Speaker 1: I remember coming into the house on one cold winter's
night the snow an icy wind blew through the front door.
As I stepped into the house, kicking my boots clean,
I noticed the strange odor in the place. It almost
smelled like stink bugs, with notes of copper and bleach.
I hated the smell of stink bugs. Hey, honey, I said,
where are you. I'm starving, and by the way, it
smells weird in it. Traffic nearly stopped for a half hour,
and I eate E. I got down. Tractor trailer flipped
over the middle of the blizzard and closed down all
three lanes. We could only get around by driving in
the breakdown lane until cops got there and started. My
voice trailed away as I noticed the drops of blood
on the floor leading from the front hallway into the kitchen.
I stopped talking, immediately looking around for signs of an intruder.
I saw nothing. No smashed windows, no busted doors, no
rifle through drawers or cabinets. Oh my god, I whispered, immediately,
going to the kitchen and grabbing the largest meat cleaver
I could find from the knife block. Its edges gleamed,
freshly sharpened and ready to slice into the hardest of flesh.
I made sure not to step on the drops of blood.
I didn't want to disturb a crime scene, if indeed
it was a crime scene. I stopped thinking of calling
nine one one, but some inner voice urged me on.
It will take five or six minutes for the police
to arrive, possibly longer, it said, And you need to
check in your family now, right now. Sprinting forwards, I
followed the blood trail down the hall and straight to
the first floor bathroom. The door still closed. I tried
the handle and found it locked. Hello, I said, pounding
on the door. Who's in there? Open up, Isaac, Is
that you, A faint voice asked, I recognized the voice
of my wife. Immediately open the goddamn door, I screamed.
Rising waves of anxiety and adrenaline coursed through my body,
and I immediately knew something was very wrong. I could
hear it in the dead tone of my wife's voice,
see it glistening on the floor in crimson droplets, feel
it in the air, like falling pressure before a thunderstorm.
Jenna opened the door. I heard some slight shuffling in
the small bathroom, like someone dragging themselves across the floor.
Then I heard a click. I opened the door and
found a chamber of nightmares lying beyond the threshold. My
only son floated face down in the bathtub. My wife
sat back down on the edge of the tub, rocking
back and forth, her eyes flat and dead. Why, I whispered, horrified,
Why would you do this? Don't you know, she murmured
in a croaking tone. Do you really not know that
our sun is the Antichrist? Maybe I did have suspicions
that something wasn't quite right with Max. It was more
than the dead animals I kept finding strewn around the
yard and under the house. It was more than the
way his eyes seemed to shine in the dark when
I wished him good night. No, it was a feeling,
a cold, empty feeling that seemed to follow him wherever
he went. He had no friends at school, and animals
avoided him like the plague. Dogs would start barking and
howling when he walked down the street, and cats would
hiss then disappear with the swish of their tail in
a flash, behind bushes or up trees. These things, on
their own wouldn't be too much evidence of anything, but
they were far from the only evidence that Max was unusual.
A month ago, a couple of boys had tried to
bully Max at school. They ran out of the bathroom
where it happened, crying and wetting their pants as blood
streamed from their noses and ears. They wouldn't tell anyone
what happened, and Max just kept smiling and staring at
them with his large, dark eyes. The school called an
ambulance and the doctors were baffled. They had to sit
in the emergency room for three hours before the blood
stopped pouring out of their bodies. They were white sheets
by the time it finally clotted, and the doctors had
no idea of the cause. The two boys went missing
a few days later. The case ended up drawing media attention.
The FBI came in, but they found absolutely nothing. It
seemed like the boys just disappeared out of their windows,
and then the trail immediately went cold. Tracking dogs couldn't
find a hint of a trail. It was as if
they had teleported from their bedrooms. Moreover, no neighbors had
seen a thing. A couple months later, a few hikers
found the boy's fingers growing out of a tree. On
the Appalachian Trail over fifty miles away. The FBI swooped
in and used DNA testing to determine that these fingers
belonged to the missing boys from Max's school. No one
ever explained how the rotting fingers had become quite literally
fused into the tree. However, no one ever tried to
bully Max again after that. In fact, the other kids
gave him as much distance as possible. I tried to
watch Max when he didn't know I was looking. He
was only an eighty year old boy, but he could
put on masks like a psychopath and charm nearly any
one he met. As soon as they turned away, though,
he would scowl and narrow his eyes as if he
wanted to stab them in the back. But this was
my son, after all. I loved him, and I think
he loved me in his own strange way. Even my
wife said she loved him, and she claims that's when
she had to kill him. A strange kind of love,
I admit, but I don't think she's lying. I think
she did love him, and she feared what would happen
when his ascension had finished and he sat on a
throne of bones. Crushing out the lives of millions of
people with an iron heart. She feared the consequences for him,
she said, only for him, and she loved him, and
so she had to kill him and stop it now
before it grew into a grinding juggernaut that devoured his
soul and sent him to hell. Are you my true father?
Max had asked me that morning as I sat at
the kitchen table. I put down my coffee cup slowly
with shaking hands, then turned the look of my son. Yeah,
of course, I said, with a trembling voice. Why would
you ask such a crazy question? He stared at me
for a long moment, his eyes so dark they looked black,
they blazed with an inner light. His pale white skin
looked as smooth as a statue's, and dark hair fell
over his chiseled features. If it weren't for his aloofness
and cruelty, it would have been a very beautiful boy. Instead,
he radiated a coldness like the moon, an aura that
gave light but no heat, a kind of reptilian psychopath
detachment that extended to everything he did. He would laugh
when he saw fatal car accidents on the highway or
heard news reports about wars and murders. I don't think
you are my true father, Max said, still staring at me,
reading me like a book. I felt myself begin to sweat. Max,
that's ridiculous, I said, Your mother and I have been married.
Then where does my power come from? He asked? Why
do I possess from what you will never? I know
him related to mother? He spat out the word as
if there were a filthy thing mother. But you, I
know not where my divinity comes from. You seem weak
and foolish to me. At least Mother has the courage
to admit that she hates me. You grovel and pretend,
and then when my back is turned, you sneer at me.
In my ascension, I know you do. You are a
last man, like many others. Your kind is irredictable, as
fleas hopping all over the world without meaning or the
will to power. You can never understand someone like me,
not in a million years. I don't understand what all
this business about ascension is, I said, I think you're
living in a fantasy world. If it were a fantasy world,
he said, then the fruit would not be revealed. But
it will be soon. Everyone will see, including you I'll
be with my truth father and become the absolute king
of this world. Small men like you will grovel like worms.
They'll be crushed under my feet as I rised the
heights previously and dreamed of as part of my becoming,
my greatness will shine like the second sun. People will
remember my name with awe and terror for a thousand years.
He spoke like a much older boy. I looked at
him with an open mouth. He had a far away
lock in his eyes, a fanatical gleam that sharpened his
cold features. I remembered when Max was just a little boy.
Did I know it? Back then? When I watched him
play with his toys? Did I know what he was?
I think I would have run screaming from the room
if I had. Max turned and left the room, grabbing
his backpack. As the school boss pulled up in front
of the house. I watched them go with the confidence
and straight back of a soldier, And yet I thought
I saw an aura of swirling black shadows around him.
I blinked, and like mist under the hot summer sun,
he dissolved into the air. I looked away, sweating and
shaking with trembling hands. I tried to pick up the coffee.
It immediately fell to the floor in my nervous fingers
and shattered. Fifteen minutes later, I was working from home
in the first of the ambulances and police cars raced by,
heading to Max's school. My neighbor, a teacher at the
school who the kids called mister Hallen, told me the
story from his viewpoint later that day. I don't know
how much I believed at the time, maybe none of
it now all of it. The day he started normally enough,
mister Allen said, pushing his oversized classes up on his long,
nerdy face. The kids started streaming in for home room.
Then the bell rang. I started preparing my lecture notes
for the first period. That was when the screaming started
down the hallway. It sounded like a girl being murdered,
just an endless pain shrieking that went on and on
and on. Abruptly it cut off and everything went deathly silent.
The students all looked at each other, nervous. A hissing
voice came over the intercom, a reptilian voice that made
my skin crawl. It started talking, and I immediately knew
it wasn't human, and yet it sounded just like Max.
I mean, he's been in my class for years. Isn't
that weird? It was like someone had taken his voice
and ran it through. You're a synthesizer to deepen it
and slow it down. I heard weird hissing breaths as
he spoke Hello friends. The voice whispered with the words
boomed through every classroom and hallway. We have a very
special day planned for you. The activities are already prepared,
and the festivities will now begin. Don't try to escape now,
that breaks the rules. The first of the sheep have
already been slaughtered. Good luck. I figured some hudlum had
snuck into the office and somehow used the intercom while
the secretary was out getting a cup of coffee or
using the bathroom. I put my hand up as a
class began to chatter, trying to calm them down. Kids, kids,
I said, it's clearly just the prank. Please calm down.
Then the classroom door flew open and a girl came
running inside. She was covered in blood from head to toe.
She had deep slices across the back of her head,
her forehead, her right cheek, and right arm, large fettid
drops of blood fell behind her. As she ran, as
if leaving breadcrumbs to find her way back. The wounds
on her body changed colors in front of her eyes,
turning purple, then black necrotic tissue began to spread and die.
Within moments, black blood streamed from the wounds. Her mouth
opened in a silent scream, but only her choked gasping
came out. Something had infested the girl. I could see it.
I quickly backed away, feeling like it was a dream. Please,
oh God, please help, she whispered, whimpering, her legs buckling.
She fell to her knees. The kids in the classroom
began to scream, please someone help me. Her voice grew louder,
her skin paler as the purplish, dying patches of tissue spread.
She opened her mouth and began to vomit, some foul,
oily sludge. It hurt, It hurts, she moaned, falling into
the puddle of Vomit. Isn't someone going to help me?
I ran to a side. I didn't know this girl.
She wasn't in any of my classes, you see, but
I knew she needed medical attention immediately. What happened? I asked?
Who did this? She got close to my ear and whispered.
There's things in the hallways that shouldn't exist, she said,
still whimpering, she coughed up more blood and black fluid,
rolling onto her back afterwards and breathing hard. Her eyelids
fluttered and her skin went pale. I thought she was
losing consciousness until her eyes rolled back in her head
and she sat up grinning. Flaws began to rip out
of her fingers. Black tears streamed down her face, and
that dark sludge dripped from her mouth like a diseased
drops of saliva. Her body lengthened, and her arms and
legs broke and twisted like I hear the bones snapping
like tree branches during a winter storm. I watched the
transformation in horror. Backing away, the other kids were all
screaming and streaming to the back of the classroom. The
girl hissed as black veins appeared all around her face
and neck. She rose and walked towards the scared kids
in the back, her movements as smooth as the synchronized dancers,
jerky and twisted night maryish in their own way. For
what came next was far worse. Her body grew taller, thinner,
and more emaciated as it stretched up to the ceiling,
towering over every other kid in the classroom. She must
have grown to at least seven feet by that point.
Her arms reached out the bone like sharpening as she
struck out at the screaming row of children in front.
I saw drops of blood splash against the back wall,
and a couple boys stumbled forward, their throats slashed wide open.
The panic stricken faces grew pale and bloodless as they
choked and tried to scream, but only bubbling gasps came out.
I saw the window was open and I was on
the first floor. I decided to run to try to
get help. I knew we needed policemen and medics of
the scene, and I couldn't do anything to save the kids. Well,
to be honest, I feel terrible about it, but I
did run. As the screams followed me from the back
of the classroom. I jumped right out the window and
ran across the playground and scaled the fence. But as
I went I heard a strange, shrill laughter coming from
the intercom. And you know what, I'm positive the voice
sounded just like Max. Max came up early from school
that day, grinning and laughing. He was in a fine mood.
I don't know what happened after the teacher left, or
how many people died in that building of horrors, but
I know that Max caused it all, the first prodding
steps in the path of his ascension, the foundational layer
to his throne of bones. Mister Allen had talked to
Jenna early that morning, immediately after running home from that
den of nightmares, and she had already put a plan
into motion. When Max got home from school, she gave
him a gatorade with a large amount of fentanyl she
had purchased from a random drug dealer in the inner city.
Dissolved inside. She added some more sugar to mask at
any slight bitterness, and gave it to the grinning boy
with large black pupils like small her in coals. He
drank it quickly, looking out of the whole time with
his dilated eyes. He smiled and got up, but soon
afterwards collapsed. Jenna found him unconscious in his bedroom and
dragged him to the bathroom. She filled the top and
held Max underwater until the bulls stopped. As my wife
explained it all to me, a sense of loss and
horror came over me. I didn't know if I missed
Max or not. His swollen blue face showed without a
doubt that he was dead. I took my wife outside
and sat her down at the table, debating whether I
should call the police. No one had ever told me
what to do in this situation, and I felt like
I was flying blind. I got up, pacing, I went
to the oven and started brewing some instant coffee. Soft
footsteps ussoled behind me. I turned around to see Max
seemingly alive and well, but also changed in some fundamentally
disturbing way. His eyes had now turned fully black. He
hovered inches above the ground behind my wife, smiling at me.
His teeth seemed much sharper and longer than before. The
feeling of electricity sizzled in the air. I could see
some sort of expansive black aura rippling around his pale skin,
dark and cold as empty space. Goose bumps rose on
my body just from being near that sickly aura. The
water park began to boil behind me. Behind Max, I
saw the strange mutated children from the school creep out
from the front hallway, Four or five of them skittered
about with emaciated, twisted legs bending in ways no human
legs should bend. Their heads nearly scraped the lower kitchen ceiling.
The pale, broken arms reached down to their knees, jointed
in myriad areas. I could hear the soft cracking of
bones now as they slowly moved forwards, a light snapping sound,
like small twigs broken under foot. Their blank white eyes
constantly dribbled ebony tears that stained their bleached, bloodless skin.
Mother Mother Max said condescendingly, sounding like a disappointed parent.
You should have known that you cannot kill me, except
by decapitation or by burning my body. Do you really
think my true father would let a worthless louse like
yourself kill me before my ascension to the throne? Ay?
That foolish and blind Jenna began to cry, refusing to
look at her son. But I respect your courage and
action for that. I will give you a quick death,
he looked straight at me, which is something you'll I'll receive.
Fake father, you're a weak, worthless coward, and you deserve
to die slowly, screaming yourself hoarse and pleading for release.
But so do the screams of the week sound as
a beautiful symphony to the ears of my true father
and myself. The deaths of the week will pave the
road to a new world. He motioned to the mutated
children behind him. The bodies had become so twisted and
contorted that I couldn't tell whether they'd been boys or girls.
They looked only like monsters, now, like walking corpses. In
a blur, one of them ran forward and grabbed my
wife's head. The scream bowled in my throat as I watched,
but it was over before I even knew what was happening.
The thing you used this crooked, clawed fingers to twist ahead,
snapping her neck. In a second, Jennet's face was now
looking straight behind her, the skin on her neck spiraling
around in sickly folds on a broken flesh. I saw
burst blood vessels and rapidly spreading purple bruises. She gave
a death grasp, releasing an endless, choking breath, her eye
lids fluttering and fingers twitching. Then she was still. Max
gave a slow, deep laugh, a grating sound that seemed
to rise up from the depths of his withered soul.
His black eyes flashed with amusement and pleasure. Max grinned
his vampiric teeth, shining and white, reflecting the cold winter
sunlight streaming in from the window. The water park began
to whistle as increasing torrents of steam board out of it.
Without hesitation. Bun and grabbed it, flicking open the spout
by pressing the button on the handle, and I flung
it at Max, the boiling hot water flying out in
a spiraling stream as the metal water pots circled through
the air. It always seemed to happen as if in
slow motion. I saw Max's look of triumph and amusement
morph into a scowl of hatred and anger. With the
motion had been so quick and accurate that he couldn't
have moved in time. The heavy metal pots smacked him
in the face, spilling scolding hot water all over his
face and neck. He screamed and fell back, knocking over
the mutated bodies of the children he had turned into
his mindless followers. I sprinted towards the door without looking back,
heading outside. The constant stream of police and ambulance sirens
heading to the school had stopped. Now dozens of black
SUVs streamed into town. Men in dark suits and mirrored.
Some glasses stepped out. I looked back to the house
and saw a few of the new rivals running in
with automatic rifles. Others headed to the neighbour's houses, breaking
down doors and entering without knocking. I heard rifles firing
and hoarse gurgled screams. The mutated children ran out of
my house, the bodies riddled with bullets. We slowly lost
energy as black blood streamed out of multiple giant exit
wounds eaten into their bodies. They eventually fell down in
the streets and died with a lasp grasping breath. But
they never found Max. They quarantined the town and went
from house to house and building to building, searching for
the source of all this death and evil. But he
had somehow escaped. We killed all the mutated Fanatics they
could find. Were the bodies of many children from the
school seemed unaccounted for. I knew where they had gone.
They had followed Max, fanatical soldiers for his new army,
fearless of death and committed to the leader and his
new world order. I don't know where Max went or
where he'll show up. Next. But I know he's moving
towards his ascension, and the next time I see him,
he will arrive in power and glory and crush out
the lives of millions of people under his feet. I
got a job right out of college and had to
find a new place at short notice. Used my socials,
I got in contact with the landlord through mutual contact.
They had a spare apartment and that was just made available.
The previous tenant had been evicted a couple of weeks
prior because of unpaid rent, so the apartment hadn't even
been advertised yet. The apartment was nice enough, but all
my attention was on my new job. I pretty much
just brought a bed and a desktop computer, leaving two
of my three rooms empty for the time being. I
wasn't certain if I was going to stay there long
term or not, but I figured time would decide. I
ended up staying there several years. I settled into my job,
furnished the place up, and made it into a proper home.
Those first few stressful weeks became nothing but a distant memory.
About three years after moving in, I had to stash
some furniture. I contacted my landlord to see if there
was some storage space I could use. He reminded me
that there was storage on the bottom floor that I
hadn't used. I didn't even know it was there. Not
that surprising, seeing as I was really stressed out when
I first moved in. Apparently the space had been used
by the previous tenant, who might have left some items there.
I hadn't had any use for such a space before,
so I hadn't thought about asking. So imagine my surprise
when I get to the storage only to see a
crash test dummy. Using a key I got from the landlord,
I unlocked the padlock and got a close lock. It
was a white, life sized crash test dummy with a
hastily scribbled mister Mayhem written on the back of its
head with a black sharpie. The dummy was scoffed and worn,
but still had a plastic smile on its face its
eyes for these little painted black dots. It looked like
it had been through hell and a half. I asked
the landlord about it. Turns out the previous tenant and
used it as a sort of mascot. They brought it
out for fun for parties, pranks, that kind of thing.
The sort of music that Cheetah carpull Lane once. My
landlord shared it was just this funny thing he'd gotten
from his job when they upgraded to newer dummies. It
was probably more than forty years old. I cleaned out
the storage and stashed away my furniture. I thought about
what to do with mister Mayhem, then figured it'd be
a fun piece for my upcoming Halloween party. I'd address
it up in something and keep it by the entrance.
It'd be the talk of the town. Still, there was
something unnerving about it, the way it's joints eaten cracked,
had frozen painted on grin, the sloppy joints rattling haphazardly
with every little movement. My early Halloween party, it is
nothing extravagant. I get a couple of friends together and
we dress up. Then we hit one of the local
clubs for a costume party. It's like a pre party,
only with about eighteen people or so. I dressed up
mister Mayhem in a cheap pirate costume and had his
stand by the door with a tray of snacks. I
went as the Penguin, but everyone mistook me for the
monopoly man. People came around at around seven. Mister Mayhem
was a big hit. There's just something about dummies and
dolls that rubbed people the wrong way. It's the uncanny
Valley thing of it. I guess it was the centerpiece
for a lot of selfies that night. As the punch
bowl got emptier and the night got darker, we all
left for the club, leaving mister Mayhem by the door.
I had a lot of fun, a few drinks too many.
There was a bit of drama with two friends of
mine having an argument, but all in all it was
a good night. An acquaintance of mine won the costume
contest with a sort of ioluminescent fish thing. It was insane.
If you've got a costume that you've got a charge
batteries for, you've taken it to another level. In the moment,
I couldn't tell anything was wrong, but if I'd listened
a little closer, I would have heard a thing or two.
Cracking and creaking heard from the alley out back as
something moved a bound to mention, a guy dressed as
a crash test on me. A dark silhouette just outside
the frosted glass of the bathroom window by the end
of the night, I made my way home and slid
the keys into my door, only to notice that it
was already unlocked. I could a sworn I locked it,
but figured I must have missed it in all the commotion.
I did a drunken half check around the apartment to
see that nothing was stolen. There wasn't. I didn't even
think about checking for mister Mayhem. If I had, I
would have noticed there was nothing standing by the door
waiting for me with snacks. I would have noticed the
bowl having rolled off to the side, spilling wrapped toffees
and buttter caramels across the carpet. But no. My face
planted into my bed and waited for another day. It
wasn't until the next morning that I noticed it was missing.
I sent a couple of texts to the others of
the party asking if they did something to it. All
I got was a resounding no in response. If anything,
they just thought it had been a fun prop. I
checked all over the apartment and the storage. I even
asked my next door neighbor if they'd seen anything. Nothing.
Mister Mayhem was just gone. It wasn't a big loss
or anything, but I didn't like the idea of someone
being in my apartment for no good reason. Things just
don't disappear for nothing. If someone wanted a crash test dummy,
I could have sold it for a quick hundred or so. Instead,
I found myself running back and forth, growing increasingly anxious
about someone being in my space. I even called the
landlord about having the locks changed. The following Monday, mister
Mayhem missing while I was still on my mind. I
had a hundred more pressing matters at hand. It had
started raining, and absent mindedly wandered across the parking lot.
I was almost at the front door, and something in
the back of my mind asked me to stop, like
a sudden feeling of unease. It's hard to explain the
challenge to look a little closer, so I did. Turning
around and looking up, I could see mister Mayhem, who
was on the roof of my apartment building with his
head aligned straight forward. Someone must have dragged it up
there as a joke. It looked like someone about to
jump off a building. I was going to have to
bring it down. I didn't want anyone to be accidentally traumatized.
I headed straight for the door to the stairwell, covering
my head with a file folder. The rain was relentless.
Something smashed into the pavement right in front of me.
Loud plastic bang as mister Mayhem hit the ground. A
couple of feet further and I'd have been crushed. I
just stood there for a moment, hearing the rain tapping
against my far folder on my head. Mister Mayhem was intact,
but the body was just mangled. Every single extremity bent
at an unnatural angle. But that didn't hamper that eerie
painted on smile. I was a bit hesitant to touch it.
My heart was raising. That thing was heavy, and it
had fallen far enough to do some serious damage had
it hit me, which it almost did. I dragged it
back down into the basement storage. I had to shuffle
around some furniture and ended up tossing it on top
of an old sofa. I locked the story to the padlock,
turned off the lights, and closed the door behind me.
I'd get rid of that thing soon enough. I went
to bed early that night. I kept getting shakes and twitches,
as if my body were still recoiling from having mister
Mayhem crashed into the pavement right in front of me.
I felt twitchy, as if I hadn't slowed down yet.
I was stuck in high gear, and it carried over
into the next morning. I stress cleaned my kitchen and
bedroom before I even got breakfast. As I was cleaning
in and around the fridge, I scooped out what looked
like an old, fainted note opposed it that must have
been stuck to the fridge by the previous tenant. Don't
let it out. I stood there staring at the note
for a good few minutes, letting my paranoia run rampant.
I tried to explain it away, but every thought came
circling back around to one point. There must have been
a reason for mister Mayhem being left behind and what
happened to the previous tenant. Over the next few days,
I considered how to get rid of it. I thought
about just driving it to the garbage dump and dropping
it off somewhere, but I didn't like the idea of
it being let out. I could burn it, but I
had to get a good space to do it. I
could just sell it. Of course, that didn't feel responsible either.
I was running out of patience and ideas, so I
finally decided on sawing it up and dropping it into
the river. I prepped a backpack with a saw, duct tape,
a hammer, and garbage bags. The following night I got
to work, I dragged mister Mayhema out to my car
and stuffed it into the trunk. I didn't want to
do it in the daylight, as the thing still looked
like a person, and I didn't want to have to
explain myself. I was going to drive down to a
clear spot near the river and get to work. It
wasn't far, but I had to cross the highway. It
was a short drive, but it was tense. It felt
like I was doing something wrong, like mister Mayhem was
a person rather than a dummy. As I closed the
trunk and got behind the wheel, I stealed myself. The
moment I put the keys in, I got this strange
impulse that I should have duck tape its hands and feet.
Then again, why should I It was just a dummy.
I got stuck waiting at two separate left turns. Each
time I just sat there, listening to the hum of
the engine, expecting to hear a thumping or smacking something
coming from the trunk. I was expecting the thing to
do something. It wasn't a rational thing to listen for,
but I couldn't help it, and yet nothing came. I
crossed the highway, made my way down the river and
found a spot by a clearing where I wouldn't bother anyone.
I parked my car, got out and held my breath
as I opened the trunk frist the second I could
imagine someone lying there, a living person, screaming, pleading for help.
I blinked it away as the trunk revealed mister Mayhem
in awe his inanimate splendor. There was nothing here to fear. Still,
just chopping up something with the shape of a person
was going to be uncomfortable. I dragged it out to
the bank of the river, laid out my tools, and
took a good look at it. I reached for the
hammer first, to break the joints that would make it
easier to saw. The thing was made to withstand serious punishment.
Breaking it wouldn't be easy. I started with the left hand.
There's a sort of test run. I whacked out the
joints and brought out the saw, but I got this
sick feeling in my stomach with every crack I never
heard bone breaking but I imagine that was it. I felt
like a butcher, and those eyes looking painted on eyes,
just little dots, but I felt them boring into my mind.
The cheap human imitation, but human nonetheless. I skipped ahead
a few steps and named the hammer directly at its face.
I brought the hammer down, smack after smack after smack,
until the dummy cracked. The nose buckled inwards, and the
cheeks split into butterfly shaped shards. I picked out pieces
with my nails. I shuddered. There was some sort of
padding on the inside that just made my skin crawl.
There was something about the texture. I paused. There was
a small white growth the tooth. I stepped back, looking
down under the broken dummy. Just beneath the crack surface.
Embedded inside was a dead man, mummified and dried within
the confines of the plastic shell. I couldn't breathe. It
had been there all along, hidden in plain sight. There
were so many things to do that I couldn't begin
to form a coherent thought. Who do I call? What
do I do? Could I possibly be liable for some
kind of damage? Who was the person inside? Were they missing?
I stepped back, dropping the hammer. I covered my mouth
and took these little microbreaths, repeating Oh my God to myself,
over and over, as if the rocking motion would somehow
dislodge a good idea from the back of my mind.
I decided I'd get back to my car and call
the police. I hurried back, got into the driver's seat,
and closed the door. I took at my cell phone,
dulled the emergency services, and then heard a click. I
looked to the left. Something fast moved my way, and
then the world turned upside down. In a sudden shock
of pain, I drifted in and out of consciousness. Our
sun were dark and cramped. It must have taken me
at least ten minutes just to realize I was in
the trunk of my car and the car was moving.
I could hear the radio, albeit turned down. I had
a swelling over my nose and my left eye, and
I could feel my sense of balance being shaky at best.
I reached for my cell phone, but it was still
in the passenger seat. I never managed to call the
emergency surfaces. At some point the car came to a stop.
I heard the door on the driver's side open and close,
and the sound of someone walking away. There was a
slight echo to it, suggesting we were parked somewhere inside,
possibly a large space, and I didn't waste any time.
Instead of trying to open the trunk, I wriggled and
crawled my way into the back seat. From there, I
contorted myself into the driver's seat, locked the doors, and
fumbled around for my cell phone. Looking up intermittently, I
could see that I was in some kind of storage facility.
It was hard to tell the lights were off. As
soon as I felt the cold metal of the phone,
I picked it up, unlocked it, and dialed the emergency surfaces.
It didn't take long for a voice to come in
on the the end. I've I've been kidnapped, I stuttered.
I don't know where I am. But if I hadn't
talked so loud, I might have heard the footsteps coming back.
If I'd been more attentive, I could have seen it
in the rear view mirror. But I was both loud
and inattentive, and it came at a great cost, because
as the operator asked me about my name and location,
the driver's side window was shattered into a thousand pieces.
Something grabbed me by the neck and shoulder. The second later,
I was flung through the window and out onto the
cold pavement. About eight feet or so. The cell phone
tumbled to the ground as a white plastic foot crushed it.
Looking up, I saw it in full view mister Mayhem,
now revealing a death's head grin. I ran, I got
to my feet and just took off. I could hear
thumping plastic noises behind me as mister Mayhem followed. I
ran straight through an abandoned workshop and a lunch room. Finally,
I slammed the door open to an unmarked space, hoping
against hope it would be something useful. A small room
packed to the brim with crash test dummies, at least
fifty standing shoulder to shoulder, all those painted smiles and
dart like eyes or walking my way. I didn't have
time to see if they were like mister Mayhem or not,
So instead of turning back, which would be a certain end,
I pressed forward. I pushed my way past plastic arms, hands,
and torsos. Most were just empty shells ready to be filled,
and you others were fully functional. I could have sworn
a couple of heads turned my way, but I didn't stop.
To check. I could hear the footsteps that followed me slow,
and as I turned around, I realized I had no
idea where it had went, just the sea of white,
featureless creatures, and one of them it was something else.
I was afraid to move. I could be brushing up
against that thing without even knowing. It was a sharp noise.
There's what sounded like broken glass being shuffled around on
the floor, one clear sound of a shard being lifted.
I tried to make my way to the back of
the room so I could circle back. Every now and
then i'd look at the dummies, only to notice more
of them with scribbles on the back of the head
miss waters callown, all made with hasty scribbles. A stray
thought crossed my mind. Maybe it wasn't mister Mayhem, but
mister Mayhew. It had been kind of hard to tell.
I had yet to run into it. As it began
circling the dark corners of the room. Making my way
back the way I came, I heard the sound of
glass scraping against plastic as something was coming closer. I
had to keep myself from panicking. There was no telling
what would happen if I were to stumble in there instead.
I kept a steady pace, trying to count my breaths
one two. Rushing up against another dummy, I stopped. Something
was strange. It didn't have a left hand. It slowly
turned my way, revealing a dead man's face mister Mayhem,
and impromptu glass shanks sliced at me, scraping the edge
of my jacket and shattering against the wall. A handless
left arm reached for me, but I pushed it aside.
I bowled over the lifeless dummies and headed straight for
the door, reaching it and leaving the dummies behind me,
I slammed the door shut. I hastily looked to see
if there was a lock, but there wasn't. Before I
could make a plan, the door came off its hinges
and tumbled to the ground like a cracked bowling pin.
Mister Mayhem twitched forward, every movement sudden and painful. Making
my way back to the workshop, I realized that there
was no way I could outrun it. Mister Mayhem was
both faster and more resilient. I was grasping at straws.
There had to be something, anything. My daughter's chain coming
down from the ceiling and kept going towards the back.
Only the stop that chain I could use it. It was
connected to a winch in the middle of the factory floor,
probably used to hoist and move equipment. It would have
to do. The timing had to be perfect. If I
went too soon or too late, I'd be done for.
I saw mister Mayhem approaching, step by step, unblinking painted
eyes replaced with hollow sockets. Then I pulled at the
winch as hard as I could, hoping against hope. The
effect was immediate. I hadn't seen the hook at the end.
It shot straight up and paling mister Mayhem's lower jaw.
The chain was still slack, and it was getting closer,
but it couldn't quite get to me anymore. Instead, I
kept pulling and pulling and pulling every rattle on the chain,
bringing it higher and higher into the air, like hoisting
a flag. As the chain cliked into a lock, mister
Mayhem was dangling fifteen feet or so in the air.
It stopped moving, even though it couldn't move its face.
I could feel it looking at me, plotting this wasn't
going to be the end of it. I made my
way back to the car, calling the emergency surfaces as
I wiped the broken glass from the driver's seat. As
I was asked for a location, I noticed something on
the far walls, a series of overalls hanging at the
edge of the door, three to be exact, one for
Patty Waters and another for John Callown, and the finer
one for Samson Mayhew. Eventually the police came. I'd gone
outside and collapsed against the wall, crushing a handful of
overgrown wildflowers on my way down. I just sat there,
picking the petals of a blue sunflower. When the officers
came around to ask me questions. I tried to explain
that I'd been kidnapped and assaulted, but there was no
way for me to tell them that the crash test
Stormy had done it. Instead, I had a lie from
my teeth. I had to say that my mystery attacker
had hoisted that dommy up into the air. And it
didn't take long for the police to find not one
with three bodies, three workers at the abandoned factory, all
presumed dead and missing, stuffed within the framing of the
crash test dummies they themselves had made decades ago. This
was about two years ago. Somewhere in that ballpark. I
haven't seen or heard anything about those dummies since. I
think they cleared out the storage, and I think they
had some kind of forensic specialist on site, but there
was no public announcement or accusation. I was only called
in once to make a basic statement, but there was
no follow up. I've been imagining those three dummies sitting
locked up in some storage, just biding their time, that
dead face waiting to look my way again. Now the
reason why I write this is because of something I
read the other month. There was an article about a
break in at the County evidenced locker, resulting in one
wounded officer and a handful of pieces of evidence going missing.
The assailants were described as two men and a woman.
They were described as bald and wearing plain white clothes.
If I was a betting man, I'd say there isn't
much time before we start seeing more than three of
these misters and misses. If I hadn't gotten out of there,
I'm pretty sure there was an empty casing there would
in time have my name on it, and maybe there
still is. The gentle sway of the train car had
always been soothing to me as a regional sales manager
for a large pharmaceutical company. I spent more time on
railways than I did in my own bed. The rhythmic
clack of the wheels on the tracks was my lullaby.
The ever changing landscape outside my window a constant companion.
This particular Tuesday evening found me on yet another overnight train,
heading from Chicago to New York for a critical meeting.
I settled into my usual routine, laptop out, spreadsheets, open,
a cup of mediocre coffee cooling on the fall down tray.
The first sign that something was amiss came about three
hours into a journey. I glanced at my watch, frowning slightly.
We should have reached Cleveland them by now, but the
cityscape outside remained stubbornly rural. Fields and forests rolled by,
bathed in the eerie glow of a full moon. I
flagged down a passing attendant, a middle aged woman with
graying hair and a pinched expression. Excuse me, I said,
but shouldn't we have reached Cleveland by now? She gave
me a strange look, her eyes slightly unfocused. Cleveland. I'm sorry, sir,
but I'm not familiar with that stop perhaps you're thinking
of a different route. Before I could respond, she hurried away,
disappearing into the next car. I sat back, puzzled. How
could she not know Cleveland? It was a major stop
on this line. I shook my head, choking it up
to a new employe's confusion, and returned to my work.
As the hours ticked by my knees grew, the landscape
outside never changed, an endless loop of moonlit fields and
shadowy forests. My phone had lost signal long ago, and
my watch seemed to be malfunctioning, its hands spinning wildly
before stopping altogether. I decided to stretch my legs, hoping
a walk through the train might clear my head. As
I made my way through the cars, I noticed how
eerily quiet it was. The few passengers I saw sat
motionless in their seats, staring blankly ahead round the windows.
In the dining car, I found an elderly man hunched
over a cup of coffee. His wrinkled hands trembled slightly
as he lifted the mug to his lips. Excuse me,
I said, sliding into the seat across from him. I
don't mean to bother you, but have you noticed anything
strange about this journey. The old man's roomy eyes focused
on me, a flicker of recognition passing across his face.
You're no, aren't you, he said, his voice a dry whisper.
First time on this line. I nodded, a chill running
down my spine. What do you mean this line? This
is just a regular Chicago to New York roote, isn't it.
He let out a wheezing laugh that turned into a cough.
Oh my boy, he said, shaking his head. This ain't
no regular route. This here's the last line. Ain't no
New York where we're headed. I don't understand, I said,
my heart beginning to race. Where are we going? Then
the old man, leaning close, the smell i'll of stale
coffee on his breath. Nowhere, he whispered. Everywhere. This train
don't stop, son, It just keeps going round and round
world without end. I joked back, Convinced I was dealing
with the madman. That's impossible, I said, Every train has
to stop eventually. He just smiled a sad, knowing expression.
You go on, believing that if it makes you feel better,
But mark my words, you'll see we all figure it
out sooner or later. I stood off abruptly, nearly knocking
over my chair. You're crazy, I muttered, backing away. This
is just a normal train. We'll be in New York
by morning. As I turned to leave, the old man
called out, what's your name's son? I hesitated for a
moment before answering Jack, Jack Thurston. He nodded slowly, Well,
Jack Thurston, I'm Howard. I'll be seeing you around. We've
got all the time in the world, after all. I
hurried back to my seat, Howard's words echoing in my mind.
It was nonsense. Of course, trains didn't just go on forever.
There had to be a rational explanation for the delays
and strange behavior of the staff. As I sank into
my seat, I noticed a young woman across the aisle
furiously scribbling in a notebook. A long, dark hair fell
in a curtain around her face, and a leg bounced
with nervous energy. Excuse me, I said, leaning towards her.
I don't suppose you know when we're due to arrive
New York, do you? She looked up, her eyes wide
and slightly manic. New York, she repeated, letting out a
hysterical giggle. Oh, honey, there is no New York, not anymore.
There's only the train. I felt my blood run cold.
What are you talking about? She leaned in close, her
voice dropping to a whisper. I've been on this train
for I don't know how long, days, weeks. It all
blurs together, but I figured it out. We're not going anywhere.
We're stuck in a loop, a never ending journey to nowhere.
And shook my head, refusing to believe it. That's impossible.
You've just confused. Maybe you fell asleep and missed your stop.
She laughed again, the sound devoid of humor. Oh I
wish you were that simple. Look around you. Have you
seen anyone get off? Have we stopped at any stations?
This isn't a normal train, Jack, this is something else entirely.
I started at the sound of my name. How did
you know my name? She smiled, a sad, knowing expression.
I heard you talking to old Howard in the dining car.
I'm Lisa, by the way, I'll come aboard the Eternal Express.
I start off abruptly, my head spinning. This is insane.
All of you are insane. I'm going to find the
conductor and get some answers. As I stormed off towards
the front of the train, I heard Lisa call out
behind me, good luck with that, But don't say I
didn't warn you. I made my way through car off
the car, each one identical to the last, the same
faded blue seats, the same flickering overhead lights, the same
blank faced passengers staring into nothingness. How long had I
been walking? It felt like hours, but that was impossible
in a train of normal length. Finally I reached what
should have been the engine car, but instead of a locomotive,
I found myself in another passenger car, exactly like all
the others. I spun around, disoriented. How could this be?
A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I turned
to find the attendant from earlier, her pinched face now
twisted into an unnaturally wild smile. Can I help you, sir,
she asked, her voice sickly sweet. I need to speak
to the conductor, I said, trying to keep the panic
out of my There's been some kind of mistake. This
train should have reached New York by now. A smile
never wavered. I'm sorry, sir, but there is no conductor
and there is no mistake. You're exactly where you're supposed
to be. I backed away from her, my heart pounding.
What is this place? What's happening? She tilted her head,
her eyes suddenly black and empty. And this is the
last line, mister Thurston, the train that never stops, never ends.
You bought a ticket, and now you're on the ride
of eternity. I turned and ran, crushing past confused passengers,
my breath coming in ragged gasps. This couldn't be happening.
It had to be a dream, a hallucination, anything but reality.
I burst into the space between cars, the cold night
air hitting me like a slap. The door next to
the car was just a few feet away. If I
could just reach it, maybe I could find a way
off this nightmare train. But as I stepped forward, the
gap between the car seemed to stretch. The next door
moved further and further away. No matter how fast I ran,
the wind howled around me, drowning out my screams of
frustration and fear. Suddenly a hand grabbed my arm, yanking
me back into the car. I fell to the floor,
gasping for breath. Lisa stood over me, her face pale
in the flickering light. Are you crazy, she hissed. You
can't come out there between the cars. That's that's where
it gets you. Where what gets you? I asked, my
voice shaking. She helped me to my feet, panting nervously
at the door. The thing that runs this train, the
thing that brought us all here. Trust me, you don't
want to meet it. As if on cue, a low
rumbling sound echoed through the car. It was like nothing
I'd ever heard before, part machine, part animal, all wrong.
The lights flickered more intensely, and for a moment I
could have sworn I saw something massive moving in the
shadows between the cars. Lisa pulled me back to our seats,
her grip in my arm almost painful. Listen to me,
she said urgently. I know this is hard to accept.
God knows. I fought against it for I don't even
know how long. For fighting only makes it worse. You
have to accept where you are or you'll go mad.
We slumped in my seat, my mind reeling. But why,
why is this happening? What is this place? She shook
her head. I don't know, none of us do. All
we know is that we're here on this never ending journey.
Some think it's hell, others purgatory. Old Howard thinks it's
some kind of cosmic mistake. Me, I think it's just
the universe's way of saying tough luck, kiddo. I looked
out the window, watching the same moonlit landscape roll by.
How many times had I seen those same fields, those
same trees? How long would I continue to see them?
So what do we do? I asked, my voice barely
a whisper. Lisa gave me a sad smile. We ride,
We talk, We tried to stay sane and that maybe,
just maybe, one day, we'll reach the last stop. As
the train rolled into the endless night, I realized with
a sinking heart that my journey had only just begun,
and their destination that remained a terrifying mystery. Days blended
into nights, and nights into days. The monotonous rhythm of
the train became the backdrop to my existence. I lost
count of how many times I'd watched the same scenery
roll by, how many times I walk the length of
the train, hoping to find something anything different. Lisa became
my anchor in the sea of madness. We spent hours talking,
sharing stories of our lives before the train. She's been
a journalist, always chasing the next big story. Yes, I
found it, she would say with a bitter laugh, gesturing
at our surroundings. Old Howard joined us, often, his weathered
face a map of the time he'd spent on this
hellis journey. Been riding this rail for longer than I
can remember, he'd say, his roomy eyes distant, seeing folks
come and go, Some just disappear, others, he trailed off,
shaking his head. I learned to fear the spaces between
the cars. Sometimes late at night, when the train's rhythms
seemed to falter, we'd hear things, scraping, slithering sounds. Once
I caught a glimpse of something massive and dark undulating
past the windows. Lisa pulled me away before I could
get a better luck. Trust me, she said, her face pale.
You don't want to know. The other passengers were a
mix of the resigned and the mad. Some, like us,
tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Others had given
in to despair, sitting in the same spots day after day,
staring blankly at nothing. And then there were those who'd
lost their minds entirely browling the cars with wild eyes
and incoherent ramblings. One such soul was a man we
called the Preacher. Tall and menacing, with a tangled beard
and eyes that burned with fanatical fervor. He would roam
the train, shouting about sin and redemption. We're all here
for a reason, ped bellow, spittle flying from his lips.
This is our punishment, are penance, repent, and maybe, just
maybe you'll find your way off this damned train. Most
ignored him, but some listened. I watched as he gathered
a small following passengers desperate for any explanation, any hope
of escape. It was on when I guessed there be
my hundredth day on the train that things took a
darker turn. I was jolted awake by screams coming from
the front of the car. Lisa was already on her feet,
her face and mask of terror. They've done it, she whispered,
They've actually done it. I followed her gaze to see
a group of the Preacher's followers dragging a struggling passenger
towards the door between cars. The Preacher stood by his
arms raised, chanting something I couldn't make out over the
victim's screams. What are they doing, I asked, though part
of me already knew the answer. A sacrifice, Old Howard
said his voice, grim fools think they can appease whatever's
rolling the strain by their way off with blood. I
started to move towards them, but Lisa held me back. Don't,
she hissed, There's nothing we can do, Just don't watch.
But I couldn't look away. The group reached the door,
and with a final triumphant cry from the preacher, they
shoved their victim out into the space between cars. For
a moment, nothing happened. Then came a sound, a wet,
tearing noise that would haunt my nightmares for days to come.
The door slam shut, cutting off the screams. The preacher
turned to face the rest of us, his eyes wild
with excitement. It is done, he shouted. The unworthy has
been cast out. Soon we shall reach our final destination.
But the train rolled on, unchanged. Hours passed than days,
no final stop, no salvation, just the endless journey and
the growing madness of the preacher and his flock. More
sacrifices followed. The train's population dwindled as passenger after passenger
was thrown to whatever lugged between the cars. Those of
us who refused to join the preachers culled banded together,
watching each other's backs, sleeping in shifts. He was during
one of my watch shifts when I first saw her,
a little girl no more than seven or eight, wandering
alone through the car. Her pink dress was pristine, her
blonde hair neatly braided. She looked so out of place
in this nightmare that for a moment I thought I
was hallucinating. Hullo, I said, softly, not wanting to scare her.
Are you lost? She turned to me, and I had
to stifle a gasp. Her eyes were completely black, like
empty void in a small face. When she spoke, her
voice was old, ancient, even lost, she repeated, tilting her head. No,
I don't think so. I know exactly where I am,
do you? I felt a chill run down my spine.
What are you? I whispered, she smiled, revealing teeth they
were just a bit too sharp. I'm a passenger, just
like you. We're all passengers here, Jack, all of us,
riding the rails to eternity. How do you know my name?
I asked, though I dreaded the answer. I know everyone's name,
she said, her black eyes boring into mine. I know
why they're here. I know their sins, their fears, the deepest,
darkest secrets. She took a step closer. Would you like
to know yours? Jack? I backed away, my heart pounding.
Stay away from me, I said, my voice shaking. She
laughed a sound like breaking glass. Oh Jack, you can't
run from any of this. You bought your ticket. Now
you have to ride. I blinked, and she was gone,
just vanished, as if she'd never been there at all.
I slumped in my seat, my mind reeling. Was I
losing it? Had I finally snapped Like so many others
on this god forsaken train. I must have dozed off,
because the next thing I knew, Lisa was shaking me awake.
Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Jack.
She said urgently, something's happening the train. It's slowing down.
I sat off, suddenly alert. She was right. For the
first time since this nightmare began, I could feel the
train decelerating. The familiar clack of wheels and tracks was slowing,
becoming more distinct. Passengers were stirring, looking around in confusion
and hope. Even the preacher and his followers had stopped
the mad ranting, staring out the windows with a mix
of fear and anticipation. Are we stopping, i asked, hardly,
daring to believe it. Old Howard shook his head, his
expression grim, don't get your hopes up, son. In all
my time here, I've never known this. Trying to stop.
Whatever's happening, it ain't gonna be good. As if to
punctuate his words, the lights in the car began to
flicker more intensely than ever before, the temperature dropped rapidly,
my breath fogging in the suddenly frigid air, and then
with a great screek of metal and metal, the train
ground to a halt. For a moment, there was absolute silence.
We all held our breath, waiting, hoping, fearing. Then, with
a hiss of hydraulics, the door slid open. Finally, the
breacher cried, pushing his way towards the exit. Our salvation
is at hand. Come, brothers and sisters, let us. His
words were cut off by a scream of pure terror.
As he stepped off the train, something grabbed him, something
huge and dark and impossible. In the blink of an eye,
he was gone, leaving nothing behind but a spreading pool
of blood on the platform. Chaos in erupted. Passengers brushed
and shoved, some trying to get off, the train whithers
desperately attempting to close the doors. I lost sight of
Lisa in the pandemonium, and through it all I heard laughter,
the same glass like sound from before. I turned to
see the little girl with the black eyes standing calmly
in the middle of the mayhem. Welcome to the last stop, Jack,
she said, her voice cutting through the screams and cries.
Are you ready to get off? As I stared into
those bottomless black eyes, I realized with dawning horror that
our endless journey had only been the beginning. The real
nightmare was just starting. And somewhere in the distance, I
heard the sound of a train whistle, signaling the departure
to our next unknown destination. The curse around me faded
into a dull roar. As I stared into the little
girl's black eyes, time seemed to slow, and in that
moment I had a sudden, crystal clear realization. This was
a test the endless train ride, the maddening repetition, the
horrors would witnessed. It had all been leading to this
moment of choice. No, I said, my voice surprisingly steady.
I'm not getting off, not here, not like this. The
girl's smile faltered for a split second, a crack in
an otherworldly composure. You don't have a choice, Jack, everyone
has to get off. Eventually, I stood my ground, even
as I heard more screams from the platform, more passengers
being dragged into the darkness. There's always a choice, he
told me. I bought a ticket for this ride. Well,
I'm not ready for it to end. Her eyes narrowed.
You can't stay on the train forever, Jack, It doesn't
work like that, watch me, I growled, turning away from
her and pushing through the panicked crowd. I had to
find Lisa and Howard. We'd survived this long together. I
wasn't about to leave them behind now. I spotted Howard first,
huddled in a corner, his eyes wide with terror. Come on,
I said, grabbing his arm. We need to move where
he asked, his voice trembling. There's nowhere to go. It's
got us, It's finally got us. I shock him, perhaps
more roughly than I intended. Listen to me, this isn't
the end, It's just another part of the journey. We
have to stick together. Now, help me find Lisa. Something
in my voice must have reached him, because he nodded.
Stumbling to his feet, he pushed through the crowd, searching
desperately for Lisa's familiar face. We found her near the
front of the car, trying to pull other passengers back
from the door. Lisa, I called out, we have to go.
She turned, relief floating her face when she saw us.
Go where she asked as she reached us. In case
you haven't noticed, there are little shortened options here, he
pointed toward the back of the train, and keep going.
This thing has to end somewhere, and I don't think
it's here. As if in response to my words, I
heard the train whistle again, louder this time. The engine
was starting up. It's leaving, Howard said, his eyes wide.
We have to get off now, or or we'll be
trapped forever. I finished for him. I've got news for you, Howard.
We're already trapped. I've been since we first stepped on board.
But now we have a chance to find the real
way out. Lisa looked at me, understanding dawning in her eyes.
You think this is all part of it, don't you
the final test? I nodded. It has to be, and
I'm not failing it by giving in. Now the train lurched,
beginning to move. The last of the passengers were either
fleeing onto the platform or collapsing in despair. It's now
and ever, and said, are you with me? Lisa grabbed
my hand without hesitation. Howard hesitated for a moment, looking
longly at the door, who then took Leasa's other hand.
All right, he said, Let's see where this crazy train
takes us. As the train picked up speed, we made
our way towards the back, brushing against the tide of
terrified passengers. The little girl appeared again, her face contorted
with rage. You can't do this, she shrieked. You have
to get off. Everyone gets off, Not today, I told her,
Pushing past. We reached the final car just as the
platform disappeared from view. Through the windows, we could see
only darkness, not the familiar darkness of night, but an
absolute void, empty of all light and substance. The train
picked up speed, rattling and shaking more violently than ever before.
We huddled together, bracing ourselves against the walls of the car.
What now, Lisa yelled over the noise. We wait, I said,
and we don't let go. The darkness outside seemed to
press in on us, seeping through the windows like a
living thing. The light in the car flickered and died,
plunging us into blackness. I could feel Lisa's hand in mine,
how it's presence at my side, but I couldn't see them. Then,
just as suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped.
The oppressive darkness lifted, and for the first time in
what felt like an eternity, the train began to slow. Sunlight, real, warm,
beautiful sunlight streamed through the windows. I blinked my eyes,
not used to the brightness after so long in the
train's artificial light. As my vision cleared, I saw that
we were pulling into a station, a real station, with
people waiting on the platform, going about their daily lives
as if nothing was amiss. The train came to a
gentle stop, and the doors opened with a familiar hiss.
For a long moment, none of us moved, afraid that
this was just another trick, another test. Then Howard let
out a whoop of joy and rushed for the door.
Lisa and I followed, stepping out onto the platform on
shaky legs. The station sign read Grand Central Terminal. We
were in New York. We had made it. As we
stood there, breathless and disbelieving, I felt a tug on
my sleeve. I turned to see the little girl with
the blacklack eyes, but now in the sunlight, she looked
different normal, just a regular kid with brown eyes and
a confused expression. Excuse me, she said, her voice high
and childish. Is this the train to Chicago? I knelt
down to a level, smiling gently. No, sweetheart, this train
just came from Chicago. But trust me, you don't want
to get on it. She nodded, thanked me, and ran
off to find her parents. I watched the go a
weight lifting from my chest. Lisa squeezed my hand. Is
it really over? She asked, her voice barely a whisper.
I looked at her, then at Howard, then at the
bustling station around us. Yeah, I said, finally, allowing myself
to believe it. I think it is. As we made
our way out of the station and into the bright
New York morning. I knew the memories of our endless
journey would stay with us forever. But but weird faced
the darkness, made our choice and found our way back
to the light. And if I ever saw a train again,
it would be too soon. When tragedy strikes, it unfolds
in the most unexpected ways. There were no ominous narrations
or suspenseful melodies, no hints that the ordinary will suddenly
transform into an extraordinary event In an instant. A cataclysm
can reveal it's devastating more, leaving chaos and despair for
those left to witness. The air was chilly in November,
and amidst the anticipation of a four day Thanksgiving weekend,
the impending doom of the finals loomed, clouding our excitement.
That morning, I was in science class do my best
on the final exam. Too quickly, in the blink of
an eye, everything changed. The events that followed were both
awe inspiring and terror inducing. As I recall, we were
finalizing the evidence for our report, and my ears popped
as if I had rolled down the window of a
speeding car. The jarring rumble shook the classroom, accompanied by
a deafening blast that robbed me of breath. The fire
alarm wailed as water rained down, drenching us. I sprang
up from my desk with an odd adrenal focus. We
hastily made our way toward the aisle, abandoning our finals. Surprisingly,
we maintained a semblance of order. The fire alarm blared
as our teacher guided us out, and we obeyed in
a mix of fear and trust. Like frightened animals, we
followed the teacher's lead, navigating the corridors to the nearest exit.
We had to walk past my mom's classroom, and I
wondered if i'd see her getting her kids out. As
I turned the corner, her classroom came into full view,
and what I beheld was a nightmare made manifest. My
heart seemed to stop, yet its frantic pounding was louder
than ever. My mother's classroom door torn off its hinges,
lay in a shattered heap against the opposite wall. The
threshold was consumed by a furious inferno, raging uncontrollably. I
was now the one to stand widness to this wake.
I don't know what compelled me to charge into that
blazing moor. Was it delusion of invincibility, a desperate belief
that I could savor like a superhero? Or was it
a simple act of need driven by an unexplainable force?
And I cannot say even now. I pushed through the
flames and smoke, and as soon as I crossed the threshold,
the fire seized its anger. Descending the staircase with the
grace of a stumbling infant, I hardly registered the loss
of footing halfway down. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, dulling
the pain as I tumbled, and I regained my balance
on the final steps. And there at the bottom step,
an impossible coldness enveloped me. The chill of the air
permeated my senses. As I departed the bottom step, inside
the room, obscured by dense smoke, the cries of anguish echoed.
An nervous sweat broke out on my brow. As I
ventured forward, guided by the sound, the acred stench of
burning and flesh and hair assaulted my senses, threatening to
overpower me. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the darkness, granting
me the unwelcome gift of sight. I wish they had
failed me. The horrifying images etched deeply into my psyche.
Charred bodies strewn across the floor. The limbs twisted and contorted,
Some still smoldered, becoming consumed by thin light lines of crimson.
I crawled greedily along their blackening skin, reducing it to ash.
The scene was catastrophic, It was repulsive. A nauseating sensation
crept up from within the familiar prelude of vomiting. I
thought to suppress it, driven by an instinct to reach
the crying emanating from an overturned desk in the far
corner of the room. That must be my mum. She's
still alive, I thought naively. My path was obstructed by
the lifeless forms of classmates. Deep down, my gut warned
me to leave, but I ignored it. Almost reaching the desk,
my attension was drawn to yet another body lying in
my path. This one was slightly larger than the others.
It took only a moment to realize the unthinkable. This
was my mother. Her right side was gruesomely absent, her
eyes clouded with milky white, and her jaw hung slack.
She had lost an arm and a leg. Dead. My
mother lay lifeless at my feet. The sound of sobbing
irrupted again, originating from behind the desk. No discernible words,
just heartbroken sobs. Setting aside my grief for the moment.
Aided by shock, I left my mother's side to reach
this person. The true magnitude of the disaster had not
yet fully sunk in the realization that no one could
have survived. The crying grew louder as I approached, echoing
not only in my ears but in my thoughts. He
had the clamor of the alarms. It was as if
I was ensnared in a waking dream, with the cries
became my sole focus, blotting out every other sense. Reaching
the desk, I cautiously peered behind it, my eyes drawn
to a hoddled figure in the corner. His black and
skin mirrored the others, and he possessed little remaining hair.
Tremors coursed through his body as he faced the wall,
his arms extended limply, wrists hanging from his forearms. Hey,
I yelled, Are you okay? Can you move? I said?
As I maneuvered around the desk. Looking back on it now,
it was incredibly obvious that he wasn't. No response, perhaps
the explosion had damaged this hearing. Instinctively, I reached out
and grasped his hand. The moment our skin made contact,
the crying ceased and the tremor subsided. Slowly, he began
to turn his head towards me, his neck moving with jerky,
disjointed snaps, and then I beheld his face. Leathery skin
clung to his emaciated skull, while his eyes, wide milky
gray and white, mirrored my mother's through a slackened jaw.
Brown teeth peeped out, devoid of lips. His broken nose
sat withered upon his face, completely nude. His leathery skin
continued down his skeletal frame, with patches peeling off, revealing
a putrid yellow fluid oozing from the infected wounds. I
stood there in shock, taking in his convulsions and heaves.
Suddenly his head rocked like that of a newborn, and
he took a ragged, strained breath. Then he let out
a sound unlike anything I had ever heard, but that's
not the right way to describe it. The sound triggered
a sensation within me, a feeling that wasn't entirely my own.
I was engulfed by an overwhelming grief, an intense pain
that consumed me entirely. Guilt as I'd never known, washed
over me, threatening to drown me in its depths. I
recoiled from the desk, stumbling backward until I fell into
my mother's charred remains. A cloud of ash billowed forth,
caressing my face. As I gasped for air, I indvertently
inhaled the plumes of my mother's ash. I threw upon myself,
tears streaming uncontrollably. Crawling on my hands and knees, I
distanced myself from the nightmare, my existence teetering on the brink,
I crawled and then ran. Once I regained my footing,
I ran out of that room, up the stairs, through
the engulfing flames, through the school, past my bewildered classmates.
I kept running. I ran until my legs could no
longer bear the way to my body and my shattering reality.
I just kept running. Eventually I collapsed in a local park,
where the police discovered me. The cold, crisp grass crayd
over my face, leaving damp imprints in unison with my tears.
The officer who found me sat silently beside me in
the field, offering no words of advice nor encouragement. We
both began to shiver as the cold crept into our bones.
I laid in that field until I succumbed to exhaustion
and fell into a fitful sleep. I was so utterly exhausted.
When the officer drove me home, I awoke to a
reality and felt both distant and surreal. The following years
slipped away in a haze, an amalgamation of twisting memories
and blurred moments. I found myself residing in my mother's
home under the temporary custody of my aunt and uncle.
The settlement from the life insurance payout, locked away in
a conservatorship, offered a glimmer of financial security. Grateful for
their decision, I thanked my lucky stars, and my aunt
did not seize the opportunity to claim the money as
her own. Instead, she handed me a substantial sum of cash.
It was an overwhelming amount for a seventeen year old
to possess while grappling with the weight of new found responsibility.
In due course, I was granted emancipation, propelled forward by
financial freedom. Little did I know that this freedom would
become a catalyst for a destructive spiral, deepening the void
within my soul with every regretful choice. The passing months
merged as if time itself was nothing more than a
fleeting illusion. I was constantly oscillating between moments of heroin
induced intoxication and near unconsciousness. My days were spent in
a perpetual state of chasing a fragile equilibrium, and so
as predictable and anti climactic as it may sound, I
succumbed to the overwhelming grip of a heroin overdose. I
vaguely recall the Nature documentary playing in the background as
I craved another hit. Preparing the syringe, I found a
suitable vein, and the liquid bliss coursed through my veins,
flooding my senses. Was it my fifth sixth, more than
I had ever done before? The rush surged through my
body with an intensity I couldn't bear. My balance faltered,
and I collapsed onto the couch, my head spinning in
a disorienting haze. I slipped into unconsciousness, unaware of the
vomit that spilled forth from my mouth. At that moment,
I believed I was on the brink of death. In
my haziness. I faintly recalled a piercing scream of some
one who had entered the front door. I must have
appeared as the visual embodiment of the death I had
longed for. It was my aunt who discovered me in
that state, a sight she never deserved to see. She
was far too good to be exposed to the wretchedness
that had become me. Rehabilitation became an inevitable path I
had to tread. My therapist posited that the horrors I
witnessed in my mother's classroom were projections of my mind
for sionifications of the hellish experiences I endured. In the
ensuing months, I grappled with a profound sense of worthlessness.
Despite the earnest efforts of those around me, weeks continued
to bleed into months, and progress toward emotional and mental
recovery became a slow, agonizing burn. No matter the tools
and coping mechanisms I acquired, no matter the mental acrobatics
I performed, I found myself sinking deeper into the abyss.
The insidious cravings for substances clung to my heart with
sickening tenacity. By the end of that year, I retreated
into seclusion, abandoning my education and embracing a life of isolation.
Depression became my constant companion, blurring the days into an
indistinguishable haze. I traded one vice for countless others, escaping
reality through endless hours of content and video games, despising
every fiber of my existence. Late into the solitary nights,
even in sleep, I found no respite. My nights were
tormented by relentless nightmares, unyielding in the pursuit of stealing
away what little rest I had left, and my emotional
nuddhir I ceased to care for even the most basic needs.
My body, an instrument of survival, was now perpetually hunched,
bent by the weight of my deteriorating state. I had
become a repungent wreck, a physical manifestation of the turmoil
within my mind. I was a mirror reflecting the distorted
image of my shattered mentality. The battle against my demons
was slipping through my fingers, and I was losing myself
in the process. In time, my life embarked on a
transformative journey, emerging from the shattered remnants of an existence
that had unwettily become my solace. It began with a
simple spark, an irruption of laughter. It was not a
mere chuckle or a fleeting smark. It was a barely
deep laugh that reverberated within me. The sound itself was
foreign to my ears, stirring confusion and exhilaration. At that moment,
I felt immense pride swell within me. Soon after I
shed my former self, transitioning from a reanimated corpse to
an animated being, My new addiction came growth, and I
pursued it with fervor. I constructed a fortress, a barricade
to withstand the relentless onslaught of my mind. It tamed
the internal chaos that had consumed me, gradually reclaiming control
over my destiny. With every strained step, I crawled a
feeble yet indomitable way up a treacherous mountain. Knowing I
had to venture beyond my childhood home to nurture my
emotional development, I decided without hesitation. I relinquished my home
to my aunt, packed my belongings, and embarked on a
journey to Florida. Florida became my homestead. I found refuge
in a vacation cabin amidst the serenity of the everglades.
There were no neighbors for miles around, and the land
belonged to a kind couple who were seldom present. Nestled
within a dense, humid forest provided ample opportunity to confront
my inmost thoughts, aiding my recovery. Though reclusive, I reveled
in the new found freedom. The forest around me was
a testament to nature's magnificence. It thrived with beauty, teeming
with life and vibrant hues. Birds sang, insects hummed, and
the sun set gracefully. He was a stark contrast to
the desolate nights I had once known. Occasionally I would
venture to an ocean fed creek as stones throwaway, indulging
in peaceful fishing. With each passing day, I slowly fortified
my resolve, gathering the shattered pieces of my courage. The
journey ahead remained daunting, but still a glimmer of hope
illuminated the past the head. I clung to the belief
that someday, somehow I would break free from the clutches
of the sphere. It was precisely what I'd yearned for.
My life had become my own again. Though the memories
still carried pain, they had become more bearable. I was
on the verge of uttering those elusive words I am happy,
until the nightly lamentations found me. The anguish cries piercing
the silence, a relentless reminder of the entity that haunted
my sleep. Sleep became an elusive luxury, for as darkness descended,
the whales shattered any chance of rest. Daylight offered a
brief respite. The cries became a force that unleashed forgotten pain,
shattering the barricade I had erected. The dormant rancor within
me stirred, awakening with a vengeance. My inner turmoil returned,
engulfing me in a tempest that left me gasping for breath.
My resilience crumbled like sand, slipping through trembling fingers. The
laughter that once danced upon my lips died in my throat.
I broke quickly, so quietly. Then one night I stirred
from a nap that it inadvertently consumed me. The strange
sensation tugged at my consciousness, rousing me from my slumber.
The room was shrouded in stale silence, the clock displaying
at one twenty six a m. It was the dead
of night, yet mercifully devoid of the haunting cries. With
cautious curios I rose from my seat and made my
way toward the front door. Spurred by new found audacity,
I recall thinking I should step outside, prove to myself
that nothing is there, prove the crying is simply in
my head. As I approached the door, I envisioned walking
outside and wondering where I should go that night. The
air was eerily calm, devoid of the usual bug song.
I pressed my face against the small window on the door,
peering into the darkness beyond, fully expecting to find only
an indistinct shadow. But to my horror, there it stood,
staring back at me with an intensity the sent shivers
down my spine. Our faces were separated by a mere
fraction of an inch of glass. Locked in a macab
face to face encounter, a cacophony of screams erupted, shattering
the once trangquil air and sending tremors through my home.
The glow from the kitchen illuminated his face, etching its
haunting contours deep within my mind. His quivering jaw moved erratically,
a grotesque dance of opening and closing. With each labored breath,
each exhale berthed a clinging mist, smearing the glass with
intricate patterns, forming its surface into eerie artistry. His vacant
eyes remained fixed ahead, devoid of recognition, as if ensnared
within the clutches of unyielding madness. With unsteady steps, he
gradually retreated his form, shrinking into a crowd's position mere
feet away from my door. There was no denying the
presence before me. Roseen in shock, I stood there, grappling
with a maelstrom of emotions. Fear, curiosity, and twisted fascination intertwined,
forming a turbulent whirlwind of conflicting impulses. Though an unsettling
truth settled within me, there was no denying the raw
reality of his existence. This was no figment of my imagination.
It was a chilling encounter with a realm beyond my comprehension.
My scream tore through the air, an instinctual response fueled
by primal emotions. No coherent thoughts could encapsulate the overwhelming
turmoil within me. Anger, fear, and frustration, merged into a
sickening sensation that gnawed at my core. I had grown
tired of sleepless nights and a life that no longer
felt like mine. I had escaped across the country to
flee from this, Yet here it was huddled just feet away,
mocking my desperate attempt at sarlas it felt like a
cruel joke my own mind was playing on me. Leave
me alone, I shouted, my voice cracking. His tears streamed
down my face. Please just leave me alone. My cries
resembled the agonized wails of a wounded and trapped animal,
roar and untamed outside, the creature continued its relentless screams,
rising to its feet again with a disjointed movement, and
approached my door, its contorted posture resembling the grotesque position
of a late stage Tetanu's patient, skin tearing as it leaned.
Leave me alone, I yelled again, unleashing a surge of
pent up emotion that had been dormant for far too long.
My please fell upon rotting ears. I could not comprehend
or sympathize. It reached my door. I had rehearsed this
moment in my mind over and over. I imagined, how
would confront and eradicate this embodiment of my deteriorating sanity.
I had chosen this entity as the symbol of my
mental decline. The effigy upon which my deserved future lay
flayed in a bloody goodlike fashion, offered to the altar
of my current reality. Driven by panic and rage, I
grabbed the fire axe above my table, my body moving
mechanically as I propelled myself back toward the barrier that
separated us. A wordless scream of terror, revulsion, and hatred
irrupted from deep within me. As I crashed through the door,
my clenched teeth unable to contain the overwhelming intensity of
my emotions. The creature was struck by the door, its
body forcibly pushed backward, eliciting a feral gasp from its throat.
Now I was determined to end it, kill it, kill me,
candle kill. The words reverberated in an unsettling loop within
my mind, out of sync with each other, fueling my purpose.
As I prepared to face the culmination of my anguish,
in a whirlwind of uncontrolled movement, I tumbled down the steps,
my body flailing as I crashed onto the ground. Before
I could fully process the fall, I found myself at
my feet, instinctively rising without conscious thought, and there it was,
face the face with me, its breath uncomfortably warm and
sticky against my skin. The beutred stench of decay invaded
my nostrils, causing me to recoil in demoralized repulsion. I
felt my courage waver and my resolve crumble. I realized
I was not strong enough, not capable of facing this.
I back pedaled until I was pressed against the wall
of my house. Then it screamed, convulsed, and trembled before me,
its milky eyes fixed on an unseen horizon, its hands
stretched out, reaching for something beyond my comprehension. With that scream,
a surge of courage and rage flooded my being. It
was the same as it had been all those years
ago in the school, an overwhelming flood of emotions. They
were not truly mine to feel. It's difficult to articulate,
but I embodied those emotions and allowed them to engulf me.
Tons you me kill. The word reverberated relentlessly in my mind.
Springing forward with a wild scream, I swung the axe
with all my might, the blade sinking deep into its side,
the sensation of bone deflecting the force, and my strikers
edged into my memory, never to be forgotten. Blood another
fluid sprayed from the wound as it took a few
faltering steps to the side. Pushed by the momentum of
my assault, the creature seized, its cries, its tremors, its breath.
Time stood still, and it finally turned to look at me.
Fear held me captive under its gaze. We stared at
each other, locked in a moment, and felt like an eternity.
Foul breath washed over me, once more, seeping into my senses.
Beyond that, nothing happened. We simply stood there, locked in
a silent exchange. I willed my frozen bones to thaw.
My mind transitioning from terror and friends, had raged to
something else. It was in pride, rather a different, indescribable emotion.
Yet it carried a sense of triumph, I believe. Unbeknownst
to me, it had reached out and gently grasped my arm,
its touch going unnoticed until it began to speak. I
never meant to scare you, he rasped, his voice torn
and ragged, struggling to emerge between shallow breaths. I'm sorry
this had happened to you, It uttered, its words, filled
with agony and desperation. Tears welled up in its eyes,
a flicker of pain crossing its face, as its ragged
hand clutched at the axe lodged in its new laceration.
Please kill me, he wheezed, his pleased reverberating in my
mind and reaching my ear. Simultaneously, with its other hand,
he gripped the axe and brought the blade to its neck.
Kill me, candle kill now. Final word echoed like an
explosion within my head, and his hand pressed against my face.
Everything plunged into total darkness for a fragmented moment. As
I swung the axe. Suddenly I felt myself hurtling through space,
avoid engulfing me. The air grew cold, and the wind
whipped past, intensifying the disorienting descent. I screamed in a
frenzy of confusion and terror, my voice lost in the
abyss Downward, I plummeted faster and faster, the nauseating sensation
overwhelming me. Did I die? Is this death? Undead thoughts
of my eminent demise gripped my courage, but I resisted,
unwilling to accept my fate just yet. In the distance,
far below, a growing light pierced through the darkness. Fresh
tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision and making
it difficult to gauge the proximity of the light and
how much time remained before I would be halted by
the unforgiving ground. But it was rapidly approaching. I squeezed
my eyes shut, unleashing a scream that echoed through the void.
In the face of imminent death, I summoned every ounce
of defiance within me. I want to live, The words
echoed in my mind, a fervent plea, repeating like a mantra.
I curled into a protective ball, bracing myself for the
impending impact that would mark my brutal end. Seconds stretched
into eternity as I awaited the inevitable. Then, with a
soft and gentle thud, I collided with the ground, the
impact akin of falling off the couch. A feeble whimper
escaped me, carrying away the remnants of my shattered pride.
Slowly I uncored my limbs and remained still a mix
of confusion and exhaustion, paralyzing me. As this death, why
had I somehow managed to survive? At the very least
I was conscious? I reached out with my hands, feeling
the texture of the hardwood floor beneath me. I tempted
to open my eyes, with darkness engulfed everything, rendering me
blind to my surroundings. Rolling onto my back, I extended
my arms as far as there would go, searching for
walls that eluded my touch, instead only finding a formless nothingness.
A new fear emerged as a creeping suspicion arose. Did
I even have a face? With trepidation, I brought my
unseen hands towards my face, and a sharp sting shocked me.
As my dirty, sweaty fingers met my open eyes, it burned,
and a faint chuckle escaped my lips, mingling with tears
that continued to cascade down my face. I released a weak,
triumphant sigh, throwing my arm in the air, and darkness
claimed me once more, my consciousness slipping away. When I awoke,
I found myself in an unfamiliar hallway, illuminated by ethereal torchlight.
Glancing around from my position on the floor, I took
in the details of my surroundings. The hallway stretched endlessly
in both directions, its warped and aged, the dark wood
floors covered in a thick layer of dust. On each
side of me, two doors stood, adorned with handles clad
in aged bronze. The pealing, curling white paint of doors
cast the small shadow that danced in the flickering flames.
Ornate red and gold walls framed the hall, extending into
the distance without interruption. The air hung, still thin and cold.
I pushed myself upright, drawing a reflective breath, just to
find that my lungs refused to cooperate. I couldn't draw
in the air, an unsettling revelation that further shock my
fragile state. Yet, amidst the disquietude, an unexpected acceptance settled
upon me. Maybe I truly am dead, I mused, while
massaging the space between my eyes. And perhaps this is
limbo or some other place beyond the realm of the living.
Standing before the doors, I brushed off the accumulated dust.
As my fingers traced the bronzed knobs. I tempted to
turn the knob of the door on my right. It
remained resolute, refusing to budge with my attempt. I turned
my attention to the door on my left, hoping for
a different outcome. Yet once again my efforts proved fruitless.
The doors remained firmly shut, denying me entry. A sense
of resignation settled over me as I contemplated the possibility
that I had indeed entered a land of limbo or purgatory,
where the deceased wandered aimlessly seeking answers and respite. If
there were lessons to be learned or tasks to be fulfilled,
I had yet to discover them. But the absence of purpose,
the prospect of eternal nothingness weighed heavily on my soul.
With the deep breath, I made the conscious decision to
venture further into the darkness, forsaking the dwindling light behind me.
Hours turn into an indeterminate passage of time. As I
traversed the corridor, my hand trailing beside me against the
cold surface of the wall. Surprisingly, fatigue and hunger eluded me, further,
reinforcing the notion that I probably died. If this was
the extent of my existence, an eternal cycle of aimless wondering,
I yearned for something more. The prospect of mere nothingness,
devoid of purpose or meaning, felt like a reality abandoned
by the gods long ago. Determination and desperation mingled within me,
urging me to maintain my pace and keep moving forward
despite the uncertainty. And then a sudden burst of light
ruptured the darkness behind me, catching me off guard. The
icy tendrils of fear gripped my chest, causing me to
fail and stomp my yelp. Swallowed by the darkness. With
a surprising display of grace, I flocked heavily on my stomach.
I clambered to my feet and swiftly turned round. Repelled
by a sense of desperate longing, I hurtled toward the
new found light, driven by an unspoken fear that it
would fade if I didn't reach it in time. Desperation
fueled my actions as I lunged for the handle of
the nearest door, seeking the anchor to halt my momentum.
The handle remained steadfast, unyielding as it abruptly halted my
chaotic trajectory. I clutched the doorknob with both hands, pouring
every hunt of strength into my attempt to pry it open.
I threw my weight against the door, pulled, hit, kicked,
and pleaded in desperation. With the door remained unafflicted, Exhausted
and defeated, I crumpled against the door, collapsing to my knees.
I buried my face in my folded arms, tears flowing
freely once again, as a sense of hopelessness enveloped me.
What was the point? There was nowhere to go, no
escape from this damn place. I was trapped, imprisoned within
my own personal purgatory. This was my punishment. Reality began
to fracture my veil of ignorance, slowly lifting. Could I
truly be dead? The realization dawned upon me, shattering the
feeble illusion of safety and acceptance. I wasn't okay. I
wasn't safe. The weight of my knees bore down upon me,
threatening to consume what little resolved remained. In the face
of uncertainty, I whispered the truth that echoed within my being,
I'm not okay. I rolled on to my side, curling
into a tight ball, clutching my legs close to my chest.
I surrendered to the oceans that consumed me. I seized
all efforts. Resigned to my fate, time lost all meaning
As I lay there, motionless, accumulating layers of dust upon
my immobile body. Months or perhaps years passed in this
frozen state. I remained frozen, a monument to despair and defeat.
The way to my surrender bore down upon me, and
I grew stagnant in body and spirit. As time passed,
a small voice in my from the depths of my being,
offering tiny shots of defiance. It urged me to continue
questioning why I should give up. The relentless nagging of
that voice eroded the staleness of my resolve, and so
with great effort I gave in to the persistent beckoning within.
I began to stir my brittle bones, creaking and cracking
in response to the tentative movements. Every inch of my
being protested, muscles screaming. As I defy the platitudes that
had held me captive, the desire of something different, something
more ignited within me. It took time, but I managed
to rise to a sitting position. My body clung stubbornly
to the remnants of my self imposed diagnation, resisting my will,
but I knew I had to move, dust Move, I
whispered those two simple words to myself, a mantra in
the stillness. With each painful twitch and each tear in
my flesh, I pressed forward. The blinding light pierced through
the darkness, and I quickly shielded my eyes. The hallway
one shrouded in darkness, it was now ablaze with a
furious glow of burning candles, illuminating every inch of the
endless walls adorned with their white doors. Shielding my eyes
from the searing exposure, I recoiled from the scorching heat
that began to radiate from the flames. I peered through
the gaps of my fingers, and a sight greeted me
that filled my heart with renewed hope. There at the
end of the hallway lay an exit, a definite continuation
beyond these confines. A rush of motivation course through my veins,
igniting a fire within my soul. Leaning against the wall
for support, I whirled my legs to carry me forward,
pushing past the pane. With each step, the longing to
reach the final door consumed me, Drowning out the agony,
I moved with a shaky shuffle that evolved into a stiff,
determined speed walk. In retrospect, I can only imagine the
nightmarish image I presented. But at that moment, all I
wanted was to have reached the end, to embrace the
promise it held. With each passing door, I caught glimpses
of their numbered plaques thirty seven, thirty nine, forty one,
forty three. The numbers ascended, I found myself running soon.
Light soon seared through my closed eyelids, the symphony of pain.
Perhaps I should have gaged the distance to the end,
but in my blind pursuit, I collided with the ending
wall with a resounding thud. The impact broke my nose
and I tumbled to the floor, disoriented and wounded. As
my body sprawled upon the ground, the once illuminated candles
in the hallway extinguished one by one, enveloping the space
behind me in an impenetrable darkness. Yet amidst the obscurity,
one candle remained definely aflame. The candle beside the t