Front Matter

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April 2015

There is something very strange going on with my wife...

by Darkhawkz
Winner - April Monthly Contest

Part 1
This is my first post on nosleep, but I feel y ou guy s should know about this. If y ou want to get to the meat of the story, y ou can skip ahead to the 4th paragraph. Growing up I alway s feared monsters. Even in college, which most would consider
to be the time when y ou can be called an adult, my greatest fears were the monsters under my bed, in the closet or at the window. I would alway s tell my self how silly this was seeing as I was an adult at this point and I was still afraid of
something I knew did not exist. That was until. I met my wife. But before I tell y ou what happened, let me elaborate on how I met my wife to be and how much she means to me.
I met Natalie in college. I was a nerdy guy, y et she saw in me something that no other girl in my life had. She was an extremely kind person, who alway s had the sweetest of intentions. As I spent more time with her, I realized how many things
we had in common. To me she was the most beautiful girl in the world. I could stare into her green ey es for the rest of my life, and thats what I chose to do when I proposed and we finally got married.
Fast forward to married life, I am working now, while she is working on an online masters degree. Life is good, life is actually perfect, too perfect. Ever since we got married, Ive told her every thing, my deepest secrets, my deepest feelings,
and most importantly, my deepest fears. I remember when I first told her about my silly fear of monsters, at first she laughed it off. But over time, she noticed how I would sometimes shiver in bed, ly ing awake in fear. Being the sweet heart
that she is, she would hold me, and tell me it would be alright. My wife became my protector, she became the one to keep my fears in check. Her face became that of an angel to me, one that would protect me from whatever scary things life
had in store for me. I came to trust those beautiful green ey es, and every time I saw her, I knew I was safe.
Now to the moreweird things that have been happening of late. The first incident that I can recall that could be defined as strange happened at 3:00 am one night. I woke up feeling extremely thirsty, and being the fearful guy that I am,
grabbed the flash light to go get some water. As soon as I turned on the flashlight I noticed my wife wasnt in bed. I looked over to the bathroom and the light was on and I could hear the water running so I assumed she was there. Half asleep I
walked downstairs to the kitchen and almost had a heart attack when I saw my wife standing in a corner drinking water. As soon as I saw her though, I felt safe. She smiled at me as she sipped the water from the glass. I was too tired and I
mumbled something about how hot it is as I got some water. She continued to smile at me as I finished my water and headed upstairs. As I walked back upstairs I called out that she should come back to bed seeing as its so late. When I get back
to my room, there she was, sound asleep. This was the moment I became wide awake. I could have sworn she was downstairs having water. Afraid to go back downstairs, I woke her up and told her what happened. Half asleep, half upset, she
comforted me and told me to go back to bed. The next morning she joked about how Im so afraid of the dark that I see her every where as my protector. Besides, I was using the bathroom when y ou thought I was out of bed she claimed.
With that warm smile, how could I think otherwise?
A week later, another strange incident. This was in broad day light, while on a Saturday morning, Natalie woke me up at 11:00 am and told me she was going to get groceries. At around 11:30 am I finally got out of bed and dressed up for a late
brunch with my beautiful wife. I went to the kitchen and found her drinking a glass of water. I smiled and said Back so soon honey ? She didnt reply, just smiled as she sipped on her water. Before I could approach her, the doorbell rang and I
immediately went to go see who it was. I opened the door. Yes, it was my wife, back with all the groceries. Oh help me with all of this will y ou? she jokingly snapped as she put down the paper bags by the door. As soon as she saw my color
drained face, she knew something was wrong. She sat me down, got me some water and I told her what happened. This time it was in broad day light, and I knew what I saw. As much as I had come to adore her beautiful green ey es, for the first
time, I saw in them a strange fear. My wife was the strong one, never afraid. She told me there is something she should have told me a long time ago. She said this happened to her as a kid, a lot. Where her parents and siblings would see her in
places they knew she wasnt. They could never explain these occurrences, but seeing as it caused no harm, they came to live with it without really questioning these encounters.
It took me a few months to process every thing she had told me, but I started to live with it also. Like I said, my true perception of fear was monsters, not my beautiful wife. Several similar incidents happen, for instance I would see her sitting in
bed, only to find her cooking in the kitchen downstairs. And in all these instances, when I would interact with this entity that I still saw as my wife, she would smile and not say any thing. I actually came to find comfort in seeing my wife all the
time, alway s smiling, alway s happy, and alway s perfect. It is important to note, however, that in all of these incidents, there was never any overlap. Meaning I never saw her in two places simultaneously. I guess any sane person would have
called out to their wife when they thought they were seeing the entity. But like I said, I found comfort in her green ey es, in her smiling face, so honestly I didnt really care.
Then today, every thing changed. My wife told me she was going to visit her grandparents who live an hour away from where we do. She invited me to go, but seeing as it was a Sunday and I just wanted to be lazy, I told her to go ahead without
me. This is when it finally happened. The overlap. I was in my living room watching TV when I got up to get my self a coke. There she was, my wife again, sipping water from a glass and just smiling. I was so used to it by now, knowing this
was the entity , I smiled and said And it is nice to see y ou are still watching over me! She smile and continued to look at me with those beautiful green ey es I had grown so fond of. Thats when the phone rang and I turned away from the
entity to pick it up. Hey sweetie, Im going to run a little late since granny insists on me stay ing for lunch! It was my wife, and as soon as I heard her voice, I heard a glass shatter, which my wife on the phone also heard. I turned around and
saw that the entity was now glaring at me, the smile no longer there. But rather, a very disturbing grin. She was pointing at me, with her head tilted at a perfect 90 degree angle. But that wasnt what disturbed me, it was her ey es. They were no
longer the green that I found so much comfort in. They were pitch black, like those demons in the movies. I stared at her as I was at a complete loss of words. Honey, is every thing ok? Did y ou drop something? my wife asked on the phone. I
whispered back into the phone I didnt, she did. At this point my wife screamed into the phone HANG UP AND LOOK AWAY!!!! I dont know how I found the strength to do so, but I did exactly what she said. When I opened my ey es
a split second later, she was gone. Confused and scared, I called my wife back who said she was already on the way It shouldnt have happened, it shouldnt have overlapped, they said it wouldnt..they said she was harmless
I am too scared to just sit around and wait, I still keep looking over my shoulder. My wife should be home any time now. As soon as she gets back I will ask her who she meant by they and what the hell is going on. She knows something and I
have to know what it is. Never did I think that the one I hold so near and dear to my heart, the one who protects me, could become the monster that I fear the most.

Part 2 - What exactly is 'it'?

If y ou havent read the first part of my story, y ou should check out Part 1. For those of y ou who are already aware of whats going on, let me get to it. When my wife (Natalie) finally got back she came in cry ing and wouldnt stop. She kept
say ing You.y ou dont deserve this.we dont deserve this.. y ou werent supposed to overlap.I love y ou, I care about y ou..y our family, y ou shouldnt have overlapped
At this point I was really confused. I comforted her, held her until she stopped cry ing. Then when she finally settled I asked Love, y oure not making any sense. Who is sheare y ou referring to the entity ..? She told me she
doesnt have a name for it and she has never actually seen her. Only others around her can sometimes see her. But she has alway s been described as someone who looks just like her, the same radiant smile and the same lovely green ey es.
But when y ou screamed in the phone earlier, y ou knew that what I was seeing didnt y ou..how? She looked at me and started cry ing again. I only kept it from y ou because I didnt want to freak y ou out.. she said. Its alright, just tell
me every thing.. I replied, pulling her close. Then she told me the story of the last person who overlapped, meaning saw her and the entity at the same time.
When Natalie was in high school, her family, namely her parents and two brothers were used to seeing it (as I call it, for the lack of a better word) around the house. She was alway s described as a smiling girl, who would usually just be sipping
on water. This occurrence only seemed to happen in her house, never at school or outside. Her parents, knowing the situation, would never allow her to bring any friends over for fear that they might freak out what they see. But one day, upon
her insistence, and arguing that seeing it has never done any one harm, her parents let her bring over a friend. Natalie and her friend Chris, were working on some homework when Natalie decided to go down to the kitchen and grab some snacks.
While she was coming back up, she heard Chris say ing Very funny ..but y oure weirding me out with that smile Natalie stopped dead in her tracks, but it was too late, the door to her room was open, and she was in direct line of sight
of Chris in the hallway. He turned to look at her, his face completely pale, as Natalie heard glass shattering. She was completely in shock, Chris was looking at them simultaneously. Staring wide ey ed in the corner of the room she heard him say
What in the... Natalie ran towards her room but the door suddenly slammed shut. She started banging on the door. CHRIS DONT LOOK AT HER, JUST DONT! she screamed across the door. But silence. The door opened five
minutes later and she found him unconscious. After taking him to the hospital, they found out that Chris went blind. Doctors could not explain it. And when they asked Chris to describe the last thing he saw, he struggled for words That..that
grinthosethose ey es.black black ey es..and her head, oh god her head was tilted 90 degrees. I never thought such a beautiful face could be so..twisted.
She thinks the only reason I can still see is because the overlap happened over the phone, so I wasnt able to feel the full effect, whatever that means. I was surprised that another overlap like this hadnt occurred throughout her life. Thats when
Natalie told me that they said she was harmless, and will not actively try to overlap. So then I inquired about the they that she just mentioned. Well, when I was a kid, my great grandparents knew something about this. They were very
hush hush about it, but apparently it had happened in the family once before. So it was clear then, we needed to go see her great grandmother, who was the only one left that could provide us with any answers.
Natalie called her mom and was told that they hadnt been in contact with their great grandmother for the past two y ears. Ever since her husband died, she became depressed and asked not to be contacted and broke off all ties. She lived out in
the country by herself, secluded from the rest of the world. It was going to be a three hour drive, so we decided to attempt to get some rest before our drive the next day. We barely got a few hours of sleep in. My wife woke me up this morning,
telling me breakfasts ready as she walked downstairs. I noticed both of us must have missed our alarms since it was 11:00 am already. The first thing I checked when I woke up was the bed, to make sure I wasnt seeing it. When I finally
went downstairs, I nearly fell backwards when I saw my wife, sipping from a glass of orange juice, facing the kitchen entrance. Jeeeez dont do that!!!! I snapped. She came rushing towards me Sorry...... she mumbled. I walked over and
gave her a hug Its alright, we are both on edge, well work through this. After a breakfast that neither of us had the appetite for, we hit the road to find some answers. As we were driving, my wife held my hand, and I felt safe once again. It
was a strange sense of security, because even after the crazy events, it was bright and sunny outside, and I was peacefully driving away with my wife. She smiled at me, I smiled back, looking at her beautiful green ey es, while fighting
internally to take the image of the twisted entity off my mind. We remained quiet for most of our journey until we finally reached the house. The house was located deep off of a small highway, on a narrow dirt road. There was an old van
parked, but it didnt look like it had been driven for weeks. The house also looked like it had been abandoned for a while. My wife reached out and I held her hand Lets hope for the best and see what we find. I said. But before I could open
the door, my cell phone rang. The moment the first ringing sound broke the quiet air, my wife clutched my hand just a bit tighter. She was on edge, I could tell. I looked over at her and she was smiling ever so slightly. I pulled out my phone and
looked at the caller ID, it read Natalie. The grip of the hand that I was holding started getting tighter and tighter. I suddenly got the feeling I was not with my wife at all. Call it a gut feeling. I picked up the phone as I realized the person in my
peripheral vision was changing their expression. The breathing also got heavier as I heard the neck starting to turn. With what little bravery I had left, I turned away, not daring to see that twisted face. ITS NOT ME!!! Natalie y elled from the
phone. The instant her voice reached my ear, I felt the glass shattering sound and a burning pain on my hand that lasted for a split second. I recoiled in pain, responding I know.I think its gone now. I looked over to see and sure enough she
wasnt there any more. I breathed Dont hang up. and drive over here, we need to see this thing through.
On her drive over, she explained how when she woke up, she was seemingly stuffed under the bed, as if someone knocked her out and slid her under the bed. When she woke up and realized that I wasnt there, she knew something was up and
called immediately. At this point I was freaking out, a lot. So many questions rushed to mind. It TALKED?? It acted just like my wife? How was it holding my hand? How in the world did it get out of the house? Most importantly, how do I tell it
apart from my wife? Thats when I remembered the stinging pain and looked at my hand. There was a very clear lucky burned into my hand. While I waited for my wife to drive over, I started thinking, the entity said breakfasts ready and
sorry . And why in the world was it sipping orange juice? Is it evolving? Is it learning how to fool me?
I wondered for a long time what all this meant until my wife finally arrived at 5:00 pm. It was getting dark, and I wanted to go find a motel and come back tomorrow. But my wife insisted that we at least check to see if someone even lives in the
abandoned house. Before she got out of the car though, she took the cigarette lighter from her car and burned it on her hand. I got very upset when she did that, but she said it might help me tell them apart? At this point, any idea of rationalizing
this fear sounded great. We went and knocked on the door as the doorbell seemed broken. Did y ou hear that? my wife looked at me terrified. Hear what? I wondered. The scream, it sounds like someone is in pain. My instinct was to
back out, I really wished I had. But before I could do any thing my wife was opening the door leading me in. I held her hand, while keeping one foot in the door. I was all too familiar with the classic door slams behind y ou in a creepy house to
walk in completely. Inside, every thing was dusty and full of webs. It was also unnervingly dark. As my ey es adjusted to the dark, I noticed that the house was completely trashed, with strange sy mbols scratched into the walls and on the broken
furniture in a shade of red. Just then my wife started feeling light headed and began to fall. I feel.so dizzy .. she mumbled. I immediately caught her as she passed out. Then, to my horror, as I looked up I saw her in the hallway. I could
barely make out her figure, but her finger was pointed at me, with her head tilted at that unnatural angle. I did not need to stand there until I saw the rest of her creepy figure, I immediately turned around while dragging my wife with me. The
door behind us slammed shut! But luckily my foot was in the door. I groaned in pain from the impact and lunged towards the barely open door and crashed outside with my wife. I looked back wishing she was gone, but she was still walking
towards us, very slowly, and deliberately. The next moments are kind of hazy as I was full of adrenaline. I somehow managed to throw my wife in the car and get in. As I looked in my rearview mirror, I saw her, her mouth was now wide
open and she screamed. As I hit the accelerator, I heard what sounded like the windows of the house smashing.
I drove half an hour to a small motel to rent a room for the night. At this point, my wife is asleep, and I have not slept at all. I dare not look away from her. And what does the message on my hand mean? Is it toy ing with me, telling me Im
lucky my wife called to save me? Should I go into the house again with someone else?

Part 3 - Her green eyes...

When my wife woke up, we had a long discussion on what our next step should be. While we were talking, I casually glanced at her wrist and noticed the burn mark was still there. She saw me looking, and her usual radiant green ey es became
dull It is me..I wish I could tell y ou to not be afraid of mebut I dont trust my self any more. Tears started running down her face as I gave her a hug and comforted her, without responding. She was right, I was starting to doubt the
one person I trusted to protect me in any situation. Though I took some solace in the fact that she was still the one who saved me twice from the twisted entity. Besides doubting ourselves, we did come up with a few theories that seemed to make
sense in light of recent events. First, it seems that the entity is unable to appear in my wifes presence, proven by the fact that the moment she passed out, I was able to see it. Second, the entity is either evolving since it was able to speak and
move out of the house, or there might be multiple entities as some of y ou suggested. Third, technology could potentially be a weakness for this thing as the phone call has saved me twice now. Finally, there is something very wrong with that
house and the entity definitely doesnt want us there. The house is something that has to be explored. But its too dangerous to just go back without any further knowledge. So we decided to talk to the only other person in Natalies life who had
experienced the overlap, her high school friend Chris.
After making some phone calls, we found out that Chris lived in a nearby town and had become a support group speaker for the visually impaired. It turned out he was actually speaking at 11:00 am, and we still had enough time to be able to
make it. We got to the small community hall just in time as they closed the doors. Most of Chriss speech was very uplifting and full of emotion, talking about all that he had achieved in life. He ended his speech by say ing The day that I lost my
vision, was the day that I truly stopped living in fear! We stuck around after and when the hall had emptied, approached Chris, who was standing next to his wife, whom he had introduced earlier during his speech. I didnt know how to even
begin to ask him about his vision loss, but before I could say any thing, he pointed to me Ah, so the overlap happened? She said y ou would come. He then went on to tell us that ever since the incident, Natalies great grandmother had been
in close touch with Chris. She felt very guilty about what happened, and was determined to find as much as she could. She also insisted that it was only a matter of time before the overlap happened again around Natalie and she wanted to find a
way to stop it. When we told Chris about the condition of the house and about the sy mbols that I saw, he became very serious. Then she tried to do it, she tried to bind what holds the sisters together to her house. Im afraid she may not have
survived that. he said quietly. I was really confused at this point. Did y ou just say sisters? I asked. Chris then told us to follow him home as there was a lot we needed to discuss.
While Chriss wife cooked us lunch, he told us about the day he lost his vision. So I never told this to any one except y our great grandmother, but that day that I lost my vision, before I passed out, Im pretty certain I saw a second entity behind
the one that I was staring at in disbelief. And as I drifted into unconsciousness, I heard a whisper: feed. He went on to explain that Natalies great grandmother called the entity sisters since she was certain there was more than one of them.
Additionally, she believed that they feed off of our fears, and not just fear, but the greater the fear, the more attracted the entity becomes. This made sense, seeing as Ive been afraid most of my life, and now I am at the peak of my fear since
the one that I saw as my protector has become the subject of my fear. After y ears of research into ancient lore, demonology, my thology and family history, Natalies great grandmother found a way to pin the sisters. That has to be why there
were strange sy mbols in the house and why the sisters didnt want us going near the house, she must have found a way to bind them there. However, seeing as the entity still appeared and drove with me in the car, that means they are still able
to move freely, but they might have a vulnerability in that house. All of this was progress, y et the thought of not knowing how to deal with these sisters was quite troubling. Lunch is ready ! called out Chriss wife as we made our way to the
kitchen to enjoy a much needed meal. Chris wanted to end this as much as we did, so he insisted that we spend the night with him for our safety. Considering I had not gotten any sleep lately, I welcomed the idea. We all stay ed in the living
room, and Chriss wife and I took shifts stay ing up to make sure nothing happened.
I woke up at 3:00 am, feeling thirsty y et again. I laughed at my self as I thought may be I have a medical condition of waking up thirsty in the middle of the night. I looked over at Chriss wife since it was her shift to be on watch. Sure enough, she
was awake and looking over at me with a gentle smile. I whispered water? as she pointed to the kitchen. I walked over, half in fear of seeing the entity again. The kitchen was thankfully empty, as I went to look for water in the fridge. Darn, no
cold water in the fridge. I figured they might have some bottled water in the pantry. When I opened the pantry, I saw that it was very spacious and dark. I went to turn on the light and saw something very unexpected and horrific. In the corner
lay Chriss wife, tied up, seemingly unconscious. THEN IT ALL HIT ME! Lunch is ready !. Those were the only words spoken by Chriss wife that day. I was so caught up in figuring out what was chasing us that I missed that fact completely.
I rushed back to the living room to find my wife missing and Chris sound asleep. What ensued after is bey ond bizarre.
I woke up Chris and called the cops immediately. I knew they must have taken her to the house. I didn't have time to tell them my wife was missing so I rushed out the door and headed for the house. Yes, I know this was very stupid, but we do
stupid things when our loved ones are in danger. Thats just human nature. During the drive I kept asking my self, how did I miss that? Why is the entity evolving so fast? It took another form? Is it because I was not supposed to survive an overlap?
Much less twice? Is it hunting me down? But why take my wife? Im the one they want. I finally reached the house. It was now 6:00 am in the morning. Before I could step outside my car, my phone rang. It was Natalie. HELLO!! HONEY
ARE YOU OKAY!!! WHERE ARE YOU??? I y elled as I picked up. Im.Im so confused...I thought we slept at Chriss house? Im home. Im home...please just come back. Now I was really confused. Is that still my wife on the
phone? Honey, y our wrist before I could finish she replied y es there is a burn mark on my wrist. So I decided to drive back. As I started reversing, I saw it. Standing in the window of that decrepit house, sipping water from a glass.
Smiling at me, with ey es shining greener than usual. I left for home, frustrated and not understanding any of what was going on. On my drive back I wondered, it knew I was going to go back to the house to look for my wife. It wanted me to
see. But why ? When I got home, Natalie came running and gave me a hug. I felt cold hearted for doing this but I immediately pulled out her wrist to find the burn mark on it. She looked up at me in disappointment It is me... As I finally
looked into her ey es, my heart stopped. Her ey es...they were dark black. The iris of her ey e was no longer the beautiful green that I had come to find comfort in. They were a deep black.
Natalie has been cry ing a lot ever since she looked in the mirror and I am still processing all of what just happened. Its been a complete day since her ey es changed color and there have been no more sightings of the entity. Life is seemingly
normal, not perfect any more but normal. Natalie is still herself, but seems to be a lot more of a serious person now. I spoke with Chris on the phone and he told me that him and his wife are doing okay and have not seen the entity since. At this
point, I am writing this update and Im not sure if I should go back to the house and investigate. I cant help but think it wanted me to see its ey es that day at the house. It wanted me to know what it took from me. I dont even know if destroy ing
the sisters will bring back Natalies beautiful green ey es. With that said, I am keeping a close ey e on her.

Part 4 - There is something even stranger going on with my wif e...

Just when I thought may be I had found peace, just may be I could move on with every thing, things got weirder. So Natalies ey es remained black. After a couple of weeks of pretending that things were okay, I tried talking to her about the whole
situation. But she would alway s find a way to skirt around the conversation. Things have never really been the same. We eat dinner in silence. I wake up at night and find her staring at the ceiling. But enough was enough, I couldnt continue to
live on like this, I needed to find a way to fix things. And the only way I knew how was to go back to that disturbing house. I sat down with Natalie and we had a long conversation about every thing that had happened, and she reluctantly agreed
that we needed to go back to the house. Whatever these sisters were, we needed to confront them.
So before we headed to the house, we came up with a plan. A lot of y ou guy s suggested that mirrors might help, so I made sure to bring a mirror with me. I mean at this point, why not? Additionally, knowing how dark it was inside the house last
time, I bought some night vision goggles. Now the question about whether Natalie would accompany me on the trip or not. Considering that she has been my savior every time, we decided it was best that she went with me. However, I was not
going to let her enter the house under any circumstance. I have also taken y our suggestion on making sure that it is her. Even though Natalie has been significantly quieter than before, I make it a point to ask her numerous questions and expect
answers to make sure its her. I can see the sadness in her ey es, how she knows that I have lost the complete trust I used to have in her. But she complies, and responds to my questions, knowing its the only way I can keep a straight head in this
entire situation.
We arrived at the house at 11:00 am in broad day light, not that it made a difference since the house was dark as ever inside. Since it was a pretty remote area, I didnt feel bad hooking up a chain to the front door and pulling it off with my truck.
I wasnt letting any door close on me this time. I had Natalie stand about 10 feet away from the door frame, so that she could still see me as I walked in. My theory was that these sisters seem to be unable to face her, so as long as I maintained
a good line of sight with Natalie, I halfheartedly hoped they wouldnt appear. With my night vision goggles activated, I stepped into the house with Natalie nervously calling out from behind Be careful honey Even though so much had
happened, I still found a sense of comfort in her voice. It will be alright, I promise, we will fix this. I called back. The air was heavy inside the house, and I found it slightly hard to breath, but nevertheless, I had planned for this trip for quite
a few day s and I wasnt about to back out. I saw the sy mbols again on the walls and I pulled out my phone and took some pictures. Every thing in the house was trashed and dusty except a small cupboard on the wall across the living room. So
far I had been walking in a straight line, maintaining vision with Natalie. But this cupboard seemed odd, it had too many sy mbols around it, and it was the only object in the house that seemed to be untouched. There had been no sign of the
sisters. Im going to check something out really quickly, I will be right back okay I called out to Natalie who shook her head O.Okay please just hurry, I want to leave already . I sprinted across the room, and looked through the
drawers. All were empty except the last one, which had a small pocket sized leather bound diary. I immediately put it in my pocket and started to head back. Just then, I turned around to find the smiling face of my wife, with a glass of water in
her hand and ey es that looked greener than ever. Honestly for a moment I admired her beautiful green ey es, only to immediately snap out of it and realize this was the entity I was facing. I slowly began to walk past it in an arc. Just as I had
passed her Is every thing okay in there?? Natalie y elled from outside. The moment the sound of her voice reached me, I heard a glass shatter behind me. I knew what was going on, and in that adrenaline filled moment, I said screw it, Im
going to give this a shot. I pulled out the mirror, turned around and held it in front of its face. Now I could see her through my night vision goggles, head tilted, grinning. It let out a scream and shattered the mirror in my hand. I slowly began to
back up towards Natalies line of sight, ey es closed shut. Just when I thought I was almost there, I bumped into someone. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and a face right next to mine. You came back to us! it whispered in my ear. The most
disturbing part wasnt that my ey es were closed, it was the fact that it sounded like five people say ing it at exactly the same time, with some deep and some higher pitched voices. Then I felt another hand as I was swung around to the ground
with a force I could not comprehend. As I fell, I crawled towards what little light was coming through the door. I barely got far enough to see Natalie screaming outside and running towards the house. STOP, NATALIE STOP, DONT COME
IN! I y elled as she halted a couple feet from the door. No no no.. not y ou too..they cant have y ou toothey said they wouldnt At the time I didnt really pay attention to what she said, I felt a hand holding my foot, knowing they
were try ing to drag me out of her vision. I noticed my phone had fallen out. At this point I became very dizzy and I reached to unlock my phone. Even though it was dark, Natalies face lit up on my phone screen background. Her beautiful
green ey es radiant as ever. I gave her once last look as I began to pass out. But right before I passed out, I felt the hand on my foot release.
I woke up at the hospital. As my blurry vision became clear, Natalie jumped at me and gave me a hug Oh thank god y ou are okay !! Can y ou see? Look at me, can y ou see? As she moved back, the first thing I noticed were her green ey es.
They were just as radiant as they used to be. Your ey es I mumbled. Natalie let out a scream of joy when she realized I could see YES!! Yes honey my ey es are okay, I feel like my self now! Every thing is okay ! I had so many
questions in that instance but the doctor insisted that I rest. The next morning, while the doctors were completing all the paper work for my discharge, I spoke to Natalie about what happened at the house. She explained that as I was falling
unconscious, she ran into the house only to see that the sisters were staring at my phone screen. The instant Natalie saw them, they looked up at her. After a brief stare they disappeared. She also told me that as she was pulling me out of the
house, it started crumbling and collapsed to the ground as we barely made it out. Really ? I thought to my self. Was it that simple? Then I remembered about the pictures I had taken in the house and I reached for my phone to look at them. What
are y ou looking for love? Natalie asked as she saw me desperately going through my photos. I took some pictures in the house.but I cant find them I replied as I wondered what happened to them. Hmmm I dont remember y ou
taking any pictures.. she grabbed my phone and slid it in her purse but we will worry about that later, I am just so glad y ou are okay ! and she gave me a hug. She was acting a little strange. Did she delete the pictures from my phone? I
noticed my jacket hanging on the door, the same one I had worn when I went inside the house. I walked over to put it on Its chilly in here! I smiled at Natalie. Just then the doctor called for her to sign some papers and as she turned away I
immediately felt my inside pocket. I could feel the small leather diary. Ever since weve been home, Natalie has constantly been by my side, quite literally. The only time I was not with her was when I went to use the bathroom. I pulled out
the diary and looked at the first page Here in lies what little knowledge we have gained over generations since the birth of the sisters. I was about to flip the page when Natalie started banging on the door Are y ou okay in there!!! Yes Im
fine honey, be out in a bit! I y elled back. Somethings not right, she wont leave me alone for one bit. Not to mention what she said before I passed out, she knows something and wont tell me. But I dont want to confront her just y et.
I went to work today and tried to read the diary whenever I got the chance but I had a busy day. The story is quite long but I am getting close to finishing it. Earlier today, I left work a couple hours early and drove over to the supposedly
demolished house. What I saw disturbed me. The house was burnt to the ground as if someone had deliberately set fire to it. Why would Natalie lie to me? Did she set this house on fire? I am also starting to doubt a lot of what she has said
recently.
Natalie keeps calling for me to come to bed and I am in my study writing this update. I keep ly ing, say ing Im writing something for work. I also told her I have to go into work tomorrow morning for a few hours to make up for the time I was in
the hospital. She bought it and Ill be going over to a coffee shop instead to finish reading the contents of the diary.

Part 5 - I f inally understand.

When I finished my previous post, I went to bed, ready to go to the local Starbucks the next morning to finish reading the diary. Surprisingly I actually fell asleep, all the while Natalie holding my hand and telling me every thing was alright. I
woke up at 3:00 am again, feeling thirsty. By now, Ive realized that this is not really normal but then again, nothing has really been normal. I decided to go down to the kitchen and get a drink of water any way. As I tried to slip out my hand from
Natalies she instantly woke up Whats wrong honey ? she inquired. Her ey es were not sleepy, it was as if she wasnt really sleeping at all. Oh nothing love, I just need to get a drink of water I replied. Before I even got out of bed she was out
of bed and ready to go down with me. She held my hand and walked me down to the kitchen as I got a glass of water. She was being over protective, too protective. Mind y ou, there wasnt any thing really wrong with her, she was herself, but I
couldnt help but feel that she was making sure I never see the entity again, which is why every chance she got she tried to be around me. We went back to bed, and I fell asleep knowing that Natalie was probably not going to sleep at all.
In the morning, she asked me several questions about why I was going to work. I made up some decent excuses. Sweetheart, I will be fine. I thought y ou said it was over? They are gone. I told her. Yes, of course. I just wanted to make sure.
I just want to spend as much time with y ou as I can, after all thats happened she said with almost a sad look on her face. I arrived at the Starbucks, ordered some coffee and without further delay pulled out the diary and began reading. Before
I tell y ou about the contents of the diary, I want to make some observations regarding the diary itself. It was very old, leather bound, almost falling apart. It had several different ty pes of hand writing throughout, suggesting that it had been
passed down and multiple people had taken notes in it. The notes within the diary were scattered, and I have tried my best to piece every thing together.
The diary began by telling the story of two sisters, who were both born a y ear apart. The first was Madeline, born on March 11, 1800. A beautiful girl with bright green ey es, she was the first child to her parents. The second daughter was born
on March 11, 1801. This seemed a little odd to the parents, but they didnt give it too much thought. Since their second daughter also had green ey es like her older sister Madeline, they named her Caroline. As they grew older, the parents
realized that both Madeline and Caroline were identical. And not just identical twins, they looked exactly the same. It was only later that the parents realized, not only were the daughters born on the same day, they were both born at exactly
3:00 am. Initially they went and saw several different doctors but none of them could explain this strange phenomenon. All they could conclude was that this was a strange anomaly. Eventually, the entire family just accepted the strange
phenomenon and continued on with their lives. Of the two sisters, Caroline, the y ounger one was very lively and energetic. She had a way with words and all the townspeople were very fond of her. Madeline, the older sister was quiet natured.
She didnt speak too much, and over the y ears had come to envy her sister Caroline. Caroline would sometimes pretend to be Madeline to confuse people. For the most part, the sisters were like any other siblings with usual conflict every now
and then.
Now this next part of their story takes a dark turn. It turns out that both Madeline and Caroline fell in love with the same man. Thomas was a very wealthy business man, and they both got to know him because he worked closely with their father.
Seemingly, Caroline admired Thomass wealth more than any thing, whereas Madeline was in love with Thomas. Thomas chose to marry Caroline, not knowing that her affection wasnt real. Being the quite one, Madeline didnt say any thing.
On their wedding day however, when Madeline saw Caroline getting ready to put on her wedding dress, she couldnt contain her anger and frustration and confronted her little sister. In a heated argument, she accidentally pushed Caroline down
the stairs, causing her to die. What happened next was even more bizarre. In a state of shock and emotional distress, Madeline hid her y ounger sister in the closet, put on Carolines wedding dress and proceeded with the ceremony. Madeline got
married to the love of her life, and proceeded to move forward with her life as if nothing had happened. A few day s later, Carolines body was discovered. The reason they knew it was Caroline is because the parents had secretly marked both
sisters with two distinct burn marks on their backs. Once word got out, Thomas left Madeline in utter disgust. Madeline realized that her life was now ruined, realized what she had done and hung herself. Now I realize that Caroline was alway s
the one who smiled, the one who talks and the one who can imitate people. Madeline, on the other hand, is the twisted form of the entity.
So at this point, I asked my self, so thats it? They are ghosts haunting the family ? Well not quite, the diary continued to explain what happened next. A generation later, the family was blessed with another beautiful baby girl named Laura. As
Laura grew up, the rest of the family couldnt help but notice that she looked exactly like Madeline and Caroline. Slowly, the family started seeing the entity and strange things began to happen. Now the writer in the diary claims that they do not
completely understand the origin of the overlap, however, they do know that it happens when the child experienced immense emotion.
Now I wont give y ou each and every detail from the diary as the notes were quite extensive. The diary gave several accounts of different 'daughters' being born in the family every once in a while that follow this same pattern. They look like
Madeline and Caroline and things around them become strange. Over the course of the notes, the diary writers understanding of the entity increased. All cases ended with the sisters taking complete possession of the 'daughter' or anomaly child
and disappearing. Over the y ears, the family figured out that the original burn marks used by the parents to mark the two sisters could shield items from the sisters. However, this did not work when the marks were applied on people. The notes
went back and forth on what exactly the sisters were, until I arrived to the last few pages of the diary, which were written by Natalies great grandmother, at least that was my guess. Turns out, she was a neurologist. She theorized that the sisters
were a part of the anomaly child. This is why no one ever found a way to end the sisters, they reside within the mind of the anomaly child. This meant that part of Natalie was the two sisters. Natalies great grandmother continued by say ing
Natalie is not to blame, the sisters are able to communicate with her subconsciously. Therefore she knows that they exist, but is not completely aware of what happens around her. To my horror, I turned to the next page hoping for a solution.
The final words in the diary read Its her, they are a part of her. In every past case, the final stage was complete control of the anomaly childs body by the entity. After which the immediate people around the anomaly child would die, and the
anomaly child would disappear. The sisters are entities that feed off of immense emotion. Unfortunately we have tried, but killing the anomaly child does not end the cy cle. They will be coming for me next as they have seen the diary in my
possession. I am hiding this diary under with the prescribed markings. To whoever finds this next, I am sorry .
Now I wrote that last paragraph without telling y ou how shocked I was. Was this it? There was no solution? Is that why Natalie has been stay ing so close to me? Does she realize that she will eventually be lost to the sisters? How did she save me
that day at the house? Did she actually interact with the entity ? I closed the diary, my heart racing. I cannot lose Natalie, she is my world. She is every thing to me. As I looked up I realized it was almost dark, I had spent nearly the whole day
reading this diary. As I drove back home, I didnt know what to do. I did decide that I needed to confront Natalie and tell her about the diary, even though that probably didnt sound like the best idea. But what other choice did I have? When I got
back home, Natalie rushed into my arms and I apologized for being so late. We had a nice dinner together and afterwards she asked me if we could look at the stars for a little while. Considering all the weird things that had happened lately, I
gladly agreed to finally do something normal with Natalie. Remember, how we used to climb out to the roof of the engineering building on campus and stare at the stars? she asked, turning towards me. Yea, and I still stand by what I said
then. I dont really need to look at the stars when I can look into y our beautiful love I responded. I love y ou. So much. Alway s know that she said and started cry ing. I held her as I couldnt help but think she knew what was going on. That
night I went to bed, fully intending to confront her the next morning.
I woke up at 2:45 am to Natalie quietly kissing my forehead. I pretended to stay asleep as I heard her walk downstairs. I quietly got up and followed her down. Then I saw her, holding a suite case and walking towards the front door. Natalie?
Honey, whats going on? I called out. She turned, ey es full of tears I have to go. Im so sorry. I have to go. Please. I wasnt letting her go, I had gone through too much for her sake. Natalie, I know every thing I started but she kept
glancing at the watch. No y ou dont! I asked them to! I told them to take me but leave y ou alone she screamed. Now I was really worried Natalie what did y ou do? How did y ou get me out of that house? Natalie, I need y ou to be honest with
me.For once honey, trust me...... She collapsed to the floor I begged them.. I begged them to leave y ou alone and take me. I have been fighting them for so long. I have been fighting to keep them away for so long. Half the time I dont
even know whos in control. They agreed. They will leave y ou alone only if I stop fighting them. But its too late now. I am no longer fighting them in my mind. I have given them control of my body. Run. Run. Run as she said her last words I
began to notice the strange inflections in her voice. RUN! she screamed as she looked up, her ey es pitch black, her head starting to tilt, a grin slowly forming on her face. The clock behind her read 3:00 am.
What ensued was probably the craziest thing I have ever done. But in hindsight, these last couple of months have made me a lot braver than I ever was. As she stood up, I rushed towards her and gave her a hug. I know y oure in there love. I
know y ou have been protecting me all this time. You have alway s been my savior. Now its time for me to save y ou. Now its time I protect y ou. Come back to me Natalie, come back to me. You are stronger than they are. Fight back. Fight back
for me. Fight back for us. I love y ou. I cannot live without y ou. I held her, ey es shut close. Remember the stars, remember how we stared at them last night. Remember how we stared at them all those y ears ago. I still think y our ey es shine
brighter than any of the stars in the sky. In that adrenaline filled moment, I kept talking on about our most cherish memories until I felt tears falling down my shoulder. I finally had the guts to pull away from her to see that she had returned to
being my Natalie. Ey es shining bright green, full of tears. Im so sorry she said as I held her for a long time.
After every thing that has happened, I have realized that I was so afraid of the world. Ive alway s feared monsters that exist in my imagination and the only person I saw that could shelter me was Natalie. Little did I know that all along she was
fighting against something much more scary. She needs me more than ever, and I have finally come to see that. I have realized that I have to fight for the one I care for so deeply. I believe that in the moment that Natalie gave the sisters control
over her body, they became vulnerable. Somehow, they seem to be trapped inside Natalie. Life is not going to be normal any more, but I dont care. As long as I have Natalie, every thing will be alright. It has been a week since and things are
starting to normalize. Still, sometimes at night I wake up and when I turn to look at Natalie, I see those pitch black ey es. But I hold Natalies hand, and in the blink of an ey e, her green ey es return, brighter than ever.

The past six years I've been working at a McDonald's. Last night was the worst I've ever had.
by Whiperoo
Runner Up - April Monthly Contest

Part 1
I'm going to get straight to the point here; I've seen some shit at work that I don't think was of this earth.
The first thing I think I should do is introduce my self. I'm Bill, a twenty y ear old McDonald's Manager, working out of a small suburb in rural Sy dney, Australia. I've been working here for roughly six y ears now, a manager for almost two.
They 've been uneventful, boring y ears. The monotony of the job has the phrase 'Hi, may I take y our order please' robotic in nature, and order taking itself has gotten to the point that by the time the car has driven from the initial order point to
my window, I have no recollection of the details of the order. It's in the drive-thru that my ordeal takes place, as a matter of fact. I've y et to go to the US, so I can't compare drive-thrus, though from what I've heard, it's a single lane that
stretches around the outside of a building, with an order-point, a cashier and a third point where the food is actually handed out. This is the basic structure that ours conforms to, however, where it differs from most is that there are two lanes,
rather than one, at the order-taking point. Essentially, provided there are two staff available to take orders, we can take twice as many orders in the same amount of time. This sy stem is far more cumbersome and slow for some customers,
however; unless the actual sensors are calibrated correctly, as well as working security cameras, some cars are simply ignored by the sy stem while other customers in the other lane are served first.
So, mini-explanation over, I'll elaborate as to the creepy shit that occurred just last night.
As I've already stated, I manage the night shift on Friday and Saturday nights; what this involves is my self and another crew member catering to the whole store's needs from 10pm til 5am, from serving in the drive-thru, to food production to
even serving on the counter once it re-opens at 5am. Provided the crew member I'm provided is experienced, the night shifts tend to go off without a hitch. Last night, however, is where trouble started.
The first thing that initially went wrong was the failure of my crew-person to show up. 10:30 is the offical start time of crew people, managers ty pically half an hour before as to ensure that the previous crew have done their jobs and left the
store in an acceptable condition. When it crept around to 11pm and my crew member hadn't y et turned up, I sighed inwardly, picked up the phone and dialled his number. I was counting on him to show up; an issue with the rosters had caused
all my other crew to finish at 11pm, instead of one or two at Midnight.
Ring... Ring... Nothing, there was no answer.
Resigning my self to a long and lonesome night (even the longest shifts are brightened by someone else being in the store) I started to turn around and prep the store, when I was startled out of my wits by the phone ringing again. I eagerly
picked it up, answering with the standard " ______ McDonald's, William speaking..."
I gave a few seconds, hoping to hear the voice of the crew member that hadn't arrived, apologising for their tardiness. A few more seconds of silence, then suddenly
Click.
The phone went dead.
Now when I say dead, I mean dead. The handset died, as did the dial. I couldn't even get a tone out of the thing. I grabbed my mobile, intending to call the head manager and warn them about the dead phone and truant crew member.
No signal. This night was only going to get better.
Annoy ed by the circumstances, plus the fact that I would probably be blamed for the broken phone and missing member, I bid farewell to the last closer off at 11pm and shut the front doors. The way our McDonald's worked is this; a dual lane
drive thru, open twenty four hours, with a front counter only open from five am til midnight. For small term shifts, like weekday overnights, a sole manager is ty pically allowed to run the store by himself if the secondary staff member can't
make their shift or there's a conflict of rosters. For the next five hours until the cafe crew arrived at 4am in time for the breakfast rush, I would be alone.
Decidedly going about my work with a monotony that would be more suited to paint dry ing than a shift manager, I spent the first two or three hours relatively at ease. I was lucky in the fact that the five or six cars that came through were drunk
and understanding, only after sundaes or frozen drinks. I had just finished my bun stock and stock check for the next morning when I ducked outside in the corral, where the spare bun tray s and dumpsters were kept for a cigarette. Just as I'd
brought the lighter to my lips
Beep.
Beep.
My headset beeped twice, indicating a car entering and waiting to order in the second lane. I cursed my bad luck; first an absence, then a broken phone, now this?! I ducked inside and headed to the order taker box.
"Hi, may I take y our or-"
I stopped mid sentence as I glanced up at the security feed and saw...
Nothing.
There was no car in either lane.
I looked further up at the sensor that told us what car was at what window, with a resounding negative to the concept that there was a car in the drive thru.
Both screens showed up blank, both said no cars available. I shrugged and moved out of the box, writing up the issue to outdated tech and computer error, when it happened again.
Beep
Beep.
Knowing that I had definitely heard it this time, I jumped back into the box, not even looking up when I uttered the famous phrase
"Hi may I take y our order please?"
Silence.
Again, suspecting another computer error, I looked up. What I saw made me start.
There was a woman standing in the second lane, the one furthest away from the building. She had her back to the security camera, and was standing half facing the speaker box, half away. Dressed in what appeared to be a short white dress, I
assumed she had just come from the bar down the road; we get a lot of walk-throughs who we can't serve due to store policy. While the sensor that indicated a car presence still did not show any signs, the beeper was based on motion detection.
Assuming it was just a drunk customer, I gathered my self and spoke through the speaker;
"Im sorry Madam, but we can't serve customers on foot through the drive thru due to health and safety hazards. You have to be in a car in order to place an order."
Silence.
The woman just stood there, back to the camera.
At this point I was starting to get annoy ed; the last thing I needed was a customer just fucking with my night and drive-thru lane. As I readied to repeat my self, I stopped, my hand halfway to the button that would allow me to speak to her.
She was cry ing.
At least, I think she was. She still stood with her back to me, but her shoulders were ...shaking? No, that's not the right word for it. Her shoulders were rolling back and forth, as if they were pistons rolling in their sockets. Her long hair, which fell
down the small of her back, shook back and forth.
With the exception of her shoulders, she stood remarkably still. While odd, I've seen some crazies come and go. I chalked it up to an alcoholic bender, so I repeated my self.
"I'm sorry Ma'am, but the drive thru is for vehicles only. We can't take y our order at this time."
I switched my microphone off and waited for a response. When I realised nothing was forthcoming, I sighed and left the box. An approaching car would no doubt make her move.
Now, there's one feature of the drive thru I haven't y et highlighted, and it's to do with the speaker box. When a car pulls up, not only does the beeping occur, but the receiver inside the speaker box activates; as a result, I can alway s hear
whatever a car is say ing, but unless I activate the microphone, they won't hear me. It essentially acts as a one way radio.
Now, when this woman at three in the morning came through to my window, and I asked her to move, she hadn't made a sound. After my aforementioned second attempt at moving her, and my resulting giving up, my microphone was
switched off, but I could still hear her. Seeing as she had remained silent, I went about my business, writing up a memo for the head manager as to the stock levels, when I heard it.
Snap.
The crack of static had scared me out of my wits. I looked up at the security feed.

She was still there, except this time... This time she was bent towards the order box. As I reached up to ask her to leave, a cold chill went down my back. Through the soft static in my headset, I could hear...
Whispering.
Her lank hair fell about her face in curls. The bedraggled white gown she wore was stained and cut in several places. But her mouth, her mouth wasn't moving. There she was, facing the camera, while this whispering crept through my thoughts.
It was soft, unintelligible, but the sound of it made me want to scream and run. Gathering my self, I want to say I spoke with authority but it probably came out shakier than a Campbelltown train.
"M-ma'am? Are y ou okay ?"
The whispering continued, though now I could hear the words. And that was the worst part. It wasn't a demonic muttering or death threats; It might even be easier that way. It was simply a voice, my voice, repeated over and over and over
again.
It kept vary ing in pitch, starting in a little girls voice and ending in a deep baritone; as if whatever the voice belonged to couldn't decide what it was or what it wanted to replicate. Repeating the words over and over. "Ma'am are y ou okay ma'am
are y ou okay ma'am are y ou okay ma'am are y ou ok-" I couldn't help it, I locked my self in the office. Fuck any customers that drove through, fuck any workers showing up. I wasn't leaving for any reason. There's only one problem. Earlier,
when I was taking the drunk cars, we were so busy that I'd left the window closed, but unlocked.
I don't remember the next part; all I remember is the fear that gripped me as time dragged on with broken fingers.
I found the following notes the next day, scribbled in my personal section of the Managers notes diary.
3:15am.
I heard the window slide open. The security feed doesn't cover the hallway between the box and the office.
3:30am.
I can hear footsteps. Agonisingly heavy, dragging every second beat.
I still can't find her on the monitor.
3:45am.

I have five more minutes until the open crew arrive. The footsteps have stopped, if only for one reason. The manager's office has a glass pane in the door: she's standing on the other side. I know. I can hear the whispering. I haven't seen her face. I
don't want to. Why is she here? Please. Leave. Why my voice? It's in my head, twisting in my thoughts. It won't stop. Please. Incessant. Over and over. Okay. Ma'am.
Stoppleasestoppleasestoppleamaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaymaamareyouokaym
3:50am. I can see the openers' cars arriving on the carpark feed. They're outside on the patio. I'm so relieved, this nightmare is over. And by instinct I look up. She's still here. She's smiling.
That's the only recollection I have of the time I spent in the Office. My amnesia was broken by the arrival of the cafe crew, knocking on the door. Apart from a few strange looks, they didn't seem to have any concerns. There was no mention of
any woman, no trace of her presence. The drive-thru order taker window was locked when I approached it.
I don't know what's happened. I don't know who she was. The security tapes just show static between 3 and 4am, with the static stopping with the door being opened by the cafe crew. There are a few short frames of me cowering in the office
around the corner, apparently scared for my life, before unbending and opening the door following their arrival. I can't have any one know about this; the pages from the manager books have been removed, I can't have any one think I'm crazy
and subsequently jeopardise my job security. As far as I can tell, the other crew just think I dozed off for a few minutes in the office, it happens more often than y ou think to overnight crew, one of those things that are overlooked provided
y ou've finished y our jobs and reset the registers.
But as I look at the roster for next week, my heart can't help but fill with dread as I read the small bar.
Wednesday
William
Overnight

Part 2
During the week, I took up the issue of the no-show crew member with the head manager. Suffice to say, we didn't exactly talk in calm voices; she was pissed off that I had run the store alone, and I was pissed off because I'd been FORCED to
run the store alone. The woman didn't come up in conversation, on either of our parts; there was no surveillance evidence to say that she was there, and I wasn't exactly going to bring her up without some proof. As much as I was terrified, I
needed this job more than she needed me, so any chance she'd get I'd probably be demoted back to part time crew.
Once I'd extracted the promise from her that the dickwad who hadn't shown up would arrive for his shift on Wednesday night, I left feeling slightly better than before; at least now if she appeared, I'd have someone that could back up my story,
even if the security cameras couldn't.
Any way, Wednesday night came, and at 10:30pm, half an hour after I'd arrived, the overnighter stuck his head in the door, an apologetic look on his face. The excuse was something along the lines of
"Sorry, I was sick and didn't know to I had to call in beforehand". Bullshit. The truth was undoubtedly more along the lines of '"Sorry for the no show, went on a mad bender and decided work was going to be too hard". There are signs posted up
every where that y ou had to call in at least six hours before y our shift, to give the managers enough time to figure out what to do with the gap in the rosters.
I followed up with the ty pical 'Yeah, don't do it again' and turned back to my pre-overnight checklist. I'd been looking over the roster from last week (something else that I had taken up with the head manager) and it appeared to be what I
thought; it was just an accident that no-one had been rostered on past 11pm. At least tonight I had both a closer and an overnighter, so the shift was running smoothly. I'd pretty much forgotten about the terrify ing encounter last week, half due to
the fact I threw my self into my duties and immersed my self in the business. I was being paid to stay awake, the least I could do was finish the shift.
Midnight came and went; I bid farewell to the closer and locked the front doors. Securely. I wasn't taking any chances. Now, it was just me, the overnighter, and the store until five in the morning. Weekday early start crew show up at five, not
four, just because the rush isn't as big as weekends. The nights are ty pically pretty quiet; hence they are labelled 'Bacteria nights', nights when every thing can be scoured with sanitiser and deemed 'clean' by the morning shift. I was cleaning
the HLZ, feeling good about the shift, satisfied with the quality of work the other employ ee was putting in. As a result, I barely hesitated when I heard the phone ring. "______ McDonald's, William speaking". Silence. Suddenly, my thoughts shot
back to last week. The phone call. This is how the entire night had started. I persevered though; it can't be all that bad, could it?
It could.
"Hello?", I spoke into the handset.
"Hello?", I heard back.
I was immediately put at rest by the voice on the other end. Last time it had been only silence. At least there was someone on the line.
"Hello?" My stomach dropped.
The voice had changed.
Not slightly, but totally. From masculine to feminine. From bass to falsetto.
It fucking terrified me.
I hung up the phone immediately. My heart was beating out of my chest, sweat poured down my forehead.
Again, just like last time, the phone rang.
This time, when I picked it up, I didn't speak. I wanted to see what would happen, if it would initiate conversation.
Silence.
Then.
Static.
It echoed through the handset, loud enough to make me drop it in shock. As it clattered against the tiled floor, the crew member looked at me, shrugged, and continued to clean the grills. I scrambled for the handset, picking it up, but as I went to
jam it back into its' stand I heard it.
The whispering.
There was no phrase, no distinguishable voice. Just echo upon echo upon echo, each clamouring for attention. But there was something in it. An irregularity. As if something was being covered by the noise.
As I moved my ear closer, curiosity gaining over my fear, I heard one word through the static.
"Hello".
Thoroughly past the point of rational thought, I smashed the phone into its' cradle. With that final movement, the noise stopped. The voices ceased.
I breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Considerably shaken but still in control, I decided to ignore what had just happened, and go about my duties. May be it was a one off? If I was lucky, I was just imagining the calling, or it was someone try ing to be funny, some reader from last
week thinking they 'd prank me.
Back in control, I threw my self into work. Time flies when there's a freezer checklist that needs doing!
Unlike the other night, this time we had almost nobody through the drive-thru. The cars we did get, three or four of them, wanted soft drinks, or ice-cream, which we happily obliged, no need to re-clean the grills if no-one orders product. As a
result, when 3am rolled around, I was feeling good again. That's when
Beep
Beep
Fuck. Another car? I ducked out of the office, checked that the crew member was on his break still (he was out front on the patio, smoking) and jumped into the order-taker box. I raised my hand and pressed the Mic.
"Hi, may I take y our order please?".
Silence. I glanced up at the security feed located above the register.
Nothing.
I sighed, and ducked back out. Another ghost car. Stupid detector. It needed calibrating aBeep
Beep
Alright, this is ridiculous. Seriously.
I jumped back into the box, checking the feed. Yep, this time there was a car there. They were quick and precise; two large frozen cokes. Quick and easy, dream cars at this time. They paid, I raced down to the next window and poured and
handed out their order. It was when they were pulling out of the drive that I glanced back towards the booth, and I fucking saw something. A silhouette, coming off the light from the order booth.
No. Fucking no. It can't be.
I ran back to the managers office.
I looked up at the feed.
She was back.
The same white, torn dress. The same long, wild hair. She stood in the lane, but unlike last time... This. This time she was bent double almost. Over the box. But she wasn't focused on the speaker this time. This time she was staring at the security
camera. At me.
Her skin was pallid. The hair that fell about it looked wispy, pale. As if I could take a handful out by just tugging. All her other facials were slightly obscured, as if the security camera was blurring her out. But the worst part was the whispering.
It crept through my headset, through my mind. Incessantly repeating itself, a choir of tortured voices cry ing for the joy of being singularly heard. Over and over.
"Hello"

I couldn't stop watching. The voice wasn't just my own now, it was every ones. Every one I knew and didn't. Each voice was instantly familiar, but easily forgettable. It was the ambient sound of crowd, a collection of sound by tes that could be
harvested from any busy place, but twisted and manipulated to conform to a singularity.
Snap
The screen blacked for a second, then came back to resemble... A clear lane. She was gone.
I released the counter that up until this point I hadn't realised I'd been crushing to splinters. I exhaled a breath that I didn't realise I was holding. And turned around and moved towards the front counter.
My coworker was still outside, smoking.
But he wasn't alone.
She stood a little further bey ond him, out of his view but in mine.
And now I can see why I wrote down that she was smiling.
Her lips were gone. Not smoothly, but torn, jagged, lacking any surgical precision. Her entire upper and lower rows of teeth were exposed in a skeletal parody of a grin. Her... Its'... head was tilted in a way that would call into doubt the solidity
of one's vertebrae. As my crew member stood outside, a walking horror stood beside him.
As I readied my self to scream at him to come inside, it moved. She went from stock still to a pose, her index finger held mockingly over her lips in a twisted message.
shhhhhh
Even as I watched, she slowly inched backwards, further out of view, until she got past the light of the neon signage; within seconds, she was gone.
Permanently, it seemed. My crew member came in from his break, gave me an odd look, but immediately went back to work. The rest of the shift blurred into a sleep deprived mess of cleaning, filing and writing. I couldn't have been happier
to see the arrival of the morning crew.
I know what y ou all want. Proof of what happened. But again, I went to check the security footage, and again, like last time, it had been glitched for the entire time of its' time at the store. My crew member never saw it, there were no
customers, no scrawled notes. I'm starting to think this might all be brought on by sleep deprivation. I really hope it is.
But there's one thing that's been bothering me since Wednesday night. Every shift, I drive and park in the customer carpark, much closer to the store than the employ ee spots are. But every night I work I lock and check my car; there's been
some recent robberies in my area, and I don't want to be one of them. Call me over cautious, but I know for certain when I approached my car that morning, I had locked it when I arrived.
It was unlocked in the morning.
Not giving it enough thought in my sleep deprived state, I drove home, but it's been bothering me ever since. Mainly because every time I've looked in the mirror since, my heart pounds and my body jumps. It's only for a split second.
But she's standing by my reflection.
A finger to her lips.
Shhhhhh.

Part 3
I've been try ing to muster the strength to write down what's been happening to me, but every time I get close to a laptop screen I simply can't get any thing down. I finally put in my request for day shifts, and it's been granted and followed up
on; I now run the 9am-5pm shift, it's far easier and with an apparent lack of crazy women who aim to terrorise my shift.
Last week marks the first month I've had of not seeing her. As I said in the last update, every time I saw my reflection in any thing, I saw it. She was alway s just behind me, a finger pressed against her lips in a sick imitation. Shhhhhh is the
message I kept getting, nothing else. I eventually visited the doctor in order to gain something, any thing, to help me sleep. After the prescription if some strong knockout medication, I immediately drove home and took two. BAM, out like a light.
And just like that.
Click
I stopped seeing her. It was as if she vanished from my life. Instantaneous and relieving. I don't think I've ever welcomed a soft pillow with as much gusto as I have in the last month. The transfer as well was going great; Saturday and Sunday
mornings were busier in all regards, but once the rush period cleared I was essentially free until lunch to only supervise; day crew, while less independent than night crew, there were more of them to get the same jobs done in the least.
I'd been sitting in the office, minding my own business (I was in fact writing an email thanking the store manager for the transfer) when
BANG
All the electronics in the store went out. Now, when I say out, I mean 'cart off and replace' dead. We were lucky in regards we kept the basics; grills, oil vats, KVS screens and food warmers, but the rest of it whoosh. Gone. This circumstance of
events can spell the death of a career; as much as the dealing with customers sucks, the fact that I suddenly might be dealing with an unemploy ment line at Centrelink was even worse. I did the right thing; ran out the front until I got reception,
called the owner of the store, notified him of the event, and then called the head-office helpline; as much as we may hate a head office visit, they are fucking ridiculously quick at responding to events such as ours; considering a loss of face for
a store is a loss of face for the company, their reputation is at stake, as well as the limits on their complaints inbox. As for the customers that we had in line, we explained the situation and that their orders couldnt be taken at this time, and if they
had any complaints, direct them to me. I was lucky ; the ones on the counter were understanding; wed just finished the after school rush, meaning the drive-thru had just emptied, and the counter only had a few people on it. Those three or four
who were on counter paid for their food with exact cash (we had to use calculators, believe it or not) due to a lack of EFTPOS, and got their food in a timely manner; we could still cook, we just couldnt take orders electronically or keep the fries
warm, as all the heating lamps went with the first shock.
Within fifteen minutes of the phone call, the owner arrived with two maintenance men, and went about assessing the damage while I explained the issue. He thanked me for the quick response, and acknowledged that he knew it wasnt my fault;
probably a faulty transformer or a failed surge protector. Any way, the issue was going to take a few hours to solve, so the front and back crew, with the exception of a choice few who could help run the store in the situation that every thing could
start back up, were sent home. As the day turned into evening, however, it seemed that the issue was going to keep the store closed until the overnight roll-over occurred, when the clocks automatically reset for the new shift; this was put in place
in order to stop people cheating the clock and being paid extra for the actual work they put in. So, on the assurance that the clocks would roll over by 11pm, the start of the night shift, the owner extracted the promise from me that I would be here
for the roll-over, and left on the expectation that we would be ready to serve customers at 11:01pm. While Id already stay ed back for an extra three or four hours, the pay was too good to ignore; I had crushing phone bills and car insurance
coming up in the next few weeks, so a few more clocked hours would help me to boost my savings.
So, like it or not, every one, I was in it until 11pm. And before y ou start rolling y our ey es, calling me out for stay ing back, my reasoning was that the appearances last time hadnt started until well into the night; considering Id be out the door
before midnight, I thought, even if it was something more than sleep deprivation, then Id be out before it started.
As the time rolled by, quickened by the store prepping, I couldnt help but notice a faint presence in the air. It was that feeling one gets when, something is just off. Like the stench of sewage at the local childrens park; something that turns an
entire idy llic, joy ful scene into a place of my stery and doubt. I wasnt the only person to notice it, either. I could see it in the ey es of the new overnight manager and the crewperson they ve been left with. Something didnt feel good about the
whole scene.
Beep.
Beep.
My heart fucking sank at the noise. I didnt even have to look at the feed to know what I would see; this was no car; there were barricades up in order to prevent cars from driving through while they fixed whatever issue was stopping power from
getting to the speaker boxes. They 'd muttered something about blown circuitry, and had estimated a few hours on fixing it. It had surprised all of us, earlier that night, when the box had seemingly activated of its own accord; I had several people
witness to this; the owner was standing next to me when the box came back online and screeched static, before settling back to its normal, unassuming self. Wed both laughed off the shock at the event, and chalked it up to just another item that
wouldn't have to be paid for in order to replace.
But still, the barricades had remained up, it was my job to remove them at exactly 11pm, that way we could start fresh at the rollover. So what the fuck was at the order box?
The cams had been knocked out by the earlier electricity blowout; the only ones working were the bare essential ones inside the store; theres no bigger threat than an employ ee falling over and suing for damages, so they were literally
every where but the corridor outside the managers office; there was nothing of note there, so there was no need for the camera.
I couldnt tell the other manager to take the order, I couldnt. What would that say about my mental state? How could I explain, logically, that I thought some fucking crazed female was haunting my night shifts and home life?
Instinct called. I grabbed a headset and raised my hand to the speaker.
Hello?
Hey man, whens the store opening back up? Im starving!
Seriously ? Fucking seriously ? I was terrified, out of my mind, and the singular cause of my fear, was a beeping made by a guy who wanted to eat?
Sorry sir, but we cant serve y ou at this time, try coming back past 11pm, weve been having some technical difficulties today.
Aww man, really? Not even for me?
Seriously ? I was terrified of a guy with the munchies? WhaSNAP
The cams above the registers flickered.
A flash of white in the drive-thru lane
What the fuck was that?
Ahh Im sorry sir, we cant serve y ou, regardless of who y ou are
SNAP
Static, black screen
But Will you know me?
Crackle
I-Its not up t-to me, sir
Blue screen
Cmon, let me in
What the fuck is happening?!
Suddenly, the feed above me flashed. That fucking smile was plastered all over the screen.
Torn lips, wide teeth. This time, her ey es were in focus.
And they were staring through the screen at me.
Not again. Not fucking again. I wasnt going to acknowledge this thing. Id spent a month without it, I needed a lot longer. I said one word through the headset. Leave.
Youre going to hate me, every one.
I turned around and walked right out of that store. I gave a garbled excuse about not feeling well to the new manager, about how shed be fine running over nights. To ignore drunk customers, and to ignore any one who just stood at the order box.
But I couldnt spend another night in that place. I had a week off from today, any way, so I wouldnt have to set foot in that store for at least a few day s.
I went into the managers office, grabbed my key s and bag, and strode into the carpark. Well, strode is an understatement. I jogged at least partway through the carpark to my car. I grabbed my car door; locked this time. Thank god. I was so
ready to be rid of this place; I wasnt going to quit, I just needed some time to my self after all this mess.

I checked my mirror.
Nothing.
I checked my backseat.
Nothing.
I was safe, at least for the time being.
Switching on my ignition, I reversed out and drove the short ten minute trip home. I wish I could say I wasnt scared shitless, but I was. Why now? Why a month off, then this torment? I was going to lose my mind over this nonsense. Get a grip,
I told my self. This has to be somehow related to something. Just breathe, go home, get into bed, and deal with it in the morning.
I clambered out of my car, into the safety of my home. I went straight to the bathroom, checked the mirror.
Nothing.
I showered, got ready for bed; I checked the mirror in my room.
Nothing.
I shut off the light to my room, leaving the lamp on.
Nothing.
I reached up and flicked off the lamp.
And she was standing above my body.
I froze. Numb, shock. What the fuck did she want? Why was she here? Ever so slowly, the silhouette bent towards my body. The whispering started.
Lucky
And like that, she was gone.
I need help, Nosleep. This thing, whatever it is, is ruining my life. But thats just it. Its been just me up until this point. Ive been, or at least think Ive been, the only one tortured by this menace. But thats changed now. I just got a text from the
overnight manager.
Her: Hey Will, have you seen anything weird on overnights?
Me: No, why?
Her: Its just theres a woman here, standing over the box
And she keeps whispering your name.

Part 4
Its been at least six weeks since my last update. Like I said, Ive been taking time off work; exams are/were getting closer every day, so I couldnt really afford to take day shifts and miss out on time that could otherwise be used for valuable
study ing; law isnt really the dusty old tomes that people make it out to be, its rather just the trawling through webpages looking for an approach that hasnt been used in regards to a particular issue. Its exhausting, but it lacks the whole haunted
by some fucking crazy bitch vibe that Ive been getting from work.
Work itself has been great and accommodating; the more time I can take off the better for them. Casual managers get paid a higher rate than part/full time workers, so provided someone takes the shift that I would otherwise be working, they re
generally really cool with it, provided they re given a few day s notice.
The past two weeks, similar to the month before the last encounter, has been bliss, broken only by the ty ping of my key s and the turning pages of my two hundred dollar Tort Law textbook. Full, deep nights of sleep, with a distinct lack of serious
hauntings. I wish I could say the same about my friends at work.
The last part left off with the new manager for overnight texting me about her new experience with my friend. Those messages can be found here
Suffice to say, I was terrified. But heres where I feel sickened with my self; I was actually relieved that for some reason I wasnt being bothered, that someone else was suffering. Reddit, that thought alone shocked me, let alone the rest of them.
The rest of the week passed without incident; sleep came fitfully, but uninterrupted, thankfully. worked day shifts, came home, studied, then slept. Trust me, vicarious liability in regards to a persons civil suit is not something thats worth half a
units pass or failure rate.
Thats when it happened.
Vvvt.
Vvvt.
My phone vibrated.
Getting texts is a big thing for me, trust me. The fact that my phone was even vibrating generally meant work, or emergency ; Im not a big texter, I prefer calling if possible.
Vvvt.
Vvvt.
I sighed and reached over for the phone. I checked the screen.
Private Number
Okay Odd, but not unexplainable. I answered, and raised it to my ear.
Hello?
Hello?!
The panic in the voice made my blood run cold. It was Steph, the woman from my texts, the overnight manager. Something had left her terrified.
Steph? Whats wrong?!
Will, get to work now, please!
The phone cut off.
Redials, recalls, nothing mattered. Every thing was met by the calm robotic projections of the voicemail inbox. I sprinted out to the car, floored it. I dont think Ive driven as fast in my life.
I pulled into the carpark of my work, parked, not even bothering to lock my car in the panic. I sprinted down the gravel, my heart pounding. The only thing that was going through my mind was that this had to end tonight.
I ran up the patio, banged on the door. Shit, locked. I ran round into the drive thru lane, screaming into the order box.
Steph? Steph, are y ou okay ?!
Sir, Im going to need you to calm down.
Wait, what? What the fuck?
Sir, I cant serve you in the drive thru lane unless youre in a vehicle.
Stephs voice rang through the speaker. She was fine? I jogged around to the booth.
She stood there, headset on, bewildered at my appearance.
What the fuck was going on?
She opened the window, startled.
Will? What are y ou doing here?
Upon hearing about the phone call thatd caused my mad dash, she went white. Apparently, the woman hadn't been seen for the last few weeks, not since those text messages. I apologised, warned her again to simply ignore her, and, exhaling
deeply, went back to my car, more confused than ever. Who the fuck had called me? What the hell was that voice? And why me? The same three questions that had plagued me over the last few months swam back to the surface of my mind,
threatening to send me back into that spiral. I quelled them, reminding my self (all the while hating my self for it) that it wasnt happening to me any more, may be I could move on? Another question. Fuck. I cant get any where.
I started my car and began the trip home. But Nosleep, heres where it starts to scare me. I started to get more texts. From Steph, specifically.
This first one
This is strange. I got this message ten minutes after I left work, right as I was pulling in to my driveway. A black image. Thats all.
Within ten seconds of the first one, I got another. This one made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Thats the sign from work, but this one also confuses me. Its been cropped for some reason, slightly shorter than y our standard iPhone
photo.
Finally, this is the one that has reduced me to base instinct, that forced me to make this update. Im not sure about the rest of y ou, Reddit, but I see a silhouette in that image. A silhouette of someone with lank hair and white clothes. While that
may be the last of the images that Ive been sent, that doesnt mean contact has stopped there. Ive gotten a single message, not so much terrify ing, but confusing.

blink blink. CONCRETE. Silence

Ive got no idea as to what that final text may mean, but its strangely reminiscent of a poem I read in High School for y ear 12, any one else recognise it?

Diary of a Fat Girl

by kateshakes
Runner Up - April Monthly Contest
Dear Diary,
That's how y ou're meant to start these things right? I have never kept a journal before, nor do I want to, but the hospital said I have to as part of my 'treatment plan'. Funny.
Let me back track a little.
I have always been overweight, from being a child. I went to a strict Christian school, and luckily because of this I was never bullied because of my size- but y ou alway s notice the other kids staring.
It got worse as I got older, I just seemed to expand in all directions except the one way I wanted. So not only am I fat, but also very short. You can imagine this didn't do too much for my self esteem.
Because of my size, I've alway s hated gy m class at school. Firstly there's the undressing in front of the other beautiful, skinny girls who alway s glance over at me. God, this is embarrassing to write. I could feel my whole body flare red as I
felt their ey es on me. Then there was the exercise itself. I'd get awful chest pains, and couldn't run more than around a hundred metres, and wouldn't even attempt real team games- no one would pick me any way.
I tried diets. Every single diet y ou can imagine: Atkins, cabbage soup, 5:2... You name it, I've tried it. But they never work, I alway s end up caving and getting bigger.
Things got really bad 2 y ears ago. I got really bad chest pains and was rushed to hospital- doctors said my weight was at a dangerous level, and that my heart was suffering, I had to change my way s. My parents begged me to change, bought
all the right foods, even watched me at meal times. But did I change? Nope. Still the fat glutton I've alway s been.
I got bigger. I know what y ou're thinking, why ? Why do this to y ourself? Why put not only y ourself but also y our parents through this? Well, Diary, I'll tell y ou. IT'S BECAUSE I HAVE ZERO SELF CONTROL, OBVIOUSLY. Fuck. I hate
my self. I can feel my rolls. I hate going clothes shopping. Nothing suits me. Sometimes I just sit in bed and cry at how little control I have over my life.
3/20/15
Sorry Diary, forgot to date it last time, but it's been about 3 weeks. I got put in hospital again with chest pains. Doctors told me off, I saw psy chologists about my weight problem. Other than that, nothing much to report... still a fatty. Alway s will
be probably ! I'll update y ou when I've lost a few pounds... we may be a while.

Hello people of Reddit.

I am the father of Ella, the writer of this diary. My family are devastated and going through a very difficult time at the moment, as my daughter passed away last week.
She had suffered with Anorexia Nervosa for many y ears, and in the end her heart couldn't cope any more, and gave up. It is clear reading her diary, which I did not know she kept until I had the opportunity to look in her bedroom, that she had
severe body dy smorphia, believing she was actually overweight.
She was 60lbs exactly when she died.
It was a hard decision to make, but I decided to post this diary for others out there who are either suffering themselves with this disease or know somebody that is.
Sometimes, y ou just can't see the forest for the trees.

A White iPhone 4S
by sleepy hollow_101
Runner Up - April Monthly Contest
It was sitting beside the curb outside my apartment. A white iPhone 4S in surprisingly good condition. I scooped it up from the ground to get a closer look. It probably belonged to a high school girl, judging by the horrendously glittering purple
case. I admired the phone any way tacky though the case was, it had protected its charge fairly well. The phone had not only survived what I assumed was a fall from a careless girls book bag, but it was in pristine condition. No hairline
cracks, no dings, no dents nothing.
As I marched into my apartment, throwing my bag on the floor and shedding my coat and shoes, I continued inspecting the phone. Whoever lost it must surely be missing it. I pressed the home button and the screen lit up. A swipe right and I
discovered that the phone was not, in fact, locked. Thank goodness for stupid teenage girls (ignoring, for the moment, that I used to be exactly one of those). I searched the contacts and found one labeled Mom. I pressed the call button.
Nothing.
It was as though the touch screen hadnt registered my fingertips. Puzzled, I pressed call again. And again. Nothing.
It was at that moment that I got a call on my own cell phone, a black iPhone 5. I swiped to answer and the voice of my best friend reached my ears.
Hey, sleepy hollow_101! How was y our test today ?
The phone momentarily forgotten, I fell into a deep conversation with Anna about the absolute chaos that is university life. We chatted for a bit about whatever things twenty -something y ear-old girls talk about before she got to the point.
You busy tonight? Theres a cool club that opened up not too long ago downtown and a few of my friends wanna go. You should come with!
I glanced around at the comfort of my apartment. I was a pretty quiet person who preferred to sit inside and read a good book, as opposed to my outgoing Anna who was alway s getting into heaps of trouble. Its alway s the story, isnt it?
Opposites attract. As much as I wanted to stay in tonight, I smiled and agreed, much to Annas squealing delight. How can I deny a request from my best friend?
We set up plans and I hung up the phone. Then I remembered the other phone sitting on my couch, dejected. I picked it up and opened it to the owners mothers contact information. Thats right! I punched the number into my own phone and hit
call. I could at least call this way.
The phone rang for a few moments. I was about to leave a message when an exhausted voice came over the speakers.
Yeah?
I tried not to be put off by this rude response.
Hi, um, my name is Sleepy hollow101 and I found this phone outside my apartment I think it belongs to y our daughter. Is there any way I could get it to her?
The line was quiet for a moment, aside from some labored breathing. Then: Do y ou think this shit is funny ? Quit it with these stupid fucking pranks.
I remained speechless for a few moments after shed hung up on me. What the hell was her problem? Thoroughly confused, I rechecked the number. No, I had dialed the right number well, whatever. I shrugged. I couldnt make sense of it,
but it wasnt really my problem, either. Sooner or later someone was bound to call her and then Id pick up and explain the situation to them. It would get resolved somehow.
I still had a few hours until I had to be at the club to meet Anna, so I settled down with The Good Earth and a back of chips.
Just as I was getting deeply embedded into the story, a loud beeping startled me.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I looked around wildly, my ey es colliding with the lit screen of the white iPhone. Oh, that must be her ringtone. I looked at the Caller ID. Restricted.
I picked it up.
Hello?
Static.
Hello?
The static was intense and only getting louder. I tried calling out a few more times, but no response. I was just starting to move the phone away from my ears due to the loudness of the static when click.
Call Ended.
Huh. Must have been a mistake. Stupid phone, I was getting nowhere with this.
I went back to my book and spent a few peaceful hours reading. An hour before our meeting time, I grudgingly pulled a glitzy shirt on over my head one that I had borrowed from Anna, of course and paired it with some black booty shorts.
I put on flats (no way was I wasting a night in high heels) and applied cherry red lipstick. I figured I had prepared as much as I wanted and was just about to head out the door when the phone rang again.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I grabbed the phone off the couch and stared at it. Restricted. What the fuck? I rolled my ey es and answered it one more time, just on the off-chance that someone was there.
Hello?
Nothing this time, absolutely no sound. It sounded like the line was dead. Seriously, what was the problem with this damn thing? May be I should just take it to the police station in the morning, let the cops deal with it
Can y ou hear me?
I let out a little y elp. The womans voice had come in, loud and clear, patient and toneless. But it sounded off. There was no other noise on the phone. I put the receiver next to my ear again, cautiously this time.
Hello? Hey, do y ou know whose phone this is? I found it sitting outside and
Click.
Call ended.
By this point I was getting pissed. Was someone play ing a fucking game with me? I tossed the phone back on the couch. Enough of this, I would deal with it when I got home. Or may be Id let Anna deal with it. She was better at this kind of stuff
than I was.
With that thought in my head, I headed out the door and into the night.
The club was pretty fun. It turns out that Annas friends all happened to be guy s, with one in the mix who was exactly my ty pe: tall, with dark hair, forceful and confident, and a little controlling. I know, I know, Im asking for trouble. But a little
trouble is good once in a while. Plus, he and I hit it off right away. He sealed the deal when he took my phone, found my number and plugged it into his phone.
Im taking y ou out on Saturday. You better be ready at 8!
I felt a thrill up my spine. Oh, hell y es, I would be.
I crashed at Annas place. We spent the rest of the night watching shitty horror movies that wed already seen a million times and making brownies. Well, actually, just the brownie batter, which we then ate raw. We passed out around 4 AM and
I went home around noon the next day thank goodness I didnt have any Friday classes.
It wasnt until after Id already showered and made my self some breakfast that I caught sight of the phone once again. I dont know why, but just looking at it made me uncomfortable. I decided Id bring it to the cops that day.
I was about to throw it in my purse when the screen lit up.
New message: one attachment.
I slid the phone open. The text was from a restricted number again. I shivered.
I opened the attachment.
A picture. A picture of me. Taken from inside the club when I was talking to Mr. Bad Boy. It was a close picture, too, taken no more than a few feet away from me.

I dropped the phone to the floor. I could practically feel my face draining, a white pallor settling into my cheeks.
My heart was racing like mad, but my brain went into practical mode.
Now I knew I didnt have the phone by accident. It was left outside of my apartment in hopes that I would find it. It made sense, didnt it? That silly little flimsy case would never have protected the phone from the hard concrete.
So why did they want me to have it? Clearly they wanted to harass me. Ok, but for what reason? I thought back to my dad. He was a cop, may be it was someone hed pissed off? Although it seemed unlikely, as I was pretty far from my
hometown. Had I pissed off any one my self lately ? I wracked my brain but came up empty. I didnt have enough daily social interactions to piss any one off, if Im being honest.
But they had to know who I was. They d followed me to the club, they d taken my picture, and
And they d sent the picture right when I picked up the phone.
Just as this thought registered, the phone went off again.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Restricted.
This time, there was no hesitation. I picked up the phone and said in a strong, angry voice, Who the fuck is this? I dont have time to play y our fucking games. Do y ou think Im scared of a shitstain like y ou? The expletives continued to pour out
of my mouth.
Silence.
Are y ou there?
That same, toneless, emotionless voice. Click. Call ended.
Ill admit, I was pretty freaked out by this. I made the decision in a split second. I grabbed my backpack and filled it with a few necessities, grabbed both the phones, and ran out to my car. I jumped in, locking the door behind me, and sped off
down the street, my ey es trained on the rearview mirror to ensure no one was following me.
I drove through town for a few hours, taking every turn that I could. In the meantime, I formulated a plan. Whoever this was, and whatever reason they had for doing this, I wasnt going to be victim of this stupid prank any more.
Once I was sure I wasnt being followed, I pulled over and called Anna. I explained the situation to her over the phone and she agreed to let me stay at her place.
Ill help y ou catch this fucker, she said.
About 20 minutes later, I arrived at her house. Ok, lets catch him.
We sat in her living room and I took out my phone. If we were going to find out who this guy or girl was, we were going to need all the help we could get. And all that help consisted of this weird phone.
I slid the phone to unlock it and we stared down at it. Where do we start?
Pictures, tried Anna.
Right.
I clicked on the photo icon and started from the beginning.
The first few photos were normal. A teenage girl with long blonde hair, a toothy smile, and some leftover acne from her preteen y ears. She had taken a lot of selfies and stupid pictures with her friends. Judging by her appearance alone, I
figured I had been right in the first place, that she was a high schooler. But why would a high schooler be doing this? Could she even pull it off? She would have needed a pretty good fake ID to get into the club. And I think I would have
remembered seeing someone so y oung. This just didnt make sense.
I continued scrolling. Pretty soon a guy started appearing in the pictures, with messy brown hair and a dangerously charming smile. They seemed to be getting pretty close. Her friends slowly disappeared from her pictures and were all
replaced by who I could only assume was her boy friend.
And then the pictures turned black.
That was it, just blackness. Assuming it was a dud, I went to the next picture.
Black.
We scrolled through a few like this. Anna shrugged. This is totally weird.
I swiped right again, and the screen seemed to explode with color.
I saw the blonde teen again, but this time she was ly ing on the ground. Her hair actually looked like it had turned strawberry blonde. It took me a moment to register that it was matted with blood. Her head was crooked to the side and her right
arm was twisted at an odd angle behind her. Blood had pooled around her and her formerly bright blue ey es had dulled and were staring out into nothing. Dead.
Anna let out a scream. I threw the phone down and ran to the bathroom. I was sick for a few minutes, before I returned. Anna was shaking on the couch, staring at the phone, still ly ing where Id left it a few minutes earlier.
Are y ou ok?
Anna nodded. What the fuck is this?
I dont know, I admitted.
We have to find out who this girl is. And if her boy friend did this.
I nodded. Gingerly, I picked up the phone again. I figured the remaining pictures might give us more clues.
Without looking, I swiped past the gory catalogue of the girls death. Next was another black picture. And another one. And another. My anticipation and anxiety grew with each picture.
This time, it was the brown-haired boy who appeared first. I have to admit, up until this point, he had been my first suspect. She had spent all her time with him, after all. But when I saw his body half smashed through the windshield of his car,
glass sticking into his stomach and blood pouring out of his ey es, I gave up on that theory. Looking at the screen, I felt his body would twitch any second, as death overcame him on the hood of his own car.
Swipe, swipe, swipe.
The next picture was another girl, older than Blondie, with long black hair and crows feet around her ey es. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties. It was a formal picture, with her looking straight into the camera, standing stiff and straight in
business attire. It looked like shed taken it for her job.
Next. A similar picture, but this time it was a man staring into the camera. Colleagues?
A few more black swipes. Then I saw the woman ly ing on a patch of concrete, a knife stuck in her stomach, her face stretched out into a scream. Her ey es were lifeless but only just so. Shed died just before the picture was taken.
More black stills. Would this ever end?
Then I saw the man. At least, I was pretty sure it was the man. As he hung from the rafters, his back faced the camera and I couldnt get a good look at his face.
I felt sick again.
I continued swiping through the picture gallery, but I was alway s greeted with the same sights. A few normal pictures of a girl and a guy, and then both of their grisly deaths.
Finally, Anna took the phone from me.
ENOUGH, Sleepy hollow_101. This isnt helping. We need to get y ou to the police.
I could feel my panic growing. And tell them what? I found a weird phone with creepy pictures on it? That its receiving pictures of my self? That Im the next target?
Vocalizing that last conjecture broke the last of my control. I ripped at my hair and screamed. None of those deaths looked particularly appealing to me, and chances were I was going to be experiencing one of them. Anna held me while I
sobbed into her arms. There was no way out of this. I was dead. I was so dead.
Anna picked up the phone again. Im going to look through the contacts. May be we can figure out whos doing this. May be theres a clue in here somewhere.

I sat completely still, Annas arms still around me. I didnt even want to look at the damn thing any more. I wanted my mom.
Whoa Sleepy, look at this!
I glanced at Anna, afraid to look at the phone at all. I didnt want to play this game any more.
What is it?
All the contacts they re all girls.
I looked at her, puzzled. So?
So, the first girl, the one the phone must have belonged to, she had a boy friend, right? Why isnt his number in here?
That was a good point. I looked through the contacts. All girls.
I scrolled down to my number. Pulling up the contact information, I saw that a name was listed next to it. Weird. Tina Drescher.
Suddenly, I grabbed Annas computer.
What are y ou doing?
Try ing to find the connection. There had to be a reason all these girls had died, there had to be a reason that Tina died. Something was connecting them.
I clicked on the first article that Google spit out.
WINONA TEEN FOUND DEAD ON SCHOOL GROUNDS
The picture accompany ing the article was definitely Tina. I continued reading.
A recent tragedy has resulted in the death of Winona teen Tina Drescher. Tinas body was found on April 6th, 2012, ly ing next to the main building of Winona Public High School. Although the police are continuing their investigation, the death
appears to be a suicide.
Although it is unfortunate, it is not unheard of, Chief of police Robert Mansfield reported on Wednesday. When teenagers like Tina come under severe pressure, they tend to make poor decisions. It is a pity that Tina felt this was her only
option.
Tinas parents were shocked by her decision.
Tina was such a happy child, her mother explained tearfully to KTV Channel 12 reporters. She would never have done something like this.
Students and members of the community are welcome to attend a memorial service held for Tina on April 14th. The memorial service will be held in the Winona Public High School gy mnasium.
Here, try this one, said Anna. Emily Tressor.
I punched it into Google and up popped the black-haired woman.
I skimmed the article this time. Found murdered outside of a bar downtown. But there was something new here.
Anna this girl was sexually assaulted.
What?
Look, its right here.
That doesnt make sense. Anna frowned. The other girl committed suicide, this girl was raped and then murdered. Wheres the connection?
I shrugged. We punched in the next name, and then the next.
Aside from Tina, all of the reports were the same. Women murdered, presence of semen and pattern of wounds indicating sexual assault.
This doesnt make any sense! My frustration was growing. These girls were all brutalized, all except for Tina. What makes her different?
Anna was quiet for a moment, then spoke up. May be shes the same.
What?
Think about it. She killed herself for seemingly no reason at all. May be thats why she did it?
The pieces started to click together. But what about her boy friend? And what about the boy s in the pictures? They re all dead, too, but their names arent saved.
Thats right. If whoever was doing this was raping and murdering these girls, then what about the boy s? Why did they die in the first place? And why didnt their deaths warrant saving?
Anna and I were still puzzling over it when the phone lit up between us.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I was beginning to hate that sound. I looked at it nervously.
Put it on speaker, suggested Anna.
I took a deep breath and answered the phone, doing as Anna said and pressing the speaker phone option.
Who is this?
Nothing but silence. Silence that was slowly breaking down my sanity.
My voice, too, broke as I asked, What do y ou want? Why are y ou doing this?
Stay away from him.
Click.
Who the fuck was she talking about?
Wait Mr. Bad Boy. He was in the picture that I received.
A picture started to form in my mind. Whoever was doing this coming after me, raping me, leaving me for dead. But where did Annas friend (Derek was his name) fit into this?
As I was pondering this question, I heard Anna gasp next to me.
The pictures.
What?
She pulled up the phone again. Look at the pictures of the guy s. I looked. The first guy through his windshield, the second hanging from the rafters, the third with his wrists split open, the forth with a gunshot to the head
Wait.
These are
suicides. Anna finished for me.
The final piece clicked into place.
He frames them, I said, slowly. He goes after the girls and he frames the men and they kill themselves.

We were silent for a moment. Then I bolted to my feet and grabbed my bag.
Wait, Sleepy, where are y ou going?
I paused at the door. I have to talk to Derek. I have to tell him whats happening. He doesnt realize the danger hes in.
I hugged Anna. You cant come with me, I need y ou to stay here in case I need a place to crash again. And because I dont want y ou to get hurt along with me, I added silently in my head.
I think she would have tried to follow me but I was out the door before she could say any thing. I had swiped Dereks number when he plugged mine into his phone, thank God. His phone was already ringing on the other end as I got into my car.
Well, well, well. If it isnt the lovely lady from the bar.
I blushed. Even under the circumstances, his voice was making me heat up. Derek, I need to talk to y ou. I need to see y ou. Are y ou busy right now?
I could almost hear the smile in his voice. Am I so dashing that y ou cant wait until tomorrow? Well, thats fine with me. We can meet up. Why dont y ou come to my apartment?
I hesitated. That was no good, then my stalker would know where he lived.
I was thinking somewhere more public
He laughed. Dont trust me y et? Thats not a problem. How about a restaurant, then? We can make it a real date. He rattled off the name of a surprisingly expensive restaurant downtown and I accepted.
Ill be there in 20 minutes.
Its a date. I could hear the smile in his voice.
Talking to him seemed to help me access my inner strength. And for the first time since I found the phone, I got angry. Really, really angry. This guy thought he could just push me around? He thought he could intimidate me? Well, it wasnt
going to be as easy as he was hoping. If I was going down, I was taking him with me. And then no one else was going to have to suffer like I had.
There were still things I didnt understand, however. Why was I getting calls from this girl? Did he have someone working with him? And what was their aim in doing this? Even as I arrived at the restaurant, these questions were buzzing in my
mind.
I immediately felt safer when I saw Dereks shock of black hair and his bright, sparkling smile. I felt tears rushing into my ey es as relief flooded over me. I was a little afraid of scaring him off, but I couldnt stop my self from running into his
arms.
He was shocked, but his arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace. Hey, hey, whats wrong, what happened?
I couldnt answer for a minute, so he just held me and talked in a low, soothing voice. Its ok, y ou can tell me, I wont let any one hurt y ou.
After that, he led me to a booth towards the back of the restaurant where we could be alone. I poured out my story, the phone, the calls, the pictures he listened silently, his face unmoving. I finished with my theory about the stalker.
I had to tell y ou because I think hes coming after both of us, I finished, with tears springing into my ey es again. Derek reached across the table and took my hands in his. He looked straight into my ey es as he spoke.
Listen to me. I wont let this guy come near y ou, ok? Every thing is going to be fine.
I nodded, my frustrated tears replaced by grateful ones. I could finally feel safe.
It was dark by the time we left the restaurant. Derek had offered to put me up at his house, but Id refused I didnt want to endanger him any more than I already had. Plus, I was getting worried about Anna. What if the guy had followed me
to her house? I called to make sure she was ok. She answered and sounded fine, but I thought it would be better to get back as soon as I could.
Derek was walking me to his car when suddenly he stopped.
What is it, whats wrong?
He looked around for a moment, then grabbed my arm. I think hes here. He was grabbing my arm so hard it hurt.
Follow me.
We ran down the street, me practically being dragged by his iron grip. Just before we hit the end of the street, he turned right and we veered into an alley.
I stood there winded as he peeked back down the street.
Good, no one saw us.
I looked up at him. And almost immediately I registered that something was wrong.
Derek was looking at me, his goofy grin replaced with something darker. He was smirking, actually.
Youre worried about y our stalker, huh? This freak that rapes and murders these girls heres an idea! May be if I do his job for him, hell leave y ou alone, how about that?
I stared at him, confused. What had happened to the protective guy Id seen just a moment before?
What are y ou talking about?
He stepped towards me. I stepped back. He laughed.
You know why I brought y ou into this alley ? Cause theres nowhere to run. And y ou were stupid enough to believe me when I said we were being watched. Are y ou psy cho?
I backed into the wall at the end of the alley. My heart was in my throat. I began to realize that I had made a terrible mistake. I wanted to move, but I couldnt. My hands were clammy and shaking. I had nowhere to go.
Derek reached down and tugged at the zipper of his jeans.
Youre lucky, I dont usually fuck crazy chicks, but for y ou? Well, Ill make an exception.
That seemed to break me out of my trance. I went into panic mode. Before I knew what I was doing, my leg had swung up and caught him right where it hurt the most.
He screamed a few expletives and grabbed his crotch. I tried to run past him but he grabbed my arm in that iron grip again. I could feel tiny bruises forming where his fingernails dug into my skin.
You fucking bitch, y oull pay for that. Stupid whore!
I y anked at my arm as hard as I could. His other hand grabbed my hair and y anked me back. I reached up with my free arm and clawed at his ey es. I could feel the blood soaking under my fingernails as he screamed. He released my arm,
keeping a firm grip on my hair, and grabbed a knife from his back pocket.
And then suddenly, every thing stopped.
I dont know how we both knew something was there, but we did. He turned around to look, and as he did, I caught a glimpse of her.
It was the blonde girl from the photos, her thin stature and solemn ey es staring at us intensely. She looked at me for a moment before shifting her gaze to Derek.
Suddenly, I couldnt see her any more.
What the fuck? What the fuck? What the FUCK? Derek started screaming. He let go of me and backed against the alley wall.
To me, she had disappeared. But whatever Derek saw, it was like torture.
He screamed and grabbed his bleeding ey es. I was surprised he could still see after the wounds Id given him. He kept standing like that, screaming over and over again.
Finally, he dashed out of the alley, leaving me in the darkness.
I stood there on my own, breathing heavily, my whole body trembling like a leaf.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I gingerly picked the phone up out of my bag. I answered it right there in the darkness. This time, I didnt say any thing, but I waited.

Sure enough, Tinas voice came over the phone.

I told y ou to stay away from him.

Although I reported Dereks assault to the police, it turns out that I didnt have to. A few day s later, he was found in his garage, his car filled with noxious fumes that had lulled him into a deadly sleep. Another suicide to add to the photo gallery. I
vaguely wondered what he had seen, what had driven him to that point.
I realized how wrong Id been about the phone, about Tina. I knew now why shed killed herself. Why her boy friend had died so soon after. And why every woman whod received this phone had suffered like she did.
She wasnt coming after us.
She was just try ing to protect us.

May 2015

The Oddkids
by StealMy Pants
Winner - May Monthly Contest
One summer, when I was a boy, my parents sent me to stay with my grandparents for the break. Raised in the pacific northwest, a small town in eastern Mississippi might as well have been an entirely different country for all I was concerned.
The instant we got out of the airport I was struck with the oppressive humidity, and I became convinced right then and there that my parents downright despised me.
Of course, the reality was much kinder than that. My grandparents were good folks, and thankfully I met a girl within a few day s of arrival, and we became fast friends. Her name was Jessie. A local girl with long blonde hair and green ey es
the first pair I'd ever encountered. I was in love at first sight. Jessie was a y ear or two older than me, but that didn't matter much to us.
Jessie was the reason I got up every morning not in a romantic sense, of course, but a very literal one. Sure, my grandparents were very hospitable, but they were old and southern, about as far removed from my narrow worldview as could
be. They just had no idea how to entertain me, and I think Jessie was as much a relief to them as she was to me, taking me off their hands during the day s and curtailing somewhat my boundless y outhful energy.
The place where my grandparents lived was about a mile out from a place called Ashbury Wood, and it was a mile I walked daily. I would alway s meet Jessie on the path, heading my way. On rare occasions she would already be at my
grandparents' house when I was leaving, and I never saw where she lived. It didn't matter much to me, though, because the woods were our real home.
Ashbury Wood wasn't particularly dense, but boy did it seem to go on forever. Jessie showed me a few paths around the woods, unofficial trails to interesting sites like clearings, hollowed-out trees, or even just a place where a funny -looking
bush was growing. We told each other stories of our hometowns, imagining what life would be like if one of us lived where the other did. Whenever we fantasized about having her come live with me she would get a strange tone in her voice, but
I never thought much of it.
While the woods were our home and play ground, we still set limits for ourselves. If we went too long without seeing something Jessie recognized, we immediately turned around until we were in familiar territory again. She also set boundaries,
significant features we shouldn't go past for one reason or another; decades later and the only one I can remember is the creek.
The creek itself was nothing to be concerned about. It was just a shallow stream of water that may have come up to my waist, with sloped banks on either side that were sheer but not insurmountable. The first time I discovered it, I immediately
headed down into the water, just about ready to cross to the other side when Jessie cried out from behind me: "Stop!"
I whirled around on one foot as gracefully as a y oung boy can and looked up at her. She stood staring across the creek and out into the woods on the other side. Her hands were balled into fists and kept straight at her sides, and I remember being
worried that she might begin cry ing. I climbed back up the side of the creek, coming up beside her.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"We need to turn around." Jessie's voice was barely above a whisper. She looked terrified, and slowly peeled her gaze away from the trees and onto me. "We have to turn back."
Reluctantly, I agreed, but only because I could see how upset the situation was making her. Like I said, the water itself wasn't that deep or rapid, and it wasn't even that far into the woods. On the walk back I raised these points, but Jessie stay ed
quiet, leading me to a small clearing in the trees that we used as a sort of home base for our adventures. Sitting me down, Jessie stared into the grass for a long moment before she spoke.
"Two y ears ago I had a friend named Emma." Her hands were balled up in her lap, shaking. "We used to play in these woods, like y ou and me do. And one day, just like y ou and me, we found that creek."
I laughed; not because of the content of the story, but because I'd never heard someone pronounce it 'crick' before. Her head snapped up to look me in the ey es and I fell quiet.
Standin' across from it was these kids who looked about our age, only... they weren't right. That time there was only two: one of them, his head just hung to the side like this." Jessie let her head flop to the left, hanging limp. "Another was real
tiny, and his hands and head were even littler, like tinier than a baby 's.
Now, I'm not proud of this next part, but we weren't exactly sugar and spice to 'em, if y ou know what I mean. I shook my head that I did not. She sighed. We would call 'em names. Tease 'em, y ou know, because they was weird. Emma
would throw sticks sometimes, though she couldn't hit water if she fell out of a boat. The story paused as Jessie smiled to herself, remembering her friend fondly.
Did they ever talk back? I asked, bringing her back to reality.
Nah, she said, shaking her head. Just stood there lookin' at us and makin' these weird squeaking noises. Emma and me, we started callin' em 'Oddkids.' 'Cause, y ou know, they were kids and they sure as shit were odd. I blushed at such
intense language, but Jessie didn't notice. But no matter what we did to 'em, they never came across the creek. Alway s just stood on the other side, staring and squeaking. Wasn't alway s the two, neither. There was different ones, four or five in
all, I think.
What happened to Emma? The direction the story was going was obvious, and I was eager to learn.
Jessie stay ed quiet for a long while, staring into the ground and absently picking at the grass beneath her. So at first we were afraid, right? The Oddkids weren't normal, and we would scare each other silly telling stories of how they eat people
and like to run around naked together, just dumb stuff. But as time went on, we got less and less scared of 'em. It got to the point where we'd stand right on the other side of the creek and dare them to cross over, but they never would.
One day, we're sitting there talking to ourselves, ignoring the weird-headed one like he's just another tree, and Emma said something about him being too chicken to cross. We both looked at him, and he just... walked off. Turned around and
went deeper into the woods, 'til eventually we couldn't see him. And I teased Emma that he was daring her to follow him, that she was a chicken if she didn't go.
I was listening with rapt attention at this point. To my y oung mind, this girl's tale of terror more closely resembled a great campfire story, made even better by the fact that it allegedly took place only a brisk walk away from where I sat.
Together, the two of us crossed the creek, 'cause like y ou said it ain't that big, and we climbed up onto the other side and chased after him. We went may be a quarter mile in before we start hearing that squeaking again, only up close it didn't
sound like squeakin' any more. It sounded like... chittering. They surrounded us faster than either of us expected, coming out of the trees like ghosts.
"I was frozen in fear. I couldn't move a muscle, just starin' at the Oddkids and wondering what was gonna happen. Then one of them, the limp-headed one, he grabbed Emma and she screamed and that just... it's like it woke me up. I tore out of
there as fast as I could go, practically leaped the creek in a single jump, and ran all the way home. My lungs was on fire by the time I stopped and I was cry in' all over the place, people try ing to get me to tell them what happened, but..." Her
voice trailed off and I could see tears welling in her ey es.
"Did y ou?" I asked. She shook her head, blinking away the tears.
"I felt guilty," she admitted. "I felt guilty for leavin' her, and I just kept thinking that she'd come home, that she'd be right behind me and we'd cry about it and never ever go across that damn creek again."
"But she didn't."
Jessie shook her head again. "But she didn't," she repeated. "She didn't ever come back. Nobody ever went lookin' for her neither 'cause she was an orphan. I didn't say nothin' and so nobody even knew to look." Staring out into the woods in the
direction of the creek, Jessie's voice cracked. "The Oddkids got her. I don't know what they did with her."
"I'm... uh, I'm sorry," I tried consoling her, unsure of what to say, but Jessie wasn't pay ing attention to me any more. She stood up, brushed the dirt off her denim shorts, and started walking towards town. I got up and chased after her. "Wait!" I
cried. "Where are y ou going?"
"Home."
"Home? But why ?" The concept seemed alien to me it was the middle of the day, who would want to stay indoors?
"I can't stay in these woods. Not today." She paused. You should go home too. We'll meet up tomorrow morning."
"But-"
"But nothin'." She stopped and turned to face me. "Go home." Jessie started to turn around again before something else occurred to her. "And don't ever, ever go across the creek, y ou hear me?" I nodded silently and she reached out, grabbing
my shoulders and giving me a firm shake. "Say it," she demanded.
"I-I promise, no going across the creek," I said timidly. She stared into my ey es, as if searching my soul for a way to ensure my sincerity. Whether she found it or not, she eventually released me and headed off, leaving me standing alone in
the woods with nothing on my hands but free time and my own thoughts. I looked back in the direction of the creek and the my sterious woods bey ond. Were there really such a thing as Oddkids? I knew monsters didn't exist in Oregon, but here in
Mississippi it felt like any thing could be true. Plus, Jessie had told the story with such conviction that it felt disloy al to be skeptical.
I spent the rest of the day in the woods, wandering aimlessly. Part of me wanted to go back to the creek, but real or not, Jessie's story had scared the hell out of me. At one point I got just close enough that I could make the creek out through the
trees, and I peered as hard as I could at the bank on the other side. I wanted to make out a pair of ey es staring back at me, or hear that chittering Jessie had talked about - heck, at that point I would have accepted a quick blur between the trees as
concrete evidence - but despite my willingness to believe, nothing came forward to present itself. The opposite bank was devoid of life, and I didn't have the gall to investigate any closer.
As the sky dimmed I reluctantly began the long walk home, unaccompanied for the first time all summer. I considered Jessie's story of the Oddkids, and almost started to get a little angry with her. Of course they didn't exist! She made them up
just to mess with me, and threw in another girl, conveniently orphaned, to drive home the scare. I shook my head and laughed, thinking about how gullible I had been.
Later at dinner, I ate with the ferocity of an animal. I hadn't realized how hungry I'd become, alone in the woods all day thinking, and the chicken my grandmother cooked was the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten. It was only on my third
drumstick that I stopped long enough to ask them a question.
"Did y ou guy s ever hear of any one going missing in the woods?" I asked between bites, interrupting the regular mealtime silence. They looked at one another quizzically, as if searching their collective memory.
"No, I don't think so," my grandmother eventually said.

"Don't ring any bells," her husband agreed. "Why do y ou ask?"

I shook my head, taking another bite to buy my self some time to think of an answer. "Just something I heard some kids talking about," I told them. "Some jerks were try ing to scare Jessie and me by say ing a girl named Emma went missing."
Suddenly, my grandmother's ey es lit up with recognition. "You know, I didn't hear nothin' about that, but I do recall that girl being terrified of those woods." She nodded thoughtfully over a spoonful of corn. "Yeah, it was a couple y ears back that
the girl come tearin' outta the woods like the Devil himself is on her heels, screamin' and cry in'. I didn't nose my way into it on account of her father askin' people if they would leave his daughter alone, but I overheard that the girl weren't right
for a couple weeks, just sittin' in her room and not talkin' to nobody." She clucked her tongue and took another bite of corn. "Lord only knows what happened to that girl, but it shook her somethin' fierce."
I suddenly felt a sick terror in my stomach, like the feeling y ou get watching a recording of y ourself only to see something terrify ing looming just out of y our sight, something y ou never knew was there. Did this mean the Oddkids were real?
Had they been watching me as I stepped into the creek?
"So y ou never found out what happened?" I hesitantly asked, unsure if I wanted the answer. Grandma just shook her head, and the three of us continued eating in silence. Grandpa brought up a baseball game he'd seen on TV earlier that day and
I feigned interest as well as I could, but I wasn't all there. My mind was back in the woods at that creek, inspecting every square inch of my memory for a sign of something... else.
Sleep didn't come easy that night, and when it did it was wrought with nightmares. Thoughts of the Oddkids crawled through my mind, bringing me back to the creek. Looking deeper into the woods, I saw dozens of pairs of ey es staring back at
me, slowly bobbing back and forth as though they were advancing towards me. My dream-self was paraly zed, helpless to do any thing but watch as the monsters came out of the shadows. The one Jessie had described, with his head sagging to
the side, lead the plodding advance. As a group, the Oddkids crawled down into the creek, dragging broken limbs and torn flesh behind them, each of them chittering off-tempo with the others to create a horrible cacophony of noise that filled
my ears and bore into my soul, staring into the hungry ey es of the limp-headed leader as he reached out to drag me down!
I awoke screaming. The noise still rang in my ears and, coupled with my panic, caused me to flail against my blankets as though they were try ing to engulf me. I fell onto the floor with a hard thud, finally coming to rest. My grandfather burst
into the room and my grandmother was close behind him.
"Are y ou okay !?" he bellowed, still full of adrenaline even though he was beginning to realize there was no threat. Embarrassed, I kicked the sheets off of me and stood up.
"Yeah, just a bad dream," I muttered. As I came to my senses, I realized the noise I had been hearing was the sound of cicadas filling the room, broadcasting their mating calls to the world. Laughing off their overzealous response, my
grandparents led me downstairs to breakfast, which I accepted readily.
That morning, I walked all the way to the woods without running into Jessie. I stood at the edge of the path looking back down the road, try ing to make out her figure, but nobody was there. Sighing, I walked all the way back to my house, then
down to the woods again. There was no sign of her.
My adolescent mind filled once more with nightmarish imagery, but I did my best to stay grounded in reality. She was the last person who would have gone across the creek, and if the Oddkids ever ventured out of the woods, surely people
around town would talk about them, right?
Armed with these rationalizations I decided to head to our favorite clearing and wait for her. She wasn't there when I arrived - part of me had expected her to be waiting in the grass, ready to laugh in my face when she learned how I'd walked
up and down the path two more times before thinking to check our spot - and as an hour slowly ticked by, I began to wonder if something bad really had happened to her. But, if something had, what was I going to do about it? I had no idea where
she lived, and she was the only kid I knew in the area.
Almost unconsciously, I began to head towards the creek. I had only promised I wouldn't cross it, after all, and if she was so concerned about my whereabouts she should have let me know where she was going to be. Besides, if she had been
able to outpace the Oddkids when they were right beside her, I would be able to get away long before they got close.
My legs were filled with a giddy, nervous energy as I kept walking, sometimes at a quick pace and others at barely a shuffle. Once the creek itself was in view I began to move from tree to tree, using them like cover from whatever might lurk
on the other side of the creek. I inched closer, cautious to not disturb even a single twig in my approach.
Finally I was only a few y ards from the near bank of the creek. I crouched down and quietly got to my hands and knees, closing the last stretch on all fours and keeping a close watch on the trees ahead of me. I hissed out Jessie's name in a low
voice, straining my ears into the woods to catch any thing of interest, but nothing happened. It was just another ordinary day and I was just some weird little boy whispering into the forest.
I was just about to turn around when a brief flash of movement caught my ey e. I hadn't noticed it before because I was scanning the ground, but turning my ey es up I saw a silhouette of something I couldn't quite make out. It sway ed gently in
the breeze as though it was suspended from the branches. The leaves broke up the distant form, which must have been several dozens of feet away, and I immediately forgot my promise to Jessie; I had to know what that thing was. Just as I was
about to swing my legs down the bank of the creek, a call startled me to my feet in an instant.
What are y ou doing? Jessie was standing a way s behind me, clinging onto a tree as though she might fall without its support. Though her tone was one of anger, her face was ghost-white. She beckoned me towards her, clearly unwilling to go
closer to the creek than she was. I twisted my body around, raising an arm to point at the thing I had seen in the treetops, but I couldn't relocate it.
I... I saw something, I said, scanning the leaves for the sway ing form.
And with any luck, it didn't see you! she hissed, stamping her foot in the dirt. I shook my head, my boy ish curiosity trumping her obvious fear.
Don't be such a scaredy -cat, I said, crouching down to see if I could find the figure in the branches. Briefly, I wondered if it had moved, but that seemed impossible. Whatever it was, it wasn't animate. I'm going across.
No! Jessie screamed, lunging towards me. I was already startled by her cry, and mid-turn she collided into me at full force, sending us both tumbling down the bank and into the creek. We y elled and flailed as we fell, both of us landing on my
back. The muddy water babbled over us and I scooted away, pulling my self onto the far bank of the creek. Jessie followed, more out of a desire to get out of the water than any thing.
Nice going," I said sarcastically. The water was actually a little refreshing in the summertime heat, but we knew that before long we'd be drowning in humidity, our damp clothes suffocating what little comfort sweating brought. I crawled up
onto the opposite side of the creek, once again raising my ey es to the branches to find what I'd seen.
Please, please can we go? Jessie was at my side, clutching my arm despite the fact that I was a good half a foot shorter than she was. We really need to go, please!
Come on, just a little bit further! Wonder and excitement had overtaken all other emotions in my mind. Before, when the creek was just a memory, it was easy to picture a world of monsters lurking just across the way. Now that I was here,
in the light of day, I felt empowered. I could see that there weren't monsters, so obviously I was safe.
I'm lucky to be alive.
Tugging Jessie forward, I walked to the spot where I had seen the thing hanging from the trees, but now it was nowhere to be found. From where I was standing I could still make out the creek, and I tried to imagine my self crouched low on the
other side, looking up into the branches. The wind blew lazily through the leaves, shaking them this way and that, but nothing unnatural hung from the canopy.
I saw something right here, I said aloud, justify ing my persistence to Jessie. I did feel bad for dragging her somewhere she obviously didn't want to be, and I thought if I'd had something to show for it, may be she would have understood.
Instead here I was, staring up into the trees like an idiot with a terrified girl clinging to my side. Her ey es darted back and forth across the treeline, as if waiting for something to suddenly appear and attack us.
Unwilling to leave empty -handed, I coaxed us slowly forward. As we pressed on, the woods around us seemed to get quieter, as if we were entering some sort of dead zone in the forest, a place where even the birds and critters refused to go.
Jessie's nails dug into my arm but she stay ed right by my side, no longer making any noise except a small whimper with every exhalation.
After another five or ten minutes of walking, we came across a rocky outcropping jutting out of the ground, and a small hole leading down. Intrigued as I was by the promise of more adventure, something else caught our attention: a strange doll
lay ed propped against the mouth of the cave, facing us. Its elongated forehead drooped slightly over its face, making the upper right side of its head concave. Its ey es were small and beady and black, shining in the midday sun, and tufts of hair
had been placed into its scalp in a disorganized manner. It was garbed only in small denim overalls covering grungy cloth skin. Before I could even draw breath to comment on it, Jessie was fiercely tugging me away.
That's it! That's one of them! She was practically screaming, raw terror coming through in her voice, but her reaction was scaring me more than the object itself that was an Oddkid? An oversized doll?
Calm down! I said, tugging back against her. It can't be! Look at it, it's not breathing! It's just a doll! Wrenching my arm out of her grip, Jessie fell face-first in the dirt, but was on her feet a second later. I heard her starting to run and turned
to tell her that she didn't have to get any closer if she was scared, that I would go examine it alone.
As I stared in her direction, however, my voice caught in my throat. Standing where Jessie and I had been not twenty seconds ago was another doll, only this one was different. It was cleaner and more well-made, as if whoever had made the
one by the cave had learned from their mistakes. This girl doll was standing beside a tree, watching us with those same all-black ey es, short brown hair matted with dirt and clumped to her head haphazardly. A tattered red dress clung
desperately to her right shoulder, and beneath it the cloth skin looked much cleaner than the other's, much more... real.
Before I could say a word, Jessie broke the silence. I expected her to shriek, but instead what came out of her mouth was barely above a whisper.
Emma?
The girl doll took a step forward, and my terror levels shot up to their limits. I glanced backwards to see the other doll was pulling itself to its feet, awkwardly shambling towards us. Any doubt I had in Jessie's story evaporated in an instant. The
Oddkids were real, and they were right in front of me. Without another moment's hesitation I grabbed Jessie's wrist, suddenly becoming the one desperate to get us out.
Come on! Come on, let's go! I y elled at her, but she didn't even seem to hear me. She instead began to walk towards the girl doll, towards... Emma, I guessed, though I couldn't see how that could ever have been Jessie's friend. I kept pulling at
her arm even as the thing behind her got closer. Jessie was focused exclusively on the other girl, blocking out the whole rest of the world. The doll reached out to Jessie, and she raised her own hand out as well.
Jes-! I began to say, but I was interrupted by a heavy object falling directly onto my best friend, sending her crumpling into the dirt. On top of her was a small, human-like figure, with the head and hands proportionally much smaller than
they should have been. Finally observing one up-close, I realized their skin wasn't just dirty cloth; it was rotten, mottled flesh.
I scrambled backwards as the little creature gripped Jessie by the hair, tugging her head up painfully. Jessie screamed and clawed at the ground, try ing to shove the thing off of her, but the creature she'd called Emma sagged to its knees,
clamped a hand over her mouth, then turned its head to look at me.
Energy surged to my legs and I shot upright. I was in full panic mode, operating on a primal instinct to flee, but just as I started to run I collided into a solid force that knocked me back down to the ground. Another one of those things stood before
me, his head flopping awkwardly to the left just as Jessie had demonstrated. The one I had seen slumped by the cave came into my view, holding a large rock in its hands. Before I could roll out of the way the weight came down on my head,

sending a splitting pain through my skull. My vision went white and a deafening ringing filled my ears, but I stay ed conscious throughout.
I could faintly feel things tugging at me, pulling me across the ground as I struggled just to regain my senses. The blinding white slowly faded to an impenetrable black, and the ringing dulled to formless shuffling and the Oddkids' strange chitters
echoing off the walls of the cave. I did my best to stay limp as I was dragged across rough stone, tearing into my shirt and cutting my flesh. I'm certain I whimpered in pain, but the Oddkids didn't react to it, hauling me further into their lair.
Eventually the motion came to an end. I was propped against a rough stone wall, and even in the darkness I could tell that one of them was just in front of my face, quietly muttering to itself in those strange, arrhy thmic noises. Its coarse fingers
grabbed my hands and it began stretching a strong, thin fabric around my wrists, binding them together. It wrapped for what felt like ages, until it finally seemed satisfied that my hands weren't going any where, then moved on to my ankles to
do the same.
Once that was done the thing shuffled away, the noise of its movements getting gradually fainter before disappearing altogether. Meaning to breathe a sigh of relief, I instead let out a choked sob, finally letting my self express the terror I'd felt
through the whole ordeal. I'm not ashamed to admit that I sat in that cave and cried, certain I'd never see my parents or grandparents ever again.
Only when I heard more movement coming my way did I make any effort to quiet my self. I did my best to control my breathing, sucking in breaths through shuddering gasps and letting them out slowly through my nose. I tried to picture what
the noises were; slowly, I put together that someone else was being dragged down the same rough path I had been.
They were bringing Jessie back here, too.
For a brief moment, I felt hope. As selfish as it is to admit, at the very least I took comfort in knowing that I wouldn't have to suffer alone. Part of me even entertained the notion that perhaps together Jessie and I could escape this cave and
never, ever come back to these awful woods again.
Of course, the reality of this plan had many obstacles. The cave was utterly dark, something that didn't seem to affect the Oddkids one bit. For all I knew there was one sitting in the room with me, silently watching and waiting for me to make a
move so it could pounce on me again and finish the job. On top of that, they easily outnumbered us. The odds were stacked against us in every conceivable way.
Jessie noisily entered the room in which I was kept, and her muffled screaming gave me a sense of the dimensions of the room. It seemed smaller than I expected, likely only a little bigger than my own bedroom. Still, it was plenty big for
storing the two of us.
Just as I was wondering if they would leave Jessie and me alone together, the room was filled with a soft blue luminescence. One of the Oddkids - I couldn't tell which with their back turned to me - was brushing their fingers against a strange
kind of moss on the far wall, and the agitation sparked a chain reaction across the entire plant. Tendrils of blue light arced over the wall in a brilliant pattern, the illumination branching off itself like a snowflake before finally filling in, covering
the cave wall in the most beautiful display I'd ever seen.
And there, in front of the glowing moss, was Jessie. She had been laid out on an obviously man-made dirt platform, and her struggles stilled as puffs of spores from the glowing moss fell onto her. The Oddkid stood over her, observing for a
moment, before bending forward over her.
In my life I had never heard the sound of flesh tearing, but the very first time was unmistakable. I jerked at the noise, as if it had been my own skin, and my heart beat so fast I worried that it would give me away. I screwed my ey es shut and
just listened as the Oddkid did God-knows-what to my helpless friend only a few feet from my face. Mustering up what courage I could, I began to work the bonds around my wrists against a jagged rock, working just slow enough to not make
too much noise.
The ripping noise soon gave way to gurgles and wet squishing, but I didn't allow my self to picture it. Instead I thought about my grandparents, about seeing their warm smiles one more time. I thought about the airplane that would take me out of
Mississippi, and I thought of every excuse I would ever use for the rest of my life to keep from getting on another plane back. I had to survive this. I had to.
Sure enough, the ropes came free with enough effort. Once they were weak enough I managed to pull them apart with brute strength, the fibers tearing away from each other with a soft sound, something that was almost pleasing contrasted
against the disturbing noises coming from across the room.
I groped around in the near-dark, my fingers moving from rock to rock until I found something loose enough - and big enough - that I felt comfortable with it. I now stared directly at the Oddkid, its back still turned as it performed its macabre
ritual on my friend. Sawing the rock across the ropes around my ankles, I worked my nerve up to what I was going to have to do next. Armed with a rock, I was going to attack the Oddkid, knocking them out with one good blow. Fair play, I
thought to my self. Next I would grab Jessie and hoist her over my shoulder - she was taller than me, sure, but I wasn't a weak kid. After that, we would sneak out of the cave somehow, then sprint back to my Grandparents' house and be safe.
The wraps across my ankles fell away, and I slowly stretched my legs out before getting them underneath me. The Oddkid was still oblivious to me, and part of me hated that. Here I was, about to bash in its skull with a rock, and it didn't even
consider me enough of a threat to turn around and check on me.
"Hey," I whispered, the rock clutched tight in my fist as I held it out to the side behind my head. The Oddkid finally swiveled around and I stared into its soulless black ey es one last time before bringing the weapon across.
The sensation was nothing like I expected. Instead of a solid blow and a resonating crack, my hand squelched through its blotchy skin with little resistance. I stood there, stunned and staring into its remaining ey e as its face hung loosely around
my wrist. Soft scratches made their way across my hand and I jerked it back, the force of my fist pulling out of its head tearing another gouge through the skin-that-was-not-skin.
Looking down at my hand, I saw the single most horrific thing I have ever seen in my life. Instead of brains, blood and gore covering my hand, there were bugs. Centipedes, spiders, ants and more, too numerous to count, swarmed over my
skin. The bag of flesh before me slumped to its knees before keeling over, its occupants surging out of the hole in its neck.
I lost it. I screamed at the top of my lungs and beat my arm against the wall of the cave, shluffing off the vermin in sheets. Through the chaos I called out Jessie's name, forgetting at the time that I had already expected her to be unconscious at
best. Her head tilted to the side and she raised herself up onto her elbows, staring at me. My heart swelled, thinking for a moment that if nothing else, at least we would get out of this alive.
When the azure glow of the moss reflected off Jessie's all-black ey es, I ran.
Through the darkness I ran, heedless of the frantic chittering that echoed off the stone all around me. I ran into every single twist and turn in those tight tunnels, still struggling to scrape all the bugs off my arm. With every passing moment I
expected to feel the Oddkids' hands wrap around my legs, drag me back to that room, and do to me what they 'd done to Jessie. Turn me into one of them.
Finally I saw a thin shaft of light at the end of the darkness. I scrambled out of the cave and into the open woods, the full moon giving me plenty of illumination to find my way. Through the entire sprint I tore at the flesh of my arm with my
fingernails, scraping off the remains of the Oddkid as they wriggled and crawled across me.
The entire run is mostly a blur now. I didn't stop once, didn't even peek behind me for fear of seeing those things one more time. When I burst into my grandparents' house, the two of them were both awake, sitting up in the living room waiting
for me. I must have told a tale with a single look, because their stern expressions melted upon seeing my ey es and they stay ed up with me the rest of the night. Sitting on the couch and wrapped in a blanket, I just stared out the window at the
dusty road that led from the house, pray ing that I wouldn't see Jessie walking down it.
The next day, after I'd slept and eaten, my grandparents tried to coax out of me what happened. I didn't know what to tell them. Eventually, I told them I'd just fallen asleep in the woods and had a nightmare, freaked my self out and ran home
cry ing. They hugged me and laughed gently, and my grandpa said I should call ahead the next time I'm going to worry them half to death. I smiled and Jessie's face appeared in my mind's ey e.
I didn't let my self be alone for the rest of the vacation. This meant stay ing indoors for the most part, something I was more than fine with. When word got out that Jessie hadn't been home in a few day s and people started searching, my
grandparents asked me if I knew any thing about it. I wanted to tell them about the Oddkids - I should have said something, I know that now. But, like the scared child I was, I just said I didn't and they left it at that. Three weeks later I got on a
plane and went home, and for the first time since the cave I felt like I could breathe again. I no longer had the threat of the Oddkids looming over me, just waiting for a moment's lapse in readiness so they could pounce.
I'd like to say that I don't know what happened to Jessie, that her fate remains a my stery, but that would be the coward's way out. Jessie died because of me. Because of my hubris, my curiosity and my stupid thirst for adventure, Jessie lost her
life. This is something I think about every day, even some thirty y ears later, and it hurts just as much as the very first time I realized it.
Thousands of miles and a couple decades now lay between me and the worst summer of my life, but it isn't perspective that's prompted me to finally write out my tale. My daughter Maggie has been getting excited about collecting bugs, and
as uneasy as it may make me, I'm not the kind to stop her. What really unsettles me about it is how her bugs act; every time she brings me one of her little jars, the bugs inside... watch me. I know how crazy this sounds, I know bugs don't 'see'
like y ou and I, but... it's like they want me to know that they know I'm there.
I went into my daughter's room a few day s ago when she was out at school and picked up her ant farm to see what would happen. I expected them to freeze, to turn and look at me, but instead they went into a frenzy. Every last ant swarmed the
side of the container, crawling over each other and climbing against the plastic that separated them from my right hand. The hand the bugs were on for minutes as I stumbled blindly through that cave, frantically clawing them off. I watched,
horrified, as the ants literally tore each other apart to be the one closest to my hand.
What did the Oddkids do to me?

HELP: S omeone has been sending my girlfriend clues to find bodies.

by sendhelpandthensome
Runner Up - May Monthly Contest

Part 1
It started with a nondescript shoe box, taped all over and decorated with nothing but OPEN ON HALLOWEEN ;) written in big, bold letters on the cover. My girlfriend (lets call her Lucy ) found it on the welcome mat inside her apartment on
the 29th of October 2014.
Lucy and I (lets call me Zeke) have been together for five y ears. We went to the same high school and though Ive had a huge crush on her since then, we only ever got to talk in college. We both got into the same university two hours away
from our home town and we reconnected during our junior y ear there.
One of the things we instantly bonded over was our shared love for Halloween from movie marathons to spending exorbitant amounts on decoration and costumes, to play ing pranks on friends and binging on Halloween treats. You name it, we
probably do it every y ear. May be this is why when a curious little box with even curiouser contents ended up in Lucy 's apartment, we were quick to believe that this was some big prank by the other. Its not the first time either of us went through
great lengths to spook the other any way.
It was Halloween morning and I came over to her place as usual, pumpkin pie and hot chocolate in tow. I remember that day too well, but after all, it's not every day y our life spirals downhill because of an unassuming little box. I sat down by
the kitchen table and picked up the box, shaking it and noting the muted shuffling inside. She had her back against me as she sliced us pumpkin pie.
Hey, is this for me? I asked, a bit cheerfully then because she knew I loved surprises. God, if only I knew then what I do now.
"You're kidding right?" Lucy asked incredulously as she quickly spun to face me. She studied my face with a look that bore right into my soul. I knew that look. That was how she sizes me up whenever she suspects that I'm ly ing.
"No? What's wrong?" I asked as I noticed how white her knuckles had become from gripping the kitchen knife too tightly.
She stared at me some more before put down the knife on the counter then taking a seat in front of me. At this point, I was already getting a bit nervous, though I still had absolutely no clue what was going on. "I found this by the door on
Wednesday," she said quietly. I knew she knew I wasn't pulling her leg.
"May be someone got the wrong apartment?" I shrugged, still not understanding what the deal was.
"No, Zeke," she said really slowly, the way she would when she was try ing hard to make someone understand something. "I found it by the door on this side. On the inside."
Then I started laughing, just guffawing totally ungracefully. Now I was the one convinced that this was her prank, and my worry just seconds ago seemed ridiculous. Then I noticed the expression on her face or the lack of it and that
instantly killed my laughter on my lips. God, I was so stupid. She wasnt kidding. Not this time. I looked back down on the offending box in my hands and immediately tore the tape off, catching bits of cardboard along. Three lay ers of tape later,
we finally got to the contents a crudely drawn map and a list:
1. Kitchen, second drawer by the stove.
2. Bathroom, beneath the sink.
3. Bedroom, under the bedside lamp.
4. Living room, in the blue vase.
To say I was utterly confused by the list would be an understatement, but before I could even mull over it, my legs were already taking me to the second drawer by the stove. It was full of an assortment of kitchen supplies, as expected, but a bit
of digging led me to find orange peels? That was the only thing that stood out, so I took it and put it on the table in front of the frozen Lucy before moving to the bathroom. Beneath the sink, in between a bottle of bleach and the toilet cleaner were
two y ellow ribbons each tied in a bow. I took those and stuffed it in my pocket. I headed to the bed room and found three dried maple leave, and in the blue vase was a rusty old key.
I laid down all my findings in front of Lucy and suspicions of her being behind this crept again in my mind. I had no idea what these things meant y ellow ribbons, maple leaves, orange peels and an old key ? Nothing made sense. Lucy finally
snapped out of her daze to look at what I collected and, to my great surprise, she started cry ing. Not sobbing or any thing, but just tears streaming down from her face that still remained expressionless. I was bey ond freaked out at this point. I
could almost see a million different thoughts battling for dominance in her mind.
Lucy ? I started tentatively. Honey, do y ou know what these mean?"
She looked at me with wide ey es, mouth slightly agape, and then finally clarity showed on her face.
Fuck, she suddenly said. We have to go.
She scooped up all the items and put them in the box then she grabbed her car key s and rushed out the door. I scrambled to follow her, calling her back to lock her apartment, then we both drove on to somewhere only she knew. I wont lie. I was
nervous as hell. I am usually a great sport when on the receiving end of pranks, but if this were one, I swear to God. But the determined look on Lucy s face assured me it wasnt, and I dont know if the gravity of the situation has fallen on her
or me y et at this point. Someone was in her apartment, and that someone had set up a fucking scavenger hunt there.
It was only after half an hour of tense silence in her car that I asked her where we were going. She didnt answer me immediately. In fact, she didnt actually answer me when she finally spoke.
Do y ou remember when we were sophomores in high school and this girl from our grade went missing? she said monotonously. To be honest, she was beginning to freak me out but my gut was telling me that I had to trust her on this one
Uhm sure, I said, try ing to rack my brain for details about that all but forgotten instance. That Jane girl, right? Jane
Jane Thompson."
I remember, y eah, I nodded, wondering where all this was going. She was never found, was she? I do remember that we had a huge service for her at the end of the school y ear, but I never really knew her.
We were friends. Like, best friends.
Im sorry, babe, I didnt know what else to say. But why are we talking about this now?
She paused again. I could sense that this was an extremely uncomfortable topic for her. I couldnt blame her, but I also had to know what the hell was happening. I let her have a moment as she looked like she was choosing the right words to use.
I looked out the window and saw a sign welcoming us to our home town.
You know the forest that lined the old administration building? she began again. Well, it was all fenced up but when we were freshmen, Jane and I found this break in the fences, just big enough for one person to climb in."
I watched her carefully. Every thing she said so far hasnt been particularly alarming, but my gut is starting to bubble with dread. I did not like where this was going.
We used to go into the woods all the time. Wed fancy ourselves explorers or what. I know, its stupid for two girls to go into the woods alone, but every one feels invincible when they re y oung, right? Theres this clearing we found just before the
second semester of freshman y ear. It had this huge maple tree right at the center. We used to go there all the time. It was kind of like our secret place."
I knew she wasnt done but I didnt prod further. Soon, we pulled into our old high school, around the back near the old building Lucy was talking about. It looked exactly as I remembered faded paint on some buildings, ivy -covered walls on
others. It was weird to be back as adults, weirder still given the circumstances, but I sucked it up and followed Lucy straight to the old administration building at the far corner of the school property.
Just as she said, there was a break in the fence covered by tall grass. It was tight to get in, but we managed to get through. Ive never been to the forest, but Lucy looked like she knew exactly where to go, if not by conscious memory, then at
least of haptic memory. The foliage was dense and even though it was mid afternoon, sunlight barely touched our skins as we trudged and trekked over decay ing leaves and fallen branches. I could make out a faint trail beneath all the debris on
our path, but grass had grown over it so it probably has not been used for y ears. Soon, I saw brightness in the distance, almost too strong for my ey es that had been working in low light for the last twenty minutes. We had reached the clearing.
Look there, Lucy said as she pointed almost indifferently to a maple tree right at the middle of the clearing. She took my hand into her sweaty, shaking ones and we walked up to it slowly together. The day that Jane disappeared, we cut
English to hang out here. I remember braiding her hair and ty ing the ends with y ellow ribbons I found in my mothers sewing kit. I remember her say ing that too bad our maple wasnt an oak. I remember she was humming Tie a Yellow Ribbon
for the rest of the afternoon. I remember eating oranges her mother packed her for lunch. I remember Oh god
I looked at her just as her faade broke down. Lucy almost fell to the ground before I caught her. She shook in my arms, cry ing out Janes name again and again, followed by painful and profuse apologies. As I caressed her hair, I finally
understood what the contents of the box meant.
I know what usually happens on /r/nosleep. I know that the protagonist would usually turn his curiosity into hubris and would then find himself in some terrible situation that makes for a great story. That wasnt the case for us. When the reality of
the situation finally dawned on me, the first thing I did was call the police.
Yes, the police who arrived ten minutes later with K9 dogs and shovels and flashlights. Yes, the police who took the haphazard map and the rest of the box and the lines of our story. Yes, the police who dug and dug and dug until their shovels met
metal. Yes, the police who opened the aged metal container with the skeleton key. Yes, the police who told us they found bones, apparently of a y oung girl based on structure. Yes, the police who called three day s later to confirm that the bones
were indeed Jane Thompsons.
Lucy was inconsolable for weeks. She kept repeating that she visited the clearing over and over and over again when Jane disappeared, berating herself for not noticing, for sitting on top of her best friends decomposing remains. She had a real
breakdown and it was horrible to watch it. I held her hand through the ordeal and after half a y ear, we were making real progress. She was smiling agin and laughing again and life was going back to normal. We even got Lucy a new apartment

nearer mine.
The only trouble is that the police never actually caught the son of a bitch who sent the box in the first place. The police assured us that they were doing the best they can, but knowing that some sick bastard who got into y our girlfriend's
apartment is still out there, well it boils the blood and cracks the bones. The police actually assigned someone to patrol her place for months after the incident, but after half a y ear without any thing remotely threatening or suspicious, that stopped
too.
That was exactly seven months ago.
Yesterday, it was Lucy 's birthday. When I stopped by her apartment early in the morning with her birthday breakfast, I was hit by an unwanted sense of dj vu - on her table, a nondescript shoe box with HAPPY BIRTHDAY ;) written in
big, bold letters on the cover. We didn't even bother opening it this time before handing it over to the police. This morning, the police told us they found the body of another girl. They didn't tell us who the girl is, only that she has been missing for
three y ears.
Today, another box found its way to Lucy. The box had sticky red substance seeping from the tape. I WANT TO PLAY WITH YOU, LUCY. IF YOU TELL THE POLICE AGAIN, YOULL GET FRESHER SURPRISES ;) was written in big,
bold letters on the cover.
We havent opened it.

Part 2
It's funny how our brains are hardwired to ignore so many details picked up by our senses as we prioritize those by importance based on some arbitrary, and often uninformed, set of criteria we make up as we go.
The thing is, /r/nosleep, y our comments have thrown me way off and now, I'm completely at a loss as to whom to trust and what to believe. You even had me doubting even my self for a moment there, but more importantly, y ou now have me
doubting Lucy.
I admit that may be I had the seed of suspicion buried deep in my mind long before any of y ou suggested it. After all, it only took a few comments from strangers to put me on the edge regarding my girlfriend, so there must have been
something there, right? I mean, can y ou blame me? She looked at five random things - orange peels, y ellow ribbons, maple leaves, a key, and a crude map - and instantly knew what they all meant. Granted it stems from a terrible and traumatic
memory, but still, who better to 'hide' clues in her apartment than herself?
Fuck, I shouldnt think this way.
When I look at her with her doe ey es, those frightened and vulnerable ey es - god, I don't want to believe it. I don't want to believe that this girl that I've known and loved for y ears could be responsible for this sick game. I don't think she's faking it
and I want to prove it. Not just to y ou all, but to my self as well.
This might be the best time to thank y ou all for y our concern and suggestions. You dont know how comforting it is to know that some people care for y our wellbeing. Fortunately, being the Halloween geeks that we both are (as previously
mentioned), we know that no horror/thriller movie plot ever ends well when the hero complex takes center stage.
It took a while to convince Lucy that the pros of getting help from the police far outweigh the risks. I told her that what she was doing was some masochistic victim blaming - if someone died, it would be on no one's ledger but the damn killer. So
when a putrid stench started to waft from the box, we quickly drove to the police station to turn it over and to tell them what happened. They assured us y et again that they 're doing the best they can with our case, and also that they 'll be
assigning some officers to watch over Lucy, and me too just in case.
In the meantime, Lucy 's stay ing with a friend of hers so that she isnt alone too often. I asked her if she wanted to stay in my apartment for the time being, but she refused vehemently insisting that she did not want to drag me further down this
highway to hell with her (but she's willing to do that to her friend?). It was a little past lunchtime when I drove her to her friend's apartment, and the whole time, she was muttering how this is all her fault again and again. I think she's sinking
lower than her last breakdown and it's scaring me more than ever before. I didnt want to leave her, but she insisted in the same freaky monotone that I should go.
I was driving away from her friends apartment when the plot began to thicken. I got a call from the detective assigned to the case asking if I could stop by the police station because they had some breaks. The Detective (lets call him Kane)
asked in explicit terms not to bring Lucy. Throughout the ten minute drive to the police station, I had innumerable thoughts racing through my brain as the feeling of dread covered my entire being anew. But as excruciating as the wait for new
information was, nothing could have been worse than the actual knowing.
Detective Kane led me to his small office and asked that I sit down. The sun streaming in between the blinds showed the dance of dust in the air, and the smell of coffee and moldy old paper threatened nausea. He sat down behind the chipped
wooden desk across me and placed his hands solemnly on the table.
Theres been a breakthrough in the case, he said quietly.
Yes, I know. You told me over the phone.
The second body that we found, well
Just say it, Detective, the nerves lent more volume to my voice than I intended.
Well, we found a connection between her and Lucy, he looked me straight in the ey e when he said this. I sat there without moving for what felt like eternity, and when he realized I wasnt going to say any thing, he continued on. Her name
was Nancy Holmes. Sources confirmed that she and Lucy were friends in college. She went missing three y ears ago.
The moment felt like a million light y ears collapsing into one second. I remember Nancy Holmes. I met her once or twice when Lucy and I had just begun dating, but I was told that she moved out of the country right after college right
around the time she went missing.
The implications of this new revelation could not mean well, no matter which way I decide to interpret it. Option A, the new connection puts Lucy in terrible light, but again, I refuse to go there. If not Lucy, then who else is there to trust? Option
B, the son of a bitch is killing off people around Lucy. Simultaneously, I felt absolute rage and absolute fear both unprecedented in my life.
For the first time, I realized that my life was in danger.
Youre a smart man, Zeke, Detective Kane continued when he probably saw the flicker of understanding behind my ey es. You know what this means.
I can think of what it can mean, Detective, but y ou have to tell me which side y oure leaning.
May be y ou can make y our own conclusions when I tell y ou what else we found. At this point, Detective Kane brought out a manila envelope and laid out three photos in a row in front of me.
Rats. Two dead rats with their ey es gouged out and each tail tied around the others throat. Blood was seeping from the tiny aby sses that were their ey es. In between them, a crimson stained piece of paper with the words THEY MADE LESS
OF A MESS THAN YOUR PRETTY FRIENDS. ;)
As strong as my stomach is whenever I watch slasher films, the fact that just an hour ago, only cardboard and some tape separated my hands from this blood bath sent bile right up back to my mouth. Detective Kane handed me his waste bin in
time, and for the next five minutes, I vomited and vomited, as though my body believed that with next heave and wheeze, my all-consuming fear would come out mingled with my stomachs contents. Detective Kane handed me a glass of
water and waited for me to down the entire thing before continuing with the rest of what he had to say.
Cause of death for the rats is asphy xiation, just like the two victims. The rats ey es were also gouged when they were still alive. We cant be too sure if the same thing happened to the girls, but judging by the some forensic discoveries, thats
probably the case.
I shook my head vehemently. No, Lucy hates rats. Like really hates them enough to curse them to hell every time she sees one. She wouldnt touch any of those with a twenty foot pole, I was almost shouting at this point. The fucking bastard
knows her worst fears.
Detective Kane brought out another photo. It took me a while to make sense of this one. It was an evidence shot of three strands of hair two blonde, and one electric blue. Like Lucy s.
Where are y ou getting at, Detective? I asked severely. I could feel my jaw tense in anticipation for the accusation that I was making my self in my mind.
Just, he hesitated. He looked me square in the ey es. I knew what he was looking for. He was try ing to see if I would show any inkling of doubt about my girlfriend. I had doubt, more than an inkling, but I wasnt about to throw Lucy under a bus
without proof so I steeled my gaze. I guess I was more convincing on the outside than I was in the inside. Just be careful, okay ? Ill have officers stationed outside y our apartments round the clock.
Yes, thank y ou, I stood up to leave. He shook my hand firmly, lingering a bit longer in an attempt to get across with a look the message that I already long received. I headed out the door, into my car, and drove straight home.
You see, Lucy loves a good my stery. Its one of the many things we have in common. In fact, the cataly st for reconnecting back in college was a my stery one August Dupin had written a short story that was published in our school paper and
I loved it so much that I wrote a fan letter, only to later find out that Ms. Dupin was none other than my high school crush Lucy. Lucy is the single most observant person I know, and she has this uncanny ability to see patterns where I just saw
madness. You see, Lucy loves a good my stery, and I was beginning to wonder if she loved it enough to make my steries out of every thing she touched.
But I love a good my stery too, my darling Lucy. No matter how loudly my gut protests my reckless abandon and no matter how all my knowledge of horror plots piles ruthlessly against me, I am going to solve this one no matter what.

Part 3
I made a terrible mistake. We all did.
You have to believe me. I didnt know. You have to understand this. I have to tell y ou what happened so that y ou could understand it. For me.
My mind still felt like stormy seas when I got back to my apartment after the visit with Detective Kane. I felt like a castaway looking for any thing solid to hold on to, but every thing was looking more and more hopeless by the second. I needed
something any thing to explain away the haunting connections that my mind was forging. I needed to wash the bloodstains off Lucy in my head.
As soon as I entered our apartment, I saw my roommate (lets call him Adam) perched on one of the bar stools in our kitchen. He had the eared hood of his Batman sweater up as he held a folded newspaper section in one hand and a cup of
coffee in the other. In spite of every thing, or perhaps because of it, the normalcy of the scene was comforting. I walked in the room and sat on the bar stool next to him.
Holy shit, dude. You look like road kill. What the fuck happened to y ou? Adam asked, standing suddenly in surprise. I saw my reflection on microwave parallel me. I have obviously not regained the color I vomited y et. I shook my head
before lay ing my chin on the cold marble of the counter top. I watched Adam walk to our fridge to grab some fruit to slice.
I considered telling him every thing that went down at the police station the rats, the hair strands, every thing. He already had a general idea of what Lucy and I have been going through these past few months, and he had been a great friend to
us throughout it all. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him all my suspicions and fears. I wanted to dissect the situation with an insider as opposed to mildly concerned strangers on the web. Most of all, I wanted him to tell me that I was being a
fucking idiot and there was no way in heaven or hell or any where in between that my girlfriend could be behind this.
But I couldnt tell him. I couldnt because say ing things out loud to someone I truly knew would make the situation less of a theory and more of a reality. I couldnt handle that right now. And so all the words I rehearsed, all the thoughts
threatening an exodus from my lips, were forced back inside, doomed to remain quiet indefinitely.
Sorry, dont answer that, he said apologetically. Im so sorry this is happening to y ou guy s.
I know, Adam. I am too.
The son of a bitch stole y our chance to propose twice too, he said as he shook his head.
I was slightly taken aback that he was bringing this up now, but he was right. I had planned to propose to Lucy last Halloween, and again on her birthday. Obviously, both those plans didnt pan out.
You should eat something, he said as he put a small plate of apples and oranges in front of me. Look, man. I gotta get back to work. Will y ou be okay here?
Yeah, I said as I waved him away. I have to go over to meet Lucy any way, so Ill probably see y ou back here later.
He looked at me for a moment longer, perhaps gauging my level of sanity right then, before finally nodding and heading out the door. By then, the headache that began at the station had turned into a full migraine so I finished off the fruit plate
and popped an Ibuprofen before getting back to business.
There were so many questions battling for attention in my brain, and every time I thought I was approaching some clarity, I would discover that my logic wouldnt hold and I would be back to square one. I had so many things I wanted to
research, but I knew that right now, I needed to go to Lucy. If y ouve ever had the privilege of being in love, then y ou would understand what I mean when I say that I needed to find answers in her answers that no amount of theorizing and
researching and thinking could give me.
I stood up to throw the seeds and rinds and to wash the plate before heading to the door. I was almost out when I remembered the suggestion that many of y ou vehemently made. I headed back to my room to retrieve an old toy hidden under
boxes of junk in my closet, thanking my y ounger self for packing this thing when I moved out of my childhood home. After a couple of minutes of digging, I finally found the dusty tattered box with an old teddy bear inside. Taking it out of its
box, I flipped the bear and felt around for the small Velcro. Inside the bear was a small camera and microphone capable of recording seventy -two hours straight before the battery or memory card give out. I bought this gem in a garage sale
many y ears ago, but this is the first time I found a chance to use it.
I appreciate y our suggestions, /r/nosleep, and I thought the one about live streaming to the police was particularly clever, but I dont think I can do that. On the off chance that Lucy is responsible for this, I would like some time to consider what
to do before turning her in. I know its selfish and god damn risky, but shes my girlfriend of five y ears and like I said, I dont want to just throw her under the bus like that.
So my compromise is this sneaky little bastard that I brought to her room in her friends (lets call her Carrie) apartment to watch over her (if she only knew) as she slept. She thanked me and placed it on her dresser facing her bed, away from
the door. Carries apartment is a bit stuffy, and the air conditioner in the spare room (Lucy s room) was busted, so I opened a window to let some air in before ly ing down on Lucy s bed, inviting her with me. She rested her head on my chest and
started to listlessly trace shapes on my stomach. She felt so frail in my arms, so tiny and fragile, and as I felt her heartbeats on my ribs and the warmth of her slow breaths on my chest, I knew for certain that this girl this beautiful, beautiful
woman in my arms could not hurt any one, not even rats, not other humans.
We stay ed that way for the rest of the afternoon, talking about our wishes, our hopes for the future, our day dreams. I asked her what she thought of the last book we read together (Death on the Nile) and she explained to me in her usual
eloquence all the plot holes and foreshadows in the book. It was almost as though every thing were alright in the world again, but the bear on her dresser was a constant reminder that it isnt. Several times, I tried to breach topics that have been
gripping my mind, but I couldnt bring my self to ruin the purity of the moment. I felt that after all that weve been through in the last couple of day s, we deserved this moment of peace and quiet before the darkness that loomed in the horizon
came to haunt us again.
It was starting to get dark when Carrie returned to the apartment. She asked if we wanted to get dinner out, seeing that her fridge and pantry are devoid of any decent food. I wanted to get some research done tonight, so I begged off and told the
girls that I had to head back to my apartment to finish up some errands. I kissed Lucy goodby e and told them to be safe and to let the officer parked outside their building know where they were going.
The drive back to the apartment was a surprisingly pleasant one. I knew in my gut that Lucy couldnt do this. I know I had no definitive proof, but trust me when I say that every fiber of my being just knew. When I got back home, Adam was in
the kitchen eating pasta. He asked if I wanted any, but I have y et to regain my appetite so I declined. I plopped into my arm chair and booted my laptop. Opening Google, I first searched for Nancy Holmes and was met with over twenty
million hits with nothing on the first ten pages even remotely relevant. I then searched Nancy Holmes [university ]. On the fourth page, I found a post naming her as the Editor-in-Chief of the school paper that published Lucy s short story, but
nothing bey ond that. I then ty ped her name on Facebook and I came up with zilch. I even searched Lucy s friends list and still, nothing.
I was tempted to ask Adam about it, but decided against it because I didnt want to explain my motivations behind the question. I never got the chance to know Nancy well, but what I do know is that for the first few y ears of college, she, Lucy
and Adam were inseparable. Adam went to the same high school as Lucy and me, but I also never interacted much with Adam much. In fact, the whole time I was in college, I didnt even know that he went to the same university as Lucy and
me. We met again by accident three y ears ago when we ran into each other literally at the local grocery store. He had just come back from working in another state that very day, and I was looking for a roommate. After a long
conversation that went surprisingly well, I asked if he wanted to room with me and well, as they say, the rest is history.
Now, in the interest of full disclosure, let me state the fact that in high school, Lucy and Adam used to date. I know, its damn weird to be rooming with y our girlfriends ex, but Adam assured me that their short dalliance with romance was
nothing but adolescent experimentation and it holds no candle to our long and adult relationship. Any way, he was cool and I really needed someone to split the rent with and I was never the jealous sort, so I thought it was no problem.
Like Lucy, Adam used to be a bit eccentric when we were y ounger. They were both the artistic sort who would go to ridiculous lengths to feel one with nature and all that shit. They werent exactly outcasts, but they were nowhere near
popular either. I, on the other hand, play ed varsity soccer from high school all the way to college. I hung out with other Greeks then, and most of my college memories centered on drunkenness and hangovers. Our social circles did not intersect,
and to be honest, if Lucy s story werent published in the school paper, then I would probably have never gotten to know each other at all. I was browsing through old photos of Lucy when I must have fallen asleep. I woke up, woozy and
disoriented, to the dimly lit living room. My laptop was on the coffee table and the power button was glowing slowly, signaling that it had not been touched for a while. There was a post-it stuck to the screen that said GOT CALLED BACK TO
WORK. BE BACK LATER - ADAM. I scratched my ey es and noticed the notification light on my phone. As I slid to unlock, what I saw on my phone made my heart jump out of my throat.
Thirty missed calls from Lucy.
I stood so abruptly that vertigo hit my poor brain, but that did not stop me from running straight to my car. I called Lucy one, thrice, six times but all my attempts went to voicemail. You could not begin to fathom the fear that enveloped every
cell of my body during that excruciatingly long ten-minute drive to Carries apartment. I parked my car haphazardly behind two police vehicles and rushed straight to their unit. When I got there, I saw Lucy wrapped in a blanket next to Carrie
on the sofa. I ran straight to her, asking what happened. She looked at me with pleading ey es, too shaken to even speak.
Rats, Carrie said. Her vacant ey es glued to a spot on the wall. We were out for dinner and when we got back to the car, one of the windows was broken and there were about twenty dead rats inside.
She slowly turned her head to look at me. Their ey es were all gone. And someone tied each of their tails around anothers neck.
She barely had the last word out before running off to the bathroom. We could hear gagging and coughing in the bathroom. I sat beside Lucy who began sobbing as I took her into my arms. It was simultaneously better and worse that she was
finally showing emotion. I guess for the past few day s, she had been so frightened bey ond belief that her mind and body could no longer process any more.
I heard the officers greet someone outside the apartment. I looked up to see Detective Kane entering the apartment and making a beeline for the couch we currently occupied. He sat down on the arm chair opposite us, rubbing his hands
together as he struggled with the words that threatened to spill.
There was another box, he said. Inside the car.
What was inside? Lucy spoke so suddenly that I twitched involuntarily.
Detective Kane hesitated and ran his hands through his hair.
Tell us, Detective, I said.
Human teeth,
And finally, the dam broke. Lucy was in hy sterics as we heard Detective Kanes words. She kept repeating between sobs that this is all her fault and that she cant solve this. I was shushing Lucy and rubbing her arm to console her, but inside, I
felt so numb. I was so tired of being scared, tired of looking back over my shoulder constantly in fear that the mother fucking bastard would hurt me. I wanted to give up, to just throw the towel in and run away. It wasnt my problem any way,
and I dont think any one would blame me for wanting to protect my own life. But feeling the tightening grip that Lucy had on my arm, well, I knew I couldnt leave her. Not now, not ever.

The rest of the night passed by quickly, and by two in the morning, Detective Kane convinced me to head home for a bit to catch some sleep. He assured me that there were two officers stationed outside Carries apartment and another two at
mine so we would be safe. I didnt want to leave Lucy, but at this point, she had already been asleep for three hours and I had the worst trouble sleeping when sharing the bed with someone. The onslaught of another migraine did it for me. I took
one long look at her sleeping form before kissing her forehead and finally driving home.
It was quiet in the apartment when I get back with the dim light of the lamp I left on as the only source of illumination in the house. I had a raging migraine taking over and the adrenaline was losing out, so I went straight to the bedroom and went
to sleep.
I woke up a several hours later, feeling slightly better but still groggy. I stood up from bed and saw that the sun was just beginning to peek from the horizons. I checked Adams room and found that it was empty, so I headed to the kitchen to make
my self coffee. With the warm mug in my hand, I sat back down on the same arm chair I occupied only four hours ago and brought my laptop back to life. The first thing I noticed was that I was deep into the archives of Lucy s Facebook photos
when I fell asleep. It was a photo of her sitting on a patch of grass of our university, laughing and reaching out for the camera or whoever was there. She had violet hair in her photo, which means that this was around the time that we met again.
I clicked back and saw a photo of her and Nancy Holmes laughing at something only they know. Three more photos of her and Nancy when finally
THAT SON OF A BITCH
Glaring at me with the harsh light of my computer screen was a photo of Adam kissing the cheek of a grinning Lucy. Photo after photo after photo of Adam and Lucy with the caption, the last good day with the love of my life. So they had
been together in college! She was wearing the same clothes are the previous photos with Nancy so this was probably taken on the same day. I clicked back and saw even more pictures of Lucy and Adam, each one with a unique sentimental
messages of goodby e. Goodby e? My mind was back in the tempestuous seas, and clear and coherent thought abandoned me completely. What the fucking hell was happening?! I knew that Lucy had a boy friend who died in a car crash, but how
the fuck could it be Adam? Wouldnt she have said something in the million and one times that she saw him?
I must have been sitting for so long with my mouth agape when, like a bullet train to the skull, suddenly, it made sense. I thought back to the times that Lucy would visit the apartment, and every other possible moment that Adam and Lucy could
have met. I realized that I have never actually seen them together in the same room. Adam was alway s out when Lucy would come visit the apartment, and given Adams gravey ard shift job, we never got the chance to go out for lunch or
dinner or even god damn brunch.
But if Adam has been gone for five y ears, then who the fuck was I living with for the last three y ears?!
I was hy perventilating, possibly on the verge of fainting, when I heard knocking on my door. I felt like dread itself was melted and injected to my veins. Was it Adam? What the fuck was happening?! There were three knocks again, followed by
the muffled self-identification of the person on the other side.
I stood up shakily and headed for the door. I opened it slowly and was greeted by a solemn-looking Detective Kane on the other side. He took one deep breath before releasing to the air the four words that broke my universe
Zeke, Lucy is missing.

Part 4
We will all have that moment that one particular moment that will strike us like a lightning bolt scorned, marking us so deeply and permanently that every thing that happened y esterday backward becomes Before and all that will happen
tomorrow onward becomes After. I thought Halloween 2014 would be my moment, but no. The night that Lucy disappeared was my moment.
"Zeke, Lucy is missing."
The hurricane of emotions that followed those four words could not be penned down even if I tried. My brain must have shut down, but my body knew exactly what to do. I ran straight out of my apartment, leaving the vehement screams of
protest of Detective Kane in the air. I sprinted the ten blocks that connected Carries apartment to mine. Coherent thought abandoned me and all I could do was concentrate on my breathing that came in short and shallow sporadic bursts. With
every inhale, I said her name. With every exhale, I said his.
Panting and drenched in sweat, I arrived in front of her building, cursing the incompetent bastards who were supposed to protect her from harm. Their apologies didn't mean shit if they couldn't bring her back. I rushed up the stairs to their
second floor unit, but the adrenaline that pushed me forward evaporated into the humid air as I stood in the apartments doorway. I willed my muscles to move toward the place where the love of my life was last seen. My limbs did not respond.
I stood there unmoving, a thousand and one scenarios in quick successions like a broken projector in my mind, each one worse than the last. The guilt of leaving her. The fear of never seeing her again. The terror that I might =be next. Where
was she? Who had her? I knew that none of these questions were ensured answers, but still I hoped as I walked toward the unassuming shut door. All else faded to a blur and my ey es could not see any thing bey ond my destination. I barely
registered Carries hy sterical apologies, Detective Kanes bellows forbidding me to enter, the officers pleas for me to stop walking. All these did not matter because I knew what was waiting for me on the other side.
I knew because I smelled it before I saw it. The metallic odor mingled with the smell of vomit assaulted my nostrils as I opened the room. I felt around the wall nearby for the light switch, and with a faint click, suddenly all was illuminated. And
all was red.
Blood. Blood every where. Rorschach in crimson on the walls, on the bed, on every fucking surface in her room. Every thing converged on the bed. There was so much pooling in the bed and elsewhere that I knew right then that no one could
survive losing this much blood. As the realization hit me, my lungs forgot to function.
Short and shallow breaths. Inhale. Lucy. Exhale. Dead. Inhale. Adam. Exhale. Gone.
In seconds, I succumbed to the darkness.
When I came to, I was back in my apartment and the sun was starting to set. I sat up, rubbing my throbbing temples as I did. On my side table was Detective Kanes calling card with a messy were just outside scribbled on the corner. Next to
it was a glass of water and my pillbox. With shaking hands, I opened the tab marked with F and quickly downed the Ibuprofen and little pink PPP that have apparently been waiting for me for a week (two?). It took a moment to remember
every thing, but when the macabre game of cat and mouse play ed again in my mind, I wished that I never woke up again. Slowly, I stood up and took tentative steps out my room and toward the door at the other side of the hall.
Its ridiculous how much we take for granted all the time, how willing we are to place trust on people just because they seem to mean well or they say the right things to cloud reason and tug on the heart. My universe was a fucking cruncher,
and now the void has become a vengeful black hole, stealing away every single light of hope in its path. Trust is not a card to be dealt loosely, and we all learn this the hard way.
My hand lingered on the cold doorknob of Adams door. My heart was aflutter, like it decided to dance wildly one last time before finally, finally giving up. I could feel every hair on my skin rise toward the gravity of the unknown in his room.
Slowly, I turned the knob and pushed open the door. I had no clue what I would find inside, but whatever vague guesses my imagination mustered did not come close to reality.
I stood in the threshold of his room, unable to wrap my head around what I was seeing. The room that Adam lived in for three y ears walls painted blue littered with creaseless posters of superheroes and villains, the bed that was never made,
the aged guitar leaning against the steel bookshelf stacked haphazardly with paperbacks was empty. Every thing was gone furniture, books, Adam and the only proof that any human entered this room in recent history was sitting in the
middle of the room.
A nondescript shoebox taped all over with the GAME OVER ;) written in big, bold letters on the cover was waiting to be found.
I took three strides to close the space between me and the offending item. I sat on the floor, too exhausted to keep the grip of fear firm on my soul. I slowly unwound the tape. With every pull, the dread washed away from my body until I was
left with nothing. Nothing but numbness.
I opened the box. Inside was my teddy cam, stained with a bloody handprint on its face and holding a card with I WIN written in big, bold letters.
He was taunting me. The motherfucking bastard was taunting me.
I wanted to win. I wanted to run out of this damn apartment and hand the box to the police without ever seeing the horrors it undoubtedly held within. But I love a good my stery and this was one I vowed to solve. I took out the camera, leaving
the bloodied bear in its box in Adams room. I plugged it to my laptop, and with bated breath, I pressed play.
Thanks for this, babe! I heard Lucy s voice say. I felt my heart constrict as I wondered if I would ever get to hear her beautiful voice in person again.
No problem, I heard my self this time. Why dont y ou put it by y our dresser so y ou could have him watch over y ou?
Good idea, there was some movement before the frame stabilized. I saw my self entering the frame from the left corner not within the cameras range of sight. I crawled onto Lucy s bed and she followed soon after. I knew what this was, and
I couldnt bring my self to watch it not today, not with her still missing. I pressed the fast forward button and I saw our last good conversation replay in heightened speed. I could feel tears inching slowly away from my ey es, as though every
single drop wanted to get as far away as possible from these damn ey es doomed to see the mistakes and misery of the rest of me.
A minute or two later, I saw light streaming in from the living room as the door opened. Without bothering to switch on the lights, I entered carry ing Lucy in my arms. I slowly put her in bed before ly ing down beside her, lightly tracing the
contours of her arm as I watched over her as she slept. The microphone picked up my humming too. I pressed the fast forward button again.
Detective Kane entered the room. I could hear him try ing to convince me to get some rest. I hesitated for a moment. I almost screamed at the me shown on the video to say no, to listen to what my instinct was telling me at the moment that I
should watch over Lucy. Oh god, Lucy. I saw that I had already agreed, and with one last kiss on her forehead, I followed Detective Kane out and closed the door. With the living room light cut out, darkness swallowed most of the room whole,
with the exception of weak ray s of the moonlight coming from the left corner through the window.
I stared at the darkness. I watched the black screen, knowing that my Lucy was there ly ing in bed, dreaming and unaware. The mouse pointer was going berserk as my hands trembled in sickening anticipation for what I knew would come. In
my last ditch effort to keep her alive, I did not press fast forward. Five minutes, ten, thirty, sixty, an hour and a half, two, three I sat there in front of my computer, watching the darkness, imagining Lucy.
Suddenly, a shadow disturbed the light of the moon on the floor. Surprised by the sudden movement, I clicked replay. I saw it again. I saw a silhouette of a man with small triangular shapes atop each side of the head. He was entering through the
window THE SAME FUCKING WINDOW I OPENED MYSELF EARLIER THAT DAY. I saw his outline move into the frame from the left corner of the room. A flicker of recognition at the sight of those batman ears on his head crossed
my mind as I watched the assailant enter the belly of darkness. My breath caught in my throat as I waited for his next move.
I heard the weak creak of a bedspring disturbed. There was a pause, followed by a soft gasp, and then more silence.
A million y ears must have passed before the next sound came, and had I not been waiting for it, I might have not heard it at all. What are y ou doing here? It was Lucy. She sounded so calm so freakishly calm as though her words were
sighed out with a smile. My mind raced to make sense of this anomaly did she know him? Was she expecting him?
My answer came in the form of the unmistakable sound of kissing.
I could almost feel the phy sical pain brought by the crumbling of my heart. Its such a small organ. How much more can it take? Who was she kissing? To whom did she loosely deal her card of trust?
It was y ou, wasnt it? she asked. I was so lost in my thought that for a moment, I thought that it was me she was speaking to. I could not hear the mans voice, so I didnt know if he was even responding at all.
I had a feeling it was y ou. I solved it as usual. I solved y ou. I caught the telltale intonation of her gloating. He was another puzzle, another my stery she solved. Did y ou know, my darling? Did y ou know that y our love for my steries would be
what would make y ou one?
You really scared me though, she sighed with what sounded suspiciously like contentment. I was so worried someone else found out.
How did y ou even know about Jane and Nancy ? her voice sounded more and more like stifled breaths with every word. You were probably watching me the wh time, werent y ou? Fuck, that turns me o DID SHE JUST FUCKING
MOAN?!
Thank y ou for the gift, baby, she said, pausing at every sy llable as she struggled to get the words out. Im so lucky to have ever found y ou.
I heard a sharp intake of breath before
What is that? What are y ou doing? her voice remained barely above a whisper, but the y ears I spent with her made me ever more sensitive of her unsaid truths. I knew what the break in her voice meant and I knew it wasnt because of
whatever secrets their movements wrote in the shadows. "What the -- WHOSE WERE THOSE?! You son of a -- DID YOU KILL HIM TOO?!
Have y ou ever helped out in the slaughter of a pig? Have y ou ever heard the sound that is made when the knife swiftly slices the flesh apart? Because I heard that sound. And I heard the sound of words drowning in its owner's blood. I heard the
sound of skin being pierced and the sound of the pathetic whimper that followed every stab. I heard the bedsprings creak with her struggle. I heard her muffled cries, her labored breaths, slowly getting fainter and fainter until going, going, gone.
It only took five minutes to undo a life.
No amount of anger or resentment for Lucy s indiscretions could have reduced the horror that my soul experienced. /r/nosleep, I hope to all deities that live and have lived that y ou never, ever have to get to experience any thing fucking close to
the god damn experience of witnessing the love of y our life die.
An infinity of stillness in the belly of darkness passed. It took another ten minutes before any sound was made. It started with the creaks of the bedspring, then a soft thud on the floor. I watched as the pool of her blood infiltrated the moonlight
shining on the floor. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to vomit and may be this memory could be vomited away too. I wanted to claw the memory out of my skin as I listened to his grunts of exertion, as I watched the mattress laid onto the floor, as I

watched her hair rise and drip with blood as he carried the unmoving body of my girlfriend. I listened to the sounds that came from what I could not see - a muted thud, the grunts, those bedsprings creaking. I listened until there was nothing to
hear. I watched until there was nothing to see.
She was gone.
I stared at the dark screen, unable to move at the wake of the horror that I had just witnessed. I stared at the dark screen for two, may be three minutes and then I noticed movement in the camera. I saw the frame move slowly toward the
window where the moon lit the scene. I watched as slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the camera tipped upward until -Game over, he said. I win
It wasn't Adam.
It was me.
But it was y ou too.
I'm so sorry, Lucy.
This is my last one - the nondescript shoe box taped all over with "THANK YOU FOR PLAYING ;)" written in big, bold letters on the cover for all of y ou. I was sure y ou love a good my stery too, so I did it for y ou, /r/nosleep. I did all of this for
y ou.

I am a virgin, and a male, with all my masculine organs... so how am I hospitalized now with a fetus growing inside of me?
by TheRealMugen
Runner Up - May Monthly Contest

Part 1
They told me I had a hernia at first. From the descriptions of the pain, to the phy sical manifestation in my abdomen, I believed they were right. But no matter how many phy sicians I talked to, none could explain why the mass was moving so
much.
"When y ou move, any large appendage will obviously sway or jiggle with y ou," said Dr. Thompson, over his little round glasses. He let his white hair grow long, down to his shoulders. "Like when a fat man waddles away, and his belly waddles
with him," he smiled about that.
But I didn't feel like smiling. I wasn't fat, but I had been getting my share of jabs in class. Even my Biology professor cast me a sly kind of grin as one of the students asked him if men could get pregnant too, looking from me to him. Was I
really getting that big?
Then, come April, they dropped the news. I had indeed become a freakish anomaly, the first known case in history. I had testicles, a penis, a beard, and a baby growing inside of me. Dr. Thompson wasn't smiling any more when the technician
brought him the results of my ultrasound. I couldn't tell what he was feeling by the look on his face. Was he confused? Disconcerted... disgusted?
I knew I was. I wouldn't blame him if his thin mouth was grimacing in disgust as he flipped through the printouts, knitting his brow tighter with every page. I was extremely disgusted.
"I'm still a virgin," I blathered, without thinking. I felt at that moment like he needed to know this bit of information, though I was sure it would only confuse him even more. He looked back up at me with that blank stare. "I've never had sex."
"Mr. Peterson," he said, softening his voice as if he was suddenly speaking to a ten-y ear-old. "I can assure y ou that in the present circumstances, whether or not y ou've had sexual intercourse is not even a blip on the radar of the absurdity of
what is happening here. You are man, y es?"
"Yes."
"When y ou masturbate, white sperm comes out the end, y es?"
A little more hesitantly this time, "... Yes."
"You do not have a tiny little vagina hiding somewhere between y our testicles and y our anus, y es?"
"Yes... I mean, no. I don't have... a vagina."
That was fucking awkward. I was almost tempted to reach my fingers down to my scrotum to feel just to be sure, but I resisted the urge. Suddenly I was reminded of all of those vicious teenagers on League of Legends, assuring me that I must
have a vagina by the way I play Carry on the bottom lane:
Soraka: Get more harass, y ou pussy. I can starfall harder than y ou can thrust.
"The good news is that he's developing normally," the doctor couldn't help but giggle to himself about this. Without realizing it, I had taken to stroking my belly the way I had seen pregnant women. "The bad news is that, by law," he emphasized
this, as if spitting on it, "it's too far along to abort it."
"What the fuck?" I blurted out before I could stop my self. "I'm a Man. How am I supposed to give birth?"
As flustered as I was, it felt absurd to be say ing those words aloud. Not in a thousand y ears could I have imagined that I would someday be say ing that. But the thought of people slapping legality on this was absolutely insane.
"You should know there are protesters outside right now," he said. "Some people think this heralds the second coming of Christ. Not only born from a virgin, but a man."
That really hit home. Others knew what was happening? I didn't have to ask about the news. If a group of protesters outside knew what was happening, then surely the news would be broadcasting my face and my protruding belly on all of their
channels. But the second coming of Jesus? If there is a God, he must fucking hate me.
"There's just one thing y ou should know," he said. "There is something very strange about this child in y our abdomen. Obviously y ou do not have a uterus or any ty pe of device for distributing nutrients to the growing fetus. What this means to
us, is that this thing that seems so human must be exhibiting... parasitic qualities."
I felt the blood run from my face. He must have known what kind of effect that word would evoke. He had to know.
"So we need to keep y ou hospitalized, so we can monitor how much it is absorbing of y our body. And we need to make sure its growth doesn't cause too much more impact on y our internal organs as it has already done. You should actually be
thankful that y ou were a... hefty boy to begin with. It cleared out those fat pockets like a little nursery for itself.
"Needless to say," here he stopped again. The whole time he had been creeping around what he truly wanted to say, choosing his words as wisely as he could. I couldn't blame him. This whole thing was like a nightmare. "Needless to say, a host
of other phy sicians and my self will be putting our heads together to make sure every thing goes as smoothly as possible."
"Great," I said, unable to keep the contempt out of my voice. "That makes me feel so warm and fuzzy."

Part 2
They taped oven mitts on his hands because he couldnt stop scratching. Even now, he cant stop try ing. He say s all the time that his belly itches to nine levels of hell. Before they put the mitts on, Evan scratched so hard that his stomach started
bleeding all over the place. They pulled pieces of skin out from under his fingernails. But he said he didnt feel a thing. Not any more.
At this point I should tell y ou that this is his friend ty ping for him. My name is Edward, and Ive known Evan since we were kids. I could tell he was reluctant to call me, but he said the people of The Internets needed to know what was happening
here. So I agreed to come be his ghost-writer.
Now, the ghost-writing part is starting to not be applicable. Now Im feeling more like a documentarian, because Evan is becoming increasingly incapacitated. At first he was dictating to me, but now I am observing and writing. For some reason
they started a morphine drip into his IV, and hes started lapsing in and out of consciousness. I dont know enough about pregnancy to say if this is weird but then again the whole fucking thing is insane.
Turns out the only reason I was able to come be by his side was because his adopted parents dont want any thing to do with him or the publicity surrounding every thing. I had to get a letter from them stating that Evan has no family any more,
and to let me assume the kindred responsibilities of being by his side because if not me, then no one else would be there.
But I havent told him that. Not y et.
Several hours ago I slipped out of his room to get something to eat from the cafeteria. When I was just past the nurses station, I could hear some doctors talking with them about the patient in room 9. That was Evans room, so I leaned in to hear
as much as I could.
exhibiting profound reactions to the intravenous nutrients, came a womans voice. The fetus is literally absorbing all of it, leaving trace amounts for the host- she cleared her throat. I mean for the parent.
We might as well call it what it is, a masculine voice responded. We know the thing is exhibiting parasitic qualities. Why are we even treating this is if it is a human child? It needs to be removed. Even the host knows. Dont flinch, the boy is a
host, Sandra. He is a host to a freakishly giant parasite and even he knows it needs to be removed, or else he wouldnt have been clawing his stomach to shreds.
The silence was thick as ice. Without seeing their faces, I knew the woman doctor was probably reeling.
It looks like a child though, she said at last, a little defensively. Youve seen the ultrasounds and the CT printouts. If it is exhibiting parasitic qualities, then why does it look so much like a human fetus?
Only way to know is to cut it out and see.
You cant-
No, but with the Hospital Administrations support, I can.
Suddenly the male doctor was walking briskly out from behind the walls. He gave me a quick, suspect look before turning on his heels and capering down the hallway. My stomach growled, but still I remained rooted to the spot for a little longer.
The slight against the woman was too obvious, too reproachful. Finally, she spoke again:
Did y ou hear that, Michael? she was whispering. Even I could barely hear her. I leaned in closer and held my breath. We dont have much more time.
There was a crackling sound, like a radio transmitter buzzing with static. The static broke with a beep, and a voice replied, simply : I heard. Well up the Amino Acid injections.
As hungry as I was, I knew I couldnt leave Evan now. I turned back from the corridor, to walk back to room number 9, but before I reached it, I heard someone scream from his room. It was one of the nurses, calling for a doctor. She threw the
curtain aside, revealing a bloody mess in the bed where I had left Evan. In her hand was a scalpel, dripping red from the blade.
The nurse left the door open and ran for a doctor, otherwise they probably wouldnt have let me in. Ive never been able to handle much gore. The whole incident with Evan clawing at his stomach was enough to leave me adequately unhinged,
but I knew that he would want me to see what has happening. He wants The Internets to know.
As soon as I stepped into the room, a wave of nausea hit me. It smelled like he had shit all over himself, but if he had, he made no attempt to tell me, or apologize. He was just sitting there, smiling at me while flailing his arms around wildly.
Blood was trailing from his fingertips, spattering across the white walls and the white of his bed sheets.
I wont tell them y ou gave it to me, he said in a wicked kind of voice that sounded nothing like him. Ill tell them I found the scalpel. Hehe.
Scalpel? What are y ou talking about?
But before he could respond, his head fell back against the pillow. He must have blacked out again. They said it was a sy mptom of the growing fetus impact on his body, but it was getting more frequent. What really worried me though was the
fresh blood creeping out of his belly region, through his gown.
Then, I saw why he was talking about a scalpel. He had dug a hole right into his abdomen with something sharp enough to carve into skin. I remembered him telling me that the fetus was embedded just beneath the skin amongst the fatty tissue,
not far at all. He must have tried to cut it out. He had said something about that in his morphine haze, but I never thought he was serious.
Hand strong as iron wrapped around my wrists. Someone was telling me I had to go now. There was a whole army of nurses and doctors, rushing to his side and checking his vitals. But as I was being dragged away, I saw something. I know I
saw it. Since that moment Ive questioned my self a hundred times, but I have to trust what I saw.
A tiny, pink looking finger, coated in a thick lay er of blood was reaching up from his abdomen. It was rising from the bleeding hole he had cut into himself, groping like a worm from soil. Then, the door snapped shut.
The last thing I heard before being taken farther away was the shout of the woman doctor I had heard talking before:
Its time. Lets get him into OR.
For a second, I almost thought she sounded giddy as she said that.

Part 3
Once word went round, I thought the protestors would have hauled off their signs and gone home. But the news of the childs birth only sent them capering around and cheering. I wasnt sure what was more horrify ing: the fact that Evan passed
away during his child-birth, or that the pro-life supporters only give a shit about the child and not the host. Host. Yes, thats what he was. Thats all he was supposed to be.
Doctor Thompson came to me in the waiting room, where the second-hand on the clock had been ticking away eternities one after another. My nails are bitten down to stubs now, a couple fingers bleeding where I bit too far. Somehow I knew
this was what was coming. That pink, bloody little finger protruding from the cavity Evan carved out of his own stomach was never far from my thoughts.
Your Evans friend, y es? he asked over his oval glasses.
Yes.
Evan had told me about this doctor long before he became a part of a group of phy sicians, supposedly better suited to see him through the operation. He said he trusted Dr. Thompson, and only him. I wished he would have been coherent
enough for me to tell him about the other doctor from y esterday, the one who sought the administrations support to abort the abomination nestled above his intestines. But what good would it have done? He would still be dead, all the same.
Come with me, the doctor said, turning to leave before giving me the chance to reply.
He took me past the E.R. rooms where Evan and I had waited a couple day s prior. We swept down a few more halls until he stopped before a set of double-doors with a key card access. He swiped his badge and the doors opened up to a flight of
stairs that only led down.
Where are we going? I asked, still too mentally fatigued to really care.
In response, he merely closed the doors behind us and came up close to me. His breath stank of vodka and cherries. Only then did I realize just how intoxicated he must have been, steady ing himself by lay ing a hand on my shoulder.
That bitch did this, he whispered. Tell me, did Evan come to ER before this started happening, for any reason at all?
He had. I knew that because I was the reason why. We were pledging for a fraternity and I pushed him to drink way more than he ought to have. He alway s said he was sick of being a virgin, so I thought the alcohol would bring him to brave it
out better. But all it gave him was a hefty dose of alcohol poisoning. He had to go have his stomach pumped, and, y es it occurred to me.
Yes, I said. He told me they took a blood-test to confirm that he wasnt mixing any other drugs as well.
Your friend has or rather, had a rare blood ty pe. Any other phy sician would have recognized it as O+, but this woman has been waiting for someone with the subtle variation that he had. The ty pe of variation that could support a parasitic
being.
All I could do was laugh.
Youre drunk, I said. Youre living some kind of drunken, Sci-Fi fantasy plot in y our head.
He only shook his head and stared at me in silence. Now caught, he boldly lifted a flask from his inner pocket and took another nip before offering it to me. I refused, and he stood there for moments longer before an idea illuminated his ey es.
Down the staircase three levels, he said, pointing to the stairs. Take a right, pass two doors leading left and then take the first one to open up on the right.
What?
You wont believe me, y es? See for y ourself. And do what must be done.
What do y ou mean, do what must be done?
Do what I could not.
Before I could raise another appeal, he disappeared behind the doors in a brisk pace. The words registered several more times in my head, with no more meaning than the first. Still, there was a feeling bubbling in the pit of my stomach; a kind
of subterranean knowledge. Do what must be done. So I took the stairs leading down.
I followed his directions as instructed. Once three flights down, I felt as though I was in a different complex entirely. The walls were bare concrete, and the floor was spotted with puddles. Even those I could barely see because the only lighting
was a single trail of light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, spaced out at least ten y ards apart. Bey ond the feeble y ellow circles, all else was black as pitch.
I passed the first door without looking in. Was I going to find his body here? I couldnt imagine why it would not be above ground where the rest of the rooms and phy sicians were. Once I reached the second door, I was pulled in like an insect to
a filament.
I looked through the square window and saw a man with a belly almost as large as Evans was. But he wasnt moving. He was laid upon a bare mattress which was the only piece of furniture in the room. Beneath him something green and black
was pooling into the fabric. And below that, the liquid spilled out onto the concrete floor, amassing in a tar-like puddle.
Reluctantly, I pried away to continue down the hall. After ten more light-bulb markers, the first door on the right stood wide open, an arc of y ellow spilling out into the corridor. This room was different. Very different. The floor was carpeted in
baby -blue colors that mixed well with the navy colored walls. On the walls were painted white balloons and teddy bears, floating around the walls.
I stepped in farther to find an oversized crib, painted as white as the wall dcor. Four aspen pillars twisted up like candy -canes, all joined together with ornate wood strips linking them together. Closer I stepped, to find what remained of Evans
body.
I apologize if I sound heartless as I write this. When I found him, I was mortified, but more than any thing, I was confused bey ond expression. I felt as though I had walked into an alternate dimension. Now, as I write this, enough time has passed
that I do not feel the wounds so fresh any more. As y ou know, I missed y esterday s entry. That is because of what happened after I found his bleeding corpse in the crib.
I stepped in closer y et, because I thought I saw something small making a crunching sound beside him. But as I got closer, the door behind me snapped shut so fast that I dropped my tablet on the carpet. I ran back to the window and tried to tug
it open, but nothing happened. Looking through the window, I saw two faces: one sneering and one ashamed.
Dr. Thompson spoke first, You have to forgive me. I I have no choice.
His voice was muffled as it came through the door. So too was the womans voice muffled, but even so, I recognized it as belonging to the female doctor I had overheard at the nurses station two day s ago.
He had a choice, she said, still sneering. Just like y ou did. You could have chosen to walk away, but Im glad y ou didnt. Dr. Thompson here would have made a horrible feeder for the child. Hes all bone and grizzle and alcohol.
Im so sorry, he said again.
Someone will find me, I said. I still couldnt completely understand what was happening to me, but I knew I should be scared for my life. All of the other nurses. The doctors, every one knows I have been here.
They all belong to me, she smiled, in that same sick kind of way. We have been waiting a long time to find the right host for this experiment. And now, our day will finally come.
I beat on the door until my knuckles grew bloody, and I screamed as loud as I could until I lost my voice entirely. The two of them merely stepped away, and I saw no one else since.
Again, I heard the crunching sound coming from the crib. Cautiously, I came in closer, and I found the source of the noise. There beside Evan was the small baby boy. No, not small, for a baby. It looked like it was already the size of a toddler,
almost as though it was growing right before my ey es. But it paid no attention to me. It merely continued crunching away on Evans rib bones, licking the marrow as its sharp teeth cracked them open.
Then I knew what I was. I was the second course for this fast growing thing. If it could grow this fast, I would certainly feed it into y oung adulthood. And then what?
I didnt have long to ask my self that question before I approached the crib and reached down to strangle it. But before my hands could reach its neck, it looked up at me. Its vertical, slit pupils dilated as it looked upon my face. For a moment, it
looked demonic, but then the moment was gone. And it smiled.
Daddy, he said, smiling. Hi, daddy.
I cant explain it. Even now, as I sit here with my tablet burning the last 20% of its battery, ty ping to y ou people. I dont know why, but I do not want y ou to come look for me. I do not want to be found by any one. Suddenly, I feel more fulfilled
than Ive ever known.
Who knows, may be he wont devour me. May be I am supposed to be this beings Father. Nothing would make me happier.

My grandmother used to warn me about S tick Indians.

by LittleMissBiteMe
Runner Up - May Monthly Contest
I'm from a Native American family. Not the "My great-great-great grandmother was a Cherokee princess" native--the real deal. We eat fried bread at least once every two weeks and I can tan all summer long without getting a hint of a
sunburn, unlike my blindingly white friends.
If y ou're from a native family, y ou know the stories. You don't whistle at night because it attracts the Stick Indians. You stay away from the creek at night because we don't fuck with the Little People, and y ou give Sasquatch his goddamn beef
jerky and leave him the fuck alone.
These are all things I've accepted as a fact of life, told to me by my Gramma, a member of the Okanagon band in Canada. Now, I had never seen any thing to quite back up her stories, but I'd heard the shrill, shrieking screams of the Stick
Indians. I'd heard the stories of my family when they would go hunting and find things. Things that would call out to y ou from the bushes. Things that push y our truck in the middle in the night and scream at y ou. And, my favorite nightmare,
the Stick Indians that like to attack those that are stupid enough to attract them. I went to bed hearing how they grow their tribes by finding pregnant women, ripping open their wombs and tearing out infants to raise as their own. I used to imagine
their long, thin fingers splicing open my stomach, mangling my insides as they searched for something inside of me. I wasn't about to test the boundaries. I like living, thank y ou very much.
Despite my wariness of the unknown, I still enjoy the outdoors. Hiking, camping, rappelling, fishing, y ou name it, I've done it. I'll spend hours outside if I can during the day. When the sun comes down, however, so do I. I stick close to the fire
until the sun comes back up, and it's safe to be out and about once more.
For my seventeenth birthday, my friends and I went camping. I had to beg my parents to let me (a seventeen y ear old girl spending the night, away from adult supervision, with boy s?) but, with the art of persuasion I planned on using towards
my future law degree, I managed to convince them with the facts that, at seventeen, I was going to be on my own soon and having larger amounts of freedom might help me adjust the the big, scary ol' world a little better. They eventually
(although reluctantly ) agreed on letting me go just this once! with the promise of a liquor-, drug-, and sex-free night amongst the trees.
As if.
We arrived at the camping spot during midday, the six of us. Pey ton, my best friend, had picked the spot. He promised a level clearing, a nearby path to the lake, and a serene view of the stars above us at night to be seen in a pot-induced haze.
He didnt disappoint.
I couldnt have asked for a more beautiful spot. Washington is known as the Evergreen State for a reason, and the towering pines were worthy of pictures far exceeding the capability of my phone. I knew that at night, Id be imagining all the
things that could be looming at me among their branches, but in the day light, I reveled in breathing in their heavy scent.
While Caleb set up the tent, Pey ton and Sha and I unloaded the truck, leaving Derian and Andy to organize. Derian first tried to shrug off organizing duties, claiming Im a guy, Serena. I dont know if y ou know this or not, but guy s dont
organize. Thats what girls ar--
My feministic glare did well to shut him up fast, and my tongue cut him enough to make him fully appreciate the arts and skills of putting up camp in a well sorted, organized fashion that really every one should learn to master.
After setting up and setting more than a few hot dogs on fire, Derian redeemed himself in my ey es by presenting to me an illegally obtained bottle of cinnamon whiskey, cheerfully added to our mugs of hot chocolate. Tipsy, they started
begging me for ghost stories.
Come on, Serena. Were camping, its dark, this is what y oure supposed to do, Pey ton pointed out, in his most charming tone possible. Whats the worst that could happen?
Well, I started, ready to point out that it could very well call them all forth and get our throats ripped out, but before I could finish, Caleb chimed in.
Please, Caleb added. For me?
I blushed. Caleb had been my team captain, and although I tried hard to hide my crush, Im sure it somehow bubbled over the sides and leaked out any way s. I admired his dedication and talent to our shared love of wrestling, and over the hours
spent dy ing together, we soon had become close friends.
I sighed, defeated. Fiiiine. Which one do y ou want to hear about this time?
A low voice spoke up. I want to hear about the stick people, Andy requested, leaning forward in her chair.
I winced. The Stick Indians? Are y ou sure? I questioned, unwilling to relinquish my tales about them.
She nodded eagerly, her hair shaking wildly. I could see pine needles in it from our earlier excursions.
I sat back, my tongue loosened by the alcohol. Well, they say that it was once a normal tribe, y ou know? They were tall, dark, with cascading black hair. They werent alway s bad. But one day, in the fall, it started snowing early, and it didnt
stop.
The people there ran out of food, having not expected the long winter ahead of them, and before long, they were starving. Their hair started falling out, and what was left hung, long and stringy. Their faces grew gaunt and pale. Their throats
grew dry and their voices turned hoarse, until they sounded like shrill screeches when they tried to talk. Their nails turned brittle, their skin tightened on their frames until they were thin like sticks.
The chief needed to feed his people, but their was no food to feed them. The deer were gone, the rabbits scarce. The birds had long flew south. Their neighbors refused to share their own dwindling food supply. There was no other option.
They came at night. They crept into the woods, towards the nearest tribe. They followed the sounds of whistling to the camp, and they attacked.
The screaming filled the air, echoing in the valley for miles. The Stick Indians were ruthless, slicing open skin with nails sharpened by hunger, tearing mouthfuls of flesh with hungry teeth. Once repulsed by the thought, they couldnt stop
devouring the first fresh meat they d tasted in months. It was delectable, sweet blood pouring from their mouths that they licked off the dirt, not willing to let the soil have what they so badly desired. When the sun rose, the Stick Indians felt, for
the first time, full. They slept, no longer kept awake by the dull prongs of hunger.
At night, they awoke to the sounds of whistling.
They went to them, pricks of hunger iching their feet faster.
It was silent. Then:
Whistling.
I threw the closest thing to me at Caleb, who batted it away, laughing. Its not funny ! I growled, looking around furtively into the dark pines around us. You dont mess with that kind of shit.
He looked somber. Im sorry, Serena. I promise not to call the crazy imaginary friends y ou have to come hang out with us. I just thought they might want to have a few smores with us.
I scowled at him, and opened my mouth to snipe back before Sha opened hers. Why dont we play a game? She peace offered, looking between us. Like hide-and-go-seek?
I bit my lip as the others nodded, chiming in their approval. I dont know, I said. What time is it?
Pey ton rolled his ey es as Andy whipped out her phone. 2:23, she answered.
I thought it over. As long as were all done by 3. It was well known that I refused to be outside or away from the campfire during the hour between 3 and 4am. It was called the witching hour, when all the spirits came out and every thing ran
free.
They agreed, and Caleb was chosen as the first seeker. 1, 2, 3, 4 I could hear him as I sprinted away, determined to find the best possible spot before he reached 100.
17, 18, 19, 20.
Twenty odd y ards away, I stopped, panting slightly, squinting my ey es in the dark. I could barely hear his voice in the distance. 74, 75, 76, 77. I stooped down below some low hanging branches, huddling up in fetal position against the trunk,
try ing to quiet my breathing.
Ready or not, here I come! Calebs voice echoed.
I scrunched up tighter, my ears alert. I couldnt hear any footsteps, and soon found my ey es heavy, dripping closed as I waited to be found, or for the loud Olly olly oxen free! of defeat. I let them close, leaning my head forward on my
knees.
My head snapped up with the shrill whistling in not-so distance. My ey es, no longer weighed by the liquor, were wide. I could hear the crackling of footsteps on dry branches, shuffling around the fallen pine needles. The whistling drew closer,
and I could feel my heart pounding in fear. My watch glowed faintly in the blackness. 2:49. How had Caleb not found me y et? Had I slept through the call? I was sure whatever was out there was going to kill me, rake my flesh from my bones
and suck out the marrow.
The footsteps stopped a few y ards from the tree where I was hiding. Then:
A clap.

I sighed with relief. Kind of like a marco!, we clapped to try and find the others. I clapped back, listening to the footsteps shuffle towards me.
The branches sway ed around me, and Calebs pale face loomed in the black. He squinted at me. Serena? Is that y ou?
I launched my self at him. I was so scared, I scolded him, trembling. I thought y ou were a Stick Indian. I whispered the name, remembering how close to 3am it was. Was that y ou whistling?
He nodded, smiling. I was try ing to see if I could find the last Stick Indian, Caleb joked, squeezing my thin side. It was a joke about how tiny I was, barely 5 foot and topping 105 pounds soaking wet.
We should get back. I dont want to be out much longer, I said, antsy, checking my watch. 2:56. If we hurried, we might make it.
Caleb tugged on my hand, pulling me towards him. Why dont we risk it a little bit? I dont wanna go back just y et, he murmured, his arms wrapping around my waist. I blinked at him, confused, until he bent his head to mine, capturing my
mouth in his.
I was shocked, and then softened, kissing him back until I felt his hands dipping below the hemline of my shirt. Wait, I muttered, tugging at his hands. He tightened his grip on my waist, continuing his path up my shirt and under my bra,
squeezing painfully. Caleb, stop it! I said hoarsely, my hands pushing uselessly at his chest.
His leg swept under mine effortlessly, y ears of wrestling practice put into use. Caleb chuckled. You know y ou want this too, he said lightly, pinning me down with one hand while his other undid my shorts. I kicked and squirmed while he
tugged them down around my ankles, rolling me onto my back and holding me down, calmly whistling all the while. I screamed when I heard the zz-zzt-zzt of his zipper and felt him hover above me, held down by his weight and his forearms on
either side of me. When he split into me, I could feel the hot tears roll down my cheeks. My arms were splay ed in front of me. I focused in on the glow-in-the-dark face of my watch.
It was 3:06.
It took me a second to realize the screams ringing in my ears was not my own.
Calebs weight suddenly lifted, and I scrambled away, clutching fistfuls of twigs and dirt in my efforts to get away, and turned around to look behind me at the gurgling screeches.
It was black with dirt, long and lanky, crouched over Caleb. Its strength was apparent in its effortless way of holding down the muscular boy flailing beneath it. I couldnt see its face, hidden under a curtain of matted hair, encrusted with bugs and
bits of tree. But hear, oh, I could hear every bit of it. Every slurp, every painful shred of flesh pulled free from the bones was apparent. I froze in sick fascination, held witness to every second of it while Calebs screams died in his throat, while
it--he?--finished his meal.
When he was done, he turned his head to me. His face was long and thin and hollow. I could see every bone in his skull, the black, bloodshot ey es sunk deep. His lips were thin and drawn back, revealing long, gray teeth stained with blood and
chunks of meat. I couldnt tear my ey es away from him, not even when he started crawling towards me. Stupidly, I thought of Tarzan walking towards Jane, how he put his weight forward on his hands and kind of hopped his long legs
underneath him.
He stopped inches from me, head tilted to the left. He lowered his face to mine, until I could smell the rancid breath coming from his mouth. He leaned forward, arching his face up as he took a long sniff of me. He never stopped looking at me,
his ey es locked into mine.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps crashing towards us. He stood, taller than any one Id ever seen before and ever seen since. Looking down at me, he nodded, turning and disappearing into the woods.
He whistled as he strode away.

June 2015

Ten years ago, I taught sophomore creative writing. Two student stories still haunt me to this day.
by Red_Grin
Winner - June Monthly Contest
Fresh out of college, I took a teaching job in a small town in central Wisconsin. In my sophomore creative writing class, I assigned a flash fiction exercise around Halloween. Wed studied urban legends and folklore, and it was the students turn
to construct stories of their own.
Assignment length: 100-1000 words. Directions: Scare me.
The submission quality was as expected - these were sophomores, after all - but one story stood out halfway through my stack of papers: a piece by a quiet student named Jake. His first person flash fiction story seemed so real...like it was
dipped in reality. A little too closely. Almost like he wasnt making it up, but had been retelling something that happened to him. I put it aside, impressed.
Kates submission was the last paper in the stack. I remember the reading experience vividly : the beads of sweat accumulating around my temples, the clickity click of the red pen in my hand, and a weird feeling of dread in the pit of my
stomach. I placed it on top of Jakes story, and I thought:
What the hell am I going to do?
I still have photocopies of the original stories, and I often wonder, why do I still have these?
But there is something about them - they are so interconnected, and there is something so raw and beautiful about them. I have a strong affinity for interesting student writing, and itd be a shame to let the flames of these stories be extinguished.
Ill share the student pieces, and the subsequent events that transpired, right here - I do enjoy a good story.

Jakes Flash Fiction

My parents put Grandma Rosie in a home when she started to lose her grasp on reality, they said. I still found it cruel. But she seemed content. Content enough, I guess.
I remember visiting her. She had an old, wooden rocking chair that faced the window. Outside was nothing but flat, fields of green. The green would eventually fade, and when it snowed it was carpets of white for miles and miles. Im not sure which
season Grandma Rosie liked the most. She didnt do a lot of talking. She mainly listened to her radio, and always one station: 89.1.
But 89.1 never had a signal. It was always static. Grandma Rosie listened to this static, all day, seemingly waiting out her life. No one could reach her.
I visited one day to drop off a box of chocolates. Grandma Rosie rocked slowly in her chair with large headphones over her ears, staring out the window, watching the snowfall. I couldnt tell if she knew I was there. I walked over and placed the
chocolates on a small table, and her hand suddenly reached across and snatched my wrist.
Shhh, she whispered. Listen.
Grandma Rosie leaned in close, and I put my ear to hers. I lifted up the cup of her headphone and listened. There was only static.
I was about to speak, but she covered my mouth with her hand.
Listen closer, she said.
I did, but all I heard was more static.
Soon, they will come, she said. They will come to take me away.
This freaked me out a little, and I went home. I told my mom and dad about what happened, but they didnt think it was that weird.
I kept thinking about it. One night I couldnt sleep so I buzzed my friend Abby on our walkie talkies. She lived across the street, and she somehow she knew all about 89.1. She told me it was an old legend in our town, and you needed two things to
explore the legend further: a radio, and a closet with the door slightly open. Face away from the closet, tune in to 89.1, and listen very closely. At some point through the static, youll hear the faint sounds of an organ, distant screams, and the
dragging of metal chains along a gravelly surface. The open doorway is an invitation - keep your eyes closed, and only if you keep your eyes closed - a figure will appear and drag you into the closet. From there, your fate is unknown.
How do you know this? I asked.
Ive heard about it, she said. Dont tell anyone. The less people that know, the better. I looked out my window and saw Abby in her bedroom. She put her finger up to her lips.
This is our secret, the walkie talkie buzzed.
For the next few days, I kept thinking about the ritual and Grandma Rosie. Why would she be playing this game? Why did she want to be dragged into an unknown fate?
I again told my parents that I was worried about Grandma Rosie. They were very dismissive.
Ever since Grandpa died, I think she wants to let go, my mom said. She wants to be with him.
I wanted to know more, so I decided to try the game myself. It was late at night, and I opened my closet door just a crack. I sat on my bed with my back to the closet, tuned my radio to 89.1, and put on my headphones. I heard the static, and I closed
my eyes.
I sat there for a long time, focusing very hard on the static. The longer I sat there, the more it felt like my room was shrinking. Kind of like the space was filling up with something else, like I wasnt alone.
In my headphones I heard the distant organ, and I heard the screams that seemed far away, but sounded like they were getting closer. The screeching of the metal began, and then I heard a voice:
OPEN YOUR EYES!
I jumped from my bed, very startled. Abby was laughing hysterically through the walkie-talkie. I looked around my bedroom. I was alone. I looked out the window and saw Abby, smiling and giggling. She brought the walkie talkie up to her mouth.
I totally scared you! she said. Theres no one there! Youre such a wuss.
I noticed the closet door. It was wide open. The static of 89.1 hissed from my headphones.
I was only joking, the walkie talkie chirped. But I wasnt so sure it was a joke.
Grandma Rosie died two weeks later in her sleep. Her time had come. And I was done fooling around with legends and superstitions.

Jakes story was the most interesting of the bunch. His writing needed some tightening, sure, but the ideas were there: a my sterious legend, sentimental characterizations, and an ambiguous ending. I truly thought he had invented the whole thing,
until I read Kates submission.

Kates Flash Fiction

Panic. Fear. No one would believe me. Not ever.
I told him I was joking. About everything. It helps me sleep at night.
But I know what I saw. A young boy, a ritual, and death. Death itself. A black death with a clutching grip, an entity that surrounds its victim, dragging a companion to its secret and eternal lair.
But I was joking. Joking all along. Which made it okay.
I had to know. Know more. I went to her room. It felt recently vacated, like the plug had just been pulled from a sink. Headphones on the floor...static. Nothing but static.
Noises from the closet. Labored breathing. Fingernails squeaking on the door from the inside. I clutch the handle - something, something else. Something dark. Cant open it. Wont open it. Refuse to let it out.
I slowly back away. A tiny voice, squeaking.
Help me.
Static echoing in the small room. Nothing but static. I close the door on my way out. Wont let it out.
Wont tell. Will never tell. My story doesnt exist. Its simply not there.
Its nothing but static.

Here I had two, seemingly intertwined stories - Jakes more traditional folklore story, and Kates personalized flash fiction, focusing on emotion, regret and secrets. Perhaps Id been swimming in urban legends too long, or may be Id been the
victim of too many horrendous student essay s and stories to count, but I couldnt shake the notion:
This seems real.
A few day s after Halloween, I kept Kate after school. I wanted to know more, specifically, was she the Abby character in Jakes story, and was she confessing to visiting the grandmother in her own piece? I pulled out Kates flash fiction, and I
asked about how she wrote it. What was her inspiration?
She shrugged. I guess its avant-garde. I was just experimenting with ideas. Did y ou like it?
I nodded. It was an interesting piece, I told her.
Have y ou ever heard of 89.1? Kate asked me.
I started to speak, but couldnt. A few words sputtered out, but were interrupted by Kates laughing.
Oh my gosh, Mr. Patrick, the whole thing was just a joke!
Kate explained how she and Jake conspired to write multiple viewpoints of the same story, partially as a creative writing exercise, but mainly just to screw with me. The whole thing was made up. It was a Halloween prank.
We SO got y ou, Mr. Patrick, Kate laughed.
I smiled uncomfortably. It was a good one, and y es, they got me. I told her that I enjoy ed her piece, lets continue developing y our avant-garde writing, and enjoy y our Halloween.
But something didnt feel right.
I had drinks with a veteran, freshman English instructor - me the first-y ear teacher in a new town, and he the wily, old mentor. I told him about the assignment and the stories Jake and Kate turned in. He laughed, and thought about it a bit more.
That just seems off, he said. You said Jake and Kate conspired to play a joke? They were thick as thieves in my class at the start of the school y ear, but in the fall they stopped talking. Wouldnt even look at each other any more. Had some
sort of falling out. I guess they made up.
For the next few weeks I watched Jake and Kate closely - in my class and in the hallway s. They didnt speak once. Never even looked at each other. I scheduled a story conference with Jake, and I let him know how much Id enjoy ed his
growth as a writer, especially his Halloween flash fiction piece. I grinned and told him that his prank with Kate had totally burned me. Jake smiled awkwardly.
We got y ou, huh? he said. It was Kates idea.
Every thing was made up, he claimed. There was no 89.1, and he had no grandmother who passed away in a home. All of the characters and situations were straight, 100% fiction.
I told him good job, and to keep writing.
Still, the situation seemed amiss. Like I was missing part of the act. Was it possible that these two were so committed to screwing with me that they wouldnt even speak at school? Or may be they were dating and didnt want any one else to know,
so they play ed it cool in the hallway s and in class. They were 15-y ear old kids, after all. That seemed reasonable.
But It was keeping me awake at night. Nothing else mattered. I taught during the day, and I obsessed over the stories in the evening. News, sports, and current events faded to the background. The real world slipped away. I pushed forward.
Armed with a couple of possible last names (thank y ou, school records) I called senior citizen homes in the area. I was try ing to track down my moms old friend, Rosie, I told them. Each phone call followed the same script: the receptionist
went through the files and found nothing. No one there by either last name I had.
I scoured the internet, and I spent too much time in the stacks of the local library. I found no folklore or urban legends relating to 89.1. And each time I felt like quitting, I pulled out my photocopy of Kates story.
She had visited Jakes grandmother. It simply felt so real - I knew it wasnt fake.
In a last ditch effort, I spent a lot of time alone in my bedroom, listening to the static of 89.1 with my ey es closed and the door slightly ajar. Id hone in on the static, and Id listen deeply and intently for the chimes of the organ, the harsh and
troubled screams in the distance, and the clinkity clink of the metal chains. Sometimes I'd think it was there, and I just had to focus a little harder. And Id sense a presence in my bedroom about to creep out of my closet - the dark mist waiting to
drag me away. I wanted it to come, because I wanted this story to be real.
But it didnt come.
One day at school I saw Jake and Kate smiling and laughing at Jakes locker. I walked past them, and Kate winked at me.
That was the clincher. I finally succumbed to the notion that Id been had.
It was over. I ended my search for 89.1. I had drinks again with my colleague - many drinks, this time - and I drunkenly told him every thing Id been doing. He found my investigation ridiculous, and ultimately dangerous.
You like stories too much, he said. If I didnt know any better, its almost like y oure try ing to write one of y our own. Just let it go.
I pulled out the photocopied stories from my back pocket, and I pressed them down on the bar, staining them with splashes of beer. My colleague picked up Jakes story, and he took a look at it for the first time. His ey es skimmed the page - and
they stopped, cold.
Wait, he said. You never told me about Abby.
I shrugged. Abby was Kate, I told him. It was all part of the game.
I wonder, he thought aloud to himself. Hmm.
He laid it out for me.
A y ear ago - about ten months before I moved into town - an eighth grader named Abby had gone missing. Seemingly vanished into thin air. One minute she was alone in her room, and the next minute, she was gone. Some suspected that she
ran away, but there were no clues. No evidence of foul play. No suspicious or shady family members or neighbors.
She was simply, gone.
I read Kates piece again. My heart sank. The whole time, I assumed it was about her visiting the grandmother. But may be I was wrong.
May be the squeaks and pleas coming from the closet were coming from Abby. Kate never specified who she was visiting or where she was.
I read the avant-garde flash fiction one more time, honing in on every word, just to be sure.
And at that moment, every thing changed.
I spoke with the school administration, they contacted the authorities, and the police had conversations with Jake and Kate. It went nowhere. It didnt matter that Abby had lived across the street from Jake. It didnt matter that we had words on
paper. They were just stories, the kids said. Only stories. Complete fiction. Jake had no grandparents in a home, any way. They were sorry if they d scared any one. They were Halloween stories, after all. And pretty ambiguous stories, at that.
Jake even tearfully apologized for naming a fictional character after a missing girl - it hadnt crossed his mind.
And I was now the monster for dragging two innocent kids into this mess. The staff ostracized me, and the town crucified me. I was done.
I left the teaching profession soon after that. I walked out of the school holding my small crate of supplies, and Kate smirked at me with a knowing glance through a first floor window. I havent seen her since.
I didnt take much with me, but I did take the photocopies of the stories. I pull them out occasionally and relive the past. And sometimes, late at night, Ill get a fire in my belly and a burning desire to travel back to that small, Wisconsin town.
May be Grandma Rosie was a great aunt that Jakes family referred to as Grandma, or may be it was an elderly family friend. May be I missed something about the missing girl, about 89.1, about Kates intentions. Perhaps I can try the ritual a
few more times, just to see what happens.
Or may be its just all bullshit.
It was ten y ears ago. And Im probably the only one that thinks theres a shred of truth in those stories.
Id be wasting my time.
But it still keeps me up at night - the slim chance that its all true. And oftentimes the idea of it is something I contemplate more than what really happened to Abby and the grandmother in the story : if it is true, why did the kids write it all down
like that?
I dont have a good answer. Ill never have one.

I suppose that, just like me, they really just enjoy a good story.

We tried to keep them out. We tried to bar the door. We are so, so sorry.
by noiselessjoy
Runner Up - June Monthly Contest

Part 1
Close y our ey es and think about all the doors y ou pass through each day. Hundreds of doors, thousands in y our lifetime. Breezing in and out, y ou probably think of them as nothing more than a means to an end, a way to get from point A to point
B. Doors with handles, doors that glide open electronically when y ou step in the right place, doors that creak and groan with age and remind y ou to pick up WD-40 next time y oure at the store. But some doors are different. Some doors are not
meant to be traveled through. Quite the opposite. Some doors are built to prevent people, or even things, from getting in. Some doors are built to keep things from getting out.
Im not a believer in the paranormal. I dont put stock in ghosts or demons or monsters. The things that go bump in the night? I generally think they all have some explanation, one way or another. The human brain is an easily frightened,
painfully irrational organ. When others stand shaking at the tops of dark basement stairwells, peering into the damp black, I charge ahead, straight to the bottom. Leaky pipes and cobwebs in corners dont frighten me -- why should they ?
So when my mother told me she felt like something was off in the basement of her newly inherited home, I laughed. She was alway s chattering about her fantasies, ghosts and vampires and angels. She claimed that I felt the spirits, too, and I
would open my ey es someday to see. I raised an ey ebrow and reminded my self one of these day s I was going to miss the sound of her voice when she told me her ghost stories. I had driven four hours across the state to help her move
cardboard box after cardboard box from a rental storage unit into the house.
Well, I call it a house, but it was more like a cottage with its oddly shaped living room, cramped little bedroom with an attached bath, and galley kitchen. The great aunt who had lived there before was a spinster with no love for any living being,
save her cats. She had taken good care of the place, though, and for some reason given thought to passing the property on to her sisters daughter rather than one of her own children or grandchildren. My mothers financial troubles had made it
impossible for her to rent more than a single room in a boarding house over the last decade after her last child left the nest, so it was exciting for all of us that she now had a stable place of her own to live.
I just get the strangest feeling when I go down there, like something wants me out, she told me, talking a mile a minute as we worked through boxes of kitchen paraphernalia.
Her tendency to hoard over the y ears had caught up with her in this place -- I made a mental note to smuggle a few boxes of junk out when I left and dump them at a local Goodwill. We had spent the morning working on her bedroom and ray s
of midafternoon light were now streaming through the high windows in the cottages western-facing wall. The y ellow and green floral pattern of the kitchen wallpaper seemed to brighten in the sun, creating a cheery, cozy atmosphere. I couldnt
imagine a single thing about this place making any one feel ill at ease.
Sounds to me like y oure just try ing to get me to carry these boxes of canning supplies down there on my own, I teased.
She laughed, a slight edge to her mirth that gave me pause. I could tell from the way her brow knit that she was serious. A pang of guilt rippled through me. I hadnt been around much in the past few y ears, and I knew she was lonely and tired of
being alone. She was likely experiencing some apprehension at the thought of living here all by herself, apprehension that I was now poking fun at. What a great daughter I made.
I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, try ing not to wince at the feeling of bone just below her skin. The increased fragility that betray ed her aging was an all-too-real reminder of her mortality. Even though the women in our family
ty pically lived into their 80s and 90s, giving my mother another possible few decades, I was increasingly aware that she was no longer the immortal superwoman I had grown up loving. As thoughts of her inevitable death flashed through my
brain, I pulled her in for a close hug.
Oh! She squeaked, setting down the crock pot lid she had been examining for cracks before wrapping her arms around me.
No matter how old y ou are, theres nothing quite like a hug from y our mom.
After a few quiet moments, I pulled back and kissed the top of her forehead. Grabbing up the box of canning supplies, I asked for directions to the basement entrance.
You walked all over it this morning, she told me.
I followed her directions and found the seam for the trap door on the bedroom floor, just a few feet from the foot of her queen-size bed. I set the box down on the quilted bedspread and bent down to get a good grip on the wood and lift it up
slowly. The trap door revealed a set of weathered but sturdy -looking stairs, leading down into the inky darkness under the house. Cool air drifted up from the subterranean room, and I breathed in the familiar basement smells of must and damp.
Is there a light switch somewhere? I called to the kitchen.
Not until y ou get down to the bottom. Theres a bulb with a string right overhead when y ou reach the ground.
Great, I muttered. Lets hope I dont break my neck on the way down.
Grabbing the box and being careful to leave the trap door open completely to let in as much light as possible, I began slowly making my way down the stairs. The staircase had no railings or wall to lean against, so I relied on my less-thanfabulous balancing skills and luck to reach the bottom without tripping. The temperature change as I descended was drastic, and I found my self shivering a little in my lightweight summer clothes as I took the last couple of steps. I could just
barely make out the dirt-smeared floor in the paltry light from above.
Looking up, I spied the string hanging from the bulb. I steadied the box against my hip and reached up. As I did, I heard something behind me creak. I whipped my head right, toward the sound, but saw nothing in the darkness. Probably my
mom moving around upstairs or a pipe settling. Rolling my ey es at my self, I y anked on the string and dim y ellow light from a naked bulb illuminated the room.
The first thing I noticed was that the basement was much larger than the house that sat atop of it. I couldnt tell exactly how much larger, given the pathetic amount of light provided by the single bulb, but I could feel that the room was more
immense than I had expected. Odd, but I reminded my self that this part of Ohio was relatively rural and used to seeing long, hard winters. A large basement allowed for more storage of canned fruits, vegetables and other goods difficult to
come by during the snowy months.
Glancing around, I spotted some shelves against the left wall which seemed designed for just such a thing. I moved over to them and felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck when I left the circle of light I had been standing under. I had
read once that the vibrations of pipes can sometimes cause feelings of dread in people, often misinterpreted as something paranormal. I flicked my ey es up to the network of exposed pipes above my head and smirked. Of course. Quickly, I set
the box down and got to work stacking empty mason jars in rows on the shelves. My mom was a prodigious gardener and would eventually fill up the canning jars with homegrown goodies, but that would have to wait until next y ear, as summer
was coming to an end. Winter would set in quickly in this climate, and the ground would harden against new life until the late spring thaw.
When the box was empty, I pulled my Swiss Army key chain from my back jeans pocket and broke it down with the knife. Curiosity got the best of me, and as I replaced the key chain, I pulled my cell phone out of my other back pocket and
toggled its flashlight setting. Sweeping the bright light in front of me, I explored the parts of the basement not illuminated by the single bulb. A twisted heap of metal y ard tools lay in the corner opposite the shelves, rusting from what I imagined
was y ears of disuse. I couldnt imagine Great Aunt Ira coming down here much in the past 15 y ears, not with her hip problems.
Behind the stairs was the basements back wall, and I immediately noticed it was made of a different material than the rest of the basement walls. Moving closer, I brushed it with my hand. Some kind of corrugated metal, it felt like, which
seemed out of place considering the rest of the walls were soft limestone, crumbling in some places. My hand trailed along the cool metal wall until I found my self standing at a doorway. The door was made of solid wood and sat almost
exactly behind the staircase. It had been covered over, crudely, with wooden boards nailed across it.
Well, thats weird, I muttered aloud. It felt like the temperature over here was at least ten degrees colder, and my teeth chattered as goosepimples sprouted up all over my arms.
I knew from many y ears spent in the Ohio educational sy stem that homes all across the state had been used as shelter for runaway slaves during the Underground Railroad period in Americas spotted history. This area specifically prided itself
in its abolitionist history -- perhaps I had stumbled upon an old, forgotten slave hideaway ? Excitement coursed through me as I contemplated the fun of being the first to rediscover such an important historical site. May be thered even be
artifacts left behind. Growing up, Id been fascinated with Indiana Jones and longed for the adventure of Holly wood-sty le archaeological discovery.
Without thinking twice about it, I reached for one of the boards and gave it a tug. It was nailed pretty solidly, but I felt that it could easily give way if I put my back into it. I set my phone on the floor, screen-side down, so the light was shining up
at the door, and gripped the board with both hands. I wasnt a body builder by any standards, but I did lift weights at the gy m on a fairly regular basis, and my efforts were rewarded with a pop-pop as the board came free. One of the nails stuck
in the metal, the other hung limply from the board, which I set down carefully behind me.
It didnt take too long to remove most of the boards. The door was most heavily boarded at the top, with a couple of longer boards covering the bottom. I was fortunate that the basement ceiling was low -- at 52 I had little hope of reaching
something at the top of a standard-height door. But this door was only a few inches taller than me, and I was able to reach and pry loose the single board at its top with relative ease. The effort of removing the boards had me panting and
sweating a little, the basements chill cooling the droplets as they slid down the back of my shirt.
Finally, my task was complete and I was ready to crack open the object of my fixation for the past twenty minutes or so. I could hear my moms movements upstairs and figured since she hadnt called for me y et, she would be okay on her
own for a little while longer. The handle was long and rusted; I could feel some of the material flake off as I grasped it with a sweaty palm. I tugged gently, expecting to be met with resistance. Instead, the door popped open as easily as the
sliding door of a 7-Eleven. I stumbled back a bit, kicking a board with my heel, causing it to skid across the floor with a hollow clatter.
I was met with a blast of air that felt almost arctic, especially considering the basement was already fairly cool. It took a moment before my nostrils began to absorb the smell, but once it did I nearly gagged. The frigid air emanating from
the dark doorway was tinged with something rotten and earthy, like garbage that had been left out in the heat of the August sun for far too long. A horrify ing thought occurred to me -- what if whoever hid down here never left? With trepidatious
curiousity, I reached down and picked my phone up from the floor and pulled the door open all the way, shining its light directly into the blackness.
It took a moment for my ey es to register what was right in front of them. I felt my heart slow, the blood in my veins turn to ice as a rush of naked fear cascaded over me. Ey es. Staring through the darkness, barely visible but for the weak light
creeping past the doorway from the single bulb and what little illumination my phone provided. Each pair was looking straight at me. I took a shaking, instinctive step back out of the doorway. A hungry moan came from somewhere in the room.
It was a gruesome, rasping sound that filled me with dread.
Hoooly fuck, I whimpered, taking another step back.
The sound of movement -- scraping noises -- shook me into action. My phone clattered to the floor, forgotten in my haste. I didnt want to know what was in there. I didnt want to see. I gripped the rough wood edge of the door with a damp hand
and pulled it shut. It caught on one of the loose boards I had worked so stupidly hard to pull off just moments before. I registered movement in the darkness in front of me, the sense that something was close. Frantically, I kicked at the board,
y anking the door hard as it slid out of the way.

It slammed shut with a satisfy ingly heavy sound, but as I leaned against it, my breaths erratic and my heart pounding, I felt a thud as something impacted with the door. That moan came again, desperate and needful. Another thud, this one hard
enough to rattle the door in its hinges. Particles from the ceiling above rained down on my head. I wanted to cry. I needed to re-board the door.
Bracing one hand against the door, just in case, I reached down and grabbed at the first board I could get my hands on. Some of the nails were still embedded, but others were scattered across the floor. A thud against the door shook the frame
and my nerves. They wanted out. I did what any rationally minded, terrified person would: I screamed for my mommy.
I heard her hurried footsteps approach overhead from across the house. Whats wrong? She called. Did y ou hurt y ourself? Did something bite y ou?
No, but something might be about to bite me. No! I shouted back. Its I dont mommy, I moaned the last bit as another thud shook the metal and wood I was pressed up against. Im a heavier woman, but I wasnt strong enough to hold a
door shut forever, especially considering how many of those things there were. There were so many ey es. So many eyes. Eventually, my strength would give out.
She thundered down the stairs, faster than a woman her age with bad knees should, but I guess thats the power of motherhood. As she rounded the corner, it felt like more than one of them slammed into the door. I felt one of my flip-flop clad
feet begin to slide and the door open just a crack behind me. I screamed and strained, regaining my footing and shoving my full weight against the door to close the gap. My mom was staring at me and the door with an almost knowing look.
What did y ou do?
I fucked up, obviously, I said through gritted teeth. Even under duress, she managed to get under my skin. Do y ou have a hammer? We need to nail the boards back over the door.
Yes, Ill go get it, she said, rushing up the stairs and away from me. I was alone again with *them and I didnt like it. I began to sob, tears stinging my ey es. I didnt wipe them away, not daring to move even an inch in case I lost my tenuous
advantage. It felt like hours before she returned, but she did, moving slightly slower this time down the stairs while lugging a box behind her. It thump-thump-thumped down the stairs behind her, its contents rattling with each impact.
I brought my entire toolbox, just in case. She pulled out an enormous, ancient hammer I recognized as the one responsible for almost destroy ing my thumb in second grade and a smaller one with a sleek black handle and a shiny gleam to its
metal. Handing me the latter, she picked up the board I had kicked when I opened the door and moved toward me.
Keep y our weight where it is, but duck down a bit. Ill start at the top.
Okay. Hurry.
She began hammering, and as the first nail was returned to its place, a piercing howl began from the other side of the door. I felt like I was going to throw up. What the hell is in that room?
I dont know, honey. I dont know. I told y ou something was wrong.
When the first board had been nailed across, we moved the heavy box of tools shed dragged down with her against the base and I braced my foot against it so I could keep weight there while helping with the nailing process. Two boards, three
boards, four. The howling continued, backed by that same hungry moan. The hair on the back of my neck seemed like it was never going to lie flat again. Some of the boards were rotted, and one split in our hands as we began to hammer.
Shit! I y elled, kicking its remnants so several pieces scattered away from us.
Dont think about it, just keep going, my mom panted. Her salt-and-pepper hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat and she was breathing as hard as I was. We placed the last board across the bottom of the door, just an inch or two from
the bottom. The howling had stopped, but the moaning never did. Im not sure if it ever will.
It didnt look as solid as it did when I discovered it, but of course that makes sense. I disrupted something that had probably been there for y ears, may be even decades. Who boarded the place up? What was in there? Did Great Aunt Ira know
about this? What the fuck were we going to do about it? I voiced none of this to my mother, instead keeping silent as we piled any thing and every thing we could find in the basement against the door. I managed to remember to snatch up my
phone before thundering up the stairs in front of my mom, anxious to get back somewhere that wasnt cold and damp and full of that fucking smell.
Once I had helped her up from the stairwell, I slammed the trap door shut and we moved her heavy antique dresser over top, then piled a few boxes of books y et to be shelved on top of that, for good measure. We collapsed on her bed and I
cried while she held my shaking body, stroking my hair and whispering soothing words even though she was probably just as scared as I was. We stay ed like that all night, and now its morning and Im writing this to try and make sense of what
the hell happened.
Im sitting in the living room, which from my estimate is right over where the door is, and I can hear faint moans rising up from underneath me. What did I awaken?
I opened the door. I pried off the boards and I opened the door, and for that I am sorry. For my curiousity, for my stubborn refusal to consider the consequences of fucking with something that was clearly meant to not be fucked with, for my
inability to leave the door alone and forget it ever existed. I am sorry. Weve done what we can, but I cant help but shake the feeling that it wasnt enough. Not every door is meant to be opened. Its only human arrogance that makes us assume
we have a right to know, a right to see whats on the other side.

Part 2
So sorry its taken me so long to get back here again. Things have been crazy, and Im sure all of y ou will understand why I couldnt find time to sit down and ty pe all of this up earlier. Writing all of this down will help prove to my self if nobody
else that Im not insane, that this has all been real. And, I suppose, this should serve as a warning for others because well I guess I should just start with what happened when my mom woke up later that morning after I first posted my story
here.
She slept unusually long considering what wed been through, but then again, shes alway s been a deep sleeper. We had also been working hard with all of the moving and unpacking, so Im sure she was wiped out. My sleep had been irregular,
punctuated with sudden awakenings until I woke up in the pitch black and freaked out, turning all the lights on and moving to the living room so as not to disturb her. I could feel a deep tiredness in my bones as I closed the laptop and stretched out
on Aunt Iras worn floral couch. Most of her possessions had been sold or taken to the dump after she died, but my mom had kept a few pieces she liked. This couch wasnt much to look at, but it was comfortable and felt a little bit like home.
I kept glancing down the short hallway toward the bedroom. I had left the door open so I could hear when she stirred, and also to be able to keep an ey e on the trap door wed so hastily covered. I couldnt see it from here, of course, but I could
see the edge of the dresser. If it moved, Id be able to tell. It wouldnt move. It couldnt. We boarded the door again, that had to count for something, right? That had to have bought us some time.
Except I didnt know what kind of time we needed or why. Those were questions I could only ask my mother when she woke up. Aunt Ira was long dead, buried along with her secrets. If she knew any thing in the first place. I was still having
trouble wrapping my head around the idea that the old woman could have been part of any thing bigger than whatever was going on with her cats on a given day. She was a tiny thing, barely five feet tall and gnarled like a willow tree during the
y ears I knew her. Her gruff persona kept most every one at bay, and I only saw her on a handful of rare occasions when her daughters dragged her out to family functions.
If any of her personal items were kept, Im sure they were taken and kept by her direct descendents, not left here for my mom. There was a bit of tension within the family that the house had been left to my mother in the first place, I knew
that. My second cousins had wanted to sell the property and split the profits to help save their struggling bakery. But it had been a pretty open-and-shut case once the lawy ers got involved, and it didnt even end up having to go in front of a judge.
Only my mom and the twins were present when the lawy er read the will, and they seemed to back off pretty quickly after that.
The moaning seemed to die down after a while, which I was thankful for. It seemed to be coming from right under me, so I guessed the room must be located somewhere under the living room. Except, judging from how big it felt during those
few moments I was looking in, and the tiny floor plan of the house I think the majority of whatever that room is must be under the front lawn. I was wary of my curiousity now, but I couldnt help my self. I had to get a better look at the front
of the house.
I tip-toed down the hall and peeked into the bedroom. My mom was on her side, glasses askew, snoring softly. The dresser hadnt budged. I left the door wide open and returned to the front of the house. It was warm enough to go out barefoot, so
I stepped onto the uneven stone stoop, my sensitive skin scraping slightly against the gritty material. The stoop was short, just two steps and the landing, fit for a place as small as the cottage.
Stepping back into the dewy lawn, I survey ed the front of the cottage for any thing that might seem off. But nothing seemed out of place. It looked like a fairly average little house, may be a little worn down with peeling paint on its window
frames and some crumbling bricks in places. I knelt down and touched the stone foundation. Nothing to denote that something was seriously fucked up underneath. I even went so far as the circle the house, thinking may be there was some kind
of secret hatch or something Id never noticed. May be a placard that read, Here be monsters?
I came up empty. Nothing weird, unless y ou counted the feral cat I scared out of the bushes, y ellow ey es glaring at me as it bounded to safety under the cover of some pines. No doubt there were at least a dozen roaming around the property,
leftovers from Aunt Iras day s that nobody had been able to catch when the lot was shipped off to the humane society. I sighed in frustration, rubbed my ey es, and tramped back inside.
My mother was in the kitchen, putting the tea kettle on the stove.
I heard y ou leaving and wondered if y ou were abandoning me to the demons below, she said, smiling faintly.
No, just checking something.
I leaned against the kitchen archway, crossing one leg over another in a stance that shed often remarked perfectly mimicked my father. I watched as she bustled about, making tea like every thing was normal, and I felt my frustration well up
until finally it burst from my lips in angry accusation.
How in the hell can y ou be so calm?!
She stopped, mid-pour, not meeting my ey es. Sugar?
Seriously, Mom, something absolutely terrify ing happened to us y esterday and y oure just acting like its any other day, like nothing happened. What are y ou keeping from me?
She returned to pouring steaming liquid into mismatched cups, still refusing to meet my ey es. I didnt like shouting at my mother, no daughter does, but her behaviour was equal parts baffling and infuriating.
Im going to add some sugar, it sounds like y ou could use some, she said, producing a sugar bowl from one of the still-remaining cardboard boxes taking up counter space and plopping two spoonfuls into a cracked blue Rainforest Cafe mug.
I closed my ey es and counted to ten. She could be incredibly obstinate when she wanted to, and I knew more shouting wasnt the answer. I took the mug when she handed it to me and watched as she added three spoonfuls of sugar to her own.
Lets sit down and talk. She motioned to the living room and I led the way, lowering my self onto the sofa and setting my mug down on top of a floral-printed corkboard coaster.
What the hell is going on? I asked again.
This time, she met my ey es. I could read a hundred emotions in her gaze -- worry, trepidation, fear. I swallowed nervously, wiping my damp palms on my jean shorts.
I wish I could tell y ou- she started.
Then tell me! I cut her off.
Well, if y oud let me finish, perhaps I could tell y ou that I dont know much more than y ou. I wish I could tell y ou whats behind that door or what opening it means, but I had no idea it even existed until y ou screamed for me.
I thought about all the comments Id received implicating my mother as knowing a lot more than she was currently say ing. But who was I to trust? Strangers on the Internet, or the woman whod raised me? She was a little kooky and could
frustrate me to no end sometimes, but she wasnt deceitful. In fact, she had an awful habit of telling every one she met her entire life story. My mother isnt a secret keeper, and I knew I had to trust her.
But y ou told me y ou felt like something was wrong
Yes, and I did feel something out of place the couple of times I went down there. Im sure y ou felt it, too. Youre more sensitive than y ou admit, y ou know.
I resisted the urge to roll my ey es. Its an old house.
Yes, it is. Its been in our family for five generations at least.
Do y ou think Aunt Ira knew about the door and, like, whats behind it? I couldnt imagine someone living in this house for y ears and y ears without finding that door. My mind suddenly drifted to an awful thought: What if Ira boarded up the
door because she put whatever it was in there?
I think she probably did. The letter she wrote in her will, it said I was supposed to guard the house to protect the family. She said I should have as few visitors as possible and get at least a dozen cats, which sounds preposterous for my allergies,
but I figured may be two or three wouldnt be such bad company.
But did she may be mention any thing about a boarded-up door in the basement?
Well, not specifically, no. But she did say I was to leave every thing as-is. That was part of the documentation I signed -- no construction or remodeling of any kind. Furniture could be moved, I could repaint and repaper the main house, but all
structural elements are to be maintained.
And y ou just went along with this?
Honey, Im getting old. Im happy to have a roof over my head and a place to call my own. I dont have the money or energy to do any construction work, nor would I want to. This is Iras house I love it the way it is. I just figured she felt
the same and the provisions were a precaution.
Aunt Ira had lived here by herself for forty y ears after her mother, my great-grandmother, had died and left it to her. When I thought about it, I realized that for as long as I was aware, a single woman in the family had lived in this place -- no
men, no children, no roommates. Just one woman, on her own. What on earth were they guarding? How did they protect the family ?
Was there any thing else in the letter?
No. It was short and to the point. You know how she was; Ira rarely minced words.
What are those things? There were so many ey es, Mom.
Certainly nothing good, thats for sure.
She took a sip of her tea, and I realized I had all but forgotten mine. I reached over and brought the cup to my lips, happy to find it hadnt gotten cold y et. Somehow my mom alway s managed to make the perfect cup of tea, spicy and sweet and
oh, so comforting. It was something I still hadnt mastered in my own sparse apartment kitchen. Perhaps its just one of those secrets of motherhood, like making the same bedtime story magical no matter how many times its told and dispelling
monsters under the bed with a single stern glare.
May be she left more, a diary or some kind of record of the place. This place was pretty well cleaned out before y ou moved in, so may be Betsy or Angela have something?

Its possible.
I stood up, suddenly antsy to be any where other than the house with them lurking underneath. Why dont we get cleaned up and go into town, stop by their house or hell, may be even the lawy ers office?
The cottage was located in a fairly rural part of the county, a twenty -minute drive from the closest town. Well, we called it town, but it was more like a village. Single stoplight, tiny post office, a McDonalds, three churches (to serve a
population under 500, naturally ) and a library. The closest supermarket was an extra thirty minutes away, but farm stands were great sources of local meat, produce and dairy. Life in Ohio means an awful lot of driving, especially when y ou
live in the country.
While she showered, I rinsed out our mugs and did some poking around the living room and bedroom. I checked the modest closet for any hidden panels or items left on forgotten shelves, but came up frustratingly empty. I heard the water stop
and hurried back out to the living room to allow her privacy to dress. The bathroom sat off the hallway, adjacent to the bedroom door. I heard one open and the other shut, and my hair stood on end at the thought of her being in there by herself
with a barrier between us.
I paced up and down the hall for a few minutes, until she emerged in fresh clothing, rubbing her still-damp hair with a burgundy towel.
Bathrooms all y ours. I dont have the rug down y et, so take this and lay it on the tile so y ou dont slip.
I was looking forward to a hot shower to help wash away some of the dirty feelings that had clung to me since the events in the basement. I needed to be clean again. I planned on keeping it short, though -- I couldnt help but feel as though
stay ing out of each others sight for too long was dangerous.
Im going to water the plants before we go, my mom called as I shut the bathroom door.
Okay, I replied. As a second thought, I opened the door and left just a crack exposed. I couldnt tell whether that made me feel safer or more exposed. May be Id just keep it open while I peed, then shut it while I was vulnerable in the shower.
I was so tired, it was getting hard to think straight.
A sudden, strangled cry sent me racing from the bathroom to the living room, bashing my leg against the edge of the coffee table as I scrambled to pull my pants up. The front door was open, exposing its rust-red painted exterior, and my
mother was framed in the doorway. She sagged against it, a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
What is it? I asked, placing a hand on her shoulder and peering around her to see what the problem was. She was looking down and as my ey es followed I felt bile rise to the back of my throat and gasped like someone had sucker-punched me
in the gut.
Piled on the front stoop were a bunch of furry objects I realized with fresh horror were cats. A pile of dead cats, ly ing on top of one another as if they had been arranged just so. I raised my head to glance out over the expanse of the front lawn
and my heart sank; the y ard was strewn with cat corpses. From below, I heard the howling start up again, and icy terror raced through my veins.
Mom, were leaving right now. Get y our purse and lets go.
She didnt argue, just nodded and followed my directions. I snatched up my laptop and backpack, and then we were gone -- picking our way through the litter of corpses to reach my silver rental and, finally, speeding down the dirt drive away
from the moans, away from the door, away from them.

Ripter S yndrome
by ai1267
Runner Up - June Monthly Contest
Like all stories, I suppose I should start at the beginning. My name's Perry Kiers, I'm 37 y ears old, work in education and usability (weird combo, I know), and I like hard rock and big band jazz. I enjoy play ing darts, co-operative games, and
play ing rounders. Oh, and I'm married. Though... I suppose I might as well not be.
Sorry, I suppose that's not really the beginning at all. Let me try again...
My wife, Alice, and I had been married for five y ears when the troubles started. Now, I don't believe in the supernatural per se, at least not rationally. Having studied psy chology as part of my educational programme, I do however believe in
the power of the psy che to create incredibly elaborate traps for itself to get lost in. I suppose the closest thing I can come to think of the paranormal is how an otherwise seemingly healthy brain starts to put itself through impossible puzzles and
challenges, without having any real motivation for doing so.
I want to make it perfectly clear right now that my wife had no history of mental illness, no abuse, no need to "hide" or compensate for things in her life in her psy che. Hell, it took me almost a y ear before I ever even heard of Ripter
sy ndrome. Have y ou? I'm not surprised if y ou haven't, it seems it's incredibly rare, and not considered an actual disease. The similarities between cases are too much like one another for it to be a coincidence, however. But once again, I
suppose I'm not really starting from the beginning...
Alice worked with children with learning disabilities, aged ten to sixteen. She was very patient and, quite honestly, put me to shame in her ability to explain things in easy -to-understand way s. She was, in my belief, also gorgeous, funny,
intelligent, curious and all in all a very good person.
I think I remember the first instance of the Ripter sy ndrome rearing its ugly head. We'd been cuddling a bit on the couch on a Friday evening after dinner, watching some easy -to-digest movie or another. She got up, telling me she was going
send a couple of work emails before bed, kissed me, and walked upstairs. To my surprise, it took less than five minutes for her to come down again and sidle up against me. She seemed a bit perturbed by something, but I shrugged it off.
"Done already, hon?"
"No, I think the computer's broken. There's something weird going on with the screen. A big line or tear or something straight across."
I groaned in my mind. A broken monitor, while not a huge expense, is still annoy ing as hell. Especially considering it wasn't that old.
I didn't think any more of it until the next morning. I got up first, as I usually do, letting her sleep in. Figuring to get a head start, I went and turned on the stationary in our joint work room to see if I could see what's wrong, and how big an issue it
was. Considering Alice got no work done, I figured it was big.
But fiddle as I might, I couldn't find any thing wrong with it. Chalking it up to a graphics glitch or similar, I made a mental note of cleaning the inside of the chassi, and went to make breakfast.
Apparently, the effects of Ripter sy ndrome are compounded over time, so it starts out slow, then accelerates exponentially. The next "incident", if y ou can even call it that, didn't happen until... I don't know, four months later? We were once
again on the couch, cuddling and watching a movie. She's got her arm up behind my back, absently play ing with the hair on the back of my head. She often does this, and I love it, but this time, after fiddling around a bit, she would repeat the
same motion; a downward stroke with two fingers, then a swipe right-left, then left-right, as if covering up the downward stroke. Rinse and repeat. At first I didn't react to it, but after she'd been doing it for a good ten or fifteen minutes, I got
curious.
"Hon, why 're y ou combing the same spot over and over?"
"What do y ou mean?"
She looked at me in askance, apparently not understanding the question.
"Well, y ou've been sort of... combing over the same spot on the back of my head for about a quarter of an hour now. Do I have something in my hair?"
"Oh, no, no... I just... I think y ou have like... a straight patch where y ou're losing a bit of hair."
"A... straight patch?"
"Yeah, like a line."
Untangling my self from her, I felt around on the back of my head, but couldn't find any area where the hair was thinner.
"You sure?"
"Yeah", she said, touching me on the back of the head again. A pause, a bit of fiddling, then "Huh. I can't feel it any more. I must have imagined it."
"... y eah, I suppose."
It struck me as weird, but hell, we're entitled to that, aren't we?
Next time was a couple of months later, after which things started accelerating. I came home early one day to see her at the dinner table, dejectedly looking down into what looked like a barely touched lunch. At first she didn't react when I
called out to her, so I went up to her, gave her a hug and a kiss and asked what was wrong.
"Oh, hey Perry. Nothing, I just... I went down to the bookstore to return that book I bought last week, because it was damaged during printing or something, and the clerk told me I was just imagining things and that there was nothing wrong. I
pointed it out to her, and she started telling me I was nuts and that this was my problem. I asked to talk to her manager about it, and she started calling me crazy and foul things, and to get out of the store. It was just so sudden, it completely killed
my mood... the kids are out for a sports day today, so I went home early."
I spoke gently to her as I hugged her again, nuzzling her wonderful, curly chestnut hair.
"It's okay hon, try not to let it get to y ou. People like that are horrible, and they 're just try ing to drag y ou down with them. Tell y ou what, why don't we go to the movies tonight, eat out, and just forget about this, and I'll take it down to the store
first thing Monday ?"
She smiled then, that lovely, warm smile, and kissed me. I think that was the last time I saw that smile as it should be.
Come Monday, I went down to the store, intending to... well, to be honest, I went there intending to start trouble. You don't y ell at my wife and get away with it. Not my gentle, loving Alice. Turns out, the clerk at the store and her manager had a
different story to tell.
They told me Alice had come in complaining that there was a crease or tear in the book, that must have happened during printing, and demanded a new book. The clerk, per procedure, checked the book before intending to dispose of it, but was
confused when she couldn't find any thing wrong with it. Asking my wife about it, Alice had told the clerk that "it's right there, page 32 to 84!".
So naturally, I opened the book my self, and... well, okay, I hadn't actually checked it before. But flipping through the pages, I couldn't find a single thing wrong with it. The clerk's manager continued the story, say ing that when the clerk prompted
Alice, my wife had gotten angry and raised her voice, causing the manager to come over. Alice had told them that they were swindlers, and that the book was obviously defective, and that they just wouldn't take responsibility. The argument
had devolved from there, Alice insisting that the pages were somehow torn or marked, and them deny ing it. Eventually, the manager had lost it and told Alice she was crazy, and to leave the store. She seemed remorseful about it, and I wasn't
too happy with it, but seeing as how there wasn't any thing wrong with the book...
I asked them if they would replace it for me, just to settle my wife's mind and mine, and the manager agreed. I think she just wanted to put it behind her. So did I... as it turns out, that was a futile hope.
After this, I forget in which order things happened. All I can say is, things started getting worse. She threw away a store-bought salad when we were out walking, because someone had "obviously dug around in it, looking for something in the
middle". I came home one day to half the lawn being mowed so deep there was almost no grass left. Alice said there was a furrow in the grass that looked horrible, so she cut until the grass was of equal length, so it wouldn't look weird. I got an
ominous feeling after that, compounded by several other small, but significant events. Alway s with the tears, furrows, lines and rips.
About two y ears after the first event, things started getting really bad. I came home to the house smelling of smoke, and went upstairs to find Alice having ironed a shirt so hard she'd burned her way through it and into the ironing board beneath.
She didn't seem to realise the damage she was doing, and insisted she was just "try ing to iron out a stubborn crease".
Later that same week, the police brought her home. The story they told me was that she'd been chucking books at the manager down at the bookstore, claiming they were all "faulty " and "torn". The manager, recognising my wife, had told the
police she wouldn't press charges if I agreed to get her some help. What else could I do?
But she resisted efforts to get better, claiming she was fine, that it was somehow just a big conspiracy against her, try ing to cover up the imperfections and mistakes all over the world, people ruining things (like our lawn), to try and get to her.
About a week after the book incident, I came to her having wrecked her laptop, our stationary computer, and the smartpad, claiming they had pixelated grooves in them.
Another week with lots of small events, all with the same fixation, and I come home to the police ringing on the door again, this time, without my wife. Turns out she'd tried ironing out a crease in the suit jacket belonging to a father of one of her
students. While he was wearing it. With a baseball bat.
Apparently he hadn't gotten badly hurt, just some bruises, but she'd been taken in to an emergency psy ch ward, raving about peoples' blindness to the tears and grooves every where. When I got there, they wouldn't let me see her, say ing she
was violent. I stay ed outside all night, but come morning I forced my self to go home and get some rest. I don't think I slept for more than two or three hours, but when I woke up and called, they 'd transferred her to a high-security psy ch ward
for psy chotic and violent behaviour. I drove there and they let me see her, for a short while.

At first, she was calm, expressing concern for the state of my clothes and hair, and say ing I should get some sleep. She quickly got herself worked up talking about every day things, however, and soon she was screaming at me, accusing me of
abandoning her and refusing to see what she sees, that I was just a cog in the great conspiracy against her and those like her. In the end, they had to sedate her and drag her away. That was the last time I saw her.
She wouldn't let me see her any more after that. But the last thing she said got me thinking... others like her. So I started doing research on the sy mptoms, and after about a week, I came across something called the Ripter sy ndrome.
Apparently, people suffering from Ripter are somehow trapped in a mind maze wherein they start seeing "flaws" in things. It's not really flaws, per se, as some people see every thing as broken or imperfect. People suffering from the Ripter
sy ndrome keep seeing jagged or straight tears, often beginning in books, texts or artwork with repeating patterns. As if, hidden in the information of letters, there's a rip in what should be, and what is. I can't exactly explain it, since I've never
suffered from it my self, but that's supposedly what it is. Ripter gets progressively worse, until the people suffering from it start seeing these things every where. Alway s IN something though; it's not just overlaid over their entire environment.
They fixate on small things; a supposed crease, a tear, a furrow, a groove, a shallow indentation. Alway s in the form of a uneven-edged tear or line. Supposedly, it often happens to people with no history or predeliction for mental health
issues. And as I said before, it apparently starts small, then gets progressively worse over time, until they become violent and paranoid. Apparently, from what little I've been able to gather, there's been no cases of people getting better.
They 've had to be hospitalised for the rest of their lives. I haven't seen my wife since then, more than two y ears ago now. I never divorced her, and I haven't dated since. My life moves on, but I just can't forget that fixated mania, the
preoccupation with rips in information. It just seems to bizarre. The weirdest thing about Ripter sy ndrome is that there's no mention of it existing prior to the digital age (which is why say ing that the people suffering from it are hospitalised
for the rest of their lives may be a bit premature). It also seems that almost all of the cases have never heard of others suffering from the disease, or read about it, but they still tend to refer to themselves as one of many. That may just be
the paranoid psy chosis talking, but it just makes me wonder... what the hell causes a healthy mind to develop such a weird fixation? Could y ou really tell y ourself, if it happened to y ou?
I guess this isn't really very paranormal, or supernatural in any way. I just wanted to share my story about how a loving, caring woman turned into a paranoid psy chotic, for seemingly no reason. I mourn her, though she's still alive, and I wish
I could help, both her and others like her. But the mind is a devious thing, inventing ideas and seeing patterns where there are none. I wonder what a rip in text (not a page, text) would even look like?

I went through my little brother's text messages... now I wish I never did.
by daiy u_river_queen
Runner Up - June Monthly Contest
Oh, God, Reddit, Im so terrified. I alway s knew. I alway s knew something was off about my little brother, but now please, I need help. I just dont know what to do.
Any one who knows me can tell y ou that Im y our prototy pical overprotective big sister. My little brother, Jeremy, is five y ears y ounger than me. Hes a sweet kid, but really quiet, the kind who wears glasses and gets shoved around in the
hallway. When I was in high school, I followed him through the middle school hallway s, watching out for him like a hawk so his bullies couldnt get to him. I dont mean to brag, but I was pretty popular, so I was able to use my influence to
protect him while I was in the school. After I graduated, it got more difficult. I heard about it even all the way at university. Mom would call me cry ing about Jeremy. The other kids called him names: freak, psy cho, creep. It used to make my
blood boil if I was home, Id never let any one hurt Jeremy.
The thing is, though, Jeremy never seemed bothered by the bully ing. When kids would shove him, or give him disgusted looks, or snigger as he walked down the hallway, or trash his locker he just walked through school with his head down,
drifting off into his own little world. I used to really worry about him, y ou know? He really day dreams. He just cant seem to stay in this reality.
But hes still my little brother. My sweet, quiet, space-case little brother.
I was thrilled when I came home last spring break and discovered that Jeremy had landed himself a girlfriend. As soon as I walked in the door, he was talking non-stop about this girl, Theresa. Shes beautiful, shed kind, shes smart, she likes all
the things Jeremy likes on and on. Now, y ou have to understand, Jeremy almost NEVER talks. Im the closest person to him in this world and he never say s more than five sentences a day to me.
Of course, I was so excited for him. But I was also a little suspicious about this girl. As soon as he said her name, I went into overprotective sister mode. I started poking and prodding, asking questions in an attempt to really understand this
Theresa chick. I asked him how they met, but what I really wanted to know was what her intentions were. Whats she like? But the real question was why she was going after my quiet, harmless little brother? Do y ou see each other often? Does
she live around here? That meant: when do I get to meet her and grill her for my self?
Jeremy seemed blissfully unaware of the true intent of my interrogation. He answered all my questions freely and dreamily. I took careful note of all his answers, mentally promising to wring her little neck if she made him cry.
Unfortunately, I went back to college before I got to meet his little sweetheart. I decided Id step aside grudgingly and give their relationship the opportunity to flourish. This was, after all, his first girlfriend. I didnt want to ruin his chances by
making his family seem psy cho.
Fast forward a few months. I came back for summer break and noticed that Jeremy had gone back to his usual self: quiet, unfocused, self-contained. As soon as we were alone, I inquired after his girlfriend.
We broke up. He didnt sound heartbroken or even a little upset. He said it matter-of-factly, and I was left wondering what on earth had happened. I asked my mom, but she was just as clueless as I was: apparently one day hed just stopped
mentioning her and that was that.
Now, something about this didnt sit quite right. When my first boy friend and I broke up, I was absolutely crushed. Jeremy was taking this a little too well what had happened? Was he too embarrassed to tell his big sister?
Ultimately, I pulled a really dick move. Jeremy went out for a few hours he has a little fort in the woods behind our backy ard where he likes to study and read. He left his phone to charge on his desk. I snuck guiltily into his room and decided a
quick little peak wouldnt hurt any one.
I found his texts with Theresa and started from the beginning. Turns out they d met on some Internet forum and started chatting there. She lived only twenty minutes away, but they had been texting and apparently officially dating for weeks
before the topic of meeting each other was seriously considered.
To be honest, the texts were pretty normal at first. They were sweet and sy rupy and just a little cringey. They texted some pictures, but nothing dirty (thank God). It culminated with them planning to meet on May 3rd after school. His last text
said: I cant wait to see y ou tonight, I love y ou <3.
And after that, there was nothing.
Seriously, its so weird. No more texts, and when I checked his call history, I found that there were no more calls, either. Something was up with that. Had something gone wrong that night? What was up?
Frustrated, I decided to check the Internet. Id figured out her full name from the text messages so I figured it would be easy to do a quick Google search to find her Facebook, Twitter, and whatever else.
My heart practically stopped when the top hit was a missing persons report.
I read through the report frantically, my heart lodged firmly in my throat. Theresa Evans, age fifteen, never returned home from school on May 3rd, reported missing May 4th, any one with information regarding her disappearance is to
contact the police immediately
Something was wrong. Something was dreadfully wrong. My mind was racing through the possibilities. Had they been assaulted? Was Jeremy too afraid to come forward about whatever had happened? Was he being threatened?
The back door slammed as Jeremy came back home. I threw his phone back on his desk (Id been clutching it mindlessly ) and raced downstairs, try ing to act casual. Jeremy, being his usual spacey self, didnt notice my evasiveness or the sheen
of sweat on my forehead.
That night after Jeremy had gone to bed, a plan started to form in my mind. I wanted answers, but at this point I didnt want to ask Jeremy directly. So how could I find them? Jeremy s backwoods sanctuary came to mind. He spent so much of
his time out there reading and hanging out. I knew hed built a nice little fort for himself. May be there was something out there that could shed some light on this insanity.
Once mom had also gone to bed, I grabbed a flashlight and set off. It took me a few wrong turns to remember how to get out there. Damn, that kid liked his isolation. Eventually I saw the little shack and felt relief wash through me. I dont know
why, but seeing it made me feel reassured. It was just a little shanty, and Jeremy was just my sweet little brother. All my worries were for nothing, werent they ?
I wish I was right.
As I got closer to the shack, the smell hit me. That smell Id never smelled it before, but instantly I knew what it was. Oh, God, no. I ran into the shack, holding my shirt in front of my nose.
Theresas body was spilled out on the floor. She was decay ing badly at this point. I was gagging as I looked at her corpse, try ing to hold down my lunch. Her clothes had been ripped off and shed been placed on a blanket acting as a makeshift
bed. I got a little closer and my world started turning.
There was white stuff between her legs and her chest. It was oh, God, it was Jeremy s
I ran outside as far as I could and threw up. And I puked again. And again. Oh, sweet Jesus, my little brother
I walked back in a daze and crawled into bed, shivering. Oh, man, I had to call the cops. I had to get them involved. But but my brother but Jeremy
I ended up stay ing at a friends house for a few day s. I told my mom we were going out of town on a road trip, but really I just needed some time to figure out what I was going to do. Of course, I had to tell the cops. But but could I do that?
Oh, please, not my sweet little brother
I returned home y esterday, utterly exhausted and having reached no conclusions. As soon as I walked in the door, I heard Jeremy s animated, excited voice. My chest tightened up as I walked into the kitchen and saw him talking moms ear off.
I looked at the two of them warily. Hey, Jeremy. Whats up?
He grinned at me and said, Hey, guess what, Hannah? I got a new girlfriend!
Oh, God, please help me, Reddit. I think Im going to be sick