S6 Ep329: Episode 329: Nighttime Horrors

When you manage procurement for multiple facilities, every order matters. But when it's for a hospital system, they matter even more. Grainger gets it and knows there's no time for managing multiple suppliers and no room for shipping delays. That's why Grainger offers millions of products in fast, dependable delivery, so you can keep your facility stocked safe and running smoothly. Call 1-800-Grainger, click Grainger.com, or just stop by. Grainger. For the ones who get it done. Welcome to Dr. Creeper's dungeon. Welcome to Dr. Creeper's dungeon. Well, they say that sometimes the things in our heads are far worse than anything they could put in a book or a film. That's especially true at night. Later on we have Inside by the wonderful Ryan Brenneman. Later on we have I Work the Night Shift, and this is How I Kill Time by Cron Johnson. Follow by A Night of the Creeps by Taxidancer. We round off tonight's entertainment with Why I No Longer Cycler Night by Bizarre Ghost. Follow by My Father Always Insisted I Get Home Before the Street Lights Come On by Mia Marvellous. But we open proceedings with That's Not Rain Pattering Against the Window by Bear Lair 64. Now as always, before we begin a word of caution, tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Amos tossed and turned as he heard a faint noise from the roof, and then a pattering noise against the windows above his head. There were blinds and heavy curtains over them, and it'd be pitch black outside anyway. He woke just a little more with the thought that the weather forecast hadn't caught for rain, and certainly not hail. This sounded like one of those late spring storms, or almost. The wind should have been howling. Well, nothing he could do about the weather, so he turned over and fell back into a fitful slumber full of nightmare. His crops were ruined, and the fields lay barren before him. His animals injured all of the bleeding creatures lured and bleated and whined pitchlessly, and looked to him for succor, but there was nothing he could do to help. The flesh melted from their frames and puddled below their skeletal forms, but stared accusingly at him with red radiant eyes. He woke in alarm, to an alarm. Farm hours were long. In addition to his normal output, he had to tend to additional fields of crops meant for a starving world across the ocean. This season he was unable to leave any fallow fields. Everything had to be sown and harvested. There'd been a plague of locusts from Africa to Pakistan toward the end of the winter season, and it now spread to western China and north into the Mediterranean basin. The plant life was devastated. Between that and the Australian and Brazilian wildfires had panicked over an unrelated pandemic. Food production and transportation had slowed to dangerous levels. The world was hungry, and the wilderness suffered. There was up to the few remaining farm-belts to feed the rest. He would do his part, though his farm was a small one. He putted about in the kitchen until his daughter and two sons finally came stumbling down the stairs. His wife had died last summer, so his workload had increased exponentially. The kids were out for spring break, so he'd had free help with the planting. He'd show them mercy after the day and let them enjoy the one free weekend before they had to go back to studying and working full-time. Good morning. Hope you all got some rest last night. Anyone else got woken up by the rainstorm? They must ask his small brood as they each moved about the kitchen, procuring what they wanted for breakfast. He'd given up trying to cook for his own plague of locusts. Well, he'd stopped calling them that, even jokingly after the threat of global famine to become a reality, but he couldn't help what crossed his mind. I didn't hear anything, his daughter, the middle child, piped. I was tired though, stayed up watching videos and chatting. His oldest son just shrugged. Ah, didn't really pay attention. Rain pushed me deeper asleep, though. The youngest boy didn't answer. Just fell down to a bolt of cold cereal. His ear buds already blocking out sounds of the real world. Namus didn't bother prompting him. He knew that one had been playing online games for most of the night. He'd been wearing headphones and staring at a bright screen in his otherwise darkened room. Nathan, unlike his older brother, Namus Jr., AJ, was not personable with anyone who was not in his gaming circles or for whom he had no immediate need. Namus sighed. He was fortunate in his kids. They got along well enough, but each was self-sufficient. As far as he could tell, they were developing well. Nathan was 13, and he'd develop his skills and the direction he wanted to go with time. His detachment seemed normal for his generation, more of an attachment to machines than to his fellow humans. Ah, we plant the last little bit today, and then, if we get done in time, I'll take you all to an early supper in town. Then you'll be cut loose until Sunday evening. Namus grinned around the table, and each of the kids, even Nathan, smiled back. Apparently he could, here after all. At least when he chose to. It'd been a tough year. A tough couple of years with Glenda first sick, and then... he didn't want to think about that. Namus took his piece of toast over to the kitchen door and out onto the back porch to finish shooting. He liked to look at the farm. His farm. First thing in the morning while the dew was fresh, and he had time to listen to birdsong and the twitters and cliques of insects. So calm, so peaceful, so reassuring to his mind that all was right with the world. This morning, there was no birdsong. The animals were quiet. Usually the cows and nanny goats would be letting him know that it was time for milking. The dogs would be gambling up to the porch for a quick scratch, and then leftovers for their own breakfast. Chickens and ducks would be strutting and waddling about, scratching for anything good to eat. Come to think of it, the rooster hadn't made a sound. Then, with the brightening sunlight, you notice the yard, and the close by field. They were barren, utterly devoid of greenery, no leaves and buds. The grass of the lawn was cut down to the soil, and the field. The field was gone. Nothing but dirt. He looked around the porch and then walked quickly around the house. Nothing was left of the natural world but grays and browns. Then, below the window to his bedroom, he saw bodies just inches long. Locusts. Valentina enjoyed taking care of her plants on the terrace. The condo she shared with her partner, Pete, sat high above most of the city, and it was refreshing to take the morning air and look out on the town she loved so well. It had been a warm night, so she had slept peacefully to the roar of the air conditioning that hummed and kept her restfully cool in their king-sized bed. Pete had just left for work, and she was halfway through her first cup of coffee, anticipating her morning chores as she thought of taking care of the few outdoor, very domesticated plants. She took the last sips and then filled her little watering bucket with the big sunflowers on the side. Pete rushed back inside the elevators. He had to get to Valentina. He had to warn her. When he'd left the parking garage, there'd been groups of people standing around on the sidewalks. Instead of the white-collar minions purposefully marching towards their endeavours for the day, they all stood gawking and pointing. Some stood silently in shock. Others spoke excitedly, either, to the people around them or into their devices. The remaining few wailed and cried out in horror. Pete stared himself, mouth agape, for as far as he could see, the plant life had been devastated. Not a piece of green remained. Even the trees with softer barks had been stripped. The car pulled in behind him and the driver honked impatiently. Pete exited the garage, carefully made the block and returned to his designated space in the garage. The view had been the same from every side of the complex. Grays and browns predominated, except where humans had left a few colourful marks of their own. It was worse than the most severe winter. Even the evergreens, the shrubs, were all bare. There were no lingering patches of green among the grassy spaces. Just soil, dry or moist from the sprinklers. It was all equally barren. He rushed down the hallway to their doors and entered. He knew that Valentina would be devastated, but he also knew that it may be dangerous for her to be out on the terrace. He had no idea what had happened, but it had to be toxic. When he entered the living room, he looked across and saw her. She stood there at the French doors that led to the terrace, her curves silhouetted in the morning light. A little water bucket with the gaudy flowers on the side lay spilled at her feet. She just stared at where her lovely plants had been and out beyond, where the city had been green with the late spring. Young Eduardo, married to his friends, looked up at Jorge, a larger boy who'd been secretly bullying him for the entire school year. Definitely not a friend, he thought desperately. Jorge had gotten a gross about earlier than most of his contemporaries and had taken full advantage of it. This morning had been hot and Jorge had been particularly irritable. Eddie had gotten in his way somehow and landed in the crosshairs of his pre-adolescent fury. Now he faced the consequences as the bigger boy pushed him for the second time in this latest raid. One more shove and Eddie would be against the wall in a little travelled area of the schoolyard, out of sight of any potential rescues. Several other kids stood around, encouraging one or the other, mostly Jorge. Almost all of the main phones at the scene that unfolded this hot spring morning. They weren't particularly loud though and I weren't wanting the teacher or staff member to interrupt their fun. Eddie thought he was hearing things. Maybe his ears had that roaring he felt when he panicked. Maybe Jorge had already knocked him cold. Maybe this was just a dream. No, he definitely heard a loud buzz. A humming buzz. A roaring buzz. Then he looked up and saw the strange looking cloud that moved in an odd swirling manner, towards them. He dropped to the ground in a fetal bowl. The crowd around him just laughed and Jorge drew back his leg to deliver a contemptuous kick. Then one of the kids screamed and another yelled out for the rest to, Look! As she pointed into the mid-morning sky. Above them an approaching quickly was a cloud, a shadow that moved swiftly toward them. The buzzing chitter that had become very apparent emanated from that swarm. A few of the young people ran, another joined Eddie on the ground and huddled in abject terrors the locust swarmed over, at eight every bit of vegetation in view. Sanye Liu reporting here. We've been hearing for a few months now about plagues of locusts from all around the world. Apparently many are attributing the insect invasions to some sort of ancient divine punishment. This she rolled her eyes in obvious contempt. The invasive creatures have literally taken a bite out of the planet's farmlands, at least in the less developed parts of the world. Until recently the Americas seemed like a safe haven, protected from the invasive species by the wide oceans to either side. Yet now we look to our south and find that the croplands in Mexico have been devastated. Areas along the border, the rich growing lands from California to the Rio Grande Valley, have been hit by waves of the devouring little creatures. According to the Department of Agriculture, pesticides seem to have no effect on them. Small communities have suffered the most, as so far we urbanistas seem to be safe. Apparently these bugs prefer to eat blue-collar fare at the county buffet. She sniggered a little and then passed the platform back to the studio team. Wow! exclaimed Delea Cole, the studio anchor. Looks like the rural folk will be eaten out of their trailer parks. Oh, hey, aren't there something less depressing? It turns out that the hip-hop artist Biggie S has been seen out with actresses. The enormous swarms moved ever northward, with the warming on set of summer. Within a month they were destroying the green places of southern Canada. Then, like a light switch, the devastation stopped. The insects did not die off, at least. There were no piles of desiccated little corpses in evidence. They simply disappeared. Literally went off the radar. It was just as well. They cleared a sway from sea to shining sea and had done the same across the world. Leaving nowhere unaffected. Almost nothing was left. The world would soon be on the brink of starvation, of a famine like nothing in the memory of the human species. Nothing since the last great extinction. Amos had aged dramatically in the two months since the locust had invaded. He was lean to the point of gauntness and his hair had begun to gray. The kids were doing better than him, yet everyone had a hollow-eyed look. They had grains stored, but only enough to feed a handful of animals and to replant a small field or two. They'd butchered all of the animals they couldn't feed. When the freezers were full, they'd reopened an old root cellar from his grandfather's time and filled it with summer sausage and cheese. The last remaining fire animals were those that provided milk. They were given the grain. The chickens and ducks remained, though their egg production was nearly nil. The dogs had disappeared. They'd been eating bits of meat along with the rest of the family, but not everyone or everything in the area ate so well, and the dogs were nice and sleek. In the summer most grass had returned. A few trees sprouted leaves from buds that had not yet sprung before the attack. Yet the dry heat and the winds had turned much of the topsoil to dust that now blew haphazardly in pile-like drifts of snow when it wasn't choking a life from them. They worked with their neighbours and the community struggled onwards. Commerce, as they'd known it for their lives up to this point, was over and done. They traded among one another out in the countryside but did not dare risk wasting food by sending it to the city. Pete and Valentina struck out just as the madness fell upon the city. They drove as far as they could, and when they could no longer get gasoline, they proceeded on foot. They were headed for the coast. Pete had reasoned that at least sea life would not have been affected. Valentina had agreed with as much enthusiasm as she'd been able to muster since the locust had changed their world. Their enthusiasm plummeted when they had to leave behind most of their belongings. They were already hungry and on short rations before they escaped the outlying suburbs of the next large city. They tried to skirt around it since they could see the plumes of smoke and hear the sounds of madness and butchery. They were almost clear of the population centre when they encountered the township. Even here in the distant suburbs, people had already eaten the food available and then the pets. They'd not resorted to other meat for the most part, though. Every little settlement had its secrets. A group of township citizens greeted them as they approached a barricade across the highway that passed through the micro-city. Welcome friends! A tall man who, as though he'd already been leaned before the plague struck, held up his hand, open palm facing him. He carried a rifle in the crook of his other elbow and the other three gate guards were equally well armed. Are you folks coming from the city? Valentina looked annoyed and Pete could tell that she was about to say something snarky that would likely garner a negative response from the townsfolk. They were tired, hungry and dirty, but they'd walked all that day to get to this place that looked a little better tender than anything else they'd seen so far. He lifted the very nice leather bag from his shoulder and set it on the ground. Good evening! My name's Pete. This is Valentina. We ran out of gas and we've been walking all day. We're almost out of food. Is there any chance we could shelter with you for the night? We'd be willing to work for our supper, I'm an attorney and Valentina here is great with raising plans. I'm sure she could offer useful advice on growing anything that's left. He finished lamely and with no help from his partner. Valentina darted a glance at him but remained silent. The lean man nodded and gestured for them to stay in place. He consulted with the rest of the group for a moment and then walked back towards them wearing a smile. Look, we don't have much but we are willing to share. We still have power and water and we have several nice homes that have been abandoned. You'd be welcome to stay in any one of them. The food situation is tough but I think we can get you some community soup. It's what we make from donations by members of the township. He used a radio like a police model to contact someone. A female voice answered and shortly a pair of women arrived and along with them two of the erstwhile road guards. We escorted them to a nice little cottage a few blocks further into a settled area near to the police station. The elder, matronly looking woman with the librarian's glasses had carried a small bowl which she presented to Valentina. I'm so sorry it's not a bowl but this is what we have. I hope you'll enjoy it. Welcome to the township. Make yourselves at home and get some rest. The couple thanked the township's citizens who greeted them so kindly and entered their new dwelling. It was still furnished though. It looked as though the inhabitants had left hastily. There was no food to be found anywhere. Doubtless the residents had taken it and the good citizens of the township had scrounged for any leftovers. Out of curiosity Pete switched on the television, a nice modern model. There was nothing to see on most channels. He found a news channel though and sat down to find out what was happening in the world. Nothing good. Valentina sat down beside him and offered him a bite of the soup. He took a couple of slurps and urged her to eat the rest. He opened his designer leather bag that had once been filled with legal documents. He thought essential and took out one of their last remaining candy bags. They'd found a miraculously unrated vending machine in an abandoned office building and had taken the remaining items. Valentina munched on the soup which consisted mostly of tiny chunks of meat and salty water. The news broadcast seemed to be a recorded message that had been left running in a loop. It appears as though the insect plague, the locusts, may have started in desert regions around the world. Perhaps buried beneath the sands of time waiting to emerge and devour all before them. This strain is previously unknown. No laboratory has come up with what they truly are. We named them locusts just to simplify the terminology. So far no pesticides have worked. Even natural predators like birds seem to dislike eating these creatures. As it stands the world will be hungry for some time yet. Many areas of the world have already sunk into extreme famine conditions. Valentina nudged him. They said that the water works. Maybe we can get a shower and find some clean clothes. They found that there were still plenty of clothes in the closet of the master bedroom. Valentina picked out a bright pink nightgown and located a pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt. They showered and then crawled beneath the sheets for some longer over due rest. They were exhausted and slept deeply, more so than usual. The first Pete knew of the intentions of their hosts was when hard hands clamped onto him and dragged him out of the bed. Strong hands and arms held him while others placed handcuffs on his wrists. He heard Valentina's piteous wails and shrieks as other hard hands and strong arms imprisoned her. She continued to screech until the sound of a fist striking flesh ended her verbal protests. They were taken to the small municipal jail inside the police station. There was only one officer left. He decided to throw in with the township council when they deposed the now dead police chief a few days earlier. Tensions were still high. Some suggested that they go out into the countryside and hunt for game, but the counter argument was that animals had to be starving as well. If they lived, they had long since flared or turned into human eaters. The council had to get more people on board with their plan. They would not eat one another, but these two who'd stumbled into the sediment, nobody knew them. They weren't real people, not citizens of their new civilization, merely beggars who wanted to further drain the township's resourcing. Valentina sat next to Pete and cried. Her tears long since expended, she sobbed dryly into his chest. The officer and two other males came to get her. Pete fought as best he could, but the electronic control weapon still worked, and the officer shot the cables into him and zapped him repeatedly, far beyond what would have been allowed before order collapsed. Back when Pete could have threatened to own this stupid township after the lawsuit he'd filed. In the end, Pete was left on the floor of the cell and had to remove the barbs from the weapon himself. He stayed on the floor for a long while and may have dozed, he was unsure. He slowly stood and tried to compose himself. Then he noticed that the party had closed the cell door, but failed to lock it. The facility was old and outdated, it had no electronic locks. Pete looked around the station before he left. There were no firearms or other obvious weapons, so he made his way out of the station. Pete cautiously threw the front glass doors and saw no one. He ducked outside and ran to the edge of the building. He stopped and composed himself. If he ran he'd be noticed. He had to find and free Valentina and then get going. And then he vowed to himself, these small town suburban night weirdos will learn not to trifle with Pete Goldberg, attorney at law. This is the story of the one. As a maintenance tech at a university, he knows ordering from multiple suppliers takes time away from keeping their arena up and running. That's why he counts on Granger to get everything he needs, from lighting and HVAC parts to plumbing supplies, all in one place. And with fast, dependable delivery, he's stocked and ready for the next tip-off. Call 1-800-GRANCHER, click Granger.com or just stop by. Granger for the ones who get it done. He looked around as he walked into the rapidly deepening twilight darkness. He'd definitely been out for a while. There didn't seem to be anyone else outdoors. Likely they have a curfew, he thought. He circled the police station and courthouse complex to get a good look at the surrounding area and found that the little township had a community centre on the backside of the complex. He quickly realised that was where everyone already was or was headed as he saw a few stragglers rush toward the main entrance, where they were ushered inside by stern looking citizens who were ostensibly armed. He approached the building and circled the structure as he looked for a side or back entrance. He was rewarded when a back door near the dumpster proved to be unlocked. He made his way into the dark back room of the community centre. There were boxes and other containers piled all around him. He could see a bar of light glimmering beneath the door ahead. He paused at the door to listen. Pots and pans and people talking. Ah, a kitchen. They must be getting ready to make more of that community soup. He shuddered as he, for the first time wondered what type of creature had provided the meat and stopped the bowl he and Valentina had consumed. He waited until the voices faded and then tried the door knob. It opened. He let the door swing inwards slightly and shared the darkness with him and gazed through it into the brightly lit adjacent room. It was what he'd thought, a small kitchen. There was one figure still partially in the room, a plump woman with folds of flesh that had started to sag with her enforced diet. She stood in the doorway that led out into the main assembly hall and faced toward the meeting that had been called to order. Pete could hear people speaking but was more interested in locating Valentina and making their escape while the denizens of the township were occupying. Keeping a careful eye on the strapping woman, he still fully looked around the kitchen. He needed a weapon. Then he saw the meat cleaver and a large kitchen knife, both still bloodied with whatever feasts the cooks had prepared. He determined to take the knife. The cleaver was clearly only useful in the kitchen. The speaker in the other room raised his voice. He sounded like a preacher giving a sermon. Indeed, it was Reverend Hamilton Wright who spoke with such passion from the makeshift pulpits in the community centre. He was on the newly minted township council and it was his duty to explain how the feast they were about to share was not an abomination but rather a blessing. Indeed, a duty to their lord to survive and to continue to worship and sacrifice for him. Pete didn't pay attention to the quasi-sermon. He was busy creeping. Then in the opposite corner he saw a pile of familiar pink clothing the nightgown Valentina had used and now somewhat bloodied and thrown into a heap. She would never have stood for that if she had been able to. And he stuffed the back of his hand into his mouth to contain a wretch as he saw that on the counter that made up part of the corner was a piece that held long, dark, familiar hair. It was a scowl. It was her. Pete squatted there, staring intently at the grisly trophy from the woman he loved. The hair that his hands had lovingly stroked so often. He choked back the scream that wanted desperately to escape from his throat, from his soul. He knew that he could do nothing for her, for his Valentina. Just maybe, maybe, get revenge. But first he had to escape. The way was clear and the folks of the township were clearly occupied. This would be his only opportunity, heartless though it seemed to leave her behind. He arose and made it to exit through the small storm. Behind him the righteous reverend called on them all to feast in the name of the Lord. As the crowd cheered, Pete let forth his own internal scream of anguish. When it turned quickly to an actual scream of agony, when the stout woman buried the cleaver in his shoulder. Eddie hunched in the storeroom of the school cafeteria. He and four other kids had been separated from their parents when the neighbourhood tore itself apart over the last remaining groceries. The school had been closed for several days before the human conflagration, but Eddie and his friends had gone up to visit the playground. Now there were people fighting a battle between them and the way to their homes. They noticed that the doorways to the school were unlocked and decided to see if there was still some food left in the old storage area. Most of it had been raided by the cafeteria workers, but after weeks of thin rations the kids were able to scrounge some overlooked items. A can of beets and another of green peas. After their feast though they'd heard outer doors crash open and the sounds of shouting, angry voices, adult voices. Then a gunshot rang out and they locked themselves in a storage closet. Many of the writers had supplemented their diets with alcoholic beverages. Wise had they done so with intent and in moderation. Grain was grain, but the core members of the group did not comprehend that word, moderation. Now the alcohol-fuelled rage of the mob had spilled into the last refuge of the innocent, the elementary school. Many of them had attended this school at one time and so felt an irrational resentment toward the edivists. They tore at it for a while, able to do little damage to the child-proof structure. So in frustration they set fire to the offices, to the now pointless reams of paper. Eddie and the others heard the fire alarm sound. They huddled together in fear as they cracked from the closet. Then the sprinklers opened up and drenched them in cold, stale, stinking water, grown mouldy from years in the pipes. Well that was enough to break their stupa. Like a herd before predators they fled. They slipped and slided down the hallways in panic until they reached the rear entrance opposite the burning offices. They piled out into the vestibule and halted. With the glass doors ahead they could see the mayhem and madness of the rioting mob. Then Eddie saw a figure, curled into a fetal ball just outside the front doors. He recognized the poor kid who had clearly taken a severe beating. He opened the door and with the help of his friends pulled Jorge into the vestibule. He knelt beside the bigger boy who looked up at him in terror. It's okay Jorge, we got you. You're safe now. Sonja had packed her bags and her little toy dog and had flown to the midwest to report on the locust's play. It was now time for her to jet back to the east coast and away from the increasing tensions in the now starving city. The food supply had dwindled and people had gone from afraid to frustrated to angry and now to insane. She walked in a very straightforward manner to the van that the local affiliate had lent to her crew. The flight they were about to take was one of the last of any kind available to go anywhere. It was a chartered commercial liner and they hadn't even offered first class accommodations. They drove past a line of people outside a grocery warehouse. There was no food available at retail and very little now available at any price. The armed warehouse workers and come gang members exacted enormous tolls for the mirish scraps and people gladly paid what they could just to get enough to hang on for a few more days. Sonja sniffed in distaste. Oh I'll be so glad to get back to civilization. Well this place wasn't great to start with and now it's a downright zoo. The animals are in charge. Maybe it's become more of a circus. They made it to the airport with time to spare but found that the gates to the terminal were blocked by a large crowd of people who'd had flights cancelled from under them. They were nearly at a riot stage. There was no food left at the airport and many of them had been stuck there for days. Far from home and resources. Desperate to reach home. To families and loved ones. It was a bubbling cauldron of humanity. Pressed and packed into an ever more confined space. The three news crew members surrounded Sonja and her little dog and began to force their way through the crowd. The biggest crew member whom the other secretly called Big Fat Bob led the way and when a few people in the crowd staggered into his path he shoved a couple of them. There was no point to it. They had nowhere to go in the press of bodies. After a while the small party was nearly unable to forge any further ahead. The crowd was simply packed in too tightly at the last open gate. The one that they needed. The one for which they had tickets. They managed to work their way forward at a snail's pace. Sonja all the time remarking on why these literally great unwashed masses were behaving in such a selfish uncouth manner. When they made it to the gate armed officers greeted them. The people at the edge of the crowd resentfully let them through. They showed their special passes and there was some attempt at screening them. Two of the crew members carried large camera bags as carry-on luggage and Sonja of course had her personal bag complete with its nervous little occupant. Unbeknownst to Sonja had urinated on most of her belongings while they navigated the crowd. And they checked everything else with the loan baggage handler at the ticket counter. Someone in the crowd noticed the little dog that appeared curiously from Sonja's shoulder bag. Hey! That woman's taken a dog on the plane. There's no room for more people but you'll let that dog go? Most people couldn't see the dog and thus comprehend how ridiculous the statement was. Their resentment and hunger had been building for far too long to submit to mere reason. Someone else shouted, hey if those jerks would leave some bags then another person or two could fit on board. The mob's IQ plummeted with every further screech until a large man at the front yelled, hey! Rosham! and followed his own advice. So did the rest of the mass of humanity. Sonja and two of her crew were lifted into the air by the wave of pressing bodies like so much flotsam on the tide. Big fat Bob, heavy as he was, rode the wave for a short time but then sank beneath the trampling feet of the herd. The little dog cowered inside the shoulder bag, now dropped and kicked over to rest against the wall. Just as he scampered out of the bag, a young girl scooped him up and the bag and crouched in the corner of a pillar embedded in the wall as the crowd passed them. Her new best friend peaked out of the bag for a quick lick of her face and then ducked back inside to safety. The world continued to tear itself apart for months until finally there was no one left who was able to fight and no resources over which to strive. Disease set in amongst the large population centres where bodies lay rotting in the streets, at least those that hadn't made it into cookpots. And yet the earth healed. People brought in what seeds they could and the spring buds grew in the northern hemisphere as the fall buds bloomed in the southern. It was a struggle but after seven long years the 2.8 billion remaining homo sapiens stopped the plummet into savagery and chaos. While it would be a while before they could rise, they greatly slowed the fall and knew that with cooperation they would level off and regain some stability. No one spoke much about the horrors of the first few years or if they did they whispered and shuddered and discussed at their own actions. Amos had died in year two from heart failure. Nathan had disappeared shortly thereafter. He said something about going down to the Gulf Coast. A.J. and Madison each found spouses and settled into farm life with the new seeds that their plants had finally produced and from those that had been stored before the locusts arrived. Many trees survived and even some wildlife had managed to make it. They once more had cattle and goats and chickens in large enough numbers that they could sell some of the excess products, at least to their neighbours. No point wasting it on the cannibal savages in the city. Horrace family had not made it through the riots. Eddies had and adopted the boy along with several other lost children. Things had been tough. They'd done things, eaten things that no one wanted to remember. That caused them to avert or lower their eyes when even a mention was required. Yet the kids had almost all made it to their teens and beyond. Eddie and Horrace shook hands and then embraced as the brothers they'd become. Eddie was headed off to the citizens watch academy. He'd decided to serve with the entity that had replaced the police and other first responders in their area. He'd finally gotten his own growth spurred and it was fortunate for Horrace that Eddie was not once a whole graduate. In the far north of Canada, Sam Walker and the other two members of his team of researchers stalked along a game trail formed by animals that had survived when the locusts decided to disappear and had left behind enough plant life that it had actually flourished. They'd even begun to spread to friendlier climes to the south. He and his team had been left relatively unscathed since he'd been in a government control facility before the disaster and its immediate aftermath. The team was now assigned to the search for locusts. It was paramount that they'd find where the insects had gone to ground. They and other scientists deemed worthy of protection had researched the many small corpses left behind when the creatures had flown into vehicle grills or hard structures had first. They were definitely not a known species of locusts but their habits were similar. They huffed and puffed as they crossed the latest hills and stared down toward the crevasse that was their destination. According to the information they had, the split in the earth likely contained caves and holes and other possible hiding places. As they cautiously approached the edge of the drop, he turned to his two companions, both of whom looked exhausted. Do you hear that? They each stopped and caught their heads to listen more closely. It sounded like buzzing and chittering and clacking. The noises of vast numbers of chittering bodies rubbing together. We found them, William exclaimed in excitement. The theories have proven true. Amazing that they were alive after so many years in this environment. After all they studied in hot dry climates, in deserts. William had time for a short shriek, followed by a hideous gurgle before the flesh was stripped from his bones. His companions fared no better and joined him in their short shrieks and gurgles as a swarm of carnivorous locusts that had metamorphosed over the past seven years, engorged themselves after their initial waking and then formed into an enormous cloud and swarmed forth in hunger. This is the story of the one. As a maintenance tech at a university, he knows ordering from multiple suppliers takes time away from keeping their arena up and running. That's why he counts on Granger to get everything he needs, from lighting and HVAC parts to plumbing supplies, all in one place. And with fast, dependable delivery, he's stocked and ready for the next tip-off. Call 1-800-GRANGER, click Granger.com or just stop by. Granger, for the ones who get it done. It wasn't the night's cold kiss that kept Darrell awake that lonely November night. To tell the truth, it had been quite a while since Darrell Hutchinson had succumbed to any kind of restful sleep. It was obvious, early on however, that this wouldn't be like any of those nights. No, it hadn't been the clawing thoughts of his beloved Amber, who had decided to leave him in this time of need. Nor was it the two open bills on his counter, two months rent for his shit box apartment that remained unpaid. Surprisingly, it also hadn't been the thought of the looming third and final bill that would, in two weeks' time, arrive in his mate. All thoughts of his daily troubles had been scraped from his mind, driven out by an internal intruder. It was a peculiar itch deep inside Darrell Hutchinson's ear. It hadn't started as an itch. It woken up that morning with a strange congestion in his left ear. It felt tight, like a drop of water had become trapped inside, but no matter how hard he'd shaken his head, nothing came out. The day had gone on, Darrell just had gotten used to it. He was certain it was an issue that would resolve itself and require no extraneous action. That had been the day, though. Half of the night had passed with Darrell staring into the dark ceiling in frustration. Somehow, the congestion had evolved into a troublesome irritation. The itching came in awful waves that made him shudder from head to toe. It was deep inside his ear, much too deep for any of his large fingers to chlorate. He knew he'd tried all of them. He'd reached, dug, poked and prodded, but the itch only got worse. At about a quarter past four, Darrell understood that the congestion wasn't getting any better. He could barely hear the sound of his own burrowing fingers any more. Wondering if he was just simply going mad, he snapped his fingers just outside his ear. The snaps were audible, but only just. It wasn't ideal, but it was manageable. Then the itch turned into pain. It almost took a whole minute for Darrell's drowsy mind to even register the scratching-like sensation that had grown within his ear. Darrell moaned in frustration and discomfort as he sat up in bed. It wasn't like any earache he'd had before. They turned his whole ear raw, and that pain throbbed into the base of his skull. But this pain was different, precise and localised, surely nothing more than a progression of the irksome itch. The pain had caused him more anger than anything else, so he lashed out and brought his palm to bear on the side of his head. Not once, twice, but three times. It solved nothing, and only served to exacerbate his predicament. As the pain dotted the inside of his ear, Darrell stood up and plodded towards the bathroom, scowling into the darkness. Seeing as how everything else had failed, Darrell was willing to do just about anything he could to get some decent shut-eye. He stepped into the bathroom, turning on the warm water in the sink. The uneven sound of running water was relaxing and welcoming. The pain actually relinquished for just a moment as Darrell reached down to the water. He let it run through his fingers for a moment, and he savoured the warmth. Cupping his hand, he collected a decent amount of water, and he bent down as low as he could. There was something in his ear that Darrell was certain, and he was ready to wash it out. He tilted his head, ready to dump every last drop inside. Stop! Darrell shot upwards with a gasp, dropping the water into the sink. The voice had not been his. Darrell swung around, leaning backwards over the sink to see who was there. The doorway behind him was empty in silence, but that didn't ease his racing heart. Darrell reached out quickly with his arm, awkwardly searching for the light switch. The lights uncovered nothing. The only occupant of the bathroom was Darrell. The only sounds were the running water and his own raspy breaths. He was alone, but that voice had been as real as anything. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, and intruder, Amber, each seemed as unlikely and as troubling as the other. Darrell shut the door, realising that beyond it, obstructive shadows still hung on every nook and cranny. Isolated in the light, he should have felt better. The pressure pushed on his ear, and he felt the pain return once more. Despite the unpleasantness in his ear, the only thing Darrell could focus on was the evanescent voice. And he just imagined it. For good measure, he checked the bathtub, stripping the shower curtains away in a fearful burst. Empty. There was no one, and no one else to hide. The water, still running behind him, Darrell tried to massage the tiredness out of his face. He tried to bury his thoughts of the voice beneath layers of doubt. It came again. Turn off. Darrell jumped, turning quickly to his left. The voice, the quiet voice, had come from there. He'd heard it for sure this time, as surely as he heard the water running behind him. It didn't make sense. No one was there, no one at all. He couldn't decide whether the voice had belonged to a man or a woman, but, well, neither stood beside him. Darrell could see through the crack in the curtains that the window was shut, and a quick check showed him that it was indeed still locked. Tearing through the curtains, the outside world was almost too dark to see, especially with the light reflecting from inside. There was no way the voice had come from out there. It felt too close, too intimate. It had been like someone had whispered into his ear. Turn off water. Who? Darrell jumped, screaming at someone unseen. Who's there? Turn off water. Darrell opened his mouth, but words never came. He only screamed. Inside his ear, the pins had turned into molten daggers and shocking electric pain coursed through his skull. Clutching his ear, his legs buckled, and he shrunk towards the floor. The pain stopped, momentarily, as the voice crept in once more. Stop. Pain. Granted a brief respite, Darrell reached for the counter, and he pulled himself back up. Heaving with tears blurring his vision, Darrell wasn't sure what to do. Then his respite was over, and the awful ear-splitting pain burned him once more. Fueled by reflex and instinct, Darrell obeyed the voice. He turned the faucet, and both the water and pain trickled away. Good. The voice was almost indescribable. It had no emotion. Darrell couldn't decide if it was pleased, upset, or eon, just apathetic. The words just were. They existed on the fringe of his eardrum, with each word, each syllable vibrating and humming like they were plucked from the strings of a little guitar. Good. Sleep now. Sleep. Words gave it the emotion the voice had lacked. They gave the voice an identity. Good. It had said. It was good that Darrell had given in. It had been something that the voice, the unseen entity, wanted, and Darrell had obeyed, and that was good. The uncomfortable, perverse thought tore Darrell from the ground, but the moment he got to his feet, his world started to spin. A nasty onset of voodoo, he was in a state of indescribable fear. The words of the vertigo took control. These legs gave only the slightest, tired warning before they gave out, allowing Darrell only enough time to brace himself against the bathroom's wall. Sliding downwards, he soon came to rest on the cold, tiled floor, sitting slumped against the wall. The pain had subsided, but the intensity of the assault remained fresh and tender in his mind. He rose his hand towards his ear, not terribly sure of what to do next. Trembling, he tapped his earlobe with the same quivering motion that one might touch a red hot stove. No pain came, so he touched it again. Taking a chance, he massaged the outside of his ear, bottom to top, and then relaxed. He was okay. Curiosity and sanity begged him to push further. Darrell wanted to put his finger inside his ear, maybe massage the areas that were still a bit sore. The congestion lingered like an echo inside, and the itch had only grown worse. Yet, the idea of the voice and its wrath held him back. His hand fell to his side. He sat there until morning. He didn't sleep, but his mind had wandered far. The sun had risen in an unconscious blink of the eye, and only when the bathroom had become bathed in sunlight, Darrell returned to awareness. The warmth was a lie, magnified by the wind, outside November cold rained. Inside the bathroom, however, the sun's beams were sweltering and blinding. Darrell stood up slowly, relieved that the vertigo had seemingly dissipated. He leaned on the counter as he tried to comprehend what had happened to him. The events, the horrors of last night, seemed impossible in the light of day. There was still the same pressure within his ear, but nothing more. No pain, no discomfort even, and no whispers. A little light-headed, Darrell sat down on the toilet next to the window, crouching forward as he thought. What could it have been last night? He'd never experienced a nightmare that had felt so real, and that he couldn't recall waking up from. The sun warmed the left side of his face as he pondered. In the light, the terrors of the dark faded into memory, and memory could be mistaken. I'm fine, Darrell muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. Then, the reminder that he wasn't. Move! Memories returned from the ethereal as the all-too-real voice whispered a stern order into Darrell's ear. Darrell took to his feet quickly, not for the voice's benefit, but out of his own uneasiness. There'd been no one beside him. It wasn't possible, but his madness had followed him into the light of day. HONKED, the voice said again. No, HONKED. Darrell felt the side of his face. The warm touch of the sun was still imprinted there. COLD. COLD. Darrell stumbled backwards out of the bathroom. He muttered madness under his breath as he made his way into the main room of his apartment. Leaning over the kitchen counter, he brought his palm to his ear three times. Each time he desperately tried to change reality with his words. Not real, he groaned. This isn't happening. It's not real. No, I'm fine. Before he could utter another word, strike another time, the pain shot through his ear again, like someone had shoved a hypodermic needle into his brain. Darrell screamed for God as he fell to his knees, but God didn't answer. There was only the voice. Stop, it said emotionally. Fine, I fine. You fine. The pain tapered. We, the voice, were all in the same place. Fine. Garsping Darrell felt pressured to disagree. Pulling himself up, he realized that nothing made sense. For a moment earlier, he'd wondered if the voice in his head had truly been that. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a psychotic break caused by his insomnia or anxiety. He wished he could be happy that it wasn't that. The voice was certainly real, tangible in his ear. But Darrell couldn't take any joy in knowing that his own mind hadn't fractured. The fact that the voice was something real terrified him far more. But it also gave him a certain idea. If it, the voice, was a real thing and it could hear him, then maybe the voice was something that he could talk to. Something he could reason with. Where are you? Darrell asked, with his eyes scanning the room. Of course, when he wanted a response, there was nothing but silence. He asked again, where are you? Show yourself. Here came the response. Inside. Darrell felt his throat tighten. He'd been rife. He could talk to the voice. But he became suddenly unsure if he would like the conversation. It was madness. Inside. Darrell asked, repeating the intriguing word. You. Came the response, horrifyingly. Inside. You. Darrell couldn't speak. Confusion gave way to uncomfortable feelings of invasion and violation. Something, some entity that could hear him, talk to him and hurt him. Was inside his body. What? Darrell started, unable to find the words. What are you? This was a question that the voice didn't answer. At least, not in the way Darrell wanted. Me. Was the only clue that Darrell ever got from the voice itself. It was more than enough to get him heading for the door. Stop. Said the voice, as Darrell put in his coat. Moving. Stop. Darrell didn't listen. He didn't even dare say it, but he needed to go see someone. Anyone. A doctor. A priest. A god damn psychiatrist if he had to. But he knew reluctantly that there was nothing more he could do. That was his aim, but as soon as his hand touched the door knob, Darrell understood. One crucial fact. The voice was in charge. Pain shot into his head, like wild lightning. And in a moment Darrell was nothing more than a sobbing, writhing mass upon the floor. It was something the voice needed to make absolutely clear. No. It said, Stay. Darrell shook his head in denial, but the voice was adamant. Good. Stay home. Say. Dar. No people. Good. His words soon started to overlap each other, as if spoken by multiple beings all at once. They became overwhelmingly atop of the crippling pain. A cruel lecture from an even crueler teacher. When Darrell started to scream, louder and louder, the voice told him, Stop. Screams. Pain. Loud. The more Darrell screamed, the worse the fire-hot embers burned inside his head. The voice repeated itself again and again, until Darrell understood, and bit down hard on his lip. Stifling the scream, the voice finally allowed his suffering to cease. The pain flowed away from the epicenter in his head, and Darrell felt its tingle creep across his skin and muscles, from his neck all the way down to his feet, before it eventually faded into nothing. Good. It said, Quiet. Good. When he was allowed to get up, Darrell looked to the door, and he felt a twinge of discomfort in his head. With the same unwillingness of a man held at gunpoint, Darrell collapsed onto his couch, and he stared blankly into the ceiling. As the day passed, Darrell would learn the voice's rules. The first came when he tried to open the curtains. It had taken a while for Darrell to even move again after coming to terms with a monster inside him, and he wondered what he could still manage. There had to be something he could do to ease his situation. Perhaps if he had opened the windows, he could signal for help. Some way to obscure that, perhaps the voice wouldn't recognise right away. However, this attempt resulted in a painful scawning. It came in a quick, whip-like lashing to stay his hand. Closed, the voice said. Dark. Like dark. The scratchy voice inside his head also rebutted when Darrell tried to shower several hours later. No wet. No water. The creature inside him feared the water more than the light or the heat, he found, as its particular temper tantrum inside the bathroom lasted twice as long as any had before. All the better to send the most urgent message possible. Water. Bad. Darrell hadn't intended for the shower to rid himself of the voice, and he was curious as to its limits. He remembered the outburst earlier, and apparently the thread of water cascading all around him was too much. Darrell found that the voice didn't have nearly as serious a response when he simply removed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. That was perfectly okay. Lost for other options, Darrell had, of course, considered using his phone to contact someone on the outside. He was hesitant. The excruciating agony he felt at the foot of the door wasn't something he wished to experience again. The voice made it very clear that he was not to attract attention to himself from the outside in any way. So, what could he do? As the day stretched on, he couldn't stop from staring at the phone, but lay charging on the kitchen counter, easily accessible. Every scenario who ran in his head ended the same way, with him on the floor crying for the sweet release of death. There was no way the voice would ever let him contact the outside world. Darrell never expected, however, that the outside world would try to contact him. It made him jump when the phone sprung to life, and as soon as the ringing began, the voice expressed its painful displeasure. Nois, what is? he asked. I have a phone call. Darrell hissed through clenched teeth as he stood up. No answer, the voice demanded. No. Darrell, bearing his teeth, found strength in his own frustration. It was strength enough to, momentarily, overcome the pain in his head and the fear in his soul. He walked to the phone. I know you want me alone. Isolated, right? Darrell asked. Certain he was right. Yes, the voice said. Hello. Good. But other people are bad, right? Other people can help me. People. Bad. Bad people. It spoke as if a child. If I don't answer the phone, then people will come to check on me. Got that? I can tell them it's fine. If they come, then things won't be fine, okay? This made the voice relent. Pain fell to a light simmer. Darrell's hand crept upwards and across the counter. The voice offered no resistance, but it granted no permission. Darrell's fingers lay, twitching, inches from the phone. They were poised, ready to grab it in a heartbeat. All he needed was the voice's permission. Answer. The voice conceded. Darrell grabbed the phone in the blink of an eye, and in the same moment the pain came once more. The voice wasn't finished. Left ear. The voice eased up, allowing Darrell to answer the call. It was from Amber, just like he'd hoped it would be. Obating the voice, Darrell raised the phone up to his left ear. If bad, the voice warned. Pain. Worse. Worse. It punctuated its point with a sharp, brutal snap. Darrell winced, but took it. He had to. Both of them, Darrell and the voice, listened as Amber spoke. Are you there, Darrell? she asked. Hello? Speak, whispered the voice. Say, fine. Darrell couldn't. Hearing Amber's voice, even as muted as it was, brought a tear to his heart. It was impossible to remember the bad times. The fact that this was the first time he'd heard her voice in nearly a month, the day she walked out, the way she cried when she looked at him. It was different now because he needed her. I'm here, he said, grinning. I'm here, Amber. Hi. There was a pinch in his ear. Say, fine. Stop. Yeah, hi. Amber continued. What the hell are you doing? What? Darrell asked, still too happy to hear Amber to even focus on the angry tone of her voice. Don't want me. I just heard from Tom and he says you're about to lose your damn apartment. Is that true? Tell her. Go. The voice interrupted, uninterested in anything she had to say. Yeah, it's true, Darrell said. Have you found anything yet? Amber asked. Anything at all? Where have you applied? I've been looking, Darrell lied. He had to stall time, but he had no idea how long the voice would give him, nor how long Amber's patience would last. He had to find a way to tell her something was wrong, a way that wouldn't let the voice know. Darrell had gathered it was intelligent, but to what extent? What could he get away with? He turned his gaze to the guitar in the corner of the room. Hey, he said. Did you know you left your guitar here when you left? Guitar. The voice echoed. No. The voice hurt, Darrell. As Amber confused asked. What? The guitar's yours. Why would I take it? No, focus. We're talking about you. You need a damn job. Darrell, are you okay? The pained wheezing of Darrell abated long enough for him to respond as the voice ordered. I'm fine. I feel fine. I just know that you love that guitar. You not. Make her here. The voice stated. She no can. Darrell knew what it meant. It had caught on. It knew what he'd tried to do, and it wouldn't allow it. Stop. Talk. It ordered. Tell. Fine. Stop. Darrell took a deep breath as Amber's voice came into his ear like a calming wave above the scratching whispers of the voice. Forget it. I need to tell you something, okay? So you listen. Got it? Darrell nodded, humming a simple, mm-hmm, hoping the voice would allow it. It hadn't stopped ranting, and its orders were escalating in intensity and frequency. And in moment now, Darrell knew it. The voice would have enough. I miss you, but you made it clear the last time we talked. You don't want any help. None. I don't care. I don't. I care about you. God damn it, you need to pull your egocentric head out of your asinine ass for two seconds. Stop being so pathetic. I have a friend who can set you up. They're looking for tech guys. They're looking for you. I know that getting let go sucks. I know. But here's your chance. You can pull yourself out of this. I'm just holding the rope for you. Please, baby. Please. All you need to do is tell me right now. Do you need my help or not? Darrell opened his mouth, yearning to yell out, to scream out, yes. God yes. I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I'm stuck. Save me. But the voice told him, no. Tell no. Help, no. His insides simmered like holes. As the tears came, they blazed like fire. He had no choice. He was no longer in control. There was only the voice. I'm sorry, Darrell whispered. I can't. Good, said the voice as Darrell started to weep. God damn you, Darrell. Amber started. She continued to tell Darrell how disappointed she was and how simple it could all be. All the while, the voice ordered one thing. Stop. Talk. Done. Stop. Done. Talk. Stop. The words came all at once. Drummy inside his ear. And Darrell whispered, wondering, can you hear it? What? Amber asked. Can you hear it? Darrell asked again. You heard Amber sigh. Listen, if you need me, when you need my help, I'll be here, okay? I'll be there for you, but you have to ask. Got it? You won't, the voice said simply. Can't. Done. Then Darrell was certain he'd died. The voice hurt him, leaving him no choice but to clench the foam between his fingers. The call ended as his fingers squeezed down hard on the screen and Amber was gone. Not even a week goodbye escaped his lips, only a short-lived hiss of sorrow. He was alone, trapped, and at the complete and utter mercy of the voice. The voice said simply, from keeping their arena up and running, that's why he counts on Granger, to get everything he needs, from lighting and HVAC parts to plumbing supplies, all in one place. And with fast, dependable delivery, he's stocked and ready for the next tip-off. Call 1-800-GRANGER, click Granger.com, or just stop by, Granger, for the ones who get it done. Several days passed. Darrell remained like a walking corpse within his apartment. There was little that the voice still allowed him to do. He existed as nothing more than a shell, a vessel for the entity that pulled the strings in his head. Darrell felt like he no longer existed. There was only the will of the voice. For Darrell, the first day had been the worst physically, but after he'd learned the rules, the voice had significantly fewer reasons to harm him. The lack of pain was hardly enough to restore any sense of hope in the mound, however, for Darrell felt more worthless than ever before. Every day that passed, damaged him more and more as hope faded away. The voice wasn't fond of activity or movement of any kind. It would allow Darrell brief moments of freedom and short spans of mobility when he woke up or whenever he needed to use the restroom. For the majority of the day, however, the voice preferred it if Darrell lay upon the couch and sat there until it was time for bed. Television wasn't allowed, so the voice didn't trust the sounds of other humans so close. It was alarmed at the prospect of anyone else entering the room and getting close to Darrell himself. In fact, Darrell found that he was unable to enjoy anything that made noise. The voice had already expressed its displeasure at the use of his phone, and the one time he tried to play his guitar had ended very poorly. Each time he plucked a string, the voice would very quickly reprimand him. The voice's persistence and consuming control drove Darrell to a point of explosive frustration, thinking he could push through the pain and preserve some sense of purpose, normality and humanity in his life. Darrell tried to play more. The voice didn't yield, and Darrell was forced to give up after only five notes. In a violent outburst, it was smashed into tiny pieces. The strings curled up and useless lay against the splintered net. After four days of subservience, Darrell had a realization. There had been four days of silence and isolation. Each morning he wanted to himself if Amber would show, and if some miracle would bring her to his door. Surely she would come and check on him eventually. Yet each night fell without a single knock upon the door. Amber wasn't coming for him. He took a little more than a week for Darrell to understand that she'd been completely honest during the phone call. She was done, unless he reached out to her first. That was something he could not do. And that realization led to another. Everything he'd ever done had been on his own. No one had introduced him to Amber. He'd walked up to her on his own. He'd asked her out on his own. Beyond her, he'd made his way through college on his own. He'd gotten his job on his own, and he'd gotten his apartment on his own. Waiting for Amber was foolish, and so was the voice. He would finish this on his own, swiftly and decisively. It hated the sound of flowing water, but it still allowed him to drink silently from bottles. That was the voice's final mistake. Darrell was certain. It feared the water, and nothing fears anything without reason. Maybe that's all it would take. Just a little water. A fast baptism. He could do it quickly, before the voice even realized what was happening. If it worked, he'd be free. He would have freed himself. But if it didn't work, Darrell didn't even want to imagine what would happen next. He couldn't fail. He wouldn't. Removing a bottle from the fridge, he moved swiftly. He lifted the lid off in a moment, and he tilted his head. Yet, a further moment's hesitation as he poured the water into his ear, and the game was over. A drop fell, but nothing more. There was a roar in his ear. There you water, the voice screamed. Stop now. Darrell screamed in return as the pain started, like a fire eating its way towards his brain. He wasn't sure if it was the water, or perhaps blood that sloshed about in his ear canal. He wanted to stop, to let the voice win, to take the horrible ache away. But he couldn't. He wouldn't let it win. He knew he could do it. No, Darrell stammered, his teeth clenched in awful agony. I'm done. I pour this. You're gone. You're going to leave. No, it replied confident. Never leave only pain. Somehow, like demonic hellfire, the pain worsened, and Darrell quivered to his knees. Holding the water bottle firm and high above his head, he held on to his hope. He knew he could do it. You're scared, he said. Scared of the water. You'll drown. No, it said. Only pain. And then it added another word. A new word that the voice had learned. Kill you. Kill if poor. Darrell trembled. The pain had gotten worse yet, but at the moment that's all that it remains. Pain. He had to believe, or hope, that it couldn't get any worse than that. It couldn't kill him. I don't believe you. He tilted the bottle, but before anything happened, the voice spoke once more. No longer screaming. Won't you, it said. Won't know you. Darrell stopped, and he waited. Pathetic, it said, in a tone that almost purrfully mirrored ambers from before. The first time the voice had ever expressed anything similar to an emotion. Weak. Failure. Shut up, Darrell shouted. You don't know me. Won't, poor. Too weak. Lost everything. Stop, Darrell groaned. Stop. Alone. No help. Won't risk. Sad boy. I'm gonna kill you, Darrell screamed. Failure, Darrell. Failure. Pathetic. Poor water die. Failure. Darrell screamed, and he threw the water bottle across the room. Water sprayed against the walls, and it pulled onto the floor as he went. The pain started to recede as the drop of water trickled out of his ear, and the voice offered its comfort. No need help, it said. I hear. We. Okay. It was wrong, and Darrell finally knew it. He could have poured the water, but at what cost? He was alone, and he was a failure. It had all been true. He'd lost his job, and in the aftermath, he'd become stuck in a hopeless rut. He believed his whole life that he could succeed entirely on his own merit. It was a fool's notion. When he lost that belief, he didn't know how to put himself out of the rut, he'd dug. His ego had eliminated all possible options. On top of that, he'd lost Amber too. He drove her away, even though she'd given him every chance. He had trapped himself. He couldn't even laugh at the irony that by the time he'd figured it out, he was still trapped. Drapped. Drapped. By the voice. If the voice was right, then it could kill him, and he couldn't risk it. Not alone. Not by himself. Going it alone had taken everything from Darrell, and he refused to let it take his life. He cried, and the voice said nothing. It allowed him his moment of acceptance. Darrell was glad. The voice thought, wrongly, that he had given up. Amber had called once more since the first time, and although he desperately wanted to answer, the voice had pulled his reins tight. He wasn't allowed to talk to anyone, or no one, but the voice. Darrell had many interesting conversations with the entity that possessed him. When the voice felt like speaking, that is. Why are you doing this to me? Darrell had asked once. To this question, the creature simply replied with, Ho! To most questions, the voice gave similar, simple responses. Darrell still couldn't figure out if it was simply because the thing was daft, or because it was intentionally secretive. I wished he would tell him more, but some of the things it didn't say told Darrell more than he needed to know. The voice had given him lessons earlier, and they were meant to restrain Darrell. Yet, in his confinement, Darrell started to listen and learn. In the week that had passed, Darrell had learned three things about the voice. Three things that Darrell believed might give him an edge. The first was a realisation that Darrell had known from the beginning, but the implications of which he was still trying to sort out. Whenever the voice spoke, it wasn't completely internal sound. He heard it in his ear, and very specifically, he only heard it in his left ear. Whatever it was, it seemed limited to his left side, the same side that housed that awful congestion. That's why it made him answer the phone there, so it could listen in. It was also the same reason it reacted so violently to the droplet of water. He didn't change the fact that he couldn't remove the mask, but it was a start. Lesson one, the voice was located inside his left ear. The second lesson came when he realised that when the voice was speaking, it remained incognisant of changes happening outside his body. Whenever the voice spoke in his ear, Darrell found that he could move and do things unmolested. He discovered this by accident as he was walking around the apartment one day. The voice started speaking to him, responding vaguely to some question Darrell himself proposed, and at the time Darrell had decided to remove the sock. Darrell realised, right before the voice stopped, that he had placed his right hand on the front door to balance himself. Knowing the front door was strictly prohibited, Darrell was surprised that the voice took no action against him. It simply acted as if nothing had happened. Curious, Darrell had experimented. Asking the voice another question, he touched the door again, intentionally this time. He found that, almost without fail, when the voice was speaking, it had no idea that any action outside had been performed. However, when the voice stopped speaking, if his hand was still on the door, it offered nothing but hostility. It was also worth mentioning that the voice couldn't hear his thoughts. Any comment or question had to be posed audibly to get a response. He thought many, many times of pouring boiling water into his ear and roasting alive whatever spirit or demon thrived inside him, knowing how much it feared the water. The thoughts never elicited the response. If he posed the question verbally, however, he got a slightly less pleasant retort. Darrell thought it was curious. Whatever had attached itself inside his body like a parasite wasn't all knowing, and it didn't have complete access to his head. It was curious, but incredibly welcome information. Lesson 2. The Voice Had Blind Spots The final lesson, and the one that intrigued Darrell the most, was that the voice didn't seem to be able to read. Darrell had only received and neglected one call in his week of imprisonment, but many more messages had been sent by text. There had been five, at least, and just about all of them had been from Amber. Each time the phone buzzed, the voice told Darrell he couldn't answer. The voice had believed the vibrations to be the same vibrations that came from phone calls, until Darrell tried to explain otherwise. He picked up the phone with the permission of the voice, who was actually quite curious about the so-called text messages. The voice ordered he'd hold the phone up to his face, and Darrell obliged, displaying the latest message. The text was from Amber. Ignoring me isn't going to stop time. He had paused after it vibrated, waiting for a stern response from the voice. But there'd been nothing. No pain. Instead, there was a curious whisper in his ear. What? Say. What's what say? Darrell asked. Words. Palm. Say. Darrell understood. The voice had seen the phone. It saw that there was a message there, not a call, and it understood that there were words. It just couldn't read them. It's just Amber checking in. Darrell responded curiously. This, of course, initiated the same angry reaction from the voice, and Darrell was hesitant to look at any messages again. Yet, this gave him the most important bit of information yet. Lesson three. The voice couldn't read. For days, Darrell thought about what he could do to stop the voice. He could put earmuffs on. Something that muted the voice, blinded it, but, well, that idea was quickly discarded. If Darrell rolled over onto his left side, at all, during sleep, then he would feel the voice is rough. If anything covered or even approached his left side without the voice's express permission was greeted with rage and venomous hostility, especially since the incident with the water bottle. It was all too risky. So, what was he to do? The plan was hashed in a dreamless night. More than a week and a half after the voice had first spoken to him. Darrell understood that he'd done so much on his own. Just about all he could. Just wasn't enough. So, what was he to do? The plan was hashed in a dreamless night. More than a week and a half after the voice had first spoken to him. Darrell understood that he had done so much on his own. Just about all he could. Just wasn't enough. He could enact any one of numerous plans, but the voice held him on a leash that was far too short. He couldn't solve it all on his own, and he knew pain was unavoidable. There was no scenario where the voice didn't hurt him, and he accepted that. He was done sitting in his rut. Now, he couldn't leave, he couldn't call anyone, and the use of his phone was prohibited. Darrell could only pick it up if the voice ordered him to. He decided to remain there and rest. The plan would remain safe inside his head until the sun rose. He took that time to think it all through. If he messed it up, any of it, then it was incredibly unlikely that the voice would be as short-sighted the second time. He waited until the next morning to put it into action. As soon as he was up from bed, and the voice ordered him to move, out of the bedroom and into the darker living room, he made his move. How long will this go on for? Darrell asked, moving swiftly to the kitchen. He heard the itchy, awful whisper of the voice. Until. Until. Dar. Me or you, he asked, moving across the room to wear his phone. Either, the voice said, as Darrell picked up his phone and placed it deep into his pocket. Sounds lovely, Darrell said, praying the voice remained clueless. Darrell threw himself down onto the couch. There was no time to waste. He just had to bite himself about twenty seconds. So, lying on his left side, with his head raised above the couch's singular pillow, Darrell asked it another question. Do you hate me? No, the voice said. Don't hate. Oh. What do you think about me? Darrell asked the last question, and he immediately let his head fall to the pillow. The voice spoke to him, but it had no idea that it was trapped. As it spoke, Darrell pulled the phone from his pocket and opened the texts. Love. Home. The voice said, as Darrell found the unanswered messages from Amber. Home. Calm. Home. Obedience. Darrell could tell it really struggled with the last word, but he didn't know if it did so because the word was large or because the voice had just discovered that it was blind. Sit up, it ordered. It knew, but Darrell still needed a few seconds. He typed furiously, but the voice wouldn't have it. What do, it said. Why move? Sit up now. The sizzling started. The warning shot wouldn't remain so forgiving for long. The voice barked the orders into Darrell's ear, but he almost had it. He could feel the pain billholt and billholt as the voice's patience dwindled and dwindled. Just one more second. There! Darrell sat up, tossed his phone back towards the counter, and the pain subsided. There was silence and a tickle in his ear. The voice returned, anxious. What sound? Crash. It asked without inflection. Phone. It was nothing. Darrell lied, unsure of how the entity had guessed it had been the phone. Use phone. Darrell couldn't decide if it was an accusation or a question. No, I didn't. I couldn't have. It's over there. Just as Darrell pointed to it, it buzzed. It buzzed multiple times. A call from Amber. No answer, said the voice, and Darrell was happy to oblige. A call quickly fell silent, and then another came through immediately after. Why call? I don't know why, Darrell said. Certain that had been a question. Make stop. I can't. The second call ended, and a text message came through. The voice was sick of it. What message? It asked. Yes, it's a message. Read, the voice said. Darrell hesitated. He thought he'd almost heard the stressed inflection of panic in the voice's words. Darrell stood, and cautiously approached the phone. The voice allowed him to pick it up, and examine it. Darrell couldn't hide his relief as he read the message. And the voice noticed. What say? It asked quickly. I'm done, Darrell lied. You won't hear from me again. Real words. The voice inquired. Yes, Darrell lied, reading the last two messages over and over in his head. The message he'd written to Amber. Please help me. I can't leave my apartment. This is an emergency. Please come now. I need your help. The message Amber had written to him. I'm coming. Amber was there within twenty minutes, and they were the longest of Darrell's life. The voice had interrogated him time and time again about the messages on his phone. Each time, Darrell held strong and repeated the false message verbatim to the voice. And yes, the voice didn't buy it. Darrell had never felt the voice act this way. It was lashing out at him in frequent, shockingly painful ways. Every time he spoke, he felt the voice gnawing on the inside of his ear like an animal. Darrell had no idea what the voice was, but he knew one thing for sure. It was scared. When the knock on his door came, the voice lost it. It no longer whispered in his ear. It pounded on his eardrum. Who here, it demanded. Who knock? Garsping Darrell threw himself towards the door, and through the pain he looked out the peephole, and he grinned. It's no one, he said. No one at all. It's just a bill collector. Make go away. I will, Darrell hissed. I will, but you have to let me open the door. No, the voice ruled. Don't trust door shut. I have to, or else she won't go away. Darrell said. Please. The knocking came again, this time with Amber's voice cutting through. Darrell, she asked concerned. Darrell, open up this instant. I swear this better not be some kind of a game. Darrell braced for it. The moment she spoke, he knew that the voice would recognize her. Recognize Amber. And yet, the pain didn't increase. The voice was too furious to even listen. No, open. Darrell was done listening. I'm here, he said, pain spiking within. Hold on. Don't. Open. The voice ordered. To this, Darrell responded. I will open it and tell her to go away, but listen to me. You have my word. I know what you can do to me. I know the pain you can cause. I'm nothing. I'm pathetic, and that's why you chose me. It didn't end, but the voice did ease up ever so slightly. A sign of trust. I know that this will hurt. He pulled the door open, and there before him was Amber. She was radiant. The light from the hallway seemed almost blinding, and cast her in the perfect angelic glow. Darrell cried, for he didn't know how bad it could be. Are you okay? Amber asked. God, you look awful. Tell her, go. The voice calmly reminded Darrell. He waited. Darrell, Amber continued, holding her phone in her hand. Don't waste my time. Tell me, what the hell is this all about? Pain, the voice reminded. Endless pain. Darrell heard it, but with Amber there it didn't matter. He was ready. I need help, Darrell said quietly. No, the voice scratched. What do you mean? Amber said. Darrell had felt strong, but as the voice went silent, his face crumpled with fear and anxiety. The tears flowed, and he screamed at the top of his lungs. It's in my ear. Darrell's mind exploded at that moment, and Amber wasn't fast enough to catch him as he fell. Pain became everything. In every vein, muscle and bone of his body. He was stronger than Darrell had ever imagined. Screeching to God above, Darrell could only listen as the roar of the voice rattled in his skull. Liar, rotten liar. Pay now, pay price, kill. The words and sound all together faded as a black, suffocating void swallowed him whole. From lighting and HVAC parts to plumbing supplies, all in one place, and with fast, appendable delivery, he's stocked and ready for the next tip-off. Call 1-800-GRANCHER, click Granger.com or just stop by. Granger, for the ones who get it done. There was a lightness. Something was missing, and then there was panic. Darrell awoke, yelling because all he could remember was pain. It was there, the voice, and it wanted to kill him. Darrell was yelling and yelling, but then he understood that there was no reason. There was no voice. In fact, there wasn't much of anything. His head felt light, like someone had popped a cork and let all the pain and marsh drain out. There was some pain, a residual simmering within his left ear, but it was a comfortable shadow of what he'd felt before. It wasn't what he'd expected at all. He couldn't remember how it had happened, but it was gone. He had awakened. There was little pain, and he wasn't alone. Easy, Amber said, her hands on his left shoulder. Easy, baby, it's okay, you're fine, you're okay now. Panting, Darrell grabbed her arm and he kissed her hand. The hospital room was empty except for her, and the moment he'd awoken she had rushed to his side. Resting his head comfortably on the back of her hand, he closed his eyes again. He savoured the emptiness inside his own head. It was perfect. Oh, God! he mumbled. Oh, God, I love you. I love you, Amber. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Of course, she said softly, baby, are you okay? How do you feel? I... Darrell hesitated. He wanted to double check that everything was okay. He hoped it wasn't just a dream. He started again with a shocked smile, because he was sure it wasn't. I feel fine, I feel free. How's the ear? Amber asked cautiously. I mean, he said, reaching for it. It feels better than it did before. He stopped. His ear was lighter, and that was good, but something else was missing, something important. As his fingers crept up his face, they touched something itchy and flat. There was a gauze pad over his ear. He touched it, poked it, and scratched at it. The pad was curious, but even more so was that he discovered something was indeed missing. The scratching of the pad, the rubbing of its core surface, and the snapping of his fingers, just a double check. He couldn't hear any of it. I can't hear, Darrell said. Not out of this ear. Amber nodded. That's what the doctor said. Said you'd ruptured your tippy... something. The eardrum. You were a little bit too loud. The eardrum. You ruptured your eardrum. Darrell cussed his hand over the ear, and he thought back. The voice, and the dying sound. An urgency came into his words upon remembering the voice. There was a dinos, and a fear in his gaze. What was in my ear? Amber's mouth hung open. I... I... I... She stumbled, unsure of what to say. Amber, Darrell said, grasping her arm tightly. What did they find in my ear? There was a knock at the door, and a curt. Hello? The doctor, an older man with a tanned face, and an exceptionally thin hairline approached. He smiled, and held one of his hands deep inside his jacket pocket. Ah, you're awake! he said, extending his free hand to Darrell. Darrell took it. And much calmer now. Sorry you had a rude awakening. Dr. Hofstetler. The doctor released Darrell's hand, and he gave Amber a quick nod. So, how are you feeling, Mr. Hutchinson? Darrell expelled a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. It's fine, except for the can't hear part. Yes, the doctor said. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the blockage, a significant rupture had occurred on your tympanic membrane. It was pretty nasty. Shredded, basically. The good news is, given time, it's possible it can heal itself. The hearing loss you're experiencing now may only be a transient symptom. Blockage! Darrell asked. Memories of the first night returned. The congestion he'd felt. Yes, the doctor said. A peculiar look appeared on the doctor's face. Excitement! Do you have any idea what was in your ear? No, Darrell said quickly. I have no idea what the hell was in my ear. The doctor nodded. Are you squeamish? What? Darrell asked. I said, the doctor pulled something from his white jacket. Are you squeamish? On Darrell's bedside table, the doctor placed a tiny, clear vial. Inside was what looked to be a stringy cotton ball. He felt Amber squirm in his grip. She couldn't look away, but she clearly wanted to. What the hell's that? Darrell asked. Looks like cotton silk. I don't know what it is. Look a little closer, the doctor said. I think this is going to amaze you. So Darrell moved closer, and he looked harder. He searched the white material for something more. Anything. He found it. Something moved in the vial. No, said Darrell. It can't be. He looked to the doctor. Was this it? Yes. It was there, and it had established a significantly sized net. This can't be it, Darrell said, pulling away from the vial. I mean, I heard, I heard. Scratching, the doctor asked. It makes sense. In similar cases, it's not off to hear scratching and other noises, especially since this one was set up so close to your eardrum, literally right on it, actually. I've never seen one this established, though. It had to have been in there for a while. Amber leaned forward. Are you OK? How could he be? Darrell wanted to scream at them all. He wanted to tell them about the voice, the pain, and everything. And yet, he couldn't. Looking into the vial, Darrell was no longer even sure if he could trust himself. It was too unbelievable to be true. Hezitantly, as the doctor explained everything, Darrell leaned forward and gazed into the vial. Inside the tube, nestled within a net of milky white webs, set a tiny black spider that gazed violently at Darrell, plucking at its webs with its feet, like it was picking the strings of a guitar. I needed to get my ass in gear and leave my buddy. Troy's house saw something terrible was going to happen. I could feel it in my gut the way you know a storm is on its way by the electric charge in the air. It had been a hot, sticky mess of a day, nearly 19% with 80% humidity. We'd spent the day swimming, listening to music, and sneaking a few beers poolside, while his parents were in upstate New York for a wedding. My dad was a bit strict and didn't like me to be out past Darrell. I'm sure you've heard it before from your parents. Be home by the time the street lights come on. Think about my dad though, he was psychotic about it. He never let me go to sleep over as a kid. Kept me from staying out past Darrell, so that meant no parties. My mum said it was because dad suffered from a severe case of anxiety. I didn't make the way he treated me OK, or how he kept my door to my bedroom. Locked at night so I couldn't leave. We even had bars in our windows and a high tech security system to help him with his craziness. Every night was the same. They'd let me hang out, I went to school, came home, did my homework, a warm glass of milk, and I went to bed. There were never any exceptions. My father always insisted I drink my milk. Knew by the sight of the first firefly and the way the sky dimmed gently from blue to a hue, just a tiny bit darker. My dad would be watching and waiting in his recliner that faced the front door. If I was even a minute late, he'd be in his old pickup truck racing down Rancino Road, headlights beaming looking for me, his only son. Sadly, my mum had had two miscarriages before. She got pregnant with me, and I was the only one that survived. A lounge round Troy's pool a bit longer cracked open another one of Troy's dad's IPAs. I sighed, breathing in the night air, and when I finished chugging the beer, I managed to get myself out of the pool and stumbled over to dry myself off. You going? Troy asked as he glided into the shallow end of the pool. Yeah, I think I bet. You sure? Jenny and Maya are coming over in a bit. Maya digs you in that stupid long hair. I smiled, tossing it back and forth to be funny, but as much as I wanted to stay, I knew my dad would be in his trap looking for me. Yeah, well, you know, my dad. I knew my dad would be in his trap looking for me. Yeah, well, you know, my dad. Yeah, I know he's strict, but come on, it's our last summer before graduation. I gotta go. Fine, be boring, Troy said, taking a deep breath before going under the water. I dressed and put my shoes on as I ran down Troy's long driveway. I hurried along down the sidewalk, wishing I'd ridden my bike to Troy's to give me a better chance. I jogged up the sidewalk towards the corner of the next street. It seemed like the sky had darkened in a matter of minutes. I ran further, and then I felt it. My face hit the sidewalk, and in my ankle, a sharp pain began to appear. Goddamn uneven pavement. I was already late, now I'd be even later. I was in the middle of the road, and I was in the middle of the road. I was already late, now I'd be even later. Cringed when I looked up. The street lights had just come on. But already here, the truck pulling out of the driveway in my mind's eye. I knew my dad was coming for me, and I knew he would be furious. I'd only missed curfew one time before, and the outcome was one I would rather forget. I could almost feel his anger, and I hadn't even done anything wrong. Well, the beer was most likely why I'd tripped and fallen. I always had a way of sneaking up on you. I managed to stand up and prop myself up against one of the small trees that lie in the sidewalk, perfectly perched in front of each house that lined it in a row. The street was empty, and it was so quiet, I could hear my heart beating in my ears. The light of the moon was now high in the sky, giving the whole eerie feeling I was getting that extra oomph. I heard something behind me that gave me pause. I could hear a rustling in the bushes near me, and then two red eyes appeared. I managed to move my leg as fast as I could to get out of there, and for once I wanted my father's truck to appear. A shadow leaped out from the bushes. When I saw something, I can't quite explain. When I blinked, it was there. When I blinked again, it was only a dark swirl of black mist. A large creature with a head of a wolf had appeared. Its legs, which I managed to get a good look at, were pointed backward. It had dark grey-black fur and large teeth, and the teeth appeared from a cheshire cat-like smile. As my heart was pounding out of my chest, I heard the screeching of tires. My father pulled up alongside me as I tore my eyes from the creature to another scary monster, namely my dad. I looked back, and it was gone. Must have had too many beers, but only looking at my father made me feel slightly relieved that I wasn't going crazy. You're late, he snuck. I fell. I think I hurt myself. You could have called, he said, pulling away after I got inside the truck. I'm sorry. Not good enough. When we pulled into our driveway, my mother was waiting. She was nervous, like something was wrong. Oh, thank God you found him. My mother smiled at me, and then looked at my father's angry face. Get to your room. I walked inside my house and went to my room. I heard the doors latch from the other side. There were three locks. One at the top, one in the middle, one at the bottom, all made of steel. Now I could hear the marking. Look, I didn't give him his alright choice. Greg, he needs to drink it, or you may have to inject it. My mother was saying, I wondered what that even meant. Do it now, she was saying to my father. I heard the rustling of the locks, and as my father was doing so, I felt a sharp pain in my side. I bent over as the pain seemed to worsen. The door was flung open, and the look on my father's face was one of pure fear. I, I need to inject you with something. What? I yelled. And Dad, I think I need to go to the hospital. No, son, you just need to relax. This will be over soon. I felt angry, and the desire to help me, I was afraid. I felt angry, and the desire to hurt him was strong. He came at me with a needle, with shaking hands. I pushed him away because, because I was now growing frightened of my father. Then I made the great mistake of looking in the mirror that hung over my dresser. My eyes had changed colour, and were now a surreal colour of yellow and gold. I felt my body come out of my skin. Oh no, I tried to protect you from this curse. I don't understand. I held onto my throat with trembling hands for fear of myself, and my voice was now a deep ground. Look, son, when you were a baby, you were born different. You were just like your brothers before you, and you have that curse that skips every other generation. The doctor said if we can put you to sleep, then you won't turn into a monster. Come on, son, let me help you. And that was the last thing I remembered. I woke up naked, blood all around me, on a floating device in Troy's pool. I had no recollection of how I got there. I only knew I turned into something gross and dangerous. I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my body, and looked around. I didn't see them, but I could see dead bodies next to the pool. I must have done this horrible thing. I wasted no time in racing home. When I got home, there was a note from my father on the front door. Son, never come looking for us. You want to keep others safe? There's anesthesia locked in the top cupboard in the kitchen, just above the stove. Measurements you need are listed on the side of the bottle. Damn, we tried so hard to keep you safe from ever knowing about this curse. If you ever need anything, you can call the doctor. There's a number on the bottle of medication. Yeah, he specializes in cryptid medicine. Love, dad, and mom. Well, that night I locked myself in my house, inside my room, and held out the needle. I heard something strange from outside, though. It caused me to stop before I injected myself. When I looked outside my window, three creatures were looking up at me from outside. I slowly put the needle down, unlocked the door to my house, and joined them. I leaned back on my chair and sighed. Even though I woke up an hour ago, the myth or boredom that awaited me this night made me sleepy. I had two jobs, one in the end of the day, the other in the beginning of the night, with a two hour sleep break in between. The night shift one, which had just started, consisted of me sitting in a small booth and guarding the door. By guarding, I mean stopping stupid little kids from sneaking in. For such a huge place, the owner didn't store anything of value. I never complained. Serious criminals didn't waste their time here, making my job easy. My tiny booth was situated at the warehouse entrance. Each night was the same. I killed time with music, phone games, singing to myself, and I was in the middle of the night. I killed time with music, phone games, singing to myself, playing with dominoes on my small desk, and finally, after an hour and a half, listening to my favourite radio show. I increased the volume on my phone, slid it on the desk, and threw my hands behind my head. The quick catchy intro passed, and Mark, the show host, spoke out with his calm, soothing voice. The clock hit the one two zero zero. It's midnight, and we are live. Shout out to the night shift, everyone within Somnia, the night hours, and all of you underage folk who should be in bed, even though you'll be getting up at 6am for school. You know how it is, I love stories, and each night we have a topic. Yesterday's sexual experiences, which put me in the hospital, attracted a lot of callers. Hopefully, tonight's topic will too. They'll be telling each other scary stories, anything from the monster under your bed to the creep stalking you at work. Hmm, look at that. Seven callers already. As we're doing horror tonight, I'm picking you caller number six, because six is my unlucky number. A quick beep signalled someone was on the line. Hey Mark, long time listener, first time caller. A man cheerfully yelled. Much appreciation for the long time fans, just tone it down a bit. Right Mark, my bad. Your name, and the story you'll be sharing. Right, so I'm Roger. You can call me Roger because we're friends. Right, I work from home, and going out is not something I like. All of my food is brought to my door, and all my bills are paid online. But don't think of me as some fat lazy bastard. Oh, never thought you were. Mark replied in a friendly tone. Right, so one evening I get hungry and order pizza. Talk to some guy on the phone, tells me it'll be delivered in five minutes. Ten minutes pass. I wait some more, and finally decide to call again. I'm all like, hey, order my pizza 15 minutes ago. Right, the guy says, you never called us. Then I'm like, yes I did. Here's what he tells me. The guy who answers their phone had been in the toilet for over 20 minutes. Can you believe that? Then the guy apologizes and takes my order. The moment I put my phone down, someone knocks. And I'm like, damn, that's fast. This guy deserves a tip. So I open the door, and see the pizza box on the floor. But no delivery guy. I'm thinking it's a free pizza to compensate for the long wait. Bring it to the table, and the thing was stone cold. I yell and throw it to the ground. Someone knocks on the door again. I open it and see a pizza delivery guy with a second pizza. But this time warm, and he wanted money for it. So, a mysterious ghost delivery guy brought you pizza. Weren't you listening? The scary part was the cold pizza. Isn't the part where Mark paused. Oh yes, cold pizza. Yeah, it really sucked. Mark cut the line mid-sentence. Oh, what a nightmare. Cold pizza. Next caller. Let's see, number... Number... Number 16. You're on the line. Yo, Mark. What's good? A low-pitched male voice greeted him. I'm doing very well. Name and story. I'm Gerald, security at the mall. This is a true story that happened to my sister's cousin. Oh, me and the listeners are all ears. We all name a cousin Ben. Not to give any personal info, you know. Ben is this really big guy. He plays football and wrestles as a hobby. He's playing football, last seconds of the game. It's up to him to win. This giant, hawk-like creature flies out from behind the bleachers, distracts him, makes him lose his mind. Everyone beats his ass after the game. Nobody saw the giant hawk thing, and they don't believe him. Maybe your sister's cousin lied, made it up to avoid admitting he was the reason they lost. You're like them. Just because it sounds crazy doesn't mean it's impossible. A beep followed, signaling the caller had hung up. Well, that was in light. Next caller, number... Number one. Muffled laughter became audible. Caller number one, you are on. Mark repeated. The laughing didn't stop. Caller number one, do you have a scary story for us? My grades. A group of kids on the other side burst into laughter. Mark cut the line. Next caller, time to pick. Number eight. Good evening, Mark. A young girl greeted him. And good evening back to you. Why are you up so late? You have school in the morning. Sleepover, my first one. Big congratulations from me and everyone. Good evening, Mark. Good evening, Mark. Oh, big congratulations from me and everyone listening. My name is Nina and I'm 13. First sleepover at 13. My mom is stuck up. She finally let me use the internet for something aside schoolwork. Oh, you shouldn't talk about your mother that way. She probably has her reasons. But back to the topic. Do you have a story for us? Oh, I sure do. This happened to me when, well, when I was younger. My parents were out. My babysitter, who used to be this super nice person, came over to make sure I didn't get in trouble. She was telling me stories when the lights went out. There was this constant feeling of dread. So we went over to a neighbor. The lights eventually came back on. We played board games and watched TV. Oh, how cute. Was the power outage what scared you? No, my babysitter. When the lights turned on, she was different. I could have sworn her eyes turned pitch black at moments. And her skin was ice cold. At the end of the night, we went back to my place. She tucked me in and said she'd check on the neighbor. There was this look in her eyes, like a cat watching a mouse. It scared me. When she left the room, I felt much better. I was so scared. I was so scared. When she left the room, I felt much safer. But I heard sounds from my neighbor. I muffled yells. Nobody believed me. He lived alone, so it took more than a week for people to realize something was going on. They found him in pieces, stuffed in the refrigerator, chew marks all across his body, and pieces of him missing. Now they believe me. And they look for the babysitter, but she disappeared. Nowhere to be found. The whore sounds really scary. Mark said in a half serious voice. Oh and Gerald, I believe you about the giant whore creature. Thanks for calling Nina. I think it's time for you to go to bed. Next caller, number 20. Your mark, it's Fred. Well hello Fred. This is the fifth time you're calling. Dude, that's so rad you remember. Now, what do you have for us? Well my job is to teach dudes and dudettes how to ride the wave. Surf's up yo. Well, I have a rule not to rock at night, but this dudette was offering serious moolah. And she was seriously gorgeous. Now before you continue, were you high? Dude, I'm a professional. You know, I don't get high when I rock. You said you were high in last night's story, but go on. Okay, this is what happens my dude. Only light is coming from the full moon. The rich dudette is super confident. Complete, I don't give a shit, I might drown level of confidence. We're in the water, when the waves start up. One of the waves knocks her off and I, all Aquaman style, jump in after. The water is really dark, I can hardly see. But I find her hand and eventually make my way down to her. Got my arm around the dudette, felt her hands touch mine and I swam up. But she stops me. Dude, it's hard to be a rock underwater. Now, she's holding me and she's pulling me even deeper. I mean, I shit you, no. Somehow I could see her entire body as if it emitted light. She was even more beautiful than before and her legs morphed into a scaly fishtail. It felt magical. Lack of oxygen and drugs also makes it feel magical. This was different my dude. She kissed me. Dude, no trip, no high, no anything compared to that. Next level ecstasy. Well, it felt long and short at the same time. Hard to explain. I woke up on the beach in the morning. She put me under an umbrella and left me a green apple and a bottle of water. And where was the horror in your story? Where was the horror? Dude, the horror is, I can't find her. I searched high and low. I searched for her. I searched for her. I searched high and low. It was like, here's what heaven's like now. Screw you. And I didn't get paid. But you can brag a mermaid kissed you. You've got that. Yeah, I guess dude. Gonna get high and listen to the rest of your show now. I know you will. Mark let out a friendly chuckle. Next caller. Number three. Do you think you can top a mermaid encounter? Oh, I sure can dear. The female voice answered. Sophia, college student and adrenaline junkie. Oh, are those two the same? Mark joked. They sure are. This is an experience I had with my ex. I'll call him jerk. I'm really into urban exploring. I finally got his bitch ass to come with me. We had a car parked in front of this abandoned asylum, which I won't name. It's nighttime. The full moon is up. The mood is on. And we enter. I walked like a boss. Well, jerk shivered behind me. Taking pictures here and there. I explored the rooms. Decided to check the basement. Here's the thing. A lot of urban explorers come to this place. There are videos and forum discussions, maps. I know the stairs go down to the basement. But now I see an open hatch at the bottom. It appeared to have been hidden by some rubble, which was moved aside. Jerk is too scared, waits in the basement while I climb down. The place looks entirely different. It was a well kept, clean corridor with a few steel doors, one of which I opened. Light came out and I heard voices. This crazy scientist looking mother with blood covered clothes, strode out and entered the neighbouring door. In fact, my lucky stars, he didn't look in my direction. Finally, sneaked in the room, he'd exited. And see this poor skinny guy strapped on a steel table. Bloody tools to his side. Some medical tubes sticking in his arm. Creepy altogether. I hate suffering, so I instinctively help. I get him off the table and rip the thing out of his arm. He's mumbling something I couldn't understand back then. Later, I learned that he was urging me to leave. I was helping him hobble towards the hatch, when I heard the crazy scientist ordering me to stop. I froze and looked back, only to see him pointing a gun at me. He looked pissed, really pissed. He glanced at his watch, locked up in the room. I looked at him, and I saw him. He looked pissed, really pissed. He glanced at his watch, locked eyes at me, and to my surprise, told me he was sorry. The wacker walked in the room, shoved the big steel door, and locked it from the inside. So I continued helping the skinny guy. He doesn't weigh a lot, so I throw him over my shoulder and climb up. Jerk is all freaked out. I quickly explain and tell him to help. One of us on each side, we carry him out to the car. He was finally able to stand up on his own. That's when shit hit the fan. He pushed me and Jerk back and ordered us to run. Jerk began asking questions, but the skinny guy widened his eyes. I'll never forget that look of pure fear and terror. His eyelids looked like they were trying to close, but couldn't. His whole body looked like he wanted to run, but just shook. The guy did this weird rapid twitching motion with his lips and fingers. He let out a shout. I can't call it a shout. A shriek yell. I don't know. It sounded like he begged a horrible pain to stop. It was so loud. His fingers stretched, and bony yellow nails ripped through their tips. All of his limbs elongated, and his skin began to tear, revealing patches of fur. Well, me and Jerk finally stopped watching the horror show and ran to the car. But the keys weren't in my pocket. They must have fallen somewhere on the way, while we were hobbling with the man. Jerk and I ran inside, searching for them. I could hear the shout through the asylum walls. A second scream emerged from deep inside, slowly growing and deafening the human one. We finally found the key, when a monstrous roar sounded, and everything went quiet. That silence was much more frightening than the loud shrieks. Slowly and carefully, we tried to walk out. Halfway through, something crunched, and both of us hid. I crawled under the reception desk, while Jerk hid behind a ripped out of its hinges door, leaning against the wall. I heard calls, similar to those of dogs. The creature moved closer. A thud came from above, and I felt its weight on the desk. A disgusting clawed hand gripped the desk, and I could hear its panting. An uncanny snout stuck under the desk and sniffed, slowly lowering and revealing more of the creature's head. Just before it took a peek, Jerk made a run for it. I heard his loud, clumsy ass. The thing on the desk instantly leaped, and everything went quiet. I was expecting gruesome sounds of flesh being torn into, but nothing. A solid hour passed, and I finally got out from under the desk. Everything was clear. No traces of blood, nothing. I walked out, got in my car, and drove off. The cops found the hatch the other day, but said it was all burned and in rubble. Jerk, the guy who tried to leave so he could save himself, was never heard of again. The other creepy part is that, when I described the skinny man to this one officer who drew faces, they found a suspect, and later confirmed it was him. Two years ago, the man looked a lot healthier, and worked as a well-paid chef. Then, he supposedly died in a car accident. A werewolf almost killed you, and your boyfriend left you to be eaten. What a night. Totally. But, in a way, I needed it. Showed me that jerk in his true colours. Oh, I'm sure you'll find someone who truly loves you, if you haven't already. I'm talking to him right now, dear. The beep followed. Next and final call. Who'll be the lucky cherry on the top to end this spooky night? Hmm, number 30. Hey Mark, awesome to be talking with you. This will be the best story of the night. A young boy shouted. Is that so? We had a ghost pizza delivery guy. A giant hawk-like creature. A man-eating babysitter. A glowing mermaid. And an ex-chef werewolf. Name and story. Oh, I'm Thomas. My buddy Billy is here. This story is going on live as we speak. Interesting. Well, we're all on the edge of our seats. The floor is yours. Me and my bud heard rumors. Our secret technology was being held in this old warehouse. So we sneaked in just a few minutes ago. Now we're looking through the crates. But so far just random shit. His voice became distant. What is it, Billy? He talked normally again. Oh, my bud heard something. We're going behind a few crates. Run! He's heavy breathing and running sounded for a few seconds before going silent. I'm hiding in one of the crates. This monster attacked us. It got Billy. Teeth spread ear to ear. Scars and stitches all over the body. His long tongue hovered out from his mouth. No! Mark ended the call. Hmm, quite a boring one to close the night with. Which I'm scared don't make a good story. Well, this is all from me for the next hour. Now it's time to enjoy some music. Ear buds in my ears, I whistled. I carried the crate where I put these two stupid little kids into my booth. Lucky me, I'll have more ways to kill time this night. I like my meat raw. I whispered and slid my long sharp nail across the top of the crate. College is a time of great paradox. You spend a good portion of your day in class and if you want to pass your classes, you need to spend a good portion of your night studying. Oh, and if you need money, you'll also need to find a job. Heaven forbid that girl you took home from the party now thinks you two are a couple. It was constant juggling act trying to balance school, study, work, girls and sleep because devoting too much time for one took away from the other. My parents weren't rich so I didn't want to ask them for money. I wasn't ready yet to join the military and let Uncle Sam pay for my college tuition. So I had to get a job. I thought I'd found the perfect one, one which paid me fairly decently while allowing me to study and do homework at the same time. Yep, I became a security guard. It wasn't a bad gig because the site which I was assigned to was an office building which was located across the street to an FBI branch office in a low crime area of the city. I got there at four in the evening and escorted office workers to their cars until the building closed at five. After five, I do a few security patrols around the building, letting the cleaning crew in at eight in the evening and letting them out again at midnight when my shift ended. In between that time I was free to study and do homework from my desk inside the security office. I was basically on my own and for six months at that site I only saw my security supervisor four times. Like I said, it was a sweet gig. Then, one Friday before my shift was to start, I got a call from the security supervisor asking me if I wouldn't mind working in the graveyard shift for a few weeks out at a site located in what was known as the Great Dismal Swamp. The hours were from eleven at night to six in the morning and because the site was so remote, the job would pay an additional three dollars an hour. I quickly agreed because I could have used the extra cash. Since I got off at six in the morning and my first class started at nine, I had plenty of time to get ready for school. I met my security supervisor at the main office at eleven that night and once again I wasn't impressed by him, which is why I was happy that I rarely saw him. He was middle aged with a beard and absolutely no muscle mass on him whatsoever. His hair was, in my opinion, too long and scraggly to inspire confidence in someone who was supposed to be a security guard and he had a bushy, porn style moustache. His hairy arms hid really tacky looking tattoos, which he said he got while he was in the Navy. They look like tattoos you get while serving time in prison. In fact, if it wasn't for the security badge and uniform that he wore, which was dishevelled and unironed, his picture looked like it should have adorned the walls of the post office. He told me to follow him and he got into his old brown, primer grey Dodge All Bundy looking mobile that had magnetic signs on the rust coloured doors that read A1 security services. I got into my brand new Chevy Camaro, which I paid for during my senior year in high school for money I'd saved working part time jobs since I was fifteen, and followed him as he screeched out of the parking lot and onto the highway. It was a Friday night and, this being a huge military town, it was military payday. The highway was packed, but traffic was moving quickly as we took the exit towards the city of Chesapeake, which was built on the great dismal swamp. We were on the road for a good forty five minutes, going deeper and deeper into farm country and passing several rivers and streams. The traffic had all but vanished long ago and the street lights were few and far between and still we hadn't reached the site. I was seriously thinking that this guy was bringing me out here to kill me and dump my body into the swamp. A suspicion that got stronger when he turned off the main, two lane road and onto a gravel road which wound between viney trees and weeping willows. The narrow road ended at a dilapidated parking lot, at the end of which stood what looked to be an abandoned two-story building. Behind the rundown looking building was a canal which connected to the Elizabeth River. One tilted light pole holding two light bulbs which flickered on and off illuminated the parking lot. And aside from the old building with vines crawling up its sides, there was nothing else in the area except dark foreboding trees, swamp and probably the ghosts of past security guards which this guy took out here to kill. To my surprise however, the creepy old abandoned building was well lit from the inside. Come on kid, said my security supervisor, let's get you inside. It's not good to stay out here for long. Huh? I said. Well, nothing he answered. As we continued walking, I saw several other rundown structures next to the building. These were not illuminated and hung in the shadows. As we got closer to the building, I saw that it had been vandalized with several windows broken out and there was spray painted graffiti on the walls. There was also a slightly foul smell in the air, like wet rotting vegetation mixed with sweaty gym socks that had been left inside your gym bag in the trunk of your car for a week. This used to be an old paper mill a few years back, said my security manager as he opened the door into the brightly lit main lobby. The door hadn't been locked. The mill went out of business and just sat here until it was bought by a Dutch company that wants to start it back up sometime next year. Till then they want us to keep watch over the facility to, well, discourage vandals and such. We walked down the main corridor which was littered with broken glass, leaves and more graffiti, past a broken set of double doors and towards a room at the end of the hallway. Doesn't look like there's been vandals here for a while. I observed as our footsteps echoed across the tomb-like building. Eh, probably not, said my supervisor. We got to the room at the end of the corridor which ended up looking like an old boiler room with rusty pipes and gauges and whatnot. A large table stretched across the wall where windows looked out across the canal outside. Three old black padded chairs were at the table. Well, here we are, said my supervisor. Be careful when you do your roving patrols as there may be some raccoons or other animals which have made this building their home. Watch out when you walk around outside for snakes and whatnot. Hey, did you bring a flashlight? Nope, I said. I wasn't told I'd need one. Eh, okay, he said. Well, let me get out of here. If you run into trouble, just call 911 and call the night shift supervisor. Give the lights on. I'll see you in the morning. Wait, I said. This seems like a pretty nice sight. Peaceful. Nobody to bug you and you get paid extra. Hmm, what's the catch? My supervisor looked annoyed. No catch, he said, leaving. Just can't get anyone to stay on this side. Roy, the new guy, quit this morning after his shift ended. Hmm, really, I said. But before I could say anything else, my supervisor said, Oh, one more thing, Ned's running late, but he'll be with you here later. Now remember, keep the lights on. He walked out before I could say anything else and I can't say I was sorry to see him go. I looked around the boiler room and saw that there was a coffee pot and an old dirty microwave at the end of the table, that I guess the previous security guards had been using, as well as an old touch-tone phone that I assume I would use to call the police if Jason Voorhees decided to rise out of the swamp and hack me to death. I figured I'd wait for a little bit and get sold in before going back out to my Camaro to get my school work. If I finish my assignment tonight, I'd be free for the rest of the weekend to use my Camaro for what it was intended for, to be a chick magnet. I sat on one of the rusty old black padded chairs and nearly fell over backwards as the back support was broken and gave out. The creaking noise seemed to echo down the hallway. I rolled it aside and tested another chair and, finding that this one was fairly stable, I sat down and scanned the table some more. I found the security duty log from the night before that was on a clipboard. The report from the new guy, Roy, was still on it, which meant that he never returned to the main office to turn it in. Apparently he'd just hauled us out of here this morning. Roy's printing was neat and tidy, all in block letters and easy to read. I wondered why he would just leave the log here when he knew he should have turned it in. Well, that's how a guard gets paid. With nothing else to do, I then read the log entries. Midnight, arrived on site. Security supervisor instructs me to ensure that the lights remain on in the building. Advised to call 911 if there's trouble. Half past midnight, conduct security patrol around inside of building. Several lights flickering on and off in upstairs corridors. 1am, lights in parking lot flickering off and on. Thought I saw movement outside. Went to investigate but found nothing. 2.15, lights in the security room have gone out. Lights in main hallway downstairs flickering off and on. Going to look for breaker box. 2.30, cannot find breaker box. But I thought I saw someone outside looking through a window in the security room. Going to investigate. 2.50, there is definitely someone outside. Called to the person but when I got around to where he was standing, he was gone. The last entry was sometime after that. I'm not sure what time it was exactly because Roy didn't write it down. However Roy's handwriting was no longer neat and uniform but shaky, almost as if he was panicked. It simply said, all lights completely out. That's not a person looking into the window. I'm out of here. I tossed the clipboard back onto the table. So what? I said to myself. Did a badger scare you away? The lights in the room flickered for a second but came back on. I thought I saw something at the window out of the corner of my eye but dismissed it as a trick of the flickering lights. I leaned back in my chair wondering when the other guard was supposed to get here. Because I usually work by myself, I didn't know too many other guards. I'd heard the name Ned before but usually is all bloody Ned. I wondered if that was the same guy. I decided that it was a good time to do a security patrol around the building to get a feel for the place. I used the term security patrol loosely as it sounded more professional than having fun exploring a creepy old abandoned paper mill. As it turned out, as far as abandoned office buildings go, it was pretty unremarkable. Downstairs had a cafeteria and break room with long aluminum tables and empty snack and soda machines. There was a front office and a conference room with empty desks and filing cabinets filled with old invoices, shipping and receiving documents and paystuffs. By the way, if you used to work for an old paper mill in Chesapeake that went out of business, you might want to know that they have all paid documents that have your bank account information still on it inside old files. The upstairs had two halls lined with offices and a storeroom which had cleaning supplies and a set of metal stairs, which led to the roof and the air conditioners. Dust and cobwebs covered the corners and walls as well as shattered glass that hadn't been disturbed for ages. And aside from the lights flickering on and off occasionally, there really wasn't anything particularly spooky about the place. I then decided to go back out to my car to grab my school backpack and the dinner that I'd packed. Two double decker smoked ham and bologna sandwiches with Swiss cheese and just the right amount of spicy mustard and mayonnaise, with a tall can of Pringles chips and a couple of ice-cold red bulls. This was going to be yummy as I'd only eaten lunch about 12 hours earlier and I was famished. I returned to the boiler room and I was in the kitchen. I was famished. I returned to the boiler room, tossed my backpack to the side and laid out my dinner, anxious to sink my teeth into those delicious sandwiches. I first rode a quick entry into the security log. 1.30 completed security patrol around building. Lights flickering occasionally but otherwise all secure. Just as I turned to grab a sandwich, all of the lights in the building went out. I sat there in pitch blackness for about two seconds, annoyed that I'd have to look for the breaker box when the lights flickered and came on dimly. The lights were flickering when I heard a shuffling noise coming from the main hallway. Slowly I got up, easing the seat back quietly in order to hear better. Yes, there definitely was something shambling down the hallway towards me. By this time the lights had come completely on again as I approached the door to the boiler room and opened it. I was immediately confronted by a terrifying apparition. He was tall and skinny with a potbelly, pale, white and old with the long wisps of white hair dangling down from his wrinkle, liver-spotted bald head. His nose and ears were large and broken teeth lined his open mouth. The apparition stared at me through crazy looking eyes. Well, you must be Ned, I said, reading the name on his dirty uniform. His uniform looked worse than my supervisors. And Ned smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. That's me, boy, said Ned, pushing past me and walking towards the table. Oh, bloody Ned, they call me. Sorry I'm late, my son had to go pick me up after the bar closed so I could get here. Ned slumped down on the seat I was sitting in. He'd obviously worked this site before. Yeah, send me here to keep you company, boy. It appears all you young folks are too afraid to be out here in the swamps by yourselves. Mmm, sandwiches. Ned picked up one of my delicious double-decker smoked ham and bologna sandwiches with swiss cheese and just the right amount of spicy mustard and mayonnaise and began chomping down at it. Hey, that's my t- Do you know why this place chases off so many people? Said Ned, ignoring me. Because of you, I said, slumping down on the broken chair. Don't mess with me, boy, said Ned, chunks of bread flying out of his mouth as he spoke. I swear kids today have no class. No, boy. Take a look out the window, across the canal. You see all them trees out there? Nope, I said. I see the reflection of some old guy eating my dinner in the window and a whole lot of black nights. Oh, dammit, boy, said Ned. Well, if you could see out there, that behind them trees is an Indian graveyard. Back before the white man came, this land used to belong to the Chesapeake Indians. That's me, boy. I'm part Chesapeake Indian. Okay, I said, assuming that you are telling the truth, the canal's pretty wide and the trees are far back across the bay. That'd put the graveyard pretty far from here. Ah, they moved the markers. But they left the bodies here, boy. Said Ned, here, right where they built this paper mill. They say it went bankrupt because they angered the spirits of my ancestors. I rolled my eyes at this drunken old creep. Like in that movie. What movie? Said Ned, now opening my can of Pringles. That movie where they moved the headstones but left the bodies and that little girl got sucked into the television. Then a stuffed clown tried to drag the little boy under the bed. Ned looked at me, questioning me. You on drugs, boy? Exasperated, I grabbed my other sandwich and my red balls and rolled the chair to the far end of the table where I'd thrown my backpack. At least I could get some school work done. I took out one of my extremely overpriced textbooks and turned my back to Ned. I tried to get into the zone to do my homework. You afraid of blood, boy? Asked Ned. Because I can't stand boys who are afraid of blood. I always say that you don't deserve to call yourself a man if you're afraid of blood. I'm afraid of blood. I always say that you don't deserve to call yourself a man if you're afraid of blood. Hell, you may not deserve to live if you're afraid of blood. I slowly turned, now determined to keep an eye on this insane old man. No, don't spend too much time obsessing about blood, Ned. I said, that's the problem with you young kids these days. All weak and pathetic. I was in Narm, boy. We rode around in blood and guts every day. Blood, boy. Buckets and buckets of blood. My father did two tours of Judy in Vietnam, I answered. He is with the Marines, and he never talked about rolling around in buckets of blood. Yeah, said Ned, waving his hands dismissively. Blood isn't death. Blood's life. I hunt, you know. Mostly deer, and every time I hunt, I take the blood of my cow. I kill it, and I put it in a metal tub. Then I get all naked and climb into the tub. I absorb the life of my kills in that tub. And I take the spirit of the deer by drinking its blood. Well, I'm not hungry ever again. I said, pushing my sandwich towards bloody Ned. When my kid got old enough, I taught him how to hunt too, continued Ned. When we got his first deer kill, we drained the blood into a bucket. I made my son pour the blood over his head. Blood, baby. Blood. With all of Ned's talk of blood and guts, I could feel myself getting nauseous. You're looking kind of white there, boy, said Ned. You ain't afraid of a little blood, are you, boy? No. I said, getting up on wobbly feet. I'm gonna go do a security patrol and get some fresh air. Oh, don't let them go sketchy, boy. Cackled Ned as I left the room. Sweating, with spots appearing in my eyesight, I staggered down the hallway and stepped outside feeling instantly better. Where in the wild did they dig up that vampire? I walked to the parking lot, under the flickering light pole, and took deep breaths until the horrific images that Ned implanted in my head had faded away. It was deathly still. With the calming sounds of water rippling down the canal, mingled with the songs of frogs and crickets. Suddenly, the street light went out, and all sounds seemed to cease. Even the lights coming from the building seemed to flicker and dim. Without a flashlight, there was no point to be outside any longer. Reluctantly, I began walking back towards the building, and back to where Ned was. I decided that if he was still crazy when I got there, I'd move to the cafeteria area and spend the rest of the shift there. As I walked towards the building across that parking lot, I couldn't help but feel I was being watched. That made me not like Ned all the more, with his stories of Indian ghosts and burial grounds. The lights were still flickering as I walked down the main corridor to the boiler room. The flickering lights would make it hard to do homework, but fortunately, they usually didn't flicker for very long. By the time I reached the boiler room, the lights were back on. Ned was still in his seat, facing outside towards the window. I'm back, Ned, I said, but he didn't move. He didn't say anything. I slowly walked up behind him. I walked up to the boiler room, and I slowly walked up behind him. Ned? I stood in front of him, looking down. Ned was slumped down in the chair, eyes closed, and completely still. Ned, I said again, looking to see if his chest was rising and falling. It wasn't. Ned! I leaned forward, attempting to put my hand on his chest to feel for a heartbeat. Blood! Ned cackled as he smacked his lips, dreaming. He turned over in his seat, getting comfortable in his drunken stupa. Blood! He said again as he began snoring. Oh, damn it, Ned, I said. Then, the lights went out completely. I stood in darkness for a second, noticing that the temperature had dropped. The hair on the back of my neck raised as I slowly turned around, having that eerie feeling again that I was being watched. Outside the window, hands pressed against the glass, was what appeared to be a very, very white little boy staring at me. Though he was pure, ghostly white, he had the round face, round nose, and round facial features of a Latino or Native American. Short hair looking like it was cut in a bowl cut fashion, framing two abnormally large eyes, coloured pitch black, and his mouth was wide open as if in a silent scream. As I stood there, too shocked and terrified to move, the most ridiculous thought came into my mind. God, you aren't nearly as creepy as bloody old Ned. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I knew that the little boy was staring right through me. Slowly he began to fade as if being called back or swallowed by the darkness until he disappeared. Soon even his little handprints on the window were gone. When the boy faded away, the lights immediately came back on. Strangely, even though I was terrified, I didn't sense anything malicious coming from the apparition. I took my backpack to the abandoned cafeteria here, in order to do my schoolwork, thinking that if the little boy Pocahontas had a problem with us, he'd come back and get old bloody Ned. In fact, please get old bloody Ned. I was working on my assignment for so long that I didn't realise it was almost time for shift change. To my surprise, my security supervisor came into the building at around 15 minutes before shift change. Old bloody Ned was asleep the whole time until the shift change. Then he finally woke up. My security supervisor shambled down the corridor, smelling of alcohol. His eyes bloodshot, and he was obviously hungover. Old bloody Ned awoke and stumbled to the supervisor. Hey, son! Old bloody Ned said. Son, I thought. Hey, Pa! Said my supervisor. Yeah, I bought the car for you, Dad. Oh, I thought. That figures. Old bloody Ned is my insane supervisor's father. Hey, how'd your shift go? Asked the supervisor. Well, Ned pointed at me. Ah, this little boy spent the night shaking in his pants, son. Hell, I couldn't keep him awake through his shift. He's a fricking coward, son. My supervisor was asleep. Boy, you are a pathetic sack of lazy crap, ain't you? Not really, I said. Old bloody Ned got into the old, rusty dodge and drove away, saying, I'll be back to pick you up at one o'clock, son. Your sister will be on stage at Galleria Boob's at one o'clock, and we need to give her as much support as we can when she climbs on that pole. This old bloody Ned dreamed of going to the police. He said, I'll be back in a minute. I said, I'll be back in a minute. He climbed on that pole. This old bloody Ned drove away. I turned to my supervisor. Hey, man, I said. I have a suggestion. My supervisor rolled his eyes. What do you want, you cowardly little college boy? I let his remarks slide off me, as I said. Look, this is a pretty easy sight. During the graveyard shift, there doesn't need to be two people here. When I come back tonight, all bloody Ned does not need to be here. I live in a small city in England, and currently in my final year of university. I am not your average student. I don't socialize and I don't have any real friends. I prefer the company of my own thoughts. In my spare time, I like to hike. I watch movies or, if it's warm enough, read books in the sunshine. For the first year of university, I also cycled a lot. That was my main hobby back then. I loved exploring the countryside that surrounds my city. Gave me a sense of freedom and calmed down my raging anxiety. Made me feel at peace with the world. When all good things eventually come to an end, and so did this. I was a little bit worried about the future. I was a little bit worried about the future. I eventually came to an end, and so did this. After a while, I realized that I'd explored all there was to explore, and my cycling tricks began to feel tedious and pointless. I decided to try something different. Night cycling. I know a lot of people would frown at the idea of cycling through deserted country roads at midnight by yourself. And my family definitely didn't approve when I told them about it some time later. But I wasn't worried. I'd spent enough time outside to know the world isn't as dangerous as the news would have you believe. Serial killers don't wait around every corner waiting to murder random people. And I didn't believe in the supernatural. I wanted to believe, and that was one of the reasons I decided to try night cycling in the first place. Maybe, just maybe, I'd see something out of the ordinary. Something that would make me believe that there's more to this mundane world meets the eye. And that there are hidden things lurking just out of sight. Although I might sound like it, I definitely wasn't brave. Every time I left the safety of the lit city streets and entered the ominous darkness that hung thickly over the countryside, I felt my heart throbbing in my throat and all my hair standing on end. It was a whole other world, shadows playing tricks on my eyes, snapping twigs and rustling leaves stakingling the presence of creatures unseen. My imagination ran wild whenever I looked into the darkness that surrounded the small bubble of ghostly light in front of me. One month passed, then two, then three, and nothing happened. As I was planning another midnight excursion, it occurred to me that these two had begun to feel tedious. The tension that accompanied my night rides was tiring and, once again, it all felt repetitive, pointless. I decided that I'd take a rest from cycling for a while, starting the next day. After all, I already planned my ride for the day in detail and it would pass through segments I'd never been through before. As always, I went through the entire route using Google Street View. I'd started doing that some time ago after I encountered some unwelcome surprises on my rides. It also let me familiarize myself with the route, which decreased my chances of getting lost and having to pull up Google Maps in the middle of nowhere. I didn't like stopping on my night rides. I felt vulnerable in the lack of wind rushing past me created an eerie, uncomfortable silence. I saw that there was nothing wrong with the route, but one segment did bother me. I had to pass through a small pedestrian pathway that connected two parallel roads. I zoomed in as much as I could from both ends, but the image Street View gave me wasn't of much help. All I saw was a blurry pathway passing through dense trees. I wasn't happy about it. You see, I once accidentally took a wrong turn and had to cycle through a forest. It was so dark and I was so creeped out that in that forest I took another wrong turn and ended up lost in the woods in the dead of night. I found my way out in what was probably about ten minutes. After all, I knew these woods pretty well, but after such an intense shock, I'm sure you can understand why I wasn't particularly keen on that little segment of my route. But the segment was very short and straight, so I figured I could survive one minute of cycling through dense trees. I felt silly as I got onto my bike that night. Having already decided to quit, I didn't have the resolve I had on all my previous excursions. Self-doubt started creeping in. Why was I doing this? Wouldn't it be better to quit today and spend the evening watching TV in a warm, cosy bed? I sighed and, nonetheless, peddled off. The ride went smoothly, as it usually did, and then I arrived at that small pathway that I had dreaded. According to my phone, at least, I couldn't see it. I went back and forth along the stretch of the road I was on, shining my flashlight until I spotted a narrow gap in the bushes in an old, worn-down, rotten sign that said, this was indeed a footpath. It was quite a way off to the left of where it was supposed to be, according to Google Maps. I shrugged it off anyway, and decided that my GPS was having a fit, as it often did. Even though the road I was on happened to be a lit by old street lamps that cast a dim, grossly orange light around them, I couldn't see the tiniest bit of what was beyond the bushes. I sucked in a breath and stepped into the darkness. As soon as I did so, it occurred to me that the path was extremely uneven. Pits, large rocks and gnarly tree roots covered it, so I ended up having to carry my bicycle. Luckily, it was a road bike, so it was quite light. It didn't occur to me at the time that, when I'd looked at what was visible of the path on Street View, it appeared smooth. After a few minutes of walking, I could no longer see the orange light of the street lamps. All around me were trees, and I felt like I was walking through a forest. I tried to think happy thoughts to keep myself from panicking. I knew I wasn't in any real danger, but still, I didn't like the idea of walking through a pitch black forest, as I'd already said being on foot made me feel vulnerable, and the path went on and on and on. Unable to take it anymore, I whipped out my phone, bringing out the map. I was almost there, a few more steps and I'd be out on the road. I sped up, just as my GPS showed that I'd reached the end of the footpath. Dense, twisted trees and bushes blocked my way out. I looked at the map again. The path was completely straight. Why were there trees in my way? Why couldn't I see the road? My heartbeat quickened as I frantically began stumbling, this way and that, shining the flashlight all over the place in hopes of finding a way through this dense vegetation. The road, I thought, is just on the other side. It must be. There has to be a way through. My arms began to ache from manoeuvring the bike. The flashlight, you see, was attached to the handlebars. I crunched loudly through twigs, panic beginning to take control of my body and then I froze. I shivered, feeling a sudden chill. I could feel all the hair on my body standing on end as my skin tingled with goosebumps. I felt like I was being watched. The darkness surrounding me felt intrusive, unfriendly. I don't know how else to describe it. It felt like the darkness itself was circling around me like a lion circles around its prey. My flashlight began to flicker. I smacked it viciously. Stay on, stay on, please, God, stay on. The light died. I stood paralyzed. My breathing rapid as darkness enveloped me on all sides. And then, what felt like two ice-cold razor-sharp claws pinched the skin on my neck. I would have screamed, but my throat was too tight to allow any sound to escape. I turned around, dropping the bike and swatting empty air with both hands. Nothing. Then I felt the same sensation on my right arm. I swatted again and took a few steps backwards, bumping into something wet and furry. It rushed off immediately, leaving behind it only the stench of rotten meat. Then I felt the skin on my neck. My right arm and my left eye had been pinched all at once. This time, however, the claws went deep into my flesh and wouldn't let go no matter what I did. When I swatted at them, there was nothing. No claws, no hand, but I could feel them there. They were boring deep into my body and I could feel hot blood pouring out of the wounds. My eyes began to tear up from excruciating pain as I felt more pinches on my shoulder, my back, my stomach. They were all over me. The claws to my knees, sobbing hysterically, feeling nauseous. Just then, I saw a light. I heard the soft whirring of an engine in the distance. The pain ceased at once and the sensation of being brutally pinched everywhere at once by ice-cold razor-sharp claws just... just disappeared. My flashlight turned back on, still flickering. It was a car passing through. Its headlights flickered as it passed me just on the other side of the shrubbery. But their bright golden light was enough for me to spot a break in the bushes. Without wasting a second, I grabbed my bike and raced through it, rushing out onto the road just as the car disappeared around the corner. I've never in my life been so happy to see a road. Immediately, my flashlight went dark again. I got onto my bike quicker than ever before and pedalled furiously just as I felt something ice-cold touch the back of my neck. After about a minute of pedalling blindly along the road, my flashlight turned back on. No flickering this time. As soon as I returned to my dorm, I locked myself in my room and then rushed over to the mirror. My clothes were soaked with blood. But when I lifted them, there were no wounds. There were only a few small scrapes and bruises. I felt extremely nauseous. I didn't sleep that night. I just sat in bed staring at the wall and trying to piece together what had happened, all the time expecting to feel the touch of ice-cold claws on my bare skin. I spent weeks looking through various websites about cryptids and paranormal reports from around my area, but I couldn't find anything remotely similar to what I had experienced. If anyone listening to this has any idea what it was, then please tell me I'll be eternally grateful. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep ever since that incident. I keep having these vivid, almost lucid nightmares. Needless to say, I no longer go cycling at night. I try not to go out after dark at all unless it's absolutely necessary. On the rare occasion that I find myself alone on a dark, quiet footpath at night with trees nearby, I swear I can feel a chilly breeze coming out of nowhere, carrying with it the faint stench of rotten meat. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks is always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, let us ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review, as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye bye.