My mom used to say that the rain is God's tears, and that's why
we shouldn't drink it. She said a lot of things to make me believe.
She told me that eating too many sweets make invisible goblins that chew my
teeth, that spiders would crawl into my mouth if I didn't breathe through my
nose, That eating snow would freeze my stomach and turn me into a snow
man. A hundred little lies, all engineered to trick me into behaving,
and I behaved. As the years passed, I've turned into a perfectly tricked
human. I left all childish nonsense behind years ago. I pay my taxes
and keep my head down. I don't eat too many sweets, I breathe
through my nose, and I don't eat snow, and of course I don't
drink from the rain. Last August, I was at a supermarket on the
out skirts of town, just another lazy Saturday morning, with a sky full
of gray clouds and a persistent wind. I bought some groceries and was heading
for the door when I noticed it had started raining. I hadn't brought an
umbrella, so I just pulled my leather jacket close and rushed to my car,
hoping the bread wouldn't get soggy. I threw the groceries into the passenger
seat, leaned back and noticed a woman standing in the middle of the parking
lot. She was staring straight up with the jaws wide open, her mouth
filling up with rainwater like a bird bath. Seeing her, I couldn't help
but think about what my mom used to tell me to never drink the rainwater,
that it was an ugly thing to do. My mom passed on years
ago, but some words can stay forever. I sat there looking at her
for a while. She had this black pixie haircut and a gray hoodie long
enough to reach her knees. She was completely drenched with lines of black muscara
running from her eyes. It took me a while to notice she didn't have
any shoes on. I got the feeling that she wasn't well. This wasn't
something saying people did, saying people don't drink rain water like that God's tears.
It wasn't unusual that strange characters came by the supermarket. There was a
prison thereby, and a lot of people stopped to buy something on their way
out. Mostly friends and family visiting, but every now and then there was
an odd bird. I have no idea what kind of people they keep at
that prison, but the company that runs it has quite the reputation around town
Hatchet. It is a strange company. I decided to say something and stepped
out of the car. Hey, I called out, you're gonna get sick.
She didn't flinch. It was as if she didn't even register my words
as a language. Instead, she just kept staring into the sky. She
had this sort of minus determination about her, like she didn't know what else
to do. She didn't even blink. Raindrops bounced off her unblinking eyes.
I was about to get back in my car, but I felt bad for
her. She was barely an adult and she was clearly having some sort of
breakdown. I chogged back inside the supermarket. There was an older man standing
behind the counter, listening to the radio. I'd shopped there a few times,
but never actually talked to him. He didn't even look at me when
I came back inside. Excuse me, I said, I think the girl
outside needs help. He leaned over for a bit in his chair, sque
ing at the glass doors. She was still out there, not for,
he asked, I don't know. She's just standing there. She has no
shoes. The old man was clearly not happy about this, not about her
standing there in particular, but that I bothered him about it. Let's go,
he said, people don't talk to each other no more. I followed
him outside. As we approached the girl, the rain was picking up.
Hey, he called out to her, you're right. No response. He
slowed his pace, giving me a concerned look. Now he saw what I
saw. You want us to call someone. You have a phone, he
asked, you need help. We all just stood there for a few seconds
until the old man sighed. He put his hand on his shoulder, rustling
her gently. I'm sorry, but you can't stay here, he said,
you have to move on. He shook her harder, making some of the
water and her mouth spill over. I got a bad feeling from that.
Come on now. He grabbed her again, and she immediately lost the balance.
She tipped over like a falling tree, her head smacking haplessly against the
concrete. Water spilled out of her mouth, mixing with a blood from the
fresh head wound. The old man's eyes went wild. He fell to his
knees repeating, oh my God, Oh my God, over and over.
I backed away with my hand on my phone. I didn't register what was
happening, and I went into a sort of paralysis. It took me a
few seconds to notice she was still coughing up water, a lot of water,
and some of it had turned black. I thought it might be blood,
but it didn't look like it too dark. I was suddenly aware of
the phone in my hand, the weight and texture of it. I dialed
nine one as the man put her on a side. Breathe through your nose,
he said, Stay calm and breathe through your nose. Black water was
pouring out of her like a forcet. Her eyes were still fixed on the
sky. It felt like minutes, but it was only seconds. Breaths,
the water stopped pouring out of her. She just laid there, unmoving.
I could hear an operator talking to me in my ear, but it was
as if the words just passed through me. I couldn't hear them over my
own pulse. Something about an emergency, a question. She's not breathing,
the old man cried, she's not a twitch. Her mouth moved, something
passed between her lips, something dark, Her finger her claw. She rolled
onto her back with a violent muscle spasm. She bent her back like an
arch, balancing her entire body and the soles of her feet and the scalp
of her head. She inhaled, sucking in as much rain water as she
could in a screeching gasp, her throat rattling as the raindrops passed into her
lungs. We went from trying to help to just staring in disbelief. In
an impossible move, She got to her feet, invisible tethers, pulling her
back up, her face still locked towards the sky, and jaws once again
wide open. Her body turned to me and the old man, and as
we recoiled, she gurgled and charged us. My phone slipped out at my
wet hands. As she burst forward, I tripped her from my own feet,
falling backwards, and she hurled herself over the old man. Her head
was constantly looking upwards like a gyroscope. It was as if her body was
moving and twisting independently from her head. I could swear she twisted her neck
an entire three hundred and sixty degrees. At one point, I crawled backwards,
scraping the palms of my hand. She gurgled again, the water from
her mouth pouring over the old man that she pinned. He was gasping for
air, spitting and coughing wildly, flaming his arms, just this relentless stream
of water, practically drowning him. Then he stopped. Slowly, he opened
his mouth, and he too started to drink the rain. I stumbled to
my feet and ran for my car. I could hear naked feet slapping against
the concrete. She was chasing me. I got my keys out, unlocked
the car, and got in the driver's seat. I slammed the door shut,
right on her fingers, breaking them my carrot sticks. As the door
bounced back open, I crawled in the passenger side as useless fingers brushed against
my face trying to grasp at me. She crawled in after me, gurgling
with anticipation. I got out on the other side of the car, slamming
the passenger side door shut. I rounded back to the driver's side and closed
that door as well, trapping her inside. She didn't have the mental capacity
to open the doors, so so just settled back and pounding on the glass
with her bleeding broken fingers. Her eyes were moving independently of one another,
trying to find a way out, trying to find the sky. I backed
away, my heart pounding. I didn't even notice my tears in the rain,
just the sting of sweating my eye. I kept hunching over, clutching
at my stomach. It was burning, like my insides were trying to jump
out of me. My heart was having none of this. The old man
had gotten to his feet. He looked at me from across the parking lot.
For a few seconds I could see fear on his face, pleading eyes
begging for help. Then his face snapped upwards and he opened his mouth wide.
His body, moving seemingly on its own, started walking towards me.
He tripped over concrete outlines of the parking spaces, barely keeping his balance.
His shoulders smacked into a sign, sending him reeling onto the ground, all
the while keeping his head fixed on the sky. Then, just as the
girl before him, I could see this invisible force pulling him back onto his
feet, transparent tethers hidden in the drops of rain. He got his bearings,
and suddenly he was fast. This man was easily seventy years old,
but he was keeping an impossible pace. I didn't know where to go,
I didn't know what to do. He gained on me and I just stood
there like a deer in frozen headlights, thumping feet coming closer. Then the
girl trapped to my cart slammed her hand against the window again. The sound
kicked me off like a starting pistol. I shot into a sprint as my
stomach shivered. I don't remember running back into the store. I don't remember
knocking over a stack of shopping baskets. It was just a blur of colorful
packaging. As I ran through the aisles, cheerful radio tunes played overhead.
The old man tripped over a shopping basket and fell, sprawling to the floor,
water spilling out of him like a fountain. As he struggled to get
back on his feet, I saw little things moving between his lips, little
fingertips, black like ink, A little hand reaching out. He stepped back
outside and leaned his head back upwards. Slowly, he walked out of sight
towards another side of the store. I was left standing there holding a mop.
I didn't even realize they grabbed it. I started looking for a phone.
There had to be some sort of alarm but I couldn't find it.
There was no big red button to press. My hands were shaking, and
I kept knocking things over. A bunch of pins rattled against the ceramic tiles.
I looked for the manager's office. The guy was old. Chances were
there was a landline going into the back. I heard a surprise dl there
was someone outside the back exit. I couldn't be bothered. I had to
call for help, help yourself before you help others, and all that.
The manager's office was locked. I tried pulling the door open or banging at
the glass list, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, I pulled the
fire extinguisher from the wall and just hammered relentlessly until the thing shattered. I
put my hand through, clicked the lock, and stepped inside. The place
was a mess, but it had a landline buried under piles of unsorted documents.
There was a computer, but the thing was already old ten years ago.
I died nine one. As I closed and locked the door behind me,
I only have a vague recollection of speaking to the operator. I told
her about people turning violent, but in trying to explain it, I realized
they sounded completely mad. I tried calming myself down and explain it in a
way that made it seem like the owner had snapped. They asked me if
I was safe, if he was armed, if someone was injured, a
thousand things. It seemed like. I kept hearing little noises in the back
of the store, and I completely lost my train of thought. Sir,
sir, are you there. I heard the voice on the phone, but
it was distant. Every bone in my body was listening to what was happening
outside. Someone was getting into the back door. It was clunky, but
I could hear the handle rattling, Sir. I slowly put the phone away,
not hanging up, just putting it away. I had to concentrate.
There was an old toolbox in the corner of the room, so I grabbed
a large wrench to defend myself. I needed solid metal in my hands.
It brought me a kind of courage I didn't know I had. And the
old man stepped up to the manager's office. I was ready. I slammed
the door open, knocking him back. Even now his head was tilted upwards.
I whacked him over the head with the wrench, sluggishly connecting with his
throat. He stumbled sidewards and I hit him again. He dripped, fell
over, and snapped his neck against the wall. He was over in a
second. He stopped moving as black water oozed out of him, and there,
moving at the edge of his lips were a little black fingers reaching outwards,
desperately looking for something to grab to pull itself free. His jaw moved
up and down like it was chewing invisible meal. His eyes were still fixed
upward. As I raised the wrench to attack again, the little hands stopped
moving. It turned into a black sludge like coagulated darkness. I couldn't let
go of the wrench, even if I wanted to. My fingers a cramped
shut. I took a deep gasp as I realized I'd been holding my breath.
I backed away. I killed this man self defense or not. He
was dead, no question about it, Sir, Sir, I could hear
coming from the landline in the other room. I didn't know how to explain
this. I didn't know what I'd say. I just stood there, listening
to myself breathe. In an instant, the world shifted upside down. I
lost my balance as something grabbed me from behind. I felt hard on my
right shoulder, losing the grip on my wrench in the impact. Two arms
gripped me and was pulling me backwards. The stock boy. He'd been out
back and a smoke break this whole time. That's the startling sound I heard.
He'd been attacked. Moments later, I felt the rain again. He
dragged me outside. The guy was in his early thirties and built like a
redwood. He had no trouble keeping me off balance. As he pushed me
to the ground. He tilted his head downward as water started to spill.
Wait, I screamed, wait, wait, then rain water lukewarm body tempered
rain water. It's hard to explain the sensation. At first, I was
droning, trying to keep water out of my lungs, but after one or
two involuntary gulps, I didn't feel it anymore. It was as if air
and water switch places. The rain water kept me alive and losing it would
mean choking to death. My neck locked itself, staring upwards as to not
lose any water. As I looked at the clouds, I heard a voice.
It felt like I was reaching into my stomach, resonating in my body
like an echo, rain falling on me, making it look like I was
running through a tunnel, or being pulled upwards. Hello, A greeting.
A dark presence went swimming through my thoughts, little tendrils seeping into my memories,
touching all my secrets. I could feel my body moving on its own,
and all I could do was lock up. I tried to scream for
help, but all I did was gurgle. It hurt, something awful,
burning like razor wire being pulled out of me. The more I resisted.
There was something up there, something in the clouds that needed me the way
a body needs a pair of hands. I lived in that world, I
don't know for how long, having a conversation with something inside myself, trying
to feel something. My body was numb and distant, frozen solid, and
pulled by an impossible force. And at some point the rain stopped. I
was staring up into the sky, coughing up water as my body slowly remembered
how to breathe. I was lying on my back, looking up at the
clouds. They were parting. I turned to my side, feeling something wriggle
in my throat. I gulped down hard, feeling an obstruction, slide down.
Then the water started coming out of me, rain water, black water,
and blood. I had an idea where I was, but it took
me some time to orient myself. It was a grassy field, just a
bit out of town. Underbrush, some scattered trees, and a few dried
up, discolored sunflowers. I was just off the freeway, about a fifteen
minute walk from the store. I'd seen this walk on my way home from
work, I realized, not too far from Frog Lake. I eventually made
my way back to the supermarket. Four patrol vehicles and an ambulance had arrived,
sirens wailing. I saw the young woman with black hair being lifted into
an ambulance, a hand broken and bleeding. She had a tight bandage wrapped
around her head. They were also moving a body out of the store,
and three officers were talking to themselves and taking pictures by the entrance. Coughing
up the last drops of black water. I tried my best to scream for
help. All that came out was a gurgle had slowly turned into a scream.
That part was all me. They eventually recognized my voice from the emergency
call. They took me in had a medic checked me out and questioned me
all about it. The officers tried to piece it all together into something comprehensible,
ending up at the story of an old man goes crazy and gets killed.
I wanted to tell them more, but I just couldn't find the words
to make it sensible. There was some surveillance footage, but it didn't cover
much of the parking lot. All they saw was me being chased into the
store by a sick looking man. Before I was sent home and asked not
to leave the state, I got the chance to ask my own questions.
I asked them about a young woman in my car and what happened to her.
Apparently she'd been picked up by her guardians almost immediately. They had all
paperwork in order, as well as a pair of very expensive lawyers. Strange
people, the officer noted, didn't seem very parental. Since then, I've
been getting shivers whenever it rains. I get this sense that I should go
outside to see if there is anything up there, something that still needs me,
something calling to me. But I'm fine, according to the doctors.
Still I don't trust myself to stay inside. I locked myself in the bathroom
with my headphones on, waiting for it all to pass. I've read about
others seeing her, a young woman who comes out when it rains to drink
from the sky. I have to know more about her. I need to
know what happened to me. Working in Disneyland is not all it's cracked up
to be. There are things that general public is not privy to. Although
rumors circulate online about certain practices, one of these rumors is true. Nobody
is allowed to die at Disneyland. As parts of the Anaheim Fire EMT Team,
we are on site for more serious events. The park staff, known
as cast members, have their own team of trained personnel. They deal with
everything from small cuts and scrapes to ride induce sickness. But every once in
a while somebody needs to take a trip to the hospital. When that happens,
two of us will prepare an ambulance and a nurse will be called to
assist. We transport the patient to a nearby hospital and treat them on the
way there within the short amount of time we have. Starting an IV in
the back of a moving vehicle can get pretty hairy, let me tell you,
but I've done it on multiple occasions. Potholes can make things really interesting.
When you have a needle in someone's arm and you're fishing for a vein,
the important thing is to make sure you don't hit an artery or poke
yourself with a bloody needle, especially if your patient looks like an IVY drug
user. I've been assigned to the park for the past few months and have
come to enjoy working here for the most part. Until today. I'll tell
you why. As I've said before, nobody is allowed to die at Disneyland,
and sometimes fate is not kind enough to comply with corporate policies. This
morning, I was called in to assist with an accident near the Teacup Ride.
It was still early and the park was quiet as visitors were just starting
to file in. The weather was warm and sunny, a typical Anaheim day,
but there was a barrier set up near the entrance to the ride.
Several people were being questioned and were complaining loudly about their phones being confiscated.
A few were in tears and looked borderline hysterical. These people were being taken
behind closed doors by men in suits with Disneyland badges. It'll be given right
back to you. Just a moment, the security guard was saying, and
I saw him hit the delete button to get rid of the most recent video
on the visitor's cell phone bark policy, he said, giving the device back
to the woman, Thanks for your cooperation. Enjoy the rest of your day.
She started to protest, looking at the deleted file, but her husband
grabbed her arm and pulled her away, casting her nervous look at the barricade.
The woman eventually relented and the two of them walked off Right this way,
the security guard said, looking at me. He directed me behind the
barricade, and I saw a very terrified teenager was doing CPR and a decapitated
man. With each thrust, blood splurted out from the place where his head
should have been. The sounds being made were disturbing, like a wet dog
toy being stepped on over and over. One of the squeaky ones. What
are you doing why? I tried to get the words out, but couldn't.
We need you to take over for the kid. This man needs to
be taken to a hospital, I stared at the security guard, dumb struck
a hospital. This man needed to get to a funeral home for cremation.
There would be no open casker for this one. You must be kidding.
The security guard growled my arm and pushed me over towards the kid take over.
He said, the kid is tired, You need to do your job.
Another security guard joined him, and the two of them gave me a
stern look which indicated I'd better not argue with them. I tried to explain
to them, unsure how they weren't getting it. I tried to tell them
CPR was not going to help a dead man with no head, but it
was like talking to a brick wall, and pretty soon they made it clear
that if I didn't do what I was asked, I would be the one
in need of a hospital visit. As completely insane as it was, I
got down on my knees and took over doing CPR and the headless man.
Each time I pushed down on his chest, a fountain of partially coagulated blood
shot out from the hole on the top of his neck. What happened to
him? I asked the kid who had taken over, for I recognized him
as the one who ran the ride. I dunno man, he said,
shaking and pale. I just looked up and the dude's head was flying.
Man, I don't even know where the damn thing ended up. I pressed
down on his sterner again as hard as I could, repeating the same amount
of pressure the same depth. Despite the fact that it was all pointless,
a hundred compressions per minute, two inches deep, ensuring proper placement of the
hands. It was all so ingrained in me that I did it perfectly,
despite the fact that this man would never breathe again. Eventually, someone who
looked like a manager showed up. He was wearing a sharp looking suit despite
the warm weather, and had cold blue eyes with no indication of any compassion.
Hey, these guys wanted me to keep doing CPR, I told him,
quickly, sensing that he was in charge of this clown show. Can
I stop now he's obviously dead. The man in the dark suit shook his
head, keep going, don't stop. He had a look about him that
I didn't like. A cold, angry sort of feeling came off the man
like a dark aura. I decided not to argue with him. Get bill
from cryer or beer. He told one of the security guards, tell him
to bring the gurney. The man looked around and then whispered under his breath,
and someone gathered damn head from down the tree before some kids sees it.
A strange black vehicle with mouses and top and an enclosed flat bed part
in front of us, and I was forced inside, then made to continue
doing CPR and what was essentially a headless corpse. The man's terrified gap mouth
visage stared at me from the other end of the trunk, where one security
guard held it on his lap with his face looking outward. The MacCabe scene
was so surreal and horrifying that I had to keep telling myself that I wasn't
in a nightmare. This was actually happening. Why are you making me do
this? I yelled at the man in the suit who sat in the front
seat. He's dead. The man just ignored me as we pulled into a
garage marked authorized personnel only, and the weird hearse vehicle continued traveling deeper and
deeper into the warehouse like space. Eventually, after a few more minutes of
driving deeper and deeper underground, using a series of ramps like you'd find in
a parking garage, we came to another steel sliding door. Reaching up to
press a button on the ceiling. The man up front looked back at me
and locked eyes with me. Almost there, he said, just a few
more minutes. Then he looked at the security guard and furrowed his brow.
Jim, what did I tell you about the heads? The security guard's face
went red immediately, and he began to dig through a cabinet next to him.
It sounded like a drawerful of ice. Then he dropped the head inside.
It landed with a loud chunk sound, as if he dropped a six
pack into a cooler and a hot summer day at the lake. He raised
his thumb in an affirmative gesture, nodding at the man in the suit.
Got it, I was dumbfounded, slowing down my compressions momentarily, and the
security guard unclipped the gun from his holster. Don't slow down, he said,
keep it going. I got the implied message. But why do they
care so much about effusing the organs of a dead man with oxygenated blood?
There was no head, and without a head, the body would be useless.
The brain would be dead from the lack of oxygen a while ago,
and minus that control center the meat sack I was pressing on with all.
My force was essentially obsolete. It was all pointless unless the memories came to
me of things I heard in the past. Hadn't Walt Disney insisted on being
cried generically frozen? No, that was insane. Those ideas were insane.
But then, as if confirming my worst fears, I saw the writing on
the next steel sliding door read Disneyland cried Jenic's Research Facility CRF authorized cast members
only past this point. The next area consisted of massive tanks filled with swirling
blue fluid. I saw people suspended in the liquid, their faces frozen like
hand solo and carbonite, their mouths open in silent screams. It's real,
I heard myself whisper silently. Then refocus my efforts on CPR. Suddenly it
seemed as if there might be a purpose to all of this. After all.
We pulled into one final large room. It was filled with equipment that
looked decades beyond anything I'd seen before. It reminded me of pictures i'd seen
of the large hard and collider, massive complex mechanical forms that I could never
have begin doing. To stand here, we are, said the man in
the suit, getting out to the front seat. He came around to the
back and rolled us out on a gurney with the assistance of a few others.
Meanwhile, I just continued doing compressions, too terrified to stuff. It's
okay, the man said, with a surprisingly gentle tone, you can take
a rest now, thanks for your hard work. Stunned, I got down
from the gurney and felt the numbness and pain in my forearms, shoulders,
and wrists. I had a lot of practice doing CPR, but that was
exhausting, even for me. Feeling like I was in a daze, I
looked around at the space I was in, taking in my surroundings. What
is this place, I asked, Well, the man said, you're going
to need to sign an NDA so we can let you out of here.
I guess I can fill you in. I saw the headless man being brought
up onto a platform, and his head was being carried up there as well.
Large machinery hung down from the ceiling, reminding me of Frankenstein's lab.
Right before he brought the monster to life, A man in a white lab
coat was fiddling with items on cloth covered tables and preparing instruments like a doctor.
About the due surgery. You might have heard about how the man himself
once wanted to be frozen, kept in crygenics until the future so that it
could be brought back to life again. You've heard that, right, Most
people have sure. I mean I wasn't sure if it was true or not.
Well, it is, and he's kept down here in this laboratory.
But what most people don't know is that a large portion of the profits this
organization brings in goes towards fulfilling that goal. The equipment down here cost a
lot of money to build and install, and we've got everything set up just
the way we need it. I wasn't really sure what to say. The
man just continued on. The thing is, we don't want to try it
out on the boss first, what if it doesn't work out. So we've
been experimenting with other volunteers. That's why we had people frozen down here.
That's why nobody is allowder die at Disneyland. We need to use every available
resource we have. Those bodies you saw on the way in here, those
people who suffered accidents in the park or snuck in after hours, at least
they're the ones who nobody would notice missing. Like this guy, exactly like
this guy. Do you know he has no family, who extended relations.
Robert Biggs here is thirty four years old, lives alone, and his only
joy in life is coming to Disneyland. My throat felt tight, my stomach
began to drop, and it was like there was a concrete block sitting inside
my gut. All of a sudden, what are you doing to him?
I asked, watching as the man in the lab coat skewered his head atop
a shiny, sharp still rod as if he were a giant piece of barbecue
meat, and shishka Bob. The wet squirlching sounds of the blood and viscera
being prushed aside could be heard as he slid it into place. Bob's head
wobbled back and forth slightly, and then it was still. We're going to
help him, the man said, just like we've been helping so many others
who've died in this park, or should I say, almost died in this
park. The world was turning dark around the edges. As I tried to
focus on staying conscious, I never felt so terrified and jarred as I did
in that moment. I really felt as if I might pass out from the
overwhelming nature of everything that was happening. But I shook it off and told
myself to snap out of it. Who knew what these people would do to
me if my lights went out. I imagine myself waking up as a victim
of their twisted experiments. A man with two different sets of arms and a
second head maybe has shuddered right this way, the man in the suit said,
leading me towards a small steel table. For the first time, when
he spoke, I saw something else in his eyes, something hard and dark,
like the second entity living within his gaze, a second pair of eyes
looking back at me from inside his The agreement will need you to sign,
he said, holding out a pen and pointing at a stack of papers three
inches thick. Take your time and read through it all. You don't want
to sign something you don't understand. His voice was amicable enough, but the
look of the contract told me otherwise. Not only was it as thick as
a book, it was typed in what appeared to be four or maybe five
point fond, single space, and written and complex legalize. The first sentence
was three pages long. I looked up at the dead man on the platform
and watched in horror as the man in the lab coat attached a leg rose
to his head and lowed a massive device that looked like a huge laser pointer,
directing a beam of energy at his forehead. The dead man began to
confuse and shake, his eyes blinking open and closed. His arms started moving
up and down, his legs pomping as if he were on a stationary bicycle.
Oh my god, I muttered, trying to tear my eyes away from
the scene and folding up there so that I could read the first sentence of
the NBA gain or try to. It was a brainbuster. The party heretofore
referred to as the viewer, would be obligated to on completion of this contract,
and without prior understanding of the event heretofore referred to as the disturbance.
Will I got about the same part as before, then blink to my eyes
as the words became fuzzy and I lost my balance and missed the jumble of
tiny letters. It was utterly unreadable all set. The man in the suit
asked, flipping the pages until we were back at the top of the stack
at a spark marked signature. My eyes drifted up to the platform again,
and I saw the dead man was now actually beginning to sit up. He
was looking around the room dolly, like someone who just woken up from a
long sleep. Impossible, I whispered, it's impossible, with a shaky hand.
I signed the contract, my signature barely legible. Perfect. Now,
I think you deserve to have the rest of the day off, don't you
to reflect? I nodded my head, giving the man his pen back.
Jim, show this man out and get him a ride home. He shouldn't
be driving, after all he's been through. He patted my shoulder in a
condescending way. You've had such a busy day. Go home and get some
sleep. I went with a security guard to a waiting vehicle, and the
man in the suit called after me, don't forget about the NDA. You
can't tell anyone about this. I turned around, not saying anything. I
realized after I got home that I needed to tell people about this. The
NDA be damned, I thought, getting this out to share with all of
you. It's important, I told myself. They're stealing corpses and forcing them
into undead servitude. It's evil. That's like end of the world, zombies
taking over apocalypse level nonsense. The man in the suit suddenly made me think
of a necromancer, some evil sorcerer bent and keeping people alive against their will.
I was starting to think that he wasn't a man at all, but
something else, as I thought back to the thing I'd seen hiding in his
gaze. Who knows what endless tasks the dead of Disneyland are being forced into
by that dark, modern day wizard. Someone has to do something about it,
and maybe this is the first step towards stopping him. A few years
back, I got a text in the middle of the night. Now I
was a high school senior and my parents had pretty much given up and keeping
me in check. As long as no one was getting hurt, they could
focus all their attention on my three younger sisters, so there was little to
keep me from sneaking out to see what the fuss was about. I met
my friends down by the path leading to Frog Lake. There were six of
us, led by Brandon and his devotee, Vicky. They were all gathered
in a little group along the path, and it wasn't until I stepped up
that I could see why there was a dead body on the road. A
middle aged man. He'd been dead for a few hours, and judging from
the tone of the others, they just found him like this. This unfortunate
man had been reduced to a novelty. The others had already rifled through his
pockets, and they had all agreed not to call the police. Instead,
they were going to let someone discover him on their morning walk. But while
the others were chatting about getting grossed out, Brandon was making plans. They
had already taken all the loose cash from the deceased man's wallet, but that
wasn't quite enough. They were talking about putting lipstick on or giving him a
weird haircut, but Brandon wasn't having it. He discovered him and he wanted
something special. Vicky, give me a pencil, he finally said, this
will be good. She handed it over. Brandon carefully punctured the man's throat
in two spots using the pencil. I'm surprised to see so much blood run
out, even though the man was already dead. What are you doing,
protested Vickie, give me my pen The others just looked at the corpse,
stunned. It looked like there's been some kind of vampire attack with two puncture
wounds right on the artery. This'll get him talking, grinned Brandon. Absolutely
hilarious. There was an article about it the next day. Some old lady
had found the dead man and noticed the wounds. She called the police.
The cause of death was determined as some kind of aneurysm, but that's not
what had people talking. The vampire bite was far more interesting. Brandon was
so damn proud of himself. There was even a short national news segment about
it. You remember the story about the Minnesota bloodsucker. Yeah, that was
us. No vampire business, just terrible kids being terrible. Although the whole
thing was debunked the moment, who actually read the story The headline was enough
to bring national attention. But that's just where this story starts. Not a
lot of people have heard about what happened next days later, I was meeting
Vicki and a friends at a nearby gas station. Vicki had a car and
we were going out for Chinese food. There was this guy coming down the
road sprinting. He had these ragged clothes and looked just dreadful, unkempt beard,
wild hair, sunken eyes. He just ran right past us, like
the devil was chasing him. He didn't even look at us. He just
kept going with floppy shoes, hanging on seemingly by will Para alone. All
across town, similar people showed up. From second hand accounts, I've counted
at least six different people, all of them panicked and barely coherent. One
ran into the local police station, another into the school cafeteria. Some were
arrested, others dismissed, but they all said they were looking for the same
thing, the Minnesota Bloodsucker. The first time I talked to one of these
people, I was standing in line at the at M. At first I
thought they were homeless. They lugged the part, but when he came up
to me, I could tell there was something strange about him. He had
these tiny, tiny pupils, His eyes were almost completely white. He was
shivering and had trouble keeping his balance. He was going through everyone in line,
asking us one by one do you know the blood Sucker? When it
was my turn, I didn't know how to answer. Instead, I just
shrugged it off. You know it's fake, right, I scoffed. He
had an aneurism. No, he responded, No, it's real. It's
here, we got to find it. He had this absolutely desperate look about
him, like his life depended on it. He was on the verge of
breaking into tears, keeping it all together by a thread. To me,
it had all been a big inconvenience, a lie taken a form of its
own. But to this man, the blood sucker was the realest thing in
the world. Brandon and the others weren't paying attention to any of it.
To them, they're secrazing a corpse had just been another day. They did
this kind of thing all the time. Hell, Vicki was practically a vampire
already. She was up all night with Brandon most days, missing class and
partying like four times a week. From what I'd heard, she was taking
some pretty nasty stuff pills. But people around town were getting a bit paranoid.
They might have been able to convince themselves that this was all the hoax
based on the articles, but with these people showing up, it was kicking
up all kinds of rumors. People were putting their ear to the ground,
paying attention, soaking up the rumors. And where there's rumors, they're angry
and worried, people calling the police. They started a neighborhood watch and the
police were pressured to take action. Brandon had a house party broken up because
of an Annie was tip that he knew the bloodsucker. Not that strange,
considering Brandon was the bloodsucker in a sense. One Friday night, Brandon was
calling us to his place for a house party. Considering how the last one
went. I wasn't interested. Besides, it was almost midnight and I'd cuddled
up in my bed. I just ignored it. The next day, I
went over to his place. We usually went out together for lunch on Saturday,
and he'd been unusually quiet. I got there around noon. Vicky's car
was in the driveway. Brandon's parents had gotten him his own place about a
year back, so there was no one around to check on him. Even
so, I got a bad feeling. Vicky didn't like spending the night outside
a place. When I stepped inside, I could tell something had gone down.
There was a couch overturned and and there was this strange iron like smell
in the air. A glass table had been shattered, and dry flowers from
a broken face lay across the floor. A couple of blue sunflowers Vicky had
gotten Brandon. When he moved in. It looked like there had been an
insane fight. There was even some blood dripping of a splatter in the ceiling.
How the hell did he get there? At first, I didn't know
what to do. I just stood there, calling out for Brandon or whoever
might hear me. I got no response. There were no bodies, just
an unlocked door and an absolute mess. I called the police right away.
They took over, and they got to hear that several people had been reported
missing. This was the first lead they had. There had been at least
six people there, three of which had been reported missing. They probably sneaked
out in the middle of the night and their parents had noticed their empty beds
in the morning. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it.
This had to do with the Bloodsucker, but was it retaliation or something
else. Having unknownly dodged the bullet, I started getting paranoid. This did
little to slow the rumors. Now there were even more people talking about the
blood Sucker and things were getting out of hand. Although this was mostly reported
locally, there were interviews, articles, and missing people posters handed out all
across town, putting up a poster for Vicki and Brandon was one of the
most real experiences of my life. It was like their pictures were staring at
me through the paper, asking me where the hell I'd been that night.
People were asking me questions my parents, the police socials is a lot of
people had the impression that I knew something. And sure I knew all about
Brandon's prank on that dead body, but I wasn't telling not outright. Then
again, I didn't see the relevance. It was just a stupid rumor,
so I just shut up about it. I got through countless innocuous talks.
They were all being so friendly and understanding, but constantly prodding me. It's
as if they just couldn't believe that I had no idea where Brandon and the
others had gone. We just want to talk. They all lied to see
how you're holding up. This painted an enormous target on my back. Everyone
knew I spent time with Brandon and the others, so when days turned into
weeks, people were growing desperate. I was getting dozens of calls a day.
I remember once when the paper called asked me about them, and I
just screamed, I don't know anything. Maybe the Bloodsucker got them. I
don't know. I shouldn't have said that, I really shouldn't. This just
kicked everything up a nutch. I was brought into the police station and interrogated.
I was brought to the school counselor with my parents. They were endless
phone calls from newspapers and worried parents, as well as a few internet nut
jobs. The Minnesota Bloodsucker was turning into a headline. People don't just go
missing by themselves. I stopped going to school. Those awful moments in between
classes or when I walked around on my own just ruined my nerves. I
imagined hearing people talking behind my back, or some unknown presence looking at me
from afar. This rumor about the Bloodsucker had taken over my life. I
thought about telling the truth. I really did, But when you've lied for
weeks on end, you can't just start changing your story overnight. My parents
got me a cheap car so I could go straight home from school. But
cheap cars are cheap for a reason, and one night in late May,
the theme broke down completely, just off the highway. I'd been a bit
careless and spent some time after school with a friend. I'd had a few
beers and probably shouldn't have been driving in the first place, so I was
a bit anxious about calling for help. I had to manually push the car
off the road. It was almost eight pm and there was an awful wind,
blowing drops of rain smattering across the windshield, and this cold, howling
sound echoing across the highway. There was a storm coming. Cars rushed by.
As I anguished about what to do. It was either my parents,
the police, or triple A. I finally settled and calling my parents.
I had my thumb hovering above the number for a few minutes, trying to
build up the courage. I've been a pain in the ass lately and this
wasn't making things easier. The faint smell of beer didn't help. There was
no way for me to prepare for what happened next. It was quick.
One of the ragged men had walked up the side of my car with a
tire iron. I pressed the core button, I was showered in glass.
Hands reached for me through the broken window. I kicked and crawled into the
passengers aside, trying to get away. I didn't even notice my hands were
bleeding. Looking back at it, I realized there are a lot of blanks.
I was panicking. I have no memory of it, but I think
I was screaming. I remember my throat being raw as soon as I came
to But there in that moment, I was just trying to get away.
But I remember one moment clearly. As I got out on the other side
of the car, I met the gaze of the strange man who attacked me.
This time, his eyes were completely white. It was as if he
was looking straight through me, or seeing something in me that I wasn't.
But those eyes, they haunt me. That's one thing I can't forget.
I just ran. Just off the road was a large grassy field leading into
a pine forest. It was easy to follow in my footsteps, but what
choice did I have. It was like I'd forgotten how to breathe. My
body just got into this weird autopilot mode and I just kept going. I
could hear screaming, and there was rustling in the grass behind me. As
I got to the edge of the forest, I went straight through the underbrush.
I cut myself raw and every kind of bush and thorn there was.
They went from one person to four. It was until I gained some distance
that I heard they were actually calling out to me. It wasn't just screams.
Please. One of them screamed, please, sir, talk to us.
They all said the same thing. They begged, they pleaded. The
screams went from panicked the furious to hopeless. They were just broken. I
found a small hole, mostly covered by one side of a pine tree.
I crawled in and reached my phone. I only to realize I dropped it
in the car. It was probably still waiting for me to push down on
my mom's number. I have no sense of how long I stayed there.
Hours, Probably I heard them shuffling about looking for me. One of them
got dangerously close, rushing by the tree I was hiding next to. As
they passed me by, I heard one of them muttering to themselves, gotta
find them. They wheezed, find him, not too late, Gotta find
him. I caught a glimpse from one of those white eyes through the roots
and branches. I just closed my eyes, held my breath, and waited
for it to be over one way or the other. At some point,
the sky had gone dark, the wind had picked up, but the rain
was still just trickling down. I couldn't hear any screams, and it had
been at least an hour since I last saw one of them shuffling about.
I got up, only to realize I didn't have the slightest idea where I
was. Everything looks different in the dark. Fumbling about, I noticed the
space between trees growing larger. I might not be going the right way,
but I was at least getting out of the forest. As I reached the
small glade, I stumbled over something. I couldn't see what it was in
the dark. Taking a moment to stop and listen, I noticed I stumbled
not over something, but as someone someone gasping for air and coughing at blood.
The clouds parted, casting a slim ray of hope. In a short
moment, I could see blood and a pair of white eyes looking up at
me. It was a strange man who had attacked me. This time,
he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at something behind me. I
turned around. I could see their black silhouettes against the sky, six headless
bodies floating in midair. I recognized their clothes, arms and legs swaying back
and forth in the wind, and they're standing in the middle of the glade
was a man. The memory comes to me as a heave a dream.
This armani flavored businessman standing in the middle of nowhere, arms resting at his
side, back straight in a stiff posture, welcomed black hair. He had
some sort of Mediterranean features, but it was hard to tell. I couldn't
peel my eyes off the floating bodies, held aloft by invisible strings, gently
rocked by the wind. The man stepped up to me. I could barely
breathe. It was as if my body forgot how to run. There was
just something about his eyes that just made me freeze and wait for him to
speak. He gently shook my hand with an ice cold grip. It hurt
my veins just to be near him. You brought a lot of attention to
me, he said. His voice dripped with threat. He had a kind
of low voice that was just in the edge of turning into a growl,
like hot chocolate, but so hot it'll burn your tongue. I don't appreciate
this level of scrutiny, he continued. It ends now I know I wheezed.
I'm sorry. Some woodsman as seeking me, he said, eyeing the
dying man. I tripped over you and your acquaintances brought them here. They
it was in our choice, I stammered. They just he lost control,
a monster seeping through the cracks. His skin turned white and cracked, like
a snake, shedding his marble skin. His eyes turned dark, his mouth
unhinged, revealing three full rows of sharp teeth with two prominent fangs. In
a moment, it was as if he grew by several feet. I wasn't
looking straight at him anymore. I was looking up at him. I I'm
indifferent to your excuses. His fingers were so long they almost wrapped around my
neck twice. He could have popped my head like a grape. Instead,
he slowly squeezed my neck and lifted me up. I could feel my pulse
pounding against his fingers. You will tell them it was all you. You
will tell them there is nothing in the dark. You will lie. I
tried to nod, but I couldn't. I was standing on the top of
my toes, trying not to break my neck. You will lie. I
was thrown to the ground. I tried forcing air into my lungs for the
tears that welled up in my eyes, I saw the vague shape of the
monstrous man picking up the bleeding person I'd stumbled over earlier. Maybe he'd been
saved as a snack. The last thing I remember before running blindly into the
woods was the sound of a cracking neck and blood pouring out of a shivering
body like a juice box, blood reflecting off a pale skin, bright drops
dripping into open, unblinking black eyes. Six headless victims held hostage by some
unseen force saw me turn my back on them, and I ran like a
bat out of hell. The next morning, I lied. I told everyone
about the prank. I told them it was all this stupid thing that got
out of hand, and I told them I had no idea what was going
on. I lied about Brandon and the others, saying I didn't know what
had happened. I lied about my car, saying I walked home and that
someone must have broken into it while I was gone. I'd lied about everything,
and I still couldn't sleep at night. If there was even the slight
chance that I was missing something or out did that thing in any way,
I'd be dead. I was sure of it. Now a few years down
the line, I feel like it's time to speak up. An anonymous post
online is as far as I'm willing to take this, but it's a start.
I've left that town behind the whole state. But every now and then
I get an email or a strange friend request, someone asking uncomfortable questions,
and to this day I lie. A few years back, I had the
worst streak of bad luck in my entire life. My dad, my one
lived parent, got run over at a pedestrian crossing. My fiancee left me,
I lost my job at the warehouse, and Adam moved the outskirts of
town because of a sudden rent spike. My one stroke of good luck was
my friend Gareth. He mainly worked the commissionary at a nearby prison and told
me they were looking for more people, mainly night crew, but the pay
was solid. There was a trial period and two weeks of on the job
learning, but it was all paid for. In my position, how could
I say no? So I started my job as a corrections officer just outside
of Tomskog, Minnesota. The place was partly owned by a private company,
but it was basically the same logo you'd see all over town. Hatchet Farmer
has a finger in everything around here. I got the uniform, I met
the inmates, I went through the routine, and I got to know who
to keep my eyes on. I had to fire my taser after three weeks
on the job, but that was pretty much the highlight. Most of the
time is just sitting around waiting for something to happen, or breaking up loud
conversations. It's not as dramatic as it sounds, but you've got to be
ready for when it counts. In December of twenty twenty one, I was
assigned to a new route. One of the people working with inmates in solitary
confinement had to quit over a health scare, and I was next in line
to take his place. It was still a night gig, but in a
deeply disturbing part of the jail. Now, I won't paint it to be
something it's not. Isolation is just a whole bunch of people keeping to themselves,
usually not even that many. Sure that tom Skog Facility has a slightly
higher solitary capacity than normal, We're talking ten to twenty percent at most.
Still, he needs someone there at all times. You never know what they
can come up with, and they're trickier than they look. There was this
one guy at the end of the hall that just gave me the creeps.
The other guards called him Mary, short for a longer biblical name I could
never remember. He always broke the lights in his cell, and he was
rumored to be extremely violent. Even in solitary confinement. He had to wear
shackles. Every time he received his food, he had to put his hands
out to have the shackles removed so he could eat. That's basically the only
part of him I ever saw. His hands. The cell was always pitch
black. The guy used to be an academic. Mary had three doctorates,
but one day he just snapped killed three of his students. He also had
some kind of chemical burn on his arms, leaving most of the skin on
his hands discolored silver poisoning. Possibly. Even his files were strange, stamped
with a sort of blue flower. Most innates had a stamp on their file,
but he was the only one with a sunflower. The guy refused to
eat during the day, so I was the one to feed him on the
night shift. Every time I removed those shackles, i'd see those gnarled blue
hands reached from me or the tray whichever one of those nights we were having
beef stew. Nothing fancy to look at, but the thing smelled divine.
I brought him some bread on the side, a little jellow box, and
a bottle of water. Everyone else was fast asleep, apart from a newbie
who couldn't stop crying. At the end of the corridor procedures, last time,
I said, hands up front. Those elongated fingers slowly slid out,
as if giving me an invisible fruit. The shackles clattered. I put down
the tray, got the keys, and started twisting the locks back and forth.
These were always a pain to deal with. You're going to let me
out, Mary said, I need you to, So you're going to.
Yeah, I don't see that happening, buddy. I unlocked his shackles and
fetched this tray. He took it, but lingered for a second. You're
going to, he said, with no hint of a joke. It's already
decided. Oh, no one showed me that memo. I chuckled. You're
good in there. Someone said, bad things happened to you, Mary said,
and that's why you're here. Well, that makes two of us have
a nice dinner. I walked away, but couldn't help but to look back
as those long fingers slid back inside. The dark room gave me the creeps
every time, And sure, I had to get the tray and cuffs back
up in a bit, but that was just part of the job. The
next night, it was fish sticks, not too shabby, but far from
fresh. There were only three people in solitary that night, two guys who
tried to kill each other, and Mary always merry. As soon as I
approached those blue hands slid back out, I had to look away. There
was something about the texture of his hands that made me feel weird, like
they were always a bit too slick, like a thin cover of soap.
This time, he didn't skip a beat. You're going to let me out,
he said. It's already decided. You keep saying it, But this
door just seems as sturdy today as it did yesterday. If you come in,
you'll see why you're going to let me out. You mean, if
I open this door without any kind of backup of supervision. Yeah, I
got a pretty good idea why you'd get out if I did. That's not
it. I unlocked his shackles and he took his tray. It disappeared into
the darkness, but Mary kept talking. You being here is proof that I
made it, he said. Then I'll get out. I'm not following.
They told me you lost a lot of things, your dad, your girl,
your apartment. There was poison in his words, deep seething poison.
I'll be honest. I did to break his goddamn hands when he said it.
But what bothered me more was where he'd heard it from. There was
no one around to talk to him, and as a rule, we didn't
talk to inmates about our personal lives, neither our own nor that of other
employees. Someone must have slipped. Look, that's personal, I said,
that's none of your business. Then how do I know your dad got hit
by a white Corolla? I banged on the door. I didn't even know
why. It was just this instinctual reaction to shut him up. But of
course that just made him laugh. How the hell did he know it had
been a hit and run and the color of the car was only a footnote
in the police report. That's not funny, I spat, and you're not
making any new friends by being an asshole. I don't care, little man,
he continued, because you're going to let me out, not of my
goddamn life. I took the tray back from him before he finished his dinner,
and I shackled him right back up. He didn't resist. It shut
him up for a while, but it was a faint victory. I asked
to be transferred to another shift, but there just wasn't any other people available.
Hiring was rough. We were basically on our own. If we lost
one person to sickness, we'd be out of luck at that point. So
no, there was no option to switch. It couldn't be done. I
didn't want to go back to Mary. I really didn't. I didn't know
who was talking to him, and I didn't like what he was saying.
I checked and double checked, and there was no mistake making that white Corolla.
It had gone sixty and a thirty mile per hours street and killed him
on impact before disappearing down a dirt road. The thing was just gone.
The police said he might have been deliberate, that it was too fast to
be an accident, and in my mind's eye, I could see blue hands
on the steering wheel. When I walked up to Merry Cell with a tray
of meatballs and mashed potatoes. I was genuinely scared of what he might say.
Every word felt like a threat. Could he really say something to make
me let him out? What if he could, what would it be?
Hands out? I said, knocking on his door. You're not letting me
out tonight, he sighed. I know that, but it's gonna happen.
Yeah, yeah, I shrode. That's all I want to do. Did
they tell you what I did how I did it? I got a pretty
good picture helium poisoning, painless asphyxiation. They didn't feel a thing. I
didn't respond. I just took off his shackles and gave him the tray.
I'm not a monster, you know, he added. I just do what
I have to do, eat up, and leave the tray, I said,
as I walked off. Maybe ask your ex about Beverly, he shouted
through the slit in the door. I could almost see his lips moving.
I'm sure you'll find it an illuminating conversation. I didn't want to do it.
I didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't want to think
about it. But god damn it, there was something there In the last
fight we'd had, she shouted, that name Beverly. I didn't know a
Beverly, and at that moment I didn't care. But it was such a
specific name the chance that Mary just picked it up on random was improbable.
So the next shift, before my work, I decided to give my eggs
a call. Things are calmed down, after all. There was a cold
greeting and even called her small talk. Finally, she just called me out.
Just tell me what you want, she asked. I want to talk
about Beverly. I said, you said a name once. What you're getting
remarried? Want to bury the hatchet? No? I what you want me
to forgive? You? Give you my blessing? What are you talking about?
There was a moment of silence. She scoffed the skank you're dating.
I'm not dating Beverly, I said, never have. Don't give me that.
I saw your emails, her video, her insta. Look, I
don't know any Beverly. She screamed to use the name and cut the call.
I got online and looked her up. Beverly was maybe eight years younger
than me, and absolutely stunning. She'd only been active for a few months,
where she uploaded a sort of daily video blog. It was heartbreaking.
In every post, she talked about the issues of being the other woman,
a vlog kind of thing, daily outfit posts memes, a sort of strange
mix. This is the woman she thought I'd been involved with through some kind
of email. It didn't make sense, and how the hell did Mary know
about this? This haunted me. I didn't know what to think, and
I felt myself coming back to Mary and his blue hands. I had this
constant sense of him being with me, looking at me. It felt like
I was missing something. I could feel that strange, slick texture as the
hands wrapped around my neck. Whenever I let my mind wonder, I could
feel his presence in the backseat of my car, riding along with me,
And once I had a stop sign, I heard him clear as day,
right behind me. You're gonna let me out, but there was no one
there. The next time I went back, I skipped the tray. We
we're gonna figure this out. I finished my coffee and thundered down the hall,
ignoring the other inmates. Mary had some explaining to do, and I
was goddamn terrified of what he was gonna say, but I needed to hear
it. You're going to tell me what you know right now? I said,
I've had my black coffee and I'll break your goddamn hands. You let
me out and it'll all be clear, chuckled Mary. I promise it's kind
of written on the wall. At this point, I smacked my nightstick against
the door. No more games, then come in, teach me a lesson.
Open the door. I calmed down. Maybe this was how he got
to me, tricking me. That wasn't gonna work, no way. Your
shift starts at ten fifteen. Mary said, you take your black coffee and
you came here. First thing you did. Hold on. He shoveled off
into the back of the cell. There's a strange scratching sound, and he
was gone for a solid minute. I just listened trying to figure him out.
I showed a flashlight inside, but he'd hung up a sheet over the
slit in the door. I couldn't see anything without going inside. So there
was your dad. You reacted to that? Then a beverly That worked?
What made you lose your last job? Was it? Ah? I'd say,
a veiled drug test, Yeah, that'll work. What the hell are
you talking about? And you don't do drugs. Probably some kind of error
maybe a few poppyseed pastries for breakfast. Those things can give a false positive.
I just stood there, mouth wide open, the morning of the mandatory
drug test, added three pastries to poppy seeds the bakery down the street.
We're giving them away as a promotional event. I got this awful pit my
stomach, like he knew more about me than I did, like it was
about to tell me something horrible, Like it was standing right behind me,
just soaking up my fear. So what brought you here? I'll have to
figure that out later. Maybe you know someone here, he continued, Shut
up, I said, hitting the door. I'm telling you to shut up.
I looked over my shoulder. There was no one else here. Why
was I feeling? Watched? Calm down. Mary said, we're getting to
the end. You're about to let me out. Never, I spat,
You're going to rot in here, don't you understand? He yelled back,
The fact that you're here proves that I'm right. How How does that make
any goddamn sense? And then he told me everything. Mary or Meridian was
given an opportunity. If he followed a very specific set of events, he
would be given a great gift. Non locality he said, but you need
to dissociate hard enough, basically, turn yourself crazy enough for reality not to
make sense anymore, or rather for you as a person not to make sense
to reality the other way around. As a part of this delusion, he
killed three of his students. He burned himself with chemicals. Then, seemingly
as part of his plan, he willingly went to jail. Years of darkness,
he added, isolation like being in a sensory deprivation tank. I need
it, I crave it. Then I'm done, and all for for what
to be unbound, no causality, no rules, nonlinearity, and the fact
that you're standing here is all the proof. Then I need to know that
it's going to work. And why is that? Don't you get it?
A blue hand slipped out of the slit in the door and pointed at me.
I did all this to you. I put you here. Some day
you will let me out, because if you didn't, I wouldn't get you
to come here. And that time is drawing close. I don't need this
darkness anymore. I feel it. I'm done. That's impossible, I said,
that's literally impossible. Then why are you sliding down the wall feeling sleepy.
I hadn't even noticed. I was nodding off right there in the hall.
I tried to touch my face to see if I could feel anything.
Did you? Yes, Mary said, I drugged you. I couldn't have
if you hadn't told me about the black coffee. But now that you did,
I could. It's all on the list, and what's on the list
is going to happen. I don't understand. Imagine you could travel through time,
he chuckled. Not today, but someday. And you promise yourself that
you're going to put a rose outside your door on this very day, in
this very present, and when you open your door the rose is there,
then you would know that you're going to get that power. You know that
you will come here someday. Then it all comes down to strength of will
to force yourself to remember all that you're going to do and in the correct
order. That's not I An image flashed in my head. Blue hands on
the steering wheel of a white Corolla, a man paying the bakery to promote
some pastries. A woman being paid for a bit of internet theater by an
unknown benefactor. There were dozens of people standing at the end of the hallway,
thin emaciated men, men with long fingers and blue hands. I blacked
out. I woke up in the staff room with a nurse looking into my
eyes. They gave me a check up and sent me home to rest up.
They gave me a few days off, just to make sure. I
didn't know what to say. I had my keys, and Mary was still
in his cell. If I was the one to let him out, all
I had to do to make sure that didn't happen was the stay away that
I'd ruined his plans, So taking a few days off seemed perfectly fine.
I was about to leave when Gareth met me in the parking lot. He
jogged out to say good night and to see if I was okay. Look,
he said, I know you hate that shift, but don't worry about
it. They're moving him. Of her talks about approving a shift change.
It will be someone else's problem and you'll be back in cell Block D.
What what do you mean? They heard how much he was messing with you,
Gareth said, and decided it wasn't worth it. They're moving him.
We can't lose you. What why? I gee? I thought this was
good news. No, I don't know Gareth patting me on my shoulder and
sent me on my way. I didn't know what to say. How could
I explain it? Did I even believe it? I got in my car
and took a deep breath, a strange chemical smell. I noticed something on
the passenger's seat, a letter. I took a deep breath and opened it.
Thanks for the help, it said, this one's on me. A
little smiley face had a hundred dollar bill. I just stared at it.
Suddenly there was a loud bang for a heartbeat. All I could see were
blue hands simultaneously smacking my car. I shot out the driver's seat, but
there was no one outside, just an empty parking lot. Still, I
couldn't help but feel watched. My pulse pounded behind my eyes, almost popping
a blood vessel. They were out there. He was out there, watching
me from the dark. He was still getting out. I knew he was
all around me, unbound. He could stab me, push me over whatever.
He'd be there and they're not, and I'd be helpless. I got
this intense sense of paranoia washing over me, and I didn't know how to
deal with it. I just dug my fingers into my hair, trying to
force my mind out of that dark pit. This was my doing. I'd
let him treat me like this, and because of it, they were going
to move him. During that move, he'd get out. He must have
planned it, and I couldn't do anything about it since I was off duty.
I took another look at that hundred dollar bill, and I thought occurred
to me there was something I could do. I went to the gas station.
I came back the next day with a backpack. I showed my credentials
and told the gate keeper that I was there to fetch something from a locker.
It was fine, Danny knows me. I got in on the day
shift and waved at the others. A few of them asked how I was
doing. What I was doing, the regular chitchat all smiles and waves.
Prison transfers take place in the early afternoon. It'll only be a short walk,
but that might be all the time he needed to escape. I used
my keys to get past cell block D. I knew I get stuck on
a camera, but I also knew that prisoners were out in the yard.
No one was watching the tapes, not this close to lunch. I walked
straight into the solitary ward and all the way up to Mary's door. Wait,
he said, yep, you're here. Yeah, No, that doesn't
make any sense. Sent me home, then have someone shoot me. I'm
waiting. No, wait, that doesn't hold on. There was a shuffle
as Mary hurried into the back of his cell. I couldn't feel them here.
We were alone. I unzipped my back back and took out a doorstopper.
I shoved it under the door. That thing wasn't moving anytime soon.
I stepped over to the fire alarm and pulled the handle. The emergency doors
opened with a violent blaring siren. Every door swung open, but Mary's.
I was lucky that time. No one in the solitary ward but Mary and
I. Hold on, what are you doing? I took out one more
thing from my backpack, I can of gasoline. I shoved it through a
slit in the door, tearing down the sheet he'd hung up. Oh you're
killing me, that's what this is it? Yeah, and I see no
little blue hands trying to stop me. So I guess it's working. Maybe
you're missing the point. Maybe you're not doing what you're supposed to. And
how exactly is that a bad thing. It keeps you from getting out.
Half a can was enough. It was leaking under the door. I took
out a gasolene soaked rag, lit it on fire, and tossed it through
the slit. For a split second, the room lit up, the walls,
the bed, even Mary. I got a short view of the room
as it was and what he was doing in there. He had drawn things
on the wall and the floor, white corolla, beverly poppy seeds, black
coffee. The wall was full of things, arrows, lines, and squares,
all related to me. These were all things he was gonna do when
he got out, And he was so convinced that I was the one to
let him out, so convinced that it had all started to happen. And
then there was Mary himself. He was more bone than man, sunken eyes,
like he hadn't slept for weeks. He had torn his hair out and
bit off his finger nails. This was a completely senseless man, and he
stared at me with unblinking eyes. But in that moment, as the flame
started to lick him and the fire spread into the hallway, he looked me
in the eyes and smiled. I just bolted out of there. Hundreds of
inmates were gathering in the yard, and I could already hear sirens. I
could see flames bursting out of the solitary ward before the firefighters could get there,
one of the walls completely collapsed, and I saw him, just for
a brief second, I saw that emaziated man standing in the flames, holding
his hands out like he was receiving a gift. The chemicals in his arms
ignited with a bright green and they burned straight through the wall. And the
thought hit me, Technically, he was out. He might be on fire,
but he was out, and in that split second, in that heartbeat,
like snuffing out a candle. Hours later, the fire was put out.
It didn't spread. Turns out that part of the jail had a peculiar
type of stone. There was weak to high temperatures. The stonework just crumbled
some kind of exposure to a certain chemical, a blue one with a green
flame. The construction crew had jeeped out on materials many years ago. There
were no records, they'd forgotten to change the tapes from last night. There
were no visitors logs, barely anyone remembered me even being there. And lastly,
there was no body recovered in that cell. As I got back in
my car, I just held my breath, waiting for something to happen.
A knife at my throat. Possibilities passed through my mind in another place,
it all really happened, violent images of myself getting stabbed, burned, tortured,
and flayed, a world where everyone turned to wassh And I was placed
in front of a throne of bone as a prize jester. Dark figures rising
from the earth, tearing the world apart, breaking the ground like an eggshell.
I cried. It was seconds away at most, but minutes passed.
I found a letter on the passenger seat. It hadn't been there three seconds
ago. It took me a solid fifteen minutes to work up the courage to
open it. You got me out, it said, with a smiling face.
And there was another hundred dollar bill. Marin had plenty of friends at
school, but he lived out in the suburbs, and the neighborhood he lived
in rarely had kids' age. When Van first moved in across the street,
the two became fast friends. Van was homeschooled by his parents, which Marin
thought was kind of weird and lame. But otherwise it was cool as hell.
They were the same age, but Van always seemed older and smarter In
a weird way. It was like having the older brother he'd always wanted.
They'd spent hours playing games or out exploring, and over time Marin found himself
wanting school to be over just so we could go hang out with his real
best friend. Yet as close as they were, it was nearly a year
before Marin became aware of a strange custom Van's family kept to every single day.
Marin already knew that Van's grandmother also lived with his family, but she
slept most of the time and never left her upstairs bedroom so far as Maren
knew. What he came to learn, however, was that every morning an
evening, Van had to spend an hour with her. At first, he
thought it was just Van's parents wanting him to spend time with his grandmother before
she died, but over time Van said enough that he learned she was always
asleep when he was in there, and it wasn't just about him sitting in
their board with a sleeping old lady for a couple of hours a day.
Van was embarrassed, but eventually snuck Marin in during one of his visits with
his grandmother. Marin didn't know what to expect. Van sat in a chair
next to her and turned on a tape player, then started playing some sad
old song. He then picked up a brown spiral bound notebook and started reading
from it. Hello, Granny, my name is Vanderbilt Ammerson, but you
and everyone else calls me Van. I don't remember when I was born,
but you do. It was a snowy night up in Empire, which is
where we all lived back then. You sat with my father in the hospital
waiting room, keeping him calm until the doctor came out and said I was
born. You were fifty three years old. Then it was January third of
nineteen seventy two. And what are you doing in here? Van broke off
reading as we both turned to stare at his mother. She looked pale and
scared as she looked between us, but color came back as her expression grew
angry. Van, you know no one can be in here during this given
your little friend. You go back to reading now. As I started to
stand, she grabbed my shoulder firmly and propelled me out the door, closing
it behind us. She gave me her forced smile. Sorry, he has
to do that alone. It's a private family thing, so please don't mention
it to anyone, all right, Marin? I nodded with a frown.
Yeah, sure, missus Emerson. But what was all that? Why was
he saying he was born so longer? She gave my shoulder another firm squeeze.
Private, Marin, I know you're his true friend, so I ask
you keep this to yourself and don't pry any further, even with him.
He's very sensitive about it, you understand. I didn't, not really,
but I still nodded, seeming to be satisfied. She let me go and
led me down to watch TV until he was finished. Van didn't mention it
again when he came down, and I left it alone. Me cautiously avoided
mentioning it for the next several years. As odd as that might seem from
the outside, it was weird, sure, and I was still curious,
but I cared about him and his family, and I guess my desire to
understand was outweighed by my love and respect for them. When it came up
next, we were fifteen, and Van was kind of the one that brought
it up. A bunch of guys from school were going to go camping,
and I'd invited Van to go, but he said he couldn't go because he
had to read to his grandmother every morning and night. He was mad about
it, said how he thought it was stupid and nothing was going to happen
if he missed once or twice, but that his parents wouldn't hear of it.
When I told him he wasn't a big deal, that I could hang
back and we could just camp in the backyard or something instead, he seemed
to get angrier, though he was sad now too. No, you can't
do that. You're my best friend, man, but you have to live.
I don't want you trapped just because I am. I wanted to ask
what he meant, but I held back. If he wanted to tell me
in time, he would. Instead, we just played cards for another hour,
and then I went home to pack for the camping trip. The trip
was fun, but it was all tempered by my guilt at leaving Van behind.
It wasn't fair how his family treated him, wanting him to spend so
much time with someone who probably didn't even know he was there, And really,
what was the big deal if he skipped their dumb ritual once in a
while. It was all frustrating, and by the second night I sat up
late poking the camp fire. I decided I was going to talk to him
about it when we got back the next day. Hey man, what's up?
I jumped and gave her a small yell. Looking around, I saw
Van at the edge of the camp fire, grinning at me. What the
hell, man, what are you doing out here? He gave a small
laugh, Just coming to hang out a plan on getting here earlier, But
damn, this place is kinda far out, and I had to walk the
last part. After catching a ride at the gas station. Van glanced around
at the campground with its neatly cord enough tent site and built in campfire.
Still, you guys aren't exactly roughing it in the deep woods, so it
wasn't too hard to find you. When I got to the parking lot,
I was happy to see him, but I still felt a small worm of
worry in my belly. I leaned forward, keeping my voice too low to
be heard by the nearby tents. Van, aren't you going to get in
trouble or something? Did you at least do your evening time with your Granny
Van's expression darkened as he shook his head. No, screw that. I'm
done with it. And if I'm ever going to convince my parents it's bs.
Now is the time I didn't read to her tonight, and I won't
be there to do it in the morning either. I puffed out of breath.
Okay, well, yeah, man, if that's what you want,
but your mom's going to be furious. Friend letter, maybe this will wake
her up. I love him, but damn man, they are way to
up tight about all this swallowing. I decided to get it out before I
lost my nerve. Yeah about that? Why do you do it? Oh?
Why do they want you reading all that stuff? Is there more than
what I saw that one time sitting down on a log across the fire.
He shook his head slowly, and I felt bad because I could see he
was embarrassed. I went to take the questions back, but he raised his
hand to stop me. Nah, I'll tell you. If I'm going to
tell anybody, it might as well be you. It's weird stuff. Though.
Trying to keep my face neutral, I just nodded and kept quiet.
As he went on. He sighed, to answer your question, yeah,
there's tons more to it. Forty five pages now there. It gets longer
as I get older, it he paused, looking across the flames at me.
Sheeez going to think are all freaks? If I tell you, I
shook my head. I won't don't tell me if you don't want to,
but I won't think bad of you or them. You're my best bud.
I know you're cool. He grinned at me and shrugged. Okay, screw
it. So they have me read all this stuff about myself. The first
part is really weird. That's the part you heard that day when we were
younger. It's all this stuff about me being born in nineteen seventy two and
my grandmother being there, and more stuff about me being a baby back then,
which is crazy because I'd be like fifty, Yeah, what are they
talking about? What do they want you to read? Made up crap?
He smiled awkwardly at me. Oh, he gets weirder. Okay, I'll
shut up and listen. Well, they have me read to her about me
being a baby, what I looked like time she spent with me, that
kind of stuff. Then there's like a gap until that time I carried you
up to watch I don't know why the gap was there, but they sat
me down and told me, anyway, I'll get to that. So after
the gap, it jumps to when I'm a toddler, things I say and
do, trips I took with my Grannie. Then I'm older, talking about
me going to school, her pulling my first baby tooth, and this just
goes on until I'm caught up to the age i'm reading it. That's why
it gets longer over time. I said i'd stay quiet, but all this
was so insane. I blurted out of question in spite of myself. Why
Van nodded, That's what I always wondered. I mean, I've done it
since I was old enough to read. When I was really young, Mom
would read it, but she made me follow along. I've most of it
memorized, but they taught me to always read it just to be safe.
Said it needed to be said just right and always the same. But I've
always known it was weird. I'm home schooled, but I don't think the
other kids were reading stuff like that. So they're permanently sleeping. Oh yeah,
that's another thing. She's always asleep like always. I frowned, How
does that work. Is she like in a coma? He shrugged. I
don't know. They don't feed her or give her medicine that I can tell.
They just well they changed the sheets every two weeks and wipe her off.
But I don't know how she's alive like that, But she is alive,
just always asleep, always dreaming, dreaming. I could see her shadow
of fear on his face. Now, yeah, that's what they finally told
me, or at least that's part of it. It's going to sound super
weird, so I apologize ahead of time. I gave him a smile.
I didn't feel no man, go for it, no judgments. Well,
my parents told me that I was born in nineteen seventy two at them and
my grandmother are older than they look. That most people in our family live
really long lives, and that's why what happened to me hit them all so
hard. Okay, what happened to you? I died, They said,
I died suddenly when I was two years old. I think the other kids
and our family have died young like that too since, but I was the
first. And when it happened my parents and grandmother they kind of went crazy.
They have a lot of strange beliefs, and they said they tried different
things to bring me back, but nothing worked at first. Bring you back
from being dead, he sighed, I know, but you have to go
with it for now. So they spent years and years trying and nothing ever
worked. Then finally, after over thirty years, my grandmother found a way.
My parents call it the Grand Sleep. Basically, they claim she entered
this permanent sleep and magic sleep, and while she's sleeping she can dream things
and make them real. Only one thing at a time, though, and
it takes all the focus to keep it going all the time. Okay,
so what did she dream of? He looked pale in the orange firelight.
Me. According to my parents, like eleven years ago, she went into
the Grand Sleep, and after a few months of them looking to her about
me every day, I came back. Oh wow, I wasn't exactly the
two year old dead version of me. I was four now, but as
far as they could tell, I was otherwise the same little boy they'd lost.
I lasted a week before fizzling out, and they freaked out. But
they managed to get me back and keep me by reciting stuff about me to
work twice every day. It wasn't because she didn't want to keep me alive.
They said. She loved me very much too. It was just that,
even within knowledge and talents, when you're in the Grand Sleep, you
were in a dream, and in that dream, it's very easy to forget
what you were doing or even who you were. And if that happened for
too long, the thing you were dreaming into life would disappear. Jesus Ben
gave me a pain smile and shrug. They that's why they have me read
it to her. She said. It works for them, but it's better
if the dream talks directly to the dreamer, makes it easier to remind them
of why they're in the sleep and how important it is to keep the dream
alive. He gave a shaky laugh and wiped out his eyes. Damn,
I told you it's crazy stuff. I found my jaws tinting with anger.
It's messed up, is what it is. It's child abuse. They taught
you. They had to read that crap to her or you die. Stop
existing. Who does that to a kid, Marin. They believe it.
They really do. They're good parents, and they really do love me.
They're terrified that if I don't the sound of him died the same moment that
Van disappeared, as though a shadow had fallen upon him and devoured him whole.
Van, Oh God, Van. I looked for him, but of
course he wasn't there. And once I accepted that, I woke up my
other friends, not to tell them that Van had been raised in front of
me, but lying that I was sick and had to get home right away.
It was three in the morning when I got to the neighborhood. But
when I turned to go to Van's house instead of my own, I saw
his mother waiting at the open door. I started crying. I'm sorry,
I didn't know. She stepped aside to let me in. Looking at her,
I could see she'd been crying too. Of course he didn't. How
could you have? She leaned over and gave me a brief hug before pulling
back to look at me. You were with him when it happened, You
saw it. I nodded, sniffing and hon He told you of his nature
why we hadn't do what he did? Yeah, tonight he did it.
Was still telling me when it happened. How did you know it happened?
Her expression was stricken because my mother died two hours ago after so long of
sustaining him. They were inextricably bound. She couldn't survive without him any more
than he could her. But I thought we I thought maybe she could bring
him back again, Missus Anderson smiled at me, sadly, touching my face
gently. I led her to gasp and felt a sting on the side of
my neck. Behind me, mister Anderson was pulling back a syringe. Not
with her, Marin, But we still have hope. He knew. I
have tried to be a good mother, Marin, I tell myself I have,
but I have no illusions about the fact that all my efforts to protect
my son so limited his life in so many ways. That's why you've been
such a blessing to us all. You gave him a life outside his family.
A true and good friend there, in many ways, knows my son
better than any of us. That's why it has to be you. Before
you were placed into the Grand Sleep, you shared your memories of van and
your innermost thoughts, and most of it was given willingly, for those things
had to pry free. I hope you will forgive me. But writing all
of this down it reassured me that, like us, you truly love Van
and want him back, that perhaps you know him better now than even his
own mother. So I'll read this to you every day for as long as
it takes. The words are correct, and I feel sure that our dedication
and desire to have him back will overcome any deficits as a dreamer you have
compared to my mother. It just requires willpower and patience, time and love.
And we have all these things in spades, don't we. So dream
deep, dreamer, dream well, Dream of your friend, our baby.
Think only of that, and one day it will be him reading you these
words. I haven't always been the best brother, not that I didn't love
Nathan. I did, but we were never close after we got into high
school, and by the time I hit thirty and lived on the other side
of the country, it becomes someone I'd call it Christmas and Birthdays, an
awkwardly chat with for ten minutes before one of us decided to let the other
one off the hook. That changed the couple of years ago. He started
calling me more regularly, and he got less weird. After a few weeks,
he started opening up more, telling me more about his life, his
plans and things that were worrying him. The biggest was his health. He'd
started feeling tired all the time, even though he was eating the same and
made sure to get enough sleep. Once the fatigue started, I choked to
them at first that he was just getting old, and he laughed, but
I could tell he was still worried. He eventually went and got checked out
by a doctor, but they said he was fine other than being a bit
dehydrated. They gave him some low grade sleeping pills to help his sleep being
more RESTful, and suggested he tried yogur Of all things. To his credit,
he tried all that and more, but he just kept getting worse.
By early last year, I could tell he was near the end of his
rope, and I offered to come out to visit him. He was resistant
at first, but eventually he let me fly out for the weekend. When
he picked me up from the airport, I couldn't hide my shock. He
was only thirty five, but he looked like an old man. His hair
was patchy and gray, and his skin was loose and sallow. I'd seen
photos of him from his thirty third birthday, and he looked strong and healthy.
Riding back to his house, I could see the skeletal ridges of his
hands and tiny wrists as he feebly gripped the steering wheel like a life preserver
through every stop, start and turn. When I asked him what was wrong,
what he was hiding from me, he just shrugged and shook his head.
Doctor. Still sound fine, other than being dehydrated and underweighed. They
claim I'm exercising too much, but done, I swear I'm not. I
haven't been to a gym in over a year. He gave me a dry
laugh, too tired. I just stared at him, Nate, this isn't
exercising too much. You need to see a different doctor. Not trying to
be mean, but you look really bad, like you've aged a lot.
When he glanced over at me, there were tears in his eyes. I
know, of course, I know, but I've seen five doctors and they
all say they can't find anything wrong. When I point out how I look,
they just shrug it off. Say I'm probably putting my body onto too
much strain with my exercise regime, he snorted. One of them actually suggested
all I needed was a vacation and some hair dye. I rounded him.
Are you not drinking enough? I mean that can miss you upright, and
they say you're dehydrated. He shrugged as he grabbed a sports bottle from between
the seats and took a huge gulp. A year ago I started drinking,
would answers of water a day, now up to two hundred. Nothing helps.
Can you think of anything else that could be causing it? Nathan hesitated.
Then he seemed about to say something more, but then he thought better
of it and shook his head. No, nothing that makes sense. I
didn't push it then, and when I did push it on the way back
to the airport two days later, Nathan resisted, told me he appreciated my
concern and the visit, but it was just something he was going to have
to power through. When he waved me goodbye, there was a sadness and
fear in his face that almost made me go back and force him to tell
me what he was thinking, what he wasn't telling me. But even then
we weren't close enough that I was comfortable doing that. I told myself that
he had a right to his privacy, and the best thing I could do
was be support if I kept talking to him regularly, up until the time
he was found dead in his yard two months ago. We were told that
the cause of death was cardiac arrest brought on by extreme exhaustion and dehydration.
A few weeks later, when I was helping my parents sort through nate stuff,
I found a letter he'd written to me back weeks before he died but
never sent. I considered showing it to my mom, but decided it would
just upset her worse if she knew his mind was going well before he died.
When I got home, I read it again, hoping it would make
more sense than it had the first couple of times I read it. It
said, two years ago, I was lost driving back from visiting the parents
of the girl I was dating at the time. I saw a woman walking
on the side of the road and pulled up to her, rode down the
window and asked which way it was to the highway. She was a beautiful
woman. She smiled at me and asked if she could have a ride.
I almost said yes, just because of how she looked, but then I
hesitated. How did I know she wasn't dangerous? Being a hot woman didn't
mean she couldn't hurt or kill me? I tried to ignore a question and
asked again if she knew which way it was to the highway. Smiling wider,
she asked again if I would give her a ride. Part of it
was bigcause I figured she was saying she'd tell me where to go if I
gave her a ride. Part of it was because I thought she was flirting
with me, and despite my fears and dating Patricia, I was powerfully attracted
to her. I didn't want to be that guy, but that didn't stop
me from wondering what might happen if I let her into my car. So
I told her yes. I told her yes and turned to unlock the doors,
and when I turned back, she was gone. It kind of freaked
me out at the time. I even got out and looked around for her.
We're just stupid, but it didn't matter. I didn't find her or
anyone else. After a circle of the car, I got back in and
drove on, eventually finding a sign that led me to the highway and on
home. The nightmares started that night, dreams of running down lonely midnight roads
and misty swamps, a weight across my back, something cold and hard lay
across my tongue tugging me this way and that as we wove between black cypers
trees, wet mud splashing against my legs. When I would start to slow
or tire, a sharp heel would jab me in the ribs, spurring me
forward as a warm breath leaned forward and whispered curses into my ear. The
voice tells me that I'm cursed and I must keep running, that if I
stop, the curse will catch me and swallow me whole. I know how
that all works, but I've had variations of the dream for nearly two years
now. I don't tell the doctors because what good would it do. I
could bring them pictures of the times I wake up with dirt or grass covering
my legs and feet, but they would only say I'm sleepwalking, or worse
that I'm lying for attention or have a mental problem. I've wanted to tell
you, brother, but I've been afraid it'd drive you away. When we're
finally getting close again, none of that matters anymore. I can feel time
tightening around me like a noose. It'll be over soon, and I don't
want any of you around. When the lady starts looking for a neon nightmare
to ride than what I think about it. I'm better raf to not end
this at all. I can mean it as a warning, but if it
just brings you back to help your poor crazy brother, how am I protecting
you at all? No, I'll just keep acting as normal as I can.
And when it's done, when I'm gone, Oh no, she'll be
gone too. If you find this letter later, just no, then I'm
sorry for not being more honest. And maybe I am crazy after all.
That would make more sense, wouldn't it. But I somehow don't think I
am. I think she's real. The riding is real, and if I'm
right, you just need to stay away, stay away and be careful.
Love you, little brother. The nightmares started for me that same night.
At first, I assumed it was just the power suggestion, my mind trying
to make sense of my grief and the strange story i'd found in the letter
by blending it all together and forcing me to drink it night after night.
Except it was night after night For seven weeks. I've had similar bad dreams
of being ridden almost every night, and each day I wake up sweating and
afraid and exhausted. But fatigue has been growing worse. At first, I
could beat it back with coffee and a nap at my lunch break. But
for the last couple of weeks I've been like a zombie. My joints ache,
my muscles are sore, and I have trouble focusing on anything for more
than a few minutes. I've been seriously considering going to a doctor and trying
to decide how much to tell them when I go. I didn't think I
was sick, and I didn't believe some witch was riding me around at night,
of course, but something was going on and I needed answers. As
it turned out, the doctor I went to first it was my dentist.
My jaw had been hurting more in the last week, but when I woke
up yesterday my teeth were painful on both sides. I had to pay extra
to get in quick, but I didn't mind. I wanted to fix something,
even if it was just stopping my mouth from hurting. The dentist was
an older man with a fringe of white hair and tight, little silver spectacles
that bound on his nose. As he looked at my teeth and gums with
a pick and mirror, frowning slightly, He finally leaned back and hit the
button to bring my chair back Upright, Have you noticed you grinding your teeth
a lot in your sleep? I shrugged. I mean maybe I've been having
a lot of bad dreams lately, so maybe I do it without knowing.
I see. Do you wear a mouth guard or anything else in your mouth
when you sleep? I raised an eyebrow. No, do you think I
should? He studied me for a moment. M maybe, but you're not
sure. You don't sleep with something in your mouth or have something you repetitively
chew on during the day. Maybe don't be embarrassed if you do. People
chew in all kinds of stuff. I shook my head slowly. No,
I really don't. Why what are you getting at? The dentist puffed out
of breath and folded his arms. Normally, when someone is grinding their teeth
at night, the wear and tear is going to look one of several ways,
depending on the shape of their teeth, the shape of their mouth and
jaw, and how they're grinding it altogether. But yours you do have spots
where I see abnormal wear, but not like i'd expect from you grinding your
teeth. He reminds me of. He gave a laugh and stopped himself,
shaking his head. What I could feel myself growing irritated and nervous. It
reminds you of what? Looking more serious, he gave a slight nod.
It's silly, but okay. My father was a vet and a horse breeder.
For a long time I thought I was going to be a vet too,
And growing up I helped my dad a lot with our animals and those
that came to him for treatment. One of the things that we saw a
lot was called bit. Where my heart was pounding. Now, what's that?
Well, you know when you ride a horse a lot of times they
have a mental bit in their mouth to help control them. It sounds bad,
maybe, but it's not a cruel thing. If the bit is worn
and used properly. Still, over time, the middle of the bit will
wear away at the teeth where it sits and rubs grates a little bevil on
both sides where it hits the teeth of most He smiled. Now, our
mouths are different than a horse's mouth. But if I didn't know better,
I'd say what else seeing in your mouth? Was a bit where it's the
same area on both sides of your mouth, both top and bottom, like
you've been biting down on a bit. I tried to swallow. That's so
weird, He started jotting a note down. Well, i'll get you fitted
with a night mouth guard. That'll probably fix it up. Glancing back up
at me, he chuckled. And if someone is riding you, tell them
you need a break from time to time. I found my skin grow cold
as I offered him a weak smile. I'll try, but I don't think
she'll listen. As a hotel clerk, I've seen my fair share of strange
guests come and go, but the residents of this hotel in particular, are
on a whole different level. The eerie whispers and footsteps that I would hear
in the empty corridors at night, The way customers would disappear for days on
end, only to reappear as if nothing had happened. The way the air
seemed to chill whenever I went into certain rooms. But then I started to
notice the little details, The way guests would avoid making eye contact with me,
as if they were hiding something, The strange symbols and markings edged into
the walls, and furniture, the way the hotel seemed to shift and change
when I wasn't looking. I knew I had to get out of there,
but I couldn't bring myself to leave. I was draw on to the hotel,
to its secrets and its mysteries. I had to know what was really
going on, even if it meant risking my own sanity. I could have
left, but I didn't. A strong curiosity kept me here, and I've
worked long enough to have some pretty wild stories. Now I'm ready to share
some of my story, But be warned, once you start listening, there's
no turning back. You'll be drawn into the darkness, just like I was,
and you'll never be able to forget what you find within these walls.
I'm kidding, enjoy. When I started working here, I didn't know what
to expect. It was never briefed above service level instructions. Dealing with guests
was my number one priority, so I sat front and center to anyone who
walked in. One time, when I was still relatively new, as I
stood behind the reception desk, I heard a soft knock on the door.
I looked up and saw a tall, thin man standing in the hallway.
He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes and a faint sheen of
sweat on his forehead. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Can
I help you, I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. The
man's lips curved into a faint smile. I'm looking for a room, he
said. His voice was low and raspy, like he hadn't used it in
a long time. I hesitated for a moment. There was something about this
man that made me uneasy. But I couldn't just turn him away. After
all, that's what I was here for, of course, I said,
forcing a smile. We have a few rooms available. Do you have a
reservation? The man shook his head. No. I just need a place
to rest for a few days. I've been traveling for a long time.
I raised an eyebrow. It was unusual for someone to just show up without
a reservation, especially at this time of night, but I didn't want to
pry. I didn't want to know any more about this man that I had
to. That's no problem, I said, grabbing a key from the drawer.
We have a nice room on the third floor. It's quiet and private.
The man nodded, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. That will
do just fine, he said. I handed him the key and watched as
he turned to leave. Enjoy your stay, I called out, but he
didn't respond. He just disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone with my
thoughts. For the rest of the night, I could shake the feeling that
I was being watched. Every time I looked up, I expected to see
the pale man standing in the doorway, staring at me with those dark,
empty eyes. But he never came back. The next morning, I heard
a commotion coming from the third floor. I rushed upstairs to find the room
the man had rented the night before, but it was empty. The bed
was made, the curtains were drawn, and there was no sign that anyone
had ever been there. I searched the rest of the hotel, but the
man was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had vanished into
thin air. I knew then I wasn't dealing with a normal guest. I
was dealing with something much more sinister. Another time, as I was making
my rounds, I heard a strange scratching noise coming from one of the rooms.
I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I tried
the handle, but it was locked. I hesitated for a moment, unsure
of what to do. The scratching noise was getting louder, and I could
hear a faint, hissing sound coming from inside the room. It sounded like
something was trying to escape. I took a deep breath and pushed the door
open, bracing myself or whatever was on the other side. But what I
saw was beyond anything I could have imagined. There on the ceiling was a
creature that looked like a cross between a spider and a human. It had
long, spindly legs and a pair of glowing eyes that stared down at me.
I stood frozen in shock, unable to move or speak. The creature
hissed and lunged at me, a sharp claws scraping against the ceiling as it
moved. I managed the snap out of my trans and ran out of the
room, slamming the door shut behind me. I could hear the creature pounding
on the other side, but I didn't look back. I just kept running
until I reached the safety of the reception desk. From that day on,
I avoided that room at all costs. I didn't want to know what other
horrors were lurking within its walls. I just focused on my job and tried
to forget about the strange guest that called that room home. There was one
particular guest who always made me uncomfortable. Every time he checked in, he
would try to lull me into his room with promises of untold riches or secrets
of the universe. But I always declined, knowing that there was something sinister
lurking behind his charming facade. He was a tall, handsome man with a
smooth voice and a magnetic presence, but there was something off about him.
His eyes were cold and empty, and there was a dark that seemed to
radiate from his very being. Despite my reservations, I couldn't help but to
be drawn to him. There was something intoxicating about his presence, and I
found myself drawn to his room time and time again. But each time I
approached his door, I would hear a voice in my head warning me to
turn back, And each time I would listen to that voice and retreat,
leaving the man alone in his room. I knew that I had to stay
away from him, no matter how tempting his offers may have been, I
couldn't allow myself to be drawn to his dark world. I had to stay
strong and resist this charms, no matter the cost. After a while of
working here, though, I started getting used to my strange customers. I
learned to keep to myself for the most part, and that no one could
help me if I was ever caught out. I wasn't alone, though.
Besides the other staff, there was once a second hire to help out at
the front desk. He was a young man named Daniel. He was bright
and ambitious, and I could tell that it was destined for great things.
But unfortunately he wasn't as careful as I was. One night, Daniel was
making his rounds when he was caught by one of the guests. It was
a succubus, a creature that feeds and a life force of humans. It
had been disguised as a beautiful woman, and it used this charms the Lord
Daniel into its room. The succubus played mind games with Daniel, making him
believe that he was in control of the situation. It told him that he
was special, that he was the only one who could understand its true nature,
and Daniel flattered and entranced, was unable to resist this charms. I
can imagine that if I dealt with it first, I would have most likely
all over the same thing. Let's just say it was very persuasive. As
soon as Daniel entered the room, the succy Bus revealed his true form.
The creature was a terrifying sight to behold. It was slender, with long
claws and dark red eyes. Its skin was pale and clammy, and its
mouth was filled with horrific teeth. I don't know exactly what happened, but
I heard Daniel screaming for help from one of the rooms, so I ran
to see what was going on. But by the time I got there,
it was too late. Daniel was lying on the floor, his body twisted
and broken. The place was in shambles, as if a natural disaster had
been entirely located in that room, and the succy Bus was nowhere to be
found. When I asked management about what had happened, they told me that
Daniel didn't exist. They said that I must have been imagining things, but
this scream I heard was just in my head. But I knew the truth.
I knew that Daniel had been real and that he had suffered a terrible
fate at the hands of one of the strange guests. I couldn't help but
feel guilty about what happened to him. If only I'd been there to help
him, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe not, but it
was too late. Now. All I could do was learned from his mistake
and be more careful in the future. One of the regular guests at our
hotel is a strange and unsettling creature that reminds me of something out of a
Lovecraft story. It has an elongated and exaggerated body and many writhing tentacles that
seemed to blur informless ways, like an aura, and it moves in a
way that it's both graceful and terrifying. Despite its fear some appearance, the
creature is actually quite harmless. It is a bit of a prankster, and
it loves the mess with people's senses. It can change its shape and size
at will, and it can make itself invisible or even appear as something else
entirely. I have had several encounters with the creature, and each time it
has left me feeling disoriented and confused. It has the ability to manipulate my
perception of reality and time, and it can make me see and hear things
that aren't really there. It is like a living hallucination, and it is
both fascinating and unsettling. Despite its strange and terrifying powers, the creature is
actually quite timid and shy. It is rarely seen by anyone other than the
staff, and it is usually content to stay in its own room. It
only comes out to play when it is feeling particularly misureous, and it usually
disappears as quickly as it appears. Despite its unusual and unsettling nature, I
have come to see the creature as more of an annoyance than a threat.
It's not aggressive or dangerous, and it rarely causes any real harm. It
is more of a nuisance than anything else, and I've learned to ignore it
and go about my business. But even though the creature is not a threat,
I can't help but feel a sense of a knees whenever it is near.
Its presence is unsettling and disorienting, and it reminds me of the vast
and unknowable horrors that lurk beyond our understanding. It may be harmless, but
it is also a reminder of the darkness that lies at the heart of the
strange hotel, and I sometimes question its motivations when it's pulling one of its
pranks, and wonder what it's doing while the staff are disoriented. Something I
learned was that I had to deal with a strange and often inexplicable rules put
in place by management. They were a mysterious group, always shrouded in secrecy
and never seen in person. The memos were faxed by an ancient looking machine
that never seemed to need filling and always worked perfectly, an anomaly in and
of itself, if you know what dealing with printers and such are like.
One of the most puzzling rules was that we were not allowed to ask any
questions about the guests. If a guest requested something strange or unusual, we
would have fulfilled our request without hesitation or curiosity. It was as if management
didn't want us to know anything about the guests or their true nature. Another
rule was that we were not allowed to enter certain rooms, even if they
were unoccupied. These rooms were always marked with a red sticker on the door,
and we were warned that severe consequence would befall anyone who dared to enter
them. But despite these strange rules, I continued to work at the hotel.
Drawn by the strange and supernatural occurrences that happened there. I couldn't help
but feel a sense of excitement and wonder at the thought of encountering one of
the guests and experiencing their other worldly powers firsthand. And yet I knew I
had to be careful. I had seen what happened to Daniel, and I
didn't want to suffer the same fate. I had to be vigilant and always
on my guard lest I become the next victim of the guests that temporarily called
this hotel home. Despite the challenges and dangers of working at the Strange Hotel,
I have had many pleasant experiences with the guests that frequent this place.
Some of them are fun and friendly, and they make my job enjoyable and
rewarding. One of my favorite guests is a mischievous fairy who loves to play
pranks on other guests and the staff. She's always getting into trouble, but
she's so charming and cute that it's impossible to stay mad at her. She
has a knack for making people smile, and she always brightens my day when
she comes to the front desk. I remember one time when she snuck into
the kitchen and spiked the chef's coffee with a potion that made him dance uncontrollably.
It was hilarious to watch, and even the chef couldn't help but laugh.
But then she got into trouble with my manager and I had to help
her apologize and make amends. Another guest that I enjoy interacting with is a
ghost who haunts one of the rooms. He's friendly and gentle, and he
loves to tells stories about his life and his time in the hotel. He's
a great listener and he always has a kind word to say to me when
I'm feeling down. I remember one time I was feeling particularly stressed and overwhelmed,
and he came to me and offered to help. He suggested there we
go for a walk in the hotel's gardens, and he told me stories about
the history of the hotel and the people who had lived there. It was
a great distraction and it helped me to clear my head and relax. But
my favorite guest of all is a shape shifter who can take on any form
that she desires. She loves to play dress up, and she often comes
to the front desk in the guise of famous celebrities or historical figures. She's
always full of surprises, and I never know who or what I'll be talking
to when she arrives. I remember one time when she came to the front
desk in the form of a beautiful princess and she asked me to help or
find a lost tiara. I was skeptical at first, but she was so
convincing that I couldn't help but believe her. We searched all over the hotel
and we eventually found the tiara hidden in one of the guest rooms. It
was a fun and exciting adventure, and I was glad that I could help
her. I am grateful for the opportunity to interact with such fascinating and unique
guests. They made my job exciting and rewarding, and I wouldn't trade it
for anything. I talked confidently now, and that's because of experience. Once
you really get the hang of this place, it starts becoming easy to not
get caught out. But there have been a number of close encounters. One
particular night, as I was making my rounds, I heard a faint whimpering
sound coming from one of the rooms. I followed the sound, and soon
I came across a small child sitting on the floor. She looked up at
me with big, innocent looking eyes and asked me for help. I was
immediately drawn to the child, feeling a surge of compassion and protectiveness. I
asked her what was wrong, and she told me that she was lost.
She said that she had wandered away from her parents and that she didn't know
how to find them. I felt pity for the child, and I decided
to help her. I asked her if she knew what room she was staying
in, but she shook her head. She said that she didn't remember,
and that she was scared. A wave of her knees washed over me.
Something about the child didn't seem right. She was too calm and collected for
a lost child. Her eyes seemed to be glowing faintly, and she moved
in a strange way, almost drifting rather than walking. But despite my misgivings,
I couldn't bring myself to abandon her. After all, you couldn't judge
people here on their appearance. I decided to take the child to reception,
where we could look up a parents' information and help or find a way back
to them. But as soon as we reached the hallway, I realized that
something was very wrong. The child was attached to a long, slender tail
of the kind used by anglerfish. It was clear that the child was just
a bait to law unsuspecting victims. I can never explain how, but this
was all hidden from me until the last moment. I was frozen in shock,
unable to move or speak. The creature lunged at me its sharp teeth
beard, but at the last second I managed to snap out of my trents
and dodges the attack. I ran out of the hallway and slammed the door
shut behind me, locking it from the outside. I knew that I had
to get away from it, but the creature was blocking the only exit back
to the stairs. As I looked around frantically trying to find a way out,
but the corridor I was in was small and cramped, and there were
no windows or other doors. I was trapped in a dead end, and
the creature was getting closer and closer. Its claws were scratching at the door,
trying to break through. It seemed it couldn't open doors, and the
child law figure might not have the motor function for something so nuanced. A
small break for me, though, the splintering wood told me that my lucky
break wouldn't last long. I could hear its sharp teeth gnashing and its breath
rasping in the air. Filled with terror, I didn't know what to do.
I was about to give up and face my fate when I spotted a
small vent in the ceiling. It was too small for the creature to fit
through, but I was slim enough to squeeze in. I grabbed a nearby
table that held a few small decorations and stood on it, trying to reach
the vent. The creature was almost through the door, and I could hear
its claws tearing at the wood. I had to act fast. I managed
to unlatch the vent and push it open, and I scrambled up into the
air duct I could hear the creature bashing at the door, and its shrieks
were louder and more friendzy than ever. I knew that he was angry and
frustrated that it couldn't get to me. I crawled through the air ductor as
fast as I could, trying to put as much distance between me and the
creature as possible. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't
care. I just wanted to get away from that terrifying monster. After what
felt like forever, I finally emerged from the air duct and collapsed under the
floor of the reception I was exhausted and terrified, but I was also relieved
that I had survived. I knew that I had to be more careful in
the future, and to always be in my guard regardless of appearances. But
despite the danger, I couldn't help but feel a small thrill of excitement at
the thought of encountering more of these other worldly creatures, though I hoped it'll
be less close for comfort speaking of The reception area of the hotel is a
strange and fascinating place. It is the first thing that guests see when they
arrive, and it is the hub of activity in the hotel. But despite
its busy and bustling atmosphere, the reception area is also a surprisingly safe and
peaceful place. I have noticed that the more aggressive and dangerous guests tend to
avoid the reception area. They seem to sense that it is a place of
calm and tranquility, and they prefer to stay in their own rooms or roam
the halls. This means that the reception area is a relatively safe space for
the staff and we can relax and unwind there without fear of being attacked.
But despite the relative safety of the reception area, we can't stay there all
night. There are many mandatory tasks and duties that we have to perform,
and these take us out of the safety of the reception area and into the
more dangerous parts of the hotel. For example, we have to inspect the
rooms and make sure that they are ready for the next guests. This means
that we have to go into the rooms and look for adities, and this
can be risky business. Some of the rooms are inhabited by aggressive or dangerous
guests, and we have to be careful not to disturb them or provoke them
in any way. We also have to deal with the guests possessions. Many
of the supernatural guests have items that are too powerful or dangerous to be left
unguarded, desired items that other guests might want a pinch for mischief or worse.
It is our job to make sure that these items are thought safely and
that they are not misused or stolen. This can be a challenging and dangerous
task, especially when the guests are unpredictable or volatile. As the main hotel
clerk, I have a variety of tasks and responsibilities that I must perform on
a day to day basis. Some of these tasks are routine and mundane,
while others are more challenging and exciting. Here are some of the examples of
the tasks that I have to perform. Check guests in and out. This
is perhaps the most important and essential task that I have to perform. I
have to Greek guests when they arrived and I have to make sure that they
have everything they need. I also have to collect payment and make sure that
the guests are satisfied with their rooms. Do laps around the hotel. Another
important task that I have to perform is to do regular laps around the hotel.
This involves walking around the hotel and looking for any oddities or anomalies that
might need to be dealt with. I have to be alert and vigilant,
and I have to report any issues or problems to my manager. Deal with
the guests requests, and complaints. As a hotel clerk, I am the
first point of contact for guests who have requests or complaints. I have to
listen to their concerns and try to resolve any issues that they might have.
This can be challenging, as some guests can be demanding what difficult to deal
with hand or requests for food and drink. One of the more challenging asks
that I have to perform is dealing with these requests. Some of the guests
are very strange and unusual taste, and they often request food and drink that
is difficult to find or prepare. Fortunately, our chefs are incredibly skilled and
they seem to be able to make any order, no matter how insane.
Handle emergencies and security issues. In addition to dealing with routine tasks, I
also have to be prepared to handle emergencies and security issues. In a normal
setting, this would be dealing with medical emergencies, fires, or other disasters,
but for me, I mainly have to make sure that the hotel is
secure and that the guests are safe. Work with other staff members. As
a hotel clerk, I am part of a team and I have to work
closely with the other staff members. This includes working with the cleaners, the
maintenance and other clerks. We have to coordinate our efforts and make sure that
the hotel is running smoothly and efficiency while minimizing loss. A challenging aspect of
my job is dealing with the most difficult guests. These can be guests who
are demanding, rude, who uncooperative, and they can be a real handful.
But with this job, it could really be the widest variety of dangers,
examples of which I've already mentioned. Report everything to management. As part
of my job, I have to report everything that happens on shift to the
management group. They have provided us with an archaic system for doing this,
and I have to make sure that I use it correctly and accurately. This
can be a time consuming and tedious task, but it is an important part
to my job keep the hotel running smoothly. Ultimately, my goal as a
hotel clerk is to keep the hotel running smoothly and efficiently. This means then
I have to make sure that everything is in order and that all the guests
are happy and satisfied. I have very little interaction with a mysterious group we
staff know ahs management. This group seems to be in charge of the hotel,
but they have never actually seen any of its members in person. Instead,
they communicate with us through messages that are sent through the archaic systems they've
provided. These messages are often vague and cryptic, and they can be difficult
to decipher. They usually tell us what we need to do for the day
or week, but they never provide much in the way of explanations or details.
This can be frustrating, as it makes it difficult for us to understand
what is truly expected of us or the dangers will face during that shift.
Despite this, we have to follow the instructions to the letter. We have
no choice but to do as we are told and to trust that they know
what they are doing. It's an unsettling feeling to be working for a group
that we know so little about. Sometimes this makes me wonder what the real
purpose of the hotel is and what role we really play in it. I
wonder if management has some ulterior motive or if they are a group of eccentric
and supernatural individuals. I don't know the answer to these questions, but I
do know, and I'm grateful for the job that they have given me,
though I really shouldn't be sharing anything at all about this place. The information
I've provided thus far put's known at risk, so it's kind of a gray
area. But there are some things I can't talk about. I have access
to many secrets and hidden knowledge unknown to the modern world. One of the
most intriguing things I will share, though, is that I have come across
a veilsafe that is hidden away in the depths of the hotel. I have
never seen it used, and I don't even know what it does, but
I have read that it is only to be used in the most dire of
circumstances. The veilsafe is a small, unremarkable looking device that is hidden in
a secret compartment in the hotel's basement. I have been instructed and never touch
it and to never tell anyone about it. But despite the warnings, I
can't help but be curious about it. I have no idea what the veilsafe
is or what it does. I've heard rumors that it can activate some kind
of security system, or that it can seal off the hotel from the outside
world, or that it takes the hotel away someplace far or off, maybe
even off world, But I have no way of knowing for sure, and
the management is tight lipped about it. Despite my curiosity, I have never
been tempted to use the failsafe. I know that it is only to be
used in the most dire of situations, and I have never faced the situation
that warrants its use. But I can't help but wonder what would happen if
I ever did have to use it. I may never know what the consequences
of using the failsafe would be, nor do I know if I'll ever be
able to share it. If I do, it could be the key to
saving the hotel and its guests, or even the world if something so catastrophic
were to emerge from this place, or it could unleash something terrible and unimaginable.
I can only hope that I never have to find out. Every month,
our hotel undergoes a strange, an unusual inspection. The inspector rives without
warning, and he spends hours scrutinizing every inch of the hotel. He checks
the most mundane and seemingly insignificant things, and he takes copious notes on everything
that he sees. At first, I thought that the inspector was just a
normal, if not eccentric, secret government official. But as I got to
know him better, I realized that there was something very strange and other worldly
about him. He seemed to have an almost supernatural awareness of the hotel,
and he was able to detect things that no one else could. One of
the things the inspector checks is the quality of the air in the hotel.
He takes samples of the air in each room and he analyzes them. He
says that the air quality is critical for the health and well being of the
guests. But I have no dear why forget this? He doesn't use a
single device for this, He simply raises his finger, waits, and notes
down the results. The inspector also checks the water quality in the hotel.
He takes samples from the taps and the pools, and he tests them for
impurities and contaminants. He says that the water must be pure and clean,
But again I have no idea why. And again, the measuring device for
all these samples are entirely done with a tip of his index. But the
strangest thing that the inspector checks is the hotel's electrical system. He spends hours
examining every wire and circuit, and he tests the flow of electricity through the
hotel. He says that the electrical system is crucial for the operation of the
hotel, but I have no idea what he means by that. This test
is done by him biting down and certain wires plumbed outside the walls connected to
certain loops. All of the resorts are given to me to note down on
the system, their numbers specific to such a detailed degree that I wonder how
he gets all that from just his fingers and teeth. Despite being given the
information and seeing the variances in the results from month to month, I have
never been told or seeing anything that correlates to them. All I know is
that they're important. Despite my confusion and curiosity, I've learned not to question
the inspector's methods. He is a strange and enigmatic figure, and he seems
to have a deep understanding of the hotel and its workings, which I blindly
trust is in everyone's best interest. I can only hope that his inspections help
to keep the hotel running smoothly and safely. Overall, I have decided to
keep working here the pay is good, and enjoy interacting with the guests for
the most part. Plus, I've learned a lot about the hidden workings of
the hotel, and I've access to many secrets and knowledge that most people don't
have. I know that i will face many more dangers in the future,
but I'm ready for them. I face the worst that the hotel has had
to offer so far, and I've survived. I'm stronger and wiser than I
was before, and I'm ready for whatever comes my way. I'll stay here
and I'll do my best to protect the guests and the staff. I will
continue to learn and grow, and I'll use my knowledge and skills to keep
the hotel running as smoothly and safely as possible. I know that it won't
be easy, but I'm determined to do my part to make sure the hotel
is a success. I am proud to be a hotel clerk at the hotel
with strange guests, and I'm grateful for the opportunity who may be perilous,
but it's also fascinating and exciting. I will do my best to make the
hotel as safe and happy place for all of its guests. My flock of
thirty two Lambs in my newest and southernmost paddock were a mix of newly bought
and some from my own lot with only two rams. Last November due to
unfortunate cases of fly strike, I had lost a few rams and my new
us had not birth many lambs during spring. I was fortunate they want had
birth quads, each with a white dot and their forehead. Four healthy lambs
from one mother U is a rare sight. A local farmer, Nathan,
had suggested a farm vet who had arrived in all black and supplied supplementary milk.
I had to bottle feed them four times a day as the poor mother
couldn't keep up with milk production. Sadly, one of the lambs passed away
between morning feeds. An unknown cause had taken it. The land taketh what
you oweth, Jonathan whispered. At first, I thought it was just old
farmer talk for I'm sorry for your loss. Incineration, though a standard process
for dead livestock, felt far too cruel for a baby, so I buried
the body deep in my fields with the rest of them. I hoped that
my good treatment of the creatures would visit me back in good karma and nutritious
grass for my livestock. The triplets, now six months of age, reside
in the paddock I mentioned earlier. With their late birth, they are too
young to breed and are separated from the us for the new season. They
sit larger than the rest. It was a sign that the supplementary milk had
done them well and I'd fed them correctly, a proud achievement of mine.
I'm relatively new at farming. The land I now own belonged to a relative
on my dad's side and was eventually passed unto him. The land he had
owned yet not wanted was given to me after his death. It took a
lot of work and money to renovate it, and I've received a lot of
support from the nearby farmers since then, even if they did find is strange
that I suddenly wanted to become one of them. After months of intense studying
to ensure the animals I raised would be treated well, I ultimately decided to
start it easy with sheep. Unfortunately, I underestimated just how difficult they can
be. Two weeks ago, I visited the lambs in the morning to find
them walking non stop in an almost perfect circle. They had been doing it
throughout the night, as the autumn grass had been worn down from their trotters.
I even entered their flight zone, which usually would have sent them fleeing
from me. However, the lambs continued their march with their lower halves coated
and mud and their eyes hazed. Not even my farm dog Hollies barking and
nipping could snap them out of it. In fact, they almost crushed her.
The other farmers and I had suspected listeriosis AKAA circling disease, but it
became a mystery when the other padducts were not effected despite feeding on the same
supplementary hay. It was as if their flock mentality had activated and they were
trying to flee from something. With people I didn't know arriving to see the
lambs, it became an area mystery. Even local news took an interest in
the matter. However, nobody yielded a solution. In the early days,
I released one of my mentally stronger all the ewes, into the paddock,
hoping the lambs would sense her seniority and break away from their trance. At
first, she staid clear of the group and grazed through the grass, but
eventually she too, was drawn to the circle as if magnetized. The other
farmers were unsure of what to do. This behavior had been reported as common
with sheep left and pens for too long, but with the vast paddock to
themselves, it just didn't make sense. Jonathan had lent me a few of
his farm dogs to try and break the circle up, but they remained tightly
packed and unresponsive. I reached out to multiple vets, unable to track down
the one that had helped me with the quads. In fact, Jonathan helped
me with a lot of things, even going so far as to give me
a ewe to ate with my lambing. Each vet that visited suggested listeriosis.
Some of the vets had theorized that the soil in the paddock had become contaminated.
Nonsense. I told them that the lambs had access to my supplementary hay.
As frost began to claim the fields during the night and dawn, November's
cold rain flooded the fields and created thick mud. Day by day, the
lambs pathing formed a moat around the central path of grass. Despite everything,
the patch of land in the middle remained dry. Some of the lambs began
to pass away. By day ten, their starved and tiny bodies were stampeded
and crushed to a pulp by the remaining yet dwindling numbers. Soon enough,
the moat had become so deep that I could only see the top of their
heads. The farmers came by every other day, equally intrigued. They'd watch
on with focused eyes and raised brows, as if the sight triggered deep thought.
Each day they witness a drop in the numbers of lambs, but none
of them would offer their condolences. With fewer live lambs, I used the
Polley system to lift the corpses out of the ground. Most of them were
floppy, their bodies the consistency of bean bags with their broken and crushed bodies,
some ripped apart from days of lying at the bottom. Once cleared,
we used the system to trap a live lamb and lift them out. When
we had gotten it to the surface, the lamb flipped out, Its body
swung around violently as if it tried to get back into the pathing, and
when restrained, it whipped his head around so wildly that it intentionally broke its
own neck. Things like this happened the land taketh what you oweth, Jonathan
assured me. His voice was calm and soothing. Did you speak to my
I, he asked. I never got his number after his visit. Do
you think you can call him? I'll give it a try. He's hard
to reach. When I visited the paddock this morning, their air was thick
with moisture. The fog was suffocating and foreboding. It almost felt as if
I was drowning. The grass under my feet felt soft, as if the
damp air had mixed with the mud and softened it. Between flemy coughs,
I peered into the moat. At first I heard nothing. With just four
lambs, including the triplets, alive just the night before, I was doubtful
they would make it through the night. And then I heard it. A
wet, slippery noise filled the air. It sounded like somebody squishing a saturated
sponge repeatedly. As I crouched down to the moat, it grew louder,
and despite my effects to focus my eyes through the fog, I could only
see dark blobs moving below My feet. Shuffled away from the edge, fearing
a mysterious figure would come from the fog and push me in. If I
leaned closer, an intense bleed sounded. It was harsh and loud, yet
muffled, like it came from under the surface, and suddenly a rhythmic thudding
echoed from below. My flashlight illuminated the water droplets in the air and revealed
the faint shadow of one of the lambs. I watched as it repeatedly slammed
its head into the dirt. Two other thumps in the distance, following after
each other. Instinctively, I shrieked and tried to reach the depths below to
stop the lamb, only for my finger tips that brush up against the now
soil coat of the creature below. I recognized the material as one of the
bigger dog coats I had to give the triplets due to their size. Crackling
trickled into my ears, almost like a faulty electrical wire, with a sound
of water and hot oil. At first, it was practically impossible to hear
it over the thudding, but it soon grew louder and louder, and was
quickly accompanied by strange vibrations in the ground, and I noticed the central island
began to crack and break. I pushed myself back onto my feet and took
a few steps back. Afraid that the cracks would infect the ground, I
stood on and swallow me up. I watched as the center caved in like
a sinkhole. The hole grew bigger, swallowing up the remaining dirt until there
was just one giant hole inside of the moat. Suddenly the air became light.
No more cracks, no more thudding, nothing, Time itself stood still,
while my rapidly beating heart created the soundtrack of my panic. And so
with unsteady feet, I approached the hole yet again. I feared that the
remaining lambs had gotten stuck in with a mock, and my worry for them
triumphed against my frightened nature. To my surprise, the three lambs remained stood
in place. A small mud mound remained. The lump wriggled and squirmed as
if something was trapped underneath. Fearing that it was one of my lambs and
that I would soon suffocate, I jumped in. I clawed at the damped
dirt, the mud coat in my hands, and crawled under my nails until
I finally hid something ice cold. It was a small lamb, less than
a month old, not one of mine, after all, lambs are only
berthed in the spring. Initially, it appeared to be dead, with the
same dot as the triplets. I was almost sure it was a lamb I
buried just months ago. But when it stood up on all fours firmly,
I was almost sent into shock. I felt the need to cover it with
a blanket and warm it up. However, something about the lamb seemed strange,
as if it was controlling the air around me, as if we were
both the same end of a magnet. I stumbled back from the force,
almost tripping over one of the hoof crevices on the pathing. The remaining three
lambs stepped forward and lay before the middle one. The act was practically cultish,
more sacrificial. There was a sense of purpose in their movement, as
if they'd been working up to this moment. Hey, I called out,
followed by a whistle. They didn't spare me a glance. I knew that
they had heard me. There was something different in their behavior now than earlier.
They seemed to have woken up from the trance they had been in over
the past few weeks. Frantically I scanned the surrounding area. It was doubtful
somebody would be in my land, but after these two weeks my place had
become a hot spot. Just beyond the fence of the paddock, and through
the lessening fog stood a dark figure dressed in black. Perhaps another farmer had
arrived to check for any other dates. I hope and my mouth to call
out to them, who found myself lost for words? What was I shouting
for? What was the emergency here? An impactful crack flooded the area,
followed by a few less harsh ones. I turned my head and witnessed in
horror as the smaller lamps stumped apart one of the triplet's heads. And although
I had come across plenty of corpses these past several days, this was different.
My mouth flooded with survivor and stomach as it soon followed, the pressure
too much for my lips to hold back, and soon enough I painted the
ground with my insight. When I looked back, the lamb had begun to
feast on the viscera. Stop. I screamed, my hands waving dramatically in
the air to seem huge and intimidating. Stop it. My throat burned as
I cried, still coated with the mix of last night's meal and drinks.
The lamb did not listen, and with the intense force pushing up against me,
I could only watch on in disgust as it turned to another one of
the triplets and did the same in just seconds. In awe became too much.
Erratically, I climbed out of the hole and searched the service for help,
but the figure was gone. I was alone. Help. I called
through the moisture, please come back the skull. Bursting cracks echoed again as
the lamb made contact with his final target. I didn't have to look.
I couldn't. Feeling helpless, I ran. No matter how far I fled
from the scene, I couldn't escape the images in my head. The atrocity
which happened right in front of me was barbaric, unexplainable, and left my
stomach and n When I created a large distance from the hole, I spared
her look back, my feet still stumbling ahead of me through the fog.
Multiple figures stood eerily around the site, staring into the crater below. It
was difficult to make out any identifying features. Suddenly, the surrounding ewes and
rams in the remaining paddocks began bleating in unison as the shadows around the hole
shifted and moved. I didn't stick around for longer, fearing I owe the
land much more than I could ever give it. As a child, I
was always excited for Christmas. It was my favorite time of year, and
I would spend the entire month of December eagerly counting down the days until Santa
arrived. I would always make sure to leave out cookies and milk for him
on Christmas Eve. But one year something happened that shook my passion for this
season. That was the year that I learned that not all gifts come from
Santa. Growing up, I was vaguely aware that we were not very well
off as a family. I always had less than the others at school.
The meals I brought in like the flare compared to my friends more colorful spreads,
and surprisingly, I was in sad about this. But for some reason,
I had it in my head that Christmas was different. I think I
thought because Santa gave out the presents, that I would get whatever I wanted,
probably from all my childhood movies that show the less fortunate protagonists have the
dream come true. For a day, I was convinced I was going to
get what I wanted, and I non stop dropped hints about what it was.
The hottest toy in the market, a Nerve Endstrike Mega Thunderbow. I
dropped hints constantly to my parents about what specifically I wanted when everyone else in
school was going to get. I was filled with excitement as I anticipated the
arrival of Christmas morning. When I woke up on Christmas Morning, I ran
downstairs to see what Santa had brought me. I was thrilled to see a
small pile of presents waiting for me under the tree. It didn't take long
to sort them, as my parents had only one present each, which retrospectively,
they must have bought each other small things. They were more gestures than
gifts. I had the most, a grand total of two. The first
one was some things for school, and I waited a moment with bated breath.
The second present was a box signed from both my parents. I was
more than sure I knew what it was, so I just wanted to savor
the moment, let it last in my mind's eye for the years to come.
I saw color when I ripped a corner, and I knew it was
a toy, but when I stripped it of its paper flesh, I was
distraught. It was close, but it wasn't a Nerve Thunderbow, some street
market knockoff that was pretty much the same in all but name. But as
everyone knows, kids don't understand that. I just knew I didn't have what
I wanted for so long, and the betrayal I felt was too much for
me to handle. Seeing that it came from my parents made all my eyre
directed solely towards them. In my anger and frustration, I stormed upstairs to
my room and slammed the door behind me. I was so mad that I
could hardly think straight. I couldn't believe that my parents had let me down
in this way. I felt like they didn't understand me, and I hated
them for it. I lay in my bed, crying and feeling sorry for
myself. After Christmas, I found it difficult to shake off the feelings of
resentment that I had towards my parents. I felt like I had been cheated
out of something that I deserved, and I couldn't understand why they couldn't give
it to me. I knew that they loved me, but it didn't feel
like it. I didn't know how to deal with these conflicting emotions, and
they consumed me. I found myself snapping at my parents and lashing out at
them for no reason. I was miserable, and so were they. Looking
back, I realized that a nerve thunderbow was just the toy, and it
doesn't really matter that I didn't get it, But at the time it felt
like the end of the world. As the days went by, I was
still feeling angry and upset about not getting it. I didn't know how to
let go of those emotions. I was sitting in my room, staring at
the wall and feeling sorry for myself, when I heard a knock at the
door. My parents are out, so I answered it cautiously with a chain
on, as instructed for the rare cases when I was home alone. As
I opened the door, I was met with a sight that filled me with
unease. Standing on the other side was a strange looking man with pale skin
and sharp angular features. He was dressed in a long black coat that seemed
to absorb the light around him, making him appear almost ethereal. His eyes
were barely visible through the darkness that seemed to surround him, and I could
barely make out their cold, calculating stare. I felt a chill were undern
my spine. Hello, child, the man said, in a voice that
was both soft and cold. I have something you want. What do you
mean, I asked, feeling a search of curiosity. What do you have
A nerf end strike mega thunderbow? The man said, holding out a box.
I can give it to you if you want. I was stunned.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. A thunderbow was right here within my
reach, and all I had to do was take it. But something about
the man's offer made me uneasy. What do you want for it? I
asked. I don't have any money, I said, trying to keep my
voice steady. Oh nothing much, the man said, smiling, just the
small price. But don't worry, it's nothing you can't afford. It was
everything that I wanted, but I didn't know what the man wanted in return.
I didn't have any money and I didn't have anything else to give him.
But I was desperate and I didn't want to miss out on this opportunity.
Okay, I said, resently, I'll take it. The man handed
me the box, and after he left, I tore it open eagerly.
Inside I found the Nerve Thunderbow, new and perfect. I was overjoyed,
but at the same time I felt a sense of fear and uncertainty. What
had I agreed to? What was the price I had to pay? This
quickly left my mind feeling like I made off with the way better deal because
I had what I wanted and he left before getting anything back. I think
I just justified it as some strange act of goodwill and pushed the bad thoughts
away. As time went on, I quickly began to outgrow the toy.
As with all fads, it was the height that was exciting, not the
toy itself. It was still a special and cherished possession, but no longer
held the same alaw that it once did. I had other interests and hobbies,
and I'd moved on to other toys and games. The years went on,
and I thought that I had left the memories of that Christmas behind.
But even as I moved on with my life, I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was wrong. I started to have strange and disturbing dreams in which
I was haunted by the man that had given me the toy. I would
see him in my dreams, his pale and sharp features leering at me from
the shadows. I would wake up in a cold sweat, feeling shaken.
Sleeping became a chore, something that I dreaded rather than looked forward to at
the end of a school day. I tried to push these visions out of
my mind, but they always returned, more vivid and terrifying than before.
It was a haunting experience that left me feeling lost. These nightmares became worse.
I found myself feeling more and more isolated. The strange and disturbing dreams
that I was having left me feeling shaken, and I struggled to sleep At
night. I would lie in bed trying to calm my racing thoughts and steady
my racing heart, but it was a losing battle. The image of the
man with the pale and sharp features would always return, leering at me from
the shadows of my subconscience. My breath would come in short, panicked gasps.
Frequently. I felt like I was trapped in a never ending nightmare,
and I didn't know how to escape. I struggled to cope with the feelings
of fear and anxiety that consumed me. As the strange and disturbing dreams continued,
I also began to see strange and unexplainable things in the world around me.
I'll catch glimpses of twisted and other worldly shapes lurking at the edges of
my vision. I would hear whispers calling my name from the darkness. I
would feel a strange and powerful force pulling me towards unknown and forbidden places at
the edges of my mind. It was as if the barriers between reality and
nightmare were breaking down and I was being drawn into a world of madness and
terror. I was filled with fear, confusion. I'm sure of what was
happening to me or why. I felt like I was losing my grip on
reality, and I didn't know how to stop it. At first, I
thought that I was just letting my imagination get the better of me. I
was still young, after all, and I was known to have a vivid
and active imagination. But as time went on, the things that I saw
and heard felt more and more real. I started to see the man grinning
at me in the corners of my room, in the shadows of trees,
and even in the reflections of mirrors and windows. He was always there,
watching me, and I could never escape his gaze. I was terrified of
the unknown, unsure of what he wanted from me or why he was haunting
me. I tried to tell my parents that they just laughed it off and
told me that I was being silly. I was horribly misunderstood, since I
couldn't probably describe what was happening, and I didn't know how to make the
hallucinations stop. The man continued to haunt me, eventually appearing in the faces
of people in the street and in the whispers of the wind. I could
always sense his eyes on me, even when I was alone. I was
trapped in a never ending nightmare. I never knew what he wanted from me,
why he was tormenting me. All I knew was that it was somehow
connected to the gift that the man had given me. I could feel the
way to my decision and the burden of the price that I had paid.
I was trapped in a cycle of uncertainty, and I didn't know how to
break free. I felt like I was losing my mind, and I was
terrified of what would happen to me if I didn't find a way to stop
it. I stopped seeing my friends and could school a lot. All of
my time was spent in my room, fuddled in the corner, trying to
escape from the horrors that plagued me. I felt trapped and I didn't know
how to break free. I didn't know who to turn to for help.
No amount of therapy or medications could help me either, and I grew distant
from the world. When you can't trust your own senses, you lose any
semblance of trust in anything. This ended up with me lying in my room,
all lights on and the TV blaring. Despite all the light bleed,
the room still felt dark. I put on some cartoons as a comfort show,
but the sound just passed through me, and I ended up passing out
after days of exhaustion, the grinning face in place of the show I was
trying to watch for comfort. When I woke up, I wasn't in my
bed anymore. I don't even think I was even on earth. The world
I was in was a twisted and it's a real place. Childhood toys and
memories were sickening visages of their innocent forms, dolls with razor blades for teeth,
teddy bears with organic eyes, and many things I can't begin to describe.
I could hear the laughter of children, but it had a cold feeling
to them. I could sense the man looming in the darkness, mocking me
at every turn. For myself, I was back to my child self,
the exact age from when I received the Man's gift. I wondered to the
toy filled landscape, feeling more and more lost with each step. I didn't
know what was wanted from me or why I was here. I just knew
I was a prisoner and I was at his mercy. I began following noises
I heard, hoping to find a way out, but I found something else
instead. More children. They had been taken by the man, like me.
I had no idea how long they'd been there, but they were just
as frightened, which took a bit of my hope from me. They were
huddled together, hiding in small spaces and behind discarded objects. I tried talking
to one, but was hushed and shoved away. And when in the open,
I saw why some of the creatures were lurking, And when I was
spotted it launched immediately. The others ran, seeing that it was distracted.
I didn't get a good look of the assailant before I was torn apart.
I felt everything, despite being what I could only describe as a red puddle
on the floor, Even as it feasted on the remains of my chunks,
I could feel the pain bouncing around my mind like a phantom pain. I
never blacked out, but I also lost nearly all my senses, so it
felt like waking up when I jolted up from the floor. Around me smeared
in a rust colored stain. Then it all cycled again. Sometimes I'd bump
into others when no danger was around. During these moments of respite, there
was some sense of camaraderie. The consensus was that if someone was caught and
left behind, it was no hard feelings, just your time for torment,
for a moment of relief. For the others, it was a shark in
a school of fish system. As they shared their stories with me, I
was deeply moved by the horrors they had experienced. I couldn't help but admire
their strength, but the horrors haunted us all equally. We couldn't sleep in
this world, and even if we could, the lurk and abominations didn't give
us time to rest. Exhaustion was constant, pain was eternal. One of
the children, a girl named Lily, made her deal when she was just
six years old. She had been desperate for a new doll, and she
had begged her parents to buy it for her. Her parents had refused.
Lily had been devastated and succumbed to the man's temptation. He appeared to her,
offering to give her the doll in exchange for a small gift. Lily
didn't know what the demon meant, and she was too young and innocent to
understand the true cast of her decision. She had agreed to the man's deal,
and she'd been taken to the dream world after years of a torturous life.
Just like me, the others had similar stories. Lily had been trapped
here for years, and she'd been forced to live through the same evils over
and over again. She was trapped in a never ending cycle of gore and
violence, and she couldn't escape. She'd given up hope and she had resigned
herself to a never ending lifetime of misery and despair. She had met the
other children, and they'd given her a slice of hope despite not having the
tools that deal with what's around. That small sense of camaraderie and self sacrifice
gave that seed of hope that helped them carry on, and now I had
that too. The seed grew into an idea, an idea with no backing,
mind you, but still a small light to imagine at the end of
this dark tunnel. They were looking for a way out, and they were
determined to escape from the man's grasp. However, the more we explored the
twisted world, the more we felt trapped by this curse. Too many demons
patrolled the space, too many sights that twisted one's mind and drained us of
hope, no sign of any form of escape. Through all this, Lily
and I quickly became friends, and we helped each other to survive in the
dream world. We would often get separated from the other children and we would
have to find each other again, but no matter what, we show always
found each other, specifically over the other kids. Despite this, there could
be times that you could find anyone. Weeks would go by without seeing a
single person, only the twisted toys that roamed like titans. Sometimes you'd wonder
if there was anyone left, What if the others found a way out while
you were separated, and you were the only one left behind. Thoughts like
these made me curl up in a hiding spot and weep for days on end.
But no matter how well you hid, they would find you. You
couldn't go on forever without being caught, like there was a time limit before
they locked onto you, missing with your sense of hope, of reprieve from
the pain that comes. The things they did would twist the stomach of a
medieval madman after years of this cursed living. I was wondering the landscape alone.
Then I felt a tug on my hand. It was Lily pulled me
into a crevice, which at first I thought was to hide, But she
had something to share. She claimed she somehow learned a way to escape,
though she never told me how. She said that the only way to escape
was to replace our spot in the dream world with another child, and to
let the men claim them instead of us. It was a cruel and heartless
plan, but it was our only hope. Lily seemed horrified by the idea,
and she didn't want to sacrifice another child at first, but it was
our only chance of escape, and she wanted to see what the terms were.
I promised to keep it secret from the other children, and to make
sure they never found out what we were planning. Two victims was already too
much for our conscience, though the guilt of not telling them also weighed on
me. Lily led me through many paths and tunnel I hadn't seen before in
the years I'd been there. These must have been mapped out in a mind
from almost a decade of being here. Her time was well spent, something
I hadn't been doing myself, though I didn't want to tell her that.
Crawling for so long, we came to a clearing that looked different to the
rest, a dark visage, devoid of the flames and Christmas lights of the
monster stocked planes. In the middle was a small hut. An inside was
him. Though he didn't move, I was terrified he just stood there,
smiling at us, But when Lily approached, I realized he was just looking
at her. She knelt and told him we were willing to serve him and
the dream world if we could live the rest of our lives. A complete
change in demeanor, how she described things. Despite this, I went along
to see how it had go. The man was intrigued by our proposal,
and he agreed to our terms. He grinned and gave us a Christmas gift,
and he told us that we had to find a child to replace us
for the time we were gone. I had little hope that he would release
them once we were back, however long that was. But at this point
my mind was clouded with the thought of reprieve from this nightmare. I was
horrified, but I knew I wanted a break. In a blink, I
was back in bed at the exact moment I drifted off. Family Guy was
playing in the background with no hint of corruption, and the TV. I
was back, and my senses were mine for the first time and what felt
like a lifetime. It took me a while to get my bearings. I
was in bed and the TV was on with some cartoons running. I was
getting ready for sleep, and there was no school because we're on break it
was the Christmas holidays. Instead of going immediately on the hunt, I slept
for the first time in what must have been years. It was refreshing to
close my eyes in a dimly lit room without seeing the visage of the man
lurking in any shadow. When I woke, I prayed to anything holy that
it was all the culmination of my mental deprivation, that the nightmare was a
torturous, lucid dream that ended with some well rest. For the first time,
everything felt quiet. No more whispers, no more visions. I tried
to believe with all my heart, but the present, sitting at my desk
said otherwise. I picked up the present and left the house. I told
my parents I was dropping a gift off at a friend's house, and they
were so ecstatic that I was up and about that they gladly saw me off,
and none the wiser to my real motives. I wandered through the streets,
looking for anyone who stood out. I passed by parks and fields until
I saw a girl. She was lost and alone, having wandered too far
from her friends while playing hide and seek. I comforted her as best I
could and told her I would help her find her friends. So I guided
her back to where they started and called out for them. As soon as
they heard a voice that wasn't someone they knew, they took it seriously and
came out seeing their lost friend, wiping her tears. She was grateful,
and before leaving I told older that she could have a gift to cheer her
up. This immediately worked, and the friends gorked at the price she received.
If it weren't for the immense guilt that racked me to my bones,
there are things I never accounted for. Though. Where is Lily? I
have no idea the size of the man's domain. Was it only in my
country? How could she be in a far off continent? Did she give
the gift? Did she find another way? All I know is I need
to find her. I was weak, I am weak. I did the
man's bidding with no question. Lily was the one with the brains. She
was the one who found the escape. Could she have found a loophole?
Too many questions? Too much guilt. I need to find Lily. Maybe
she will find a way to stop us go back, because if not,
I have to enjoy the time I have left, because hell would be a
respite from the torture that awaits me. We don't always get what we want,
and sometimes the things we want the most comes with the price that we
can't fully understand.