock rolled over to 1:30 and I finally told myself I should get some sleep because who knows

what chore dad had for me the next day. After getting ready for bed, I went to my window. I looked out At my handiwork. Actually, I was pretty proud of myself and that's when I saw it. At first, I thought it was my dad. But as my eyes adjusted, looking in the dark, I realized he was far too tall, far too lanky, far too pale. His clothes hung off his thin frame and ragged tatters and bellowed in the night breeze. He walked around the shed, Sliding his hand against the aluminum wall. Tink tink tink tink

tink tink tink. The sound of his nails clicking against the bends in the metal. Then he looked up at me. There was a shine in his eyes, like the shine a raccoon has when you catch it hunting through your trash. His face was gaunt and pale. Sunken cheeks made his cheekbones look like sharp daggers jutting out of the sides of his face. His mouth was little More than a thin line of nothing drawn onto his low set jaw. It wriggled slightly as he lifted his gaze onto me. I shouldn't have been able to hear its

soft whisper, yet I could very easily. It rang in my ears with a pitch similar to someone rubbing a a wedded finger on a half full crystal glass. It shuddered a manufactured weakness like its weakl looking frame. Come out To lay or I come in. It cocked its head at an unnatural angle and twisted it further and further until it was looking at me almost upside down. It hummed and the drone filled the air around me. The floor beneath my feet vibrated at the odd frequency and it resonated through my legs and into my chest.

I tried to cry out for my parents, but I felt Paralyzed. I still don't know if I if it did something to me or if I was just so scared I couldn't move. I watched as it twisted its body into a bizarre angle and skittered from the woodshed to the side of the house. I could hear it clamoring up the wall towards my window. My feet finally broke free from their place on the ground and I stumbled backwards towards the door to my room. "Dad, mom," I remember saying. But I honestly can't be sure if

It was a shout or a whisper, though I would realize it didn't really matter. The face suddenly appeared in my second story window. It was close enough now that I could I could better make out its features. The eyes still gleamed from the sunken place in its sockets, and the line mouth still quivered as it hummed its awful noise. Paper thin skin was stretched tightly across its skull, and you could Almost make out the blood pumping in the veins of its face. The humming stopped as its mouth stretched open into an awful void like maw,

and it clapped its jaw together quickly and sharply over and over again. The snapping noise of its mouth opening and closing at high speed sounded like a camera shutter quickly taking pictures. I barely had time to think if I had locked my window before the creature slid its bony fingers into the crack of the window Sill and lifted it. It slithered through like liquid and before it touched the ground, it flung my bedroom door open and ran into the hallway towards my parents. They were still asleep in their bed. I ran over to my father

and started shaking him, trying to wake him up, but it was like he was in a coma. I shook and shook, but his eyes stayed closed and his body stayed still. I ran around The bed to try to do the same thing with my mother, screaming like a madman the whole time for them to wake up. Sleep like little angels. Sleep like little angels. Sleep like the dead. It stood in my parents' doorway. It looked taller than before, and as if it was wreaththed in shadow, its head twisted unnaturally again, and it wrapped its fingers

around the door frame as if it was about to Pounce. And that's when I heard the front door open. It was quiet. My sister trying to sneak in after her curfew. Not quiet enough, though. The thing spun its head around quickly, reacting to the new presence in the house, and before I could react, it was making its way to the stairs with unnatural grace and fluidity. Its hands and feet clawed the walls, knocking pictures down. I could Hear them breaking on the ground. I ran after it, not even sure what the hell I was planning

to do. I watched it vanish down the stairs and heard my sister let out one of the most terrifying screams I've ever heard. From the top of the stairs, I watched as the thing encircled my sister like a constrictor. Its thin fingers grabbing her throat, squeezing to cut short that awful scream into a painful weeze. It opened its mouth again and Made that camera shutter clacking a few more times before it did something I I still can't even begin to fathom or properly do justice with my words. It It drained the life from [Music] her.

I could see it happening. Her eyes wide with terror as her form seemed to blur. and what I could most accurately describe as her soul being ripped from her body and into that horrid creature's open Mouth. Her hair turned white. Her skin went pallet and gray until she almost looked like the thing that was killing her. I bolted down the stairs in an attempt to stop what I was seeing, but was was quickly flung away as it reached an arm out and threw me backward with little to no effort. I slammed hard against the stairway

and heard my legs snap. I watched, screaming in a mix of terror and pain as it drained every last drop of life from my Sister and left her a sunken, wideeyed shell on the floor of our entryway. I knew what was next. It stared at me with those gleaming eyes rolling in their sockets and stretched that thin line into a faximile of a smile. And then it turned away and slithered through the halfopen front door. I was left alone, leg shattered, mind broken, staring helplessly at my sister's Lifeless body. It felt like I was lying

there for hours. soaking in the scene around me. The pain in my leg fading to shock and thoughts racing through my mind as to why it didn't kill me too. The screams of my parents when they finally woke up and found us seemed like they were happening in another world. like distant cries of pain being carried on the Wind. My parents never really recovered from the loss. The police created a narrative that made sense to them. Prowler breaks into an isolated home. The kids, myself, and my sister startle this Prowler and he attacks us. My

leg is broken and my sister, my poor sister, is apparently scared to death. Heart failure due to an acute stress Response. What kind of 16-year-old girl has heart failure from being scared? My parents bought it, though. Unfortunately, they never forgave themselves for sleeping through the encounter, despite the fact that the creature had obviously put them into a comeoma state while he attacked us. My mother and father separated a few years later. Shortly after that, my father drank himself to Death. My mother hasn't spoken to me in years. She fell down her own shame spiral that

led her to isolating herself from us to protect herself from the pain. I on the other hand I just forgot as much about the encounter as my mind would allow. I too decided the police story was easier to digest than the truth. And maybe it helped. Maybe I'd be a raving lunatic Otherwise. I can't say remembering all of this now has helped my mental health at all. And that brings us to now and what brought back these memories in the first place. A much shorter story, but one I'm hoping won't be my last to tell.

Three nights ago, I saw it again. I gotten home from work, trying to relax, watch some television before bed. I ended up falling asleep in my chair and woke up to an infomercial Playing way too loud. I shut off the TV and checked my phone. It was 1:30 in the morning. In that moment, a deep chill went down my spine. That first tinge of memory came to me like a like a frigid wave. I felt compelled to go to the window and almost like some unseen hand was guiding me. And I mean, I know how

that sounds, but it's the truth. I looked out into the courtyard Of my apartment building, expecting to see the parking lot and the entryway, and instead I saw my parents backyard, a site I hadn't seen in almost 30 years. the woodshed I built and standing next to it. Tall, gaunt man dressed in flowing rags, his eyes shining and his head cocked at an unnatural angle. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Flashes of my sister's face and frozen Horror burned behind my eyes and before I knew it. The thing was at my window, peering

in at me, unblinking. The window slowly opened as I backed away. The creature slid through the crack in that serpentine way that it had and stood before me, somehow even taller than I remember. Its thin line mouth dropped open and it released my sister's Horrifying scream from somewhere deep down inside before it did its quick shuddering motion. Sleep like the dead. It reached for me and I screamed and then it was daylight. The creature was gone and 7 hours had passed. I spent a long time wondering if I was dead and just didn't realize it.

Maybe that would be preferable. Maybe it'd be better for me to be trapped in that monstrosity like my sister. At least then I wouldn't be wondering wondering when it was coming back. [Music] I took a seasonal ranger job in the Cascades. Mostly isolation stuff, Watching fire lines, logging trail damage, monitoring wildlife, a few radio check-ins a day, and rest of the time is mine. Perfect gig for someone trying to get away. The cabin I was assigned sits about 12 mi from the nearest road. Old place, nothing fancy. Radio tower, generator, propane stove, no internet, no

cell service, just me, the trees, a whole lot of quiet. I like It until the third week. That's where the noises started. Not animals, not weather, footsteps. They were subtle at first, slow, heavy. Always at night, I'd hear them circling the cabin four or five paces at a time, then nothing for hours. I set up trail cams, eight of them, motion triggered, infrared. I nailed them to trees in a perimeter pattern. The next morning, I found all eight on the ground. Not broken, not Chewed, just unscrewed from the trees and placed neatly in a pile

beside the front steps, like a message, like a warning. I put them back up. Two days later, they were closer. Three of them had been moved not far, just 10 ft in, angled towards the windows. Now, I didn't sleep that Night. I brought the cams inside that morning, locked the door behind me, double checked the windows. Each camera had about 5 hours of footage, mostly empty woods, occasional raccoon, branches swaying in the wind. But then I got to the fifth one. Time stamp 2:13 a.m. movement. The camera jolts slightly like someone adjusting it and then

it re-angles itself, pointing not At the trail but at the cabin window. Mine. the one facing my bed. It sat still for two full minutes and something stepped into frame. Not all at once. Just a shoulder, then a leg. Long, thin, but covered in something dark And matted like wet bark or hair. It moves slow, too slow, like it didn't care if it was seen. Then it turned ju just its head and I swear to God it looked at the camera right at it. Then frame by frame. It smiled. Not human, not animal, just a

jagged split of dark between Fur. And behind it, another face smaller, pressed against the glass of the cabin window, looking in. I I packed within 10 minutes. Clothes, knives, batteries, radio. I didn't even turn off the generator. I just I just left. I took the West Trail, steeper but faster. It runs past three old fire lookouts and hit the service road at mile 12. From there, it's a 5mile descent to where I parked the truck. I made it three miles before I realized I wasn't alone. It wasn't footsteps. It was the silence. Birds, insects, e

even the wind gone like the forest had sucked in a breath and was holding it. That's when I saw the first K. Stacked stones, six of them, carefully balanced in the middle of the trail. Nothing odd on its own, except There was a scrap of red flannel tucked between the top stone. I didn't own anything red. A mile later, I saw another. This one had a tooth resting on top. Human. I just kept moving. I didn't stop to breathe. Just head down. Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking. until I looked up and saw the cabin.

My cabin. It's the same stack of cameras in a pile by the steps. The same dent in the railing from when I slipped hauling wood last week. I had walked for 5 hours in one direction. And somehow I came back. There were fresh footprints on the porch, but only one set. mine. I didn't go inside. I I just sat on the porch staring at the footprints. Same tread pattern, same width, same weight distribution. They They were mine. But I didn't remember walking in circles. I didn't remember coming back. I checked my phone. Time stamp 3:08

p.m. Then 3:08 p.m. again. Then 3:07. I checked the radio. Dead. No static. Just that same low hum like a throat clearing on the other end of the line. I stayed outside until dusk. I didn't eat. I didn't move. When the first shadow passed between the trees, I almost didn't see it. It It didn't move like anything should. Didn't stop or glide. It Just shifted like like something flickering between places. I backed towards the door. The handle was warm. Inside, everything was where I left it. Bag still packed, flashlight on the floor, window cracked open

just a bit. And something new. A photo resting in the center of the bed. It was old, weathered, black and white. Five men in ranger uniforms cabin In the background. All of them smiling. All of them with my face. And behind them, a shape in the treeine, barely visible except for the eyes, reflective, watching. I turned the photo over. Someone had written something in pencil, faded, almost gone. Don't forget which one you are. I tried to laugh, but I couldn't remember what my voice sounded [Music] like. My father disappeared when I was young. It was

the only tragedy of my childhood. Sort of news that spread like a disease through the small town where I lived. There's more than one teacher who stuttered to the halt on my last name and looked at me with their eyes Overflowing with sympathy. They'd pull me aside to tell me how good of a man he was. I'm not certain exactly how old I was because my mother refused to speak of him at all unless she was drunk to hell and back. Even then, her words barely made sense. You know, I was small enough though that

the only thing I remember of him is the warmth of his voice and a slice of a smile. He lived in a mansion of a house by my father's salary as a professor, But mostly by my mother's trust fund. My parents had been planning on filling it up with a whole host of children, but they're just my mother and I. All the empty space was terrifying. I had nightmares as a teenager about walking into the abandoned corridors of my house and never finding my way back to that small pocket of rooms that we maintained as

our living [Music] space. My father was a Professor at one of um architecture at a prestigious university, the sort of school that everyone recognizes by name. And he drove an hour to work every day in an hour home. My mother and his friends tried to convince him to move to the city, but he said that he preferred the slowness and solitude of a more rural life. He was kind to a fault, always ready with a joke. And in a crisis, he Always knew what to do. I know this because in the years after his disappearance,

I would regularly get accosted by strangers, held captive while they told me long-winded stories about him. I left as soon as I could. 17 years old and I didn't I didn't go back for two decades. My mother died last month of a heart attack and as their only child, the duty fell on me to clear out the House. My mother had forbidden me from going into his office. She kept it intact, sealed like a shrine to him out of some sort of morbid respect. I left it for last. The light didn't work, so I opened

the curtains covering the floor to ceiling windows and one wall, coughing at the explosion of dust, and worked by the light of the sun. There was so much of him in that room, and the way that he decorated and the neat loopy annotations Filling many of his books. His desk was an oak behemoth, the weight of it wearing holes into the carpet. So, I didn't want to deal with it until the smaller items had been packed up. When I finally got around to the desk, I was surprised to find that the drawers were mostly empty.

The only thing inside them was a stack of letters shoved off in a corner. They were addressed to Caleb Hawthorne, my father's closest friend and a fellow professor of architecture At a different college. According to one of my neighbors, an older woman who couldn't shut up to save her life, my father had enjoyed the charm of written communication, even though he and everyone that he knew had easy access to phones. The paper was yellowed to age felt brittle when I picked it up. I've transcribed their content below. The letters appear to have been Sent back

to my father after arriving at their destination. September 2nd, 1995. Dear Caleb, I must admit, it's a surprise to hear from you so soon. I assume you'd be kept busy by your new son for a couple of months at least. I remember the days of having a newborn, and I truly do not miss it. Still, I wish the best to you and your wife, and hope that the sleep Deprivation has not yet stolen your wits. When we last spoke, your neurons were already struggling. I'd hate for you to lose the remaining few. As always, please

remember that if you need me, I can be there within a day. Once you've settled in, my family would love to come see you. My son's been asking about his uncle Caleb. We could plan for Christmas, perhaps. As to your inquiries about my Happiness at my university, rest assured that I am very pleased with my current job. And if you wish to claim me for your own architectural department, you will have to try much harder than that. There's something I would like to get your advice on. However, it concerns one of my students by the

name of James Bellmith. He is by far one of the most promising students that I've encountered. And although this is the First year that I have taught him, my colleagues have only spoken positively about him. As you know, my class is mostly focused on practical design. My students apply the concepts they've learned in other classes and make blueprints for buildings that are both structurally sound and visually interesting. It's bad for a professor to show favoritism, of course, but I was excited to review Mr. Bellsmith's first project. I heard so much about his Capabilities and seen

his intellect firsthand and the thoughtful responses that he gave to my questions, even if he was a bit spacey. He turned in his blueprints very early, barely 3 weeks after I first explained the assignment. It was the first to end up on my desk. And although I usually wait for all the projects to be turned in and grade them all at once, I didn't want to wait. He turned in a blueprint for an observatory. It was an unusual choice For a first project, but on first glance, he seemed to have done exceptional work. It was

mostly of one vast room with a recess space for an impressive telescope and a domed roof that could open or close easily. A ring of smaller rooms arked around the circular walls. And Mr. Bellmith indicated they'd be used to give presentations contain variousformational artifacts and books about space and store small telescopes. He provided detailed information about the mechanism that would open the roof, as well as the stained glass windows that would be in each of the outer rooms. Have you ever seen those illusion pictures made up of dozens of circular lines that make it look

like the image is moving? I was obsessed with those as a kid, and I had a couple of books of them. I thought it was magic, and nothing could convince me otherwise. Even when my mother took my book and tore it in half to show me that it really was just paper. Mr. Bellsmith's blueprints reminded me of that. The more I looked at it, the more I became convinced that it was wriggling on the page, like maggots caught in a fish hook. The lines squirming ever so slightly out of place. The dimensions looked off. I

checked over his math twice, and it was factually correct, but I couldn't shake The impression that the the observatory was somehow too large for itself. It physically hurt to look at. Made my eyes ache and my head pulse with pain. I know that doesn't make any sense. I know how it sounds. When I told my wife about it, she put her hand on my forehead and asked if I was feeling unwell. I called him into my office to discuss the project. Once I had had time to calm down. He was smirking the whole Time. We

talked and sunk into his chair without a care in the world. I put the blueprint down in front of him and demanded answers. Probably not as much professionalism as I should have employed. He looked down at it in confusion. He asked me what the hell I was talking about. There was no remaining sign of the unsettling creation that it had been before. It's just a regular, if very technical, proficient diagram. But I swear to you, Caleb, that observatory was straining at the seams of its blueprint, bloating in the way of dead animals filled with gas.

I'm asking you please to pay heed to our long friendship, and trust me when I say that there was something truly wrong. November 15th, 1995. Dear Caleb, all right, I get it. You don't believe me. You didn't have to be so cruel about it. The president of My university agrees with you, by the way. He got all pitying and asked if I needed a vacation. I took it obviously because I'm not good to turn down free time off and my students didn't really need me for the next few weeks. They've been working on their next

project, and I'm hoping that Bellsmith will settle down without me there to terrorize. Have you ever had a student that hates you? I don't I don't mean They dislike you, your teaching style, or think that you give too much work or don't like how stern you can be. I mean they really hate you. They they want you to be dead and they would do it themselves if they could. You wake up in the middle of the night to a sound coming from down the stairs and you're frozen with fear that they finally come for you.

And even your wife sleeping peacefully beside you. She isn't Safe. I think Bell Smith hates me like that. Sometimes when he looks at me, there's so much fury in his eyes that it seems like he'd burn the whole country down if it meant that I went with it. And my wife thinks I'm being ridiculous. And maybe I am. I don't know anymore. He turned in two more blueprints. They didn't have the same horrible quality the first did, but they were both labyrinthian with twisting Corridors, dead ends that seem to just appear. Both were designed to

be huge spiraling structures. One of a library, the other of a towering apartment building. They were against every principle of good architecture. They'd be counterintuitive to navigate at best and downright dangerous at worst, leaving someone to wander for hours without seeing any hint of an exit. The safety and building Codes would be a nightmare, and I doubt they'd ever be approved to actually be built. Parts of the building stuck out at odd angles, hanging far out over the rest. probably come crashing down at the first hint of wind. The worst part is that they were

still beautiful. Despite all of that, there was something undeniably compelling about them. I've been dreaming about his blueprints. I'm in his buildings every Night in a different area every time and I'm running. There's no transition between being awake and being asleep for me. I'm in my bed and then I'm sprinting at full speed down a hallway like I've been dropped into a run that already been happening for a very long time. I race through the labyrinth and it never ends there. There's always more ground beneath my feet, new places to go. There's something chasing me,

always just a couple of steps behind. I can Hear its claws scratching against the stone and hear the weaves of its breath. Sometimes it gets so close that I can feel its cold teeth graze my back. I don't think I can do this anymore. Caleb, is that spot in your university still open? January 23rd, 1995. You bastard. Utter [ __ ] bastard. I'm not [ __ ] delusional. And if you try to Take my son away from me, I'll make you regret it. I run the mazes while I'm awake now. I'll blink and suddenly I'll

be inside one of the blueprints with the monster inches behind. When it scratches me, I bleed. And I keep bleeding once the labyrinth fades away and I'm back at home. I know Belle Smith's address. It's quite simple to get from the university database when you know what you're doing. He lives alone, which makes it Easier. I've got my gloves, my old rifle, and a mask to cover my face. This is an awful thing to admit to you, and I'm sorry for that, but I need you to know if this goes poorly, I need you to

make sure that my son is okay. Tell him that I love him. It comes down to this. I cannot allow Bellith to build any of his blueprints. I've seen past his Smile. And he's empty [Music] inside. I hate the summer house. That's a weird thing to say, I know, but it's true. We would stay there for at least a week every year, and sometimes we would even go up there for holidays. One year, we spent Christmas up at the cabin, and that was a miserable time indeed. The cabin, my family summer home, sat on the

edge of Lake Erie and was a modest two-bedroom cabin with a Loft up in the eaves. It had a little kitchen, a nice living room with a fireplace, and two bedrooms downstairs, one for my two sisters and one for me. Mom and dad always slept in the loft, so they never saw any of the weirdness that I saw from my bed and the smaller of the two bedrooms. The floor of the cabin had these wide gaps beneath the floorboards and it let you see the underside of the cabin. That always promised that he Would replace

the floorboards, but he never did. And they were they were old wood, smooth, not prone to splinters. And I guess dad thought it was worth the occasional spider or bug coming up through the floorboards. I mean, his socks didn't get hung up on poking wood. Bugs, spiders, other kinds of pests. They were the least of my concerns. I didn't notice it right away, of course. First time we stayed there, I was just amazed by the cabin. It was so Cool, you know, having a cabin all to ourselves. And I explored every room and every inch

before going outside. We swam in the lake. We took our canoes out. I climbed trees, played pretend for hours. And after dinner, well, I fell into a deep sleep. Not even sure that I dreamed that first night. And I couldn't wait to do it all again the next day. As that first week went on, however, I started to notice the strange Noises that wafted up from beneath the floorboards. It sounded like something moving under there, a scuffling sound that made me think of small animals or bugs. I could sometimes catch glimpses of them between the

gaps in the floorboards, but they were they were always too quick for me to see. The dead said it was probably just rats. A lot of these old cabins had rodents living under the floorboards. He put down traps in the kitchen, not wanting to bother Them if they were just living under the house. The traps never caught anything, though, and dad just kind of shrugged it off, you know, as as well behaved pests. They were well behaved for everyone but me, it seemed. I never I never slept like I did the first night again. And

that scuffling beneath the boards would sometimes keep me awake at night. Lay there listening to them moving around. And I think to myself that they sound way too big to be mice. If they were rats, then they were big rats. I sometimes wondered if they would try to come up through the floorboards. We always had fun while we were there, but I would spend my nights praying I could get to sleep before the scratching noises could keep me awake. My parents bought the house when I was four. We went there every year Till I was

12. I had a lot of time to listen and a lot of time to investigate the noises as well as a lot of time to lie awake and be scared. When I was 10, we stayed there for 2 weeks after a storm knocked the power out of the house. It knocked out the power for the whole area. The flooding caused the grid to go down. My parents decided to stay there until things returned to Normal. It was miserable. Hey, every night I just lay there listening to the scrabbling of whatever was under there. No matter

how many pillows I put on my head, no matter how much I swam and ran and wore myself out, no matter what I did to fall asleep, it never did any good. The scratching and the scrabbling would always keep me awake. And after eight nights straight of this, I had enough. It was 11:00 and I I growled as the scratching started again. I was Tired. I was grumpy. I I had had enough. I pushed myself out of bed, coming down hard on the boards before stomping around as loud as I dared, hoping to scare them.

I had been stomping around for a couple of minutes when suddenly the noise under my feet stopped. I stood there feeling pleased with myself as I crawled back into bed. If I had known that it would be That easy, I would have done it weeks ago. As I closed my eyes and finally dropped into something like sleep, I felt secure here for the first time since that very first night. It was shortlived. When I heard the scrabbling again, I realized it had barely been an hour. The sound was so loud it made me think that

something was trying to come through the floor. I I peeked over the Side of the bed and I saw something pressing between the cracks. It was dark, so it was hard to tell. But through the floor cracks, I saw fingers digging up and through the holes in the woods. The fingers were dirty, the wood making them run with dark liquid as it cut them, but it kept pushing. I was frozen in fear. My 10-year-old mind, not sure what to do. But as the floorboards groaned, I knew That it would get me if I didn't do

something. I reached beside my bed with a shaky hand and found the baseball bat I had leaned there. I've been practicing. Baseball triyouts would start soon. But this wasn't what I imagined I'd be using it for. I took it up, leaned down, and swung at the hand with all of my might. It didn't stop right away, but after a few more hard shots, it pulled its fingers back under the boards. They were probably broken. At least I I hope they were. And as I clenched the bat, I waited for them to come back again. I

sat there for a while staring at the floor. And as I watched, something worse than a finger looked back at me. It was a single bloodshot eye. It looked very human. It locked eyes with me and I pulled back into bed, the bat clattering On the floor. My parents came quick when I started screaming. I I I tried to explain it to them. I tried to tell them what I had seen, but they just thought that I was having a nightmare. Finally, they allowed me to sleep with them in the loft and until we went

home. That was where I slept. I refused to be alone in the room, even during the day, and I wasn't bothered again that time. It wasn't the last time I saw that Mad eye, though, or the scrabbling of all those fingers. We didn't go back the next year. Dad couldn't get the time off approved or something. And when they planned a week-l long trip when I was 12, I tried to get out of it. I mean, I I still had nightmares sometimes by those eyes and the the fingers. I I didn't want to go back.

I was 12. I was old enough to be by myself. And if my sister hadn't tried to do the same Thing, then I think I probably would have managed it. I even promised her she could have my room. She wasn't going for it. Mom put her foot down and said none of us were staying home and we'd all be going and we'd all like it. Packed my bat as well as a flashlight and we set out for the lake house on the second week of July. I tried my best to wear myself out that first

day. I swam for hours. I Explored, hiked, and by the time the night fell, I was nodding off at the dinner table. I'd run myself ragged. I was hoping that if I didn't antagonize them, maybe they would leave me alone. By the time it was late enough to head to bed, I fell onto the little mattress and was out before my head fully hit the pillow. I I thought I had managed it, you know, that I'd finally gotten asleep before the scratching Could start. And and as I slipped off, I thought I might have finally

broken the cycle. When the scratching woke me in the wee hours, I cursed and smacked my pillow as I sat up. It was louder than ever. Sounded like animal claws, like nails on a chalkboard. And as I peaked over the edge of the bed, I could see something as it moved beneath the boards. It was pushing again, thrusting Its fingers between the wooden slats. And when the fingertips began coming through, I felt like I was having the nightmare all over again. It was pushing at the boards, warping them and bending them. And I I felt

certain that it would come through the floor at any minute. Some of the fingers were bent in odd ways, the tips looking like they might have healed after being broken. And as I took up the bat again, I prepared to give them something to heal from again. I smashed those fingers as they tried to poke free. And as the blood ran down, they pulled them back in as the eye came back to stare at me. It was bloodshot and awful. And when I hit the floorboards, it moved away. and I was left in silence. I

tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. Every creek of the house, every rustle of the wind, every scrape of a tree branch, and every groan of the Wood sounded like the scraping returning. I finally fell asleep, but it was nearly morning, and I woke up tired and groggy. I was pokey the rest of the day. My mom asked if I was feeling sick, but I assured her I was fine. I did take a nap later, though. I I wanted to be on my game when it came back that night. But I got more

than I bargained for. As I sat in the middle of my bed, bat in a hand and fighting sleep, I Began to hear a scrabbling like I had never heard before. It was as if a beast with a thousand fingers was crawling down there. And as it moved, it dug its nails in deep. The boards began to buck and bulge, a multitude of fingers scrabbling at the wood, and when they began to poke through, there was no way that I could get them all. I swung my bat again and again, smashing fingers and breaking nails,

but it was like an army was beneath the floorboards. I kept Hitting them again and again, their digits snapping loudly, but the wood was starting to come up. I screamed, not for anyone, but just in general. And as they started to press up and into the room, I caught a glimpse at what was beneath. I started to scream, but it was stuck in my throat. I thought it was rats at first and then I thought it was a single person. But as I saw the eyes that looked up from the Floor, I didn't know what

to think. It was people naked, skeletal thin. All of them trying to come up and out of the area beneath the floor. I counted four and five and maybe a half dozen. And as they tried to pry up more boards, their numbers kept growing. H how many were there under the floor? I I pictured ants coming out of a hill. And the idea that that many half-starved humans pressed beneath our Summer cabin made my skin crawl. I heard loud footsteps coming towards my room. And suddenly the door opened and the hall light spilled in. I

thought I thought there might have been as many as a dozen. They looked up as I did, their eyes looking surprised as they saw him. I was shocked, too. But my shock was twinged with hope as someone came to save me at long last. What in the hell are you? But dad stopped as he saw what was There under the floor. They saw him, too, and they tried to get through the floor, but he didn't give them time. He stepped in, grabbed me, and stepped out, closing the door and pulling a chair under it from

the hall. Then he woke up my sisters, took all of us to the loft, and called the police. Then he sat up there with a pistol, something I didn't even know he owned until that moment, and waited for the police to arrive for some of the People from the floor to come out. When the police finally did arrive, he came down to let them in, and then he came back up to keep us safe. That was my dad. It's a protector. The cops didn't find anything, but the pushed up boards kind of helped our story.

I told them how long it had been going on, what I'd heard and seen, and they searched under the house and in the nearby woods before Finally giving up. They found sign under the house of something moving around down there. Even a screen on the back side of the house that had been jimmied open, but they didn't find much else. Dad didn't tell me until I was much older, but apparently the sheriff who came out to check the scene told him a story. The Lakehouse was so cheap. Cheap enough that working stiffs like my parents

could afford it because it was the sight of something terrible. The last owners had gone missing suddenly, a man, a woman, and three children. And none of them had ever been found again. They had searched everywhere, but found neither hide nor hair of them. The only thing they did find was pushed up boards in the room that I now Stayed in. Enough boards for a small horde to squeeze in through. My parents sold the lake house after that, but we got a time share in North Carolina. That was a decade ago. I still have nightmares

about the people under that cabin [Music] sometimes. So, if you see a cabin for sale on Lake Erie, be very cautious and do your homework. There could be more in the foundation than just termites. Hey there, kids. It's me, Mr. Pasta and I just wanted to tell you thank you so much for watching tonight's video or for listening to tonight's episode of the podcast. It's still cold. I don't know if you guys have that major freeze that happened to me, but uh yeah, it's in Texas and it's snowing. So, it's pretty damn cold, but you

know what's Not cold? A hot cup of tea. And my wife still sells tea. And as always, I want to give a very big thank you to everybody who supports me over at Patreon. That's patreon.com/mrcreppepypasta. I cannot thank you guys enough. Thank you guys so much for being supporters. That goes for everybody who was down in the description as well as asset system, ball arms the rat, Blake Rattler, Brandon Mendoza, Ren Crow, Brimstone, Pandemonium, Caluna, Chain Smoker Dealer, Chicago Hitman, Cory Genchin, Cronut 508, Crusader Choco, Curs Box Ryark, Dakota Best Pulson, Dante Concincaid, Diana Krauss,

Ellie Hutmire, Enchanted Buns, Estamine, Jenna, Hades Nephew, Kimbo Jerry, Hour, Minute Seconds Time, Jay Ke Jennis Pep, Jordan Humble, King Crab, Mr. Marcus Blitz, Old Penguin, Peaceful Buddha, Psycho, Red Shadow Cat, Remember the Sun, Rinku Star, Salty Surprise, Samine, Secclude, Simba's Bloody Mojo, Sky Harbor, Smiley, the Psychotic, Sully Man, Tali Sue, The Chavez Brothers. Thank you guys so much for being here. Thank you for listening. Thank you for watching. In sweet dreams. [Music]