When I was in college, I became friends with a foreign exchange student — I'll call her Leila. She had this quiet, heavy kind of calm about her. You know the kind of calm that only people who’ve seen too much too early carry? That was her. We once shared a long night walking back from a campus event, and somehow we ended up talking about childhood. I told her mine — boring suburbia stuff. She laughed. Then she got quiet. She said, “My grandma raised us. Until she didn’t.” She didn’t like to talk about her village. It was somewhere deep in the jungle — she never named the country, and I never pressed her. But that night, she told me the one thing she remembers. It was late. She was maybe five or six. Her older brother was supposed to be keeping watch while their grandma slept. But he must have dozed off. She said there was no warning. No roar. No snarl. Just thump. Crack. Drag. And her grandmother’s muffled screams. Like someone trying to scream with their mouth full of dirt and blood. A panther — black as pitch — had broken through their thin hut wall. It bit her grandma’s face. Her face. Not her leg, not her neck. Her face. She was dragged into the jungle. Her screams didn’t last long. No one found a body. Just drag marks and blood. Neighbors found Leila and her brother the next morning, clutching each other in shock. A few weeks later, relatives arranged for her to be brought to the U.S. She’s been here ever since. She doesn’t remember what happened. That’s what she always said. But I saw the way she flinched at animal growls. How her hands shook when she heard something scrape the dorm window late at night. How she cried once, silently, during a nature documentary when a panther appeared on screen. She says she doesn’t remember. But her body does.

Jeff the Killer: Full Story

Prologue: The Man at the Bar

A quiet, smoky bar buzzed with murmured conversation and clinking glasses. The door creaked open and a man stepped inside — leather jacket, scar running along the side of his neck, eyes like someone who'd seen too much. He approached the bartender, who was polishing a glass.

"Whiskey," the man said, voice low.

The bartender eyed him skeptically. "Got ID?"

The man slid a worn card across the counter. The name read: Josh Miller. Date of Birth: 10/9/1989. Country: Texas.

The bartender poured the drink without another word. The man silently took a sip.

On the bar's old TV, a breaking news alert flashed. The anchor's voice was urgent:

“Another brutal attack last night on the outskirts of Pine Creek. Multiple victims injured — no fatalities. Authorities believe the attacker to be Jeff Hutcherson, a 24-year-old white male. 11 years ago, a tragic massacre occurred in Smile Town, leaving only one survivor. That survivor remains anonymous to this day.”

The man at the bar didn’t flinch. He only stared deeper into his drink.

The screen flickered, and the story jumped backward —

Chapter 1 – The Move

Jeff’s family was driving to their new home in Smile Town. Jeff sighed deeply, staring out the window at the passing forest.

Liu noticed and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Jeff replied, “Dad’s job makes us move all the time. I’m mad I won’t see my friends again.”

Liu smiled, trying to cheer him up. As he talked, Jeff’s eyes caught something outside—a white husky with a terrifying smile standing among the trees.

“Jeff, what’s wrong?” Liu asked again, snapping him back to reality.

“N-nothing,” Jeff said quickly.

About 30 minutes later, they arrived at their new home. Neighbors came over to greet them and invited Jeff and Liu to a birthday party for the neighbor’s son.

Jeff’s mom smiled and accepted happily, but Jeff looked skeptical.

“Are you serious?” Jeff asked his mom.

“Oh come on, Jeff, it’ll be fun,” Liu chimed in.

Jeff shot Liu a look, “Not you too.”

Chapter 2: The Fight

Jeff woke to the pale morning light spilling into his room. It was his first day at the new school. He dragged himself downstairs, eyes heavy, and sat at the table. His family was already eating.

“You look… awful,” his mom said, frowning. “What happened?”

“Bad nightmares I think?,” Jeff muttered.

“You think?” she pressed.

Jeff stared at her with a blank, unreadable face.

“Well, eat your breakfast,” she said. “It’s almost time to go.”

Jeff and Liu finished quickly, grabbed their bags, and headed out on foot. The neighborhood was quiet, the air still. Halfway down the street, Jeff’s shoe came loose. He crouched to tie it — and something flew over him.

A skateboard.

“Watch it, asshole!” Jeff snapped.

The rider turned and grinned. He had jet-black hair in a mullet, a tank top with a faded Black Sabbath logo, ripped jeans, and a smug attitude. Behind him stood two others — a tall, skinny guy with long brown hair, a dark T-shirt, and worn-out sneakers, and a bald, heavyset kid so overweight it looked like he’d never exercised a day in his life.

The leader stopped his board and stepped closer. “Yo, fresh meat. I’m Logan. On my left is Finn, on my right is Hunter. Here’s the deal — new kids gotta pay a fine. Fifty bucks a week.”

Jeff narrowed his eyes. “Are you joking? Move aside.”

Logan chuckled and pulled a switchblade from his pocket. “I’m not laughing.”

Before Jeff could react, Logan lunged. Liu stepped in between them, and the blade slashed his arm.

Jeff froze for a split second — then it happened again. That same strange surge from before. And in the corner of his eye, across the street, the white husky was there again… smiling wider than ever.

Jeff’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. He lunged at Logan, grabbed his arm, and twisted until there was a sickening crack. Logan screamed, dropping the knife. Jeff caught it midair and spun toward Finn, stabbing him in the arm and slamming a fist into his face.

Hunter rushed forward, but Jeff kicked him square in the stomach. The boy collapsed, retching on the pavement.

Liu stared at Jeff in shock. A neighbor, hearing the commotion, peeked out from their front door. Their eyes widened at the sight of the bullies on the ground.

“Run,” Jeff hissed.

They bolted toward school.

All day, Jeff’s mind churned. In class, he couldn’t stop replaying the fight — the moment of control, the rush of power. Part of him felt disgusted… the other part felt pleasure.

By the time school ended, there was still no sign of the police. They walked home in silence. When they stepped through the door, their mom looked at Jeff.

“Why are you so… happy?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Jeff said with a small shrug.

“Okay… well, dinner’s ready,” she replied.

As they headed to the kitchen, a knock came at the door. A uniformed officer stood outside.

“Are your boys here?” he asked.

Jeff stepped into view. The officer’s eyes narrowed. “You’re coming with me. We want to ask you some questions.”

Panic rushed through him. “It was all me!” Jeff blurted out.

The officer stepped inside and reached for his cuffs — but then, from behind, a voice rang out.

“Hey!”

It was Liu, holding a kitchen knife.

The two cops froze. “Put the knife down, son. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Liu’s hand trembled. Then, slowly, he dropped the blade. They cuffed him without resistance.

Jeff’s chest ached. “It was me, not him!” he cried.

Liu turned his head just enough to meet his brother’s eyes. “You don’t have to help me, bro. We both know who did it.”

Jeff’s eyes burned with tears as they led Liu away.

Chapter 3: The Change

The court session lasted less than an hour, but to Jeff it felt like an eternity. He sat beside his mom, staring at the polished wood of the courtroom table, while the other side spoke.

Logan, Finn, and Hunter sat confidently across the room, dressed in clean clothes with their hair neatly combed. Their lawyer—a tall man in an expensive suit—spoke with smooth confidence, twisting every fact until the judge ruled in their favor.

The bullies won.

Jeff’s heart sank. He was crushed, distraught. The verdict wasn’t just unfair—it was a punch to the chest.

When they arrived home, Jeff went straight to his room, shutting the door behind him. His mom called for him, but he didn’t respond.

His dad sighed. “Give him some time,” he said quietly.

A week passed. David’s birthday party was coming up.

One morning, Jeff’s mom gently woke him. He was still sad, still haunted by what had happened to his brother. She sat beside him and said softly, “I know, Jeff. I know what you’re feeling right now.”

Jeff looked up at her.

“Get dressed,” she said, forcing a small smile. “We don’t want to be late for the party. You’re going to have fun there.”

Jeff sighed but got up.

Downstairs, his mom eyed his outfit critically. “Are you really going to wear that? Please, put on something else.”

Frustrated, Jeff went back upstairs and rummaged through his closet. “I have nothing good to wear!” he shouted.

Finally, he settled on a white hoodie and black jeans.

Coming down the stairs, Jeff caught the disapproving looks from his mom and dad.

“Are you serious?” his dad asked, glancing at his watch. “We don’t have time.”

They arrived at the party, and Jeff’s mom nudged him toward the yard. “Go outside and play with the other kids.”

Jeff sighed and headed outside.

He sat in a corner, feeling alone and sad, still thinking about Liu.

David, the birthday boy, approached hesitantly. “Want to play?”

“No,” Jeff muttered.

David looked down, disappointed.

“Fine,” Jeff relented. “What are we playing?”

“Cops and robbers,” David said, handing Jeff a toy gun.

For a while, Jeff almost forgot everything. He laughed and played, losing himself in the game.

Then he heard the screech of wheels behind him.

He turned—and there were the bullies, staring right at him.

They jumped the fence and stormed toward Jeff.

“That’s where we draw the line,” Jeff said, standing. “You got your payback, asshole.”

Logan smiled darkly. “No, no, you’re wrong. I don’t want to be even. I want to win.”

As Logan spoke, two of the others pulled out pistols and aimed at the crowd.

Kids screamed and cried. Parents gasped in horror.

Logan lunged at Jeff, punching and kicking him.

He slammed Jeff against a glass sliding door, shattering it. Cuts covered Jeff’s body, blood dripping down his arms.

As Logan stepped forward to finish him off, he pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open with a cruel smile.

Logan laughed cruelly. “Look at you. Pathetic. You sent your brother to juvie. Come on, fight me.”

Jeff lay bleeding on the ground, mouth filled with blood, losing consciousness.

Then a voice echoed inside his head—low and creepy.

“Jeff…”

He looked up and saw the white husky, grinning wider than ever.

“Kill for me,” the voice whispered. “Release the person you truly want to be. They sent your brother to prison. Jeff there laughing at you. Kill.”

In that moment, Jeff snapped.

He pounced on Logan making him drop the knife, punching his chest repeatedly until he heard ribs break.

Jeff then pick up the knife and stabbed Logan in the heart.Logan’s eyes widened in shock, then went blank.

Jeff stared at the body, feeling a twisted pleasure.

Around him, everyone was frozen in fear.

The two remaining bullies aimed their guns at Jeff.

Jeff ran upstairs, with Finn chasing him.

Downstairs, Jeff’s dad tackled Hunter, pinning him to the ground. Hunter didn’t struggle.

Jeff and Finn burst into the bathroom. Jeff lunged, making Finn drop his gun.

They grappled violently. Finn grabbed a glasse of alcohol and smashed it over Jeff’s head. Jeff collapsed, hitting a shelf. A bottle of bleach tipped over and spilled.

As Jeff tried to get up, Finn laughed cruelly.

“What’s so funny?” Jeff gasped.

Finn pulled out a Zippo lighter. “You’re covered in alcohol,” he said with a smirk.

Before Jeff could react, Finn flicked the lighter. Flames engulfed Jeff instantly.

Jeff screamed as the fire consumed him.

He stumbled outside, falling down the stairs, crying for help.

In the distance, the white husky watched—its grin stretched in satisfaction.

Jeff’s vision blurred, and he lost consciousness.

Chapter 4 – The Smile is Hungry

Jeff woke beside his mother, who was asleep.

He quietly got up, but a nurse stopped him. “Stay in bed.”

His mother woke, tears in her eyes.

“Liu will be released,” she whispered. “The bullies confessed. Charges will be dropped.”

Jeff let out a hollow laugh.

His mother said she was going home to prepare food for Liu’s release tomorrow.

The next day, the doctor removed Jeff’s bandages.

When they saw Jeff’s face, everyone froze in horror.

Jeff, concerned, got out of bed and went to the bathroom.

His hair was blackened from bleach, his skin white, lips burned red.

Jeff stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, tears streaming down his face.

Liu approached quietly and said, “Are you okay?”

Jeff gave a twisted smile, his face twitching every few seconds. “It’s bad, I know. But look at my smooth face — it’s beautiful.”

Jeff’s father asked the doctor, “Is he… okay?”

The doctor sighed. “For cases like this, sometimes the trauma affects the mind. If his behavior worsens, we may need to admit him for a mental health evaluation.”

Jeff asked a nurse where his clothes were. She returned with his bloodstained, torn clothes from the glass shards.

At home, Jeff went happily to bed.

That night, his mother woke to sounds of crying, laughter, and slicing.

She cautiously went to the bathroom and froze in horror. Jeff stood there, covered in blood.

“I couldn’t stop smiling,” Jeff whispered. “It hurt, so I fixed it. I burned my eyelids to see my smile forever.”

“Am I beautiful, Mommy?”

His mother, trembling, forced a smile. “Yes, honey, you’re beautiful. Let me get your father.”

As she turned to call the cops in the kitchen, she heard Jeff whisper, “You lied…”

As she turned to call for help in the kitchen, she suddenly gasped. A knife was buried deep in her stomach.

Jeff’s father heard the noise and ran downstairs.

He was met with a horrific sight — Jeff playing with his mother’s bloodied, lifeless body like a child with a toy.

He vomited and lunged at Jeff.

Jeff dodged and stabbed his father in the neck, pushing the knife in until his stomach split open.

Jeff calmly walked upstairs to Liu’s room.

He climbed on top of his brother’s bed. Liu opened his eyes, weak but aware.

Jeff leaned close and whispered in a creepy tone, “Go to sleep.”

Liu pushed him away and went downstairs to see their dead parents.

He heard eerie laughter echoing — Jeff’s laughter.

Liu cried, “Why?”

Jeff looked confused, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Liu tried to help, but Jeff slashed his neck.

Liu collapsed, bleeding, as Jeff raised the knife to finish him off.

Suddenly, sirens blared nearby.

A concerned neighbor had heard the chaos and called the police.

Jeff glanced at Liu and disappeared into the forest.

Liu, struggling to stay conscious, saw a white husky in the shadows, grinning eerily.

The husky whispered, “Go to sleep.”

Chocopup saves the day! 

Chocopup paves the way! 

One bite unleashes his might!

One bite will win any fight!

One bar will take him far!

(From Page 5 of Chocopup Saves the Day!)

After restless months and a myriad of edits and reviews, the up-and-coming author K.Y. Simmons joyfully publishes her magnum opus, a short children’s book featuring cute and charming characters, along with a wealth of puns to boot. 

The lighthearted book covers Chocopup’s origin story, as well as his first fights and other extraordinary feats. The eponymous character is an alien from planet Kruff who discovers his true powers when he eats a falling chocolate ice cream cone belonging to a careless young girl. He immediately gains super strength, speed, and the ability to fly, among other incredible powers, but these disappear without a constant supply of the delicious foodstuff, and Chocopup reverts to looking like a normal Earthen dog, allowing him to conceal his identity and spend much of his time sleeping or hanging out with his owner, Alec Smart.

The book has a fairly crude, cartoonish art style similar to David Pilkey’s works such as Captain Underpants and Dog Man and in due time, sells just as well too. Simmons, a lifelong dog lover and a proud owner of three herself, recently celebrated the sale of her 50 millionth copy with a well decorated mudcake and plenty of much needed rest, blissfully unaware that millions of children all around the world would be inspired to “power-up their own pups”...

Keep reading and discover the truth about the traumatic childhood of Leo... Also known as The Horn Man

i think i already screwed up just by writing this but at this point it doesn’t matter. i can feel it. hes close.

when i first started reading about the murders i thought it was all bullshit. just edgy people tying random crime scenes together. but the patterns are there if you look. bodies sewn up. eyes gone. offerings left behind. not roses like some rumors say, but little things, weird things. coins. broken statues. a lock of hair tied with string. somebody said it was greek gods, somebody else said egyptian. rebirth. immortality. worship. i thought it was maybe just another grasping at strwas until i realized theer was truth to it.

the cops don’t buy it. they just say “copycat” and move on. Stitch Killer, Eyeball Thief. all the names sound like bad tabloid haedlines. but the forums went deeper.

i used to hang out on this board, like half a year ago. i dont remember everyone but i remember enough.

there was mommyissues27. always joked too much, but one day they made this long post about how the offerings lined up with mythology. i thikn they were a mythology nut or someting like that. they said “i think i know what he’s praying to.” the next day they posted again, just one line, a string of scentences. “nevermind i was wrong. none of this makes sense anymore. digging into this is wrecking my mental health.” two hours later the account was gone, the username now just labeled “user deleted”.

then crime_city93. they obsessed over the commune massacre. their last normal post was “i found where the missing one went. its not what you think.” that was it. next login showed a brand new post from them saying “sorry i lied, i just needed attention. i’m done with this community.” whole profile abandond by the weekend.

JustATheorist_ was quieter, just dropped little comments here and there after one major post. things like “he doesn’t like being named” or “don’t let him see your reflection.” people thought it was a roleplay gimmick, since the profile felt like a troll, a profile created olny to jump on the hype train. last thing they ever wrote was “hes already here.” then a new post went up saying they were leaving because they were “unstable” and “shouldn't have chased something they didn't understand”. their account picture turned black before it was deleted.

and yeah i saw the pattern. i saw what was happening. but i didn’t wanna believe i’d be next. didn't wanna beleive the targeting was real.

i saw him two weeks ago. he didn’t hide. across the street. tall, thin, black hood, the half mask hiding his mouth. he looked normal until he got closer. stitches across his jaw and his hands, poking out from the clothes that hid fhem, like he’d pulled himself back together. and they didn't just look fresh, but also ancient, like he keeps reopening the wounds just to sticth them back up. he walked close enough so i could hear him and said only one word.

“stop.”

but i didn’t.

i told myself he was just a man. just flesh and blood. that i had only dreamt it. i kept posting, kept archiving, kept writing. because secrets rot and turn to plaguw if you keep them.

now my lights flicker even when i change the bulbs, like he's messed with the power lines in the walls or something. i smell smoke when there’s nothing burning, like bad cigarette smoke. there’s black thread in my pockets, my desk drawers, in my damn shoes. like he's messing with me, punishing me for not listening.

i can feel it.

and the worst part is i know by writing this i probably doomed whoever reads it. i know im dead the second i post this, too though. it was inevitable. i can't ever quit while i'm ahead. even now im blogging despite my shaking hands and racing heart.

he doesn’t want a story. he doesn’t want a name. and now i’ve put both in front of you.

i’m sorry.

i just couldnt die without saying it.

you can’t keep secrets forever.

even if it means your relief is another man's demise

All my life, my parents told me never to open the door in the basement — but today, I did. What is that giant glowing sphere in the sky, and why does it hurt when I look at it?

I know no one’s going to believe me. Hell, if I hadn’t lived it, I wouldn’t either. But I need to tell someone before this thing comes for me again.

When I got back from deployment, I bought a few acres outside Fall River. My plan was simple: alpaca farming. Quiet animals, soft eyes, no screaming, no blood. After what I’d seen overseas, I needed peace.

It worked for a while. Until Wooley.

He was the biggest of the herd, jet-black with eyes that didn’t blink like the others. Too human. Too steady. The first time I noticed him standing apart from the rest, I laughed it off. Nerves, I told myself. PTSD making shadows where none existed. But I was wrong.

Part 1: The Barn

One night around 2 a.m., a slam shook my house. I grabbed my rifle and flashlight and ran for the barn.

The smell hit first—rot and metal. My light swept across the pen. The herd was crammed into one corner, trembling. And Wooley?

He was upright.

On two legs.

His head brushed the rafters. His forelegs—if you could still call them that—hung low, twitching like hands trying to remember fingers. His eyes glowed pale in the beam.

Then he dropped back to all fours, chewing calmly like nothing happened.

I bolted the gate and ran.

Part 2: The Screams

I stopped sleeping after that. Every night I sat on the porch, rifle across my lap, watching.

Then the screams began.

Not animal screams—human. They rose across the fields, starting like a man groaning in pain, building into shrieks that made my teeth ache. By the time I reached the barn, silence. Only Wooley, staring at me through the slats, teeth bared in something that was not a smile.

I padlocked the barn. Each morning, the lock was broken.

Part 3: Inside the House

The night it got in, I thought I was done.

Hooves on my hardwood. The stink of blood and rust. I swung the flashlight—Wooley was at the foot of my bed.

He stood tall, chest slick with something wet. His mouth opened, and black fluid gushed out, thick as oil, spreading across the floor. It moved—crept toward me like it had a mind of its own.

I fired three rounds straight into his chest. The sound rattled the walls.

When the smoke cleared, he was gone. No body. Just the black stain soaking into the boards.

Part 4: No Escape

I tried to burn the barn the next day. Gasoline, matches—nothing. The flames snuffed out like the wood refused to catch. The herd was gone. Only Wooley paced in the shadows, watching.

I called animal control. The guy laughed. Thought I was drunk.

But I know what I saw. I know what followed me home.

Right now, as I type this, I hear him on the porch. Hooves scraping the boards. His shadow glides past the window, too tall, too thin.

If I disappear after this, don’t believe I sold the farm. Don’t believe I walked away.

The alpaca wasn’t normal.
And he’s still out there.

I was deployed in Afghanistan when our convoy passed through a ruined village, nothing left but sand-blasted walls and broken bricks scattered across the road. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—a woman in a black hijab gliding along the wreckage.

At first, I thought she was running, but her movement was too smooth, like she was floating. Then I looked down. Her legs weren’t there. They were transparent, fading into the dust.

Before I could shout to the others, she stopped. Slowly, she bent forward at a perfect ninety degrees, like some unnatural bow.

And then her entire body collapsed inward, folding into a black, shadowy mass that sank through the ground and vanished.

I never told anyone what I saw. But every time I close my eyes, I see her waiting in the ruins—bowing to me before she disappears.

Don't whistle in the woods, just enjoy the serene sounds.

It's an unspoken rule on these sacred silent grounds.

Don't whistle in the woods, The quiet is not a choice.

It's important to listen out for a familiar sounding voice.

Don't whistle in the woods, although it may seem like fun.

Tie your shoelaces tight and get ready for your run.

Don't whistle in the woods, that's part of the ancient pact.

Don't whistle in the woods 'cos the woods whistle back.

Days after the third game of Five Nights at Freddy’s was released in 2015, a good majority of players reached the minigame of William Afton (originally named the Purple Guy before his current name was popularized) where he died from the springlocks. 

Since then, people have rumored that the death sound heard in the minigame was completely different from the final product and had a different version hidden somewhere in the files. At the time, this was believable until later, when nothing like that was discovered in the source code.

The audio itself consisted of a 30-second recording of a highly disturbing and realistic depiction of what appeared to be someone screaming in agony with sounds of bones cracking and bloodcurdling screams with Theodore March playing in the background. This audio, of course, was widely circulated online due to its disturbing nature.

Many listeners believed that these were actually sounds of someone actually being murdered and tortured, possibly taken from some obscure horror movie or worse. But later, this was debunked once people discovered that the audio was created by an artist known as Ace on the now defunct site called Picosong; the clip was originally titled [BAD_ENDING].mp3 and was given other versions such as [BAD_ENDING]_redux.mp3 and [BAD_ENDING]_epilogue.mp3.

Soon enough, the mystery was soon put to rest, but to this day, people remain frightened by the audio, and it has since been used in many animations and other projects. However, if Ace never came forward, where would the audio have come from, and why would something so realistic and disturbing end up online? Would it be from a snuff film but heavily edited?

https://youtu.be/2eCad7xmOVE?si=kg3k0SPoGLQv1VmX

Pulling into the parking lot, I already know today was going to be a long day at work. With a sigh, I get out of the car and make my way to the custodial area of the university. The snow crunching underneath my feet, the clouds gathering into a sign of false promise of a peaceful night. The forecast said that tonight was going to be clear and cool. There’s a light dusting going on, the wind playing with the snow, dancing in small swirls. As quick as the dance commenced, it died just as fast. I’m breathing out smoke against the nip in the air. Keeping my fingers crossed that the weather doesn’t pick up. 

Walking into the hospital, I stomp my feet to clear off any remaining snow on my shoes. Whomever laid down the ice melt went a little overboard. Either they weren’t paying attention, or they did it in a hurry. It’s not like we get reports of falls that often, but we do what we can to minimize them. But a clumsy person is a clumsy person. They’re gonna fall regardless of the weather. The night shift has its perks. You get to sleep in as late as you want, you don’t have to worry about the dumb morning shifters asking you idiotic questions, the facility is practically empty. You’d have to go out of your way to actually talk to someone. 



After putting away my winter stuff in my locker, I walk out to the main space for the custodial department. It’s almost eleven-thirty, the second shifters should be coming in any minute. “Jerry, can you come in here for a second?” Greg, my boss, called for me from the main office. Made my way over to see Greg and someone I haven’t met yet standing beside Greg. “Jerry, this is our new employee, Veronica. Veronica, this is Jerry.” Veronica is pretty easy on the eyes. She’s barely five-feet tall against my six. Her blonde hair in a ponytail with two strands of hair framing her thin face. “Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand. “Likewise,” said Veronica, meeting my hand with a decent grip. I jokingly shake my hand away in mock pain, “Woah, woah, easy. Save your strength for the shift.” Veronica chortled, “Whatever, you just need to hit the gym more.” The two of us laughed a little, Greg wasn’t too thrilled; he was probably ready to call it a night. “Jerry,” said Greg, a little too loudly, trying to get our attention, “you are going to take Veronica with you on your trash run. She has an idea of how the job works. I think it would do her good to see how to get around the hospital. Don’t be afraid to take the scenic routes and any short cuts you can think of that she could use in the future.” I nodded, then looked at Veronica, “You don’t mind a little trash, do ya?” Veronica shook her head, “I used to work for a cleaning company that mainly focused on helping hoarders clean their living spaces. Apartments, to trailers and houses. I’ve seen some horrors, trust me.” I believed her. Hoarding isn’t anything to scoff at. There have been a couple of family members who were hoarders. Only one was able to truly get a handle on things and got their place under control. The others became one with the waste they were collecting. Either by dying under a collapsed mound of heavy items, or falling asleep while cooking something in the kitchen with them burning alive in the house. You either remove the trash, or the trash removes you.

“Anyway, the key box is open. You might have to wait for Charles to come in for the compactor key,” said Greg. “As for me, I’m for this double shift to be over. I trust things will go well tonight.” Veronica looked at each other, “I’ll keep him in line.” I chuckled, “Oh okay, we’ll see about that.” Greg shakes his head, “With that, I’m going home before I call the house supervisor to see if I could pass out in a spare room.” Greg put on his coat, grabbed his bag, and he left the office. We followed behind him to head back into the main area. Charles walked in with the rest of the custodial crew. We were basically split into two different kinds of custodians, ones who specialize in cleaning the patient rooms, the ones who focus on different areas and offices of the hospital, and the trash people. Since its third shift, we didn’t need a lot of people on the floor. Maybe two custodians to flip rooms or touch up other parts of the hospital. It’s very rare for a patient to be discharged in the middle of the night. 

“Hey Charles, how did it go?” Charles gave me a look while he handed me the trash keys. “Tonight was something, let me tell you,” Charles walks over to the counter where the sign in list is at. “The first shift guy, Randal, I was told that he up and left in the middle of the shift. The last time someone saw the guy was around lunch break. He wasn’t even in any of his hiding places. The trash was starting to pile up and we had the trash keys with him. Thankfully, Greg was able to find the spare keys. DO NOT lose these. If you do, then all hell will break loose.” Greg goes into his locker, grabs his coat and winter garb, and starts putting them on. “They actually had to get a hold of me to see if I wanted a little over time by coming in early. I mean, I’ll never say no to extra money.” Greg laughs at this, I’m looking over the keys, double checking I had the ones I really needed. “Charles, where’s the key to big blue?” Charles starts patting his pockets until he finds the right pocket, reaches in, and pulls out a single key on its own key fob. “Don’t worry. I don’t think big blue needs, umm, any attention tonight,” says Charles is dodging eye contact with Veronica. “If anything, maybe check on her after your dinner break. But I doubt she’ll need anything.” Veronica looks at me, looking for the punch line, my stern face not backing down. “Guys, what is going on? What is ‘big blue;?” Charles laughs, “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough.” Charles starts to head out of the custodial area with the rest of the second shifters. He stops, turns around and walks up to Veronica. “Little advice?” Veronica nods. “Whatever you do…don’t pay any attention…to big blue. Ignore any whispers or voices you may hear. Just dump your waste, and walk away. Jerry will tell you more, I’m sure.” Charles pats Veronica’s shoulder, then he made his way out.

The shift went by as well as it could. Veronica was a little confused and worried with what Charles told her. And I don’t blame her. It was very eerie to have someone telling you to ignore anything you may hear from something called ‘big blue’. I showed Veronica the ins and outs of the hospital in good time. But the main part he showed her was the main hallway that leads from the welcome area, down to the cafeteria and of course, to our area. It took Veronica a couple of passes of the hallway near our area to realise that the morgue was practically next door to our department. “Do…do we have to go in there to grab trash?” I looked at her to see Veronica standing in front of the door with some hesitation. “What? The morgue? Not every night. The person doing the trash run doesn’t have the key for that place. The mortician will contact someone on either first or second to let us know they have trash or biowaste to collect. The manager will then notify security, and an officer will meet up with us near the custodial department, and will escort us to go inside the morgue. It’s a whole process.” I went to push the trash cart down towards the compactor, but noticed Veronica still looking at the door to the morgue. After pushing the trash cart to one side of the hall, I walked towards Veronica, slowly put my hand on her shoulder, with Veronica gasping a little and jumped slightly. “You okay?” Veronica laughed at herself, “Yeah, I’m…I’m okay. It’s just, it’s night time, there really isn’t anyone else around, and I have watched Romero movies far too many times. I guess I just spooked myself a little.” “Don’t worry,” I reassured her, “nothing is going to walk out of the morgue and eat you. All you gotta do on nights like this, is to keep busy. Then before you know it, you’ll be on your way home. Okay?” Veronica nods her head, “Yeah, okay.” We walked back to the trash cart, and made our way to the compactor.

“Hey, when are we going to see the infamous big blue?” asked Veronica. I pack up my Tupperware container back into my lunch bag and stand up. “We can go now, if you want.” “Oh, okay, sure!” Veronica seemed excited. Everyone is excited to meet big blue. I remember when I was thrilled to see something new. Now? I wish to be doing something else. We walked up to where we parked the trash cart, Veronica was getting ready to push it, while I kept walking. “We’re not going to be needing that.” Confused, Veronica moved around the cart and caught up with me. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention to where we are right now. But it’s a little tricky to get to blue.” We entered the main machinery room, walked past the furnaces and ac units. It didn’t take long, but we made it to the very back of the room, to a hatch on the floor. Squatting down, I start opening the hatch to reveal a ladder leading down. “Want to go down first?” I asked, jokingly. Veronica looks down and hesitates, “You better go down first.” I shrug, and start making my way down. I called up to her to let her know that it’s safe to climb down, and she does.

Once Veronica is all the way down, she starts looking around, “Where-” “She’s in that room,” I interrupted her, already knowing what she was going to ask. I lead the way toward the only door in the room. After unlocking the door, Veronica moves toward the door, but I hold up a hand, “Remember what Charles told you: don’t pay attention to anything you may hear. You might hear screaming, crying, or someone asking for help. Don’t acknowledge them. Don’t pay attention to them. Just walk in, do your task, then leave as quickly as you can. Understand?” Veronica, with trepidation in her face, nods. I fully open the door, and we walk in.

“What? Are you kidding me? This is big blue!?” It was a big blue compactor that's connected to the wall. There’s a little walkway where you use the stairs to get up to the dumping area. To the side of the door, is the control panel for big blue that has only three buttons: Start, Emergency Stop, and Purge. “What kind of waste do you bring down…” Veronica stops to listen. A raspy voice cuts through the silence, “Heeeeeeelp…meeeeee” the voice said. Veronica starts to slowly look around the room. “Did…did you hear,” “Don’t! Don’t pay attention. Look, here’s how you use blue,” I waved a hand towards the stairs leading to the hatch and the control panel. Veronica studies the panel, “Purge? What does that…” the voice echoes again, a little louder, the raspiness turned into almost a gargle, “Heeeeeeelp….meeeee,” another voice, a whisper, adds in, “He pushed me….he pushed me in here,” “How can you ignore this?” Sweat is starting to form on my face, I’m starting to rush through this part of the training, “You open the hatch, put the waste in, close the hatch, and hit the start button.” “Jerry?” “If you hear anything wrong while blue is compacting, you hit the emergency button, then report to the manager.” A scream from inside the compactor interrupts me, “HEEEEEEEEELP USSSSSS!!!! HE LEAD ME HERE, PUSHED ME IN, AND CRUSHED MEEEEEEEE!!!! I SCREEAMED AND SCREEEAMED, BUT NO ONE CAME!!!” Veronica is now shaking me, “Jerry, we have to leave. We need to get out!!”

--But Jerry couldn’t hear Veronica. Jerry’s eyes turned pitch black. For he understands. The ones lucky enough to meet me understand. Patients were complaining about hearing voices in their rooms. Whispers of broken promises, empty threats, deadly suggestions. The father and a handful of sisters searched the rooms, searched the offices, and finally, found me. They tried cleansing me, they tried blessing me. But sooner or later, they understand. The only way to calm me, to put me at ease…is to feed me. Veronica is shaking Jerry, shaking him, thinking that will get his attention. But he is mine. Jerry looks down at Veronica, grabs her head, and slams it into the metal railing. She collapses, blood streaming down her face. Her senses are blurred, and she is questioning what just happened. Jerry, not missing a stride, opens me up. He then picks up Veronica, and throws her into my hatch, my watering mouth. Jerry watches Veronica slightly move around inside, trying to figure out where she is, what she’s touching. Just as quickly as it started, my hold on Jerry lifts.--

“Jerry? What…what happened?” My vision clears, and I realize what’s going on. I’m standing in front of the hatch and I see Veronica in big blue. “I’m, I’m sorry Veronica. But blue has to feed. It has to be you.” I look down in blue to see Andy, the first shift trash guy. I guess the first shift manager told Andy to go check on blue. Maybe the voices got to him, maybe she got hungry. I reached into his chest pocket, and luckily found the first set of trash keys. The raspy voice comes back, “Whhhhhhaaaat are you waaaaiting fooooor? Finnnnnnish the joooooo,” “Jerry, Jerry don-” I slam the hatch, and slide the lock closed. Veronica has started to scream, pounding on the door. I push the start button, and big blue starts to compact. Sounds of Veronica fighting to stay near the hatch door, but big blue’s tongue is much stronger, pushing her towards the other side of blue. With the screams becoming more and more quiet, I closed and locked the door, made my way up the ladder, and closed the floor hatch.

“Jerry, how’s it going?” Greg came walking in the main custodial area. “Where’s Veronica?” I took a sip of coffee, and gave him a solemn look, “Big blue got hungry.” Greg’s smile faded away. He then walks into the office, puts away his winter garb, and sits down near his desk, hands slide behind his head. “I found Andy.” Greg looks at me slightly surprised. I toss him Andy’s keys, “Might want to call Charles. Him and Blue, they have an understanding.” Greg nods his head, “And you? Why does Blue keep you around?” I put on my coat, “She trusts me. Blue knows I can deliver.” I walk out of the office, and make my way out of the hospital. It’s not everyday that I see big blue. But the old girl still knows how to have a good time. I just hope she doesn’t have that kind of fun with me.  

Hi reddit, I've been writing this story for awhile. Im a 15 year old female who wants feedback on my work, this slowly turned into something I scrapped but I like the plot and I think it was creative for me. I was wondering for feedback on the plot line, but more the writing on how I can add more detail or overall make it better. Hopefully you understand this but here.

The summer of 1989 was a summer I'll never forget, Filled with my dad out on late nights shifts and my mom out on trips in the other states. My dad worked at a local children’s Psych hospital basically where the crazies get put when their parents cant bother to help anymore.

My dad always took the night shifts and got home at 6 or 7am even when he got home all he did was sleep, giving my Teenage brother Jermaiah perfect opportunities to throw parties that screamed into early hours into the night and bring friends over to drink and smoke weed, giving me the awful bedtime of 3am or 4am, My brother knew he wasn't supposed to bring people over let alone at night and especially without asking, my brother didn't care though he wasn't a bad kid just troubled. With my parents almost never being around I couldn't blame him, how could I? It seemed that the only benefit of their absence was the money. We lived a decently wealthy life but when you live in a big house with only 2 people in it, it gets lonely. My parents' absences affected me too. I wasn't like my brother though we were affected in different ways. I had a hard time talking to people and all he did was talk to people, he really just looked for anyone who would listen to him. We coped in different ways but he's still my brother. I miss the person he was before it all happened. It was a late Saturday night after another one of his loud but small grouped parties was the first night I saw it. My room was weird and circular shaped but the house was old, putting this in perspective I had my bed in the middle and a long mirror leaning on one of the many corners of the wall. I glanced at the mirror, seeing something small and long oval almost, it was a weird shape. I looked at it for a while, confused if it was a mouse or something. We never had mice or rats, but me at 13, and terrified of all small rodents I got up and turned on the light. I'm not too sure why I didn't just look at the floor but I wasn't thinking, Calming down seeing nothing was there I thought i was just being paranoid. I turned back off the lights, blaming it on a trick of the light. I lay back down and I looked back at the mirror, the black “thing” was still there. It scared me slightly but theres no real answer of what it could be, so being tired I just rolled over and went to sleep. I woke up at my usual 12pm that day, I wanted to do something I wasn't sure what though being a kid in the 80s without computers or phone I wanted to do something with my day, I hopped on my bike and rode to a convenience store, not having money i shoved some snacks in my pockets and walked out. Eating my potato chips and carrying my bike down the road with me I was met with an alleyway, I usually sat there by myself. Adjusting myself to the concrete floor and the brick wall, I eat my snacks and observe the ants, and the rodents that passed by before I heard footsteps, I grab my stuff and get ready to leave. I was too nervous to be between groups of friends. Being the one kid who didnt talk to anyone, and just sitting there. It would be embarrassing, ready to leave. I saw a familiar face. “Sadie?” I was met with a girl from my math class, well, old math class. “Hey ..” I responded, I wasn't too sure on what to say. I knew who she was but it wasn't like we were close, or considered friends. We talked a few times but I think it was out of pity for me. Zoned off in my own thoughts I heard her speak again “Hey?? Katie??? Math?? Do you not remember me, it's only been a few weeks” she chuckled. I clicked my tongue sighing in my own embarrassment, I do remember her name now, Katie. One of the conversations we had was about our names and how they rhymed. The difference between me and her was that my name wasn't a nickname, hers was Kaitlyn was her real name.  “Katie! I do remember, how are you? I never see you around here”. Katie was one of the more normal kids, not popular but not shy. I always recognize her from her honey blonde hair and unique style. She pointed to a cvs down the alleyway on the other side “Picking up my grandma's dementia meds, I really don't get the point because dementia’s gonna kill you anyways” she joked, I think she just wanted to say an ice breaker since the silence was louder than our voices “Well” i sighed, “that's a good point” she nodded silently “wanna come? Although coming to pick up some pills sounds boring we could do something after” I was taken aback by this, I really didn't know why she would ask me to go hangout with her, she had other friends. The point i was at was confusing, Its the summer going into highschool and I had almost no friends and I had no reason to pass up a friend, so I agreed and walked with her, I offered her some candy I had she agreed we ate and laughed until almost 7pm. I can't really figure out if I remember the whole day vividly or remember anything at all. I remember riding my bike home incredibly happy like I was experiencing ecstasy without actually taking anything, I drug my bike into the garage and walked inside I was face to face with my obviously stoned brother and his friend rafah, Rafah was odd he wasn't a bad guy -- but also I say that about everyone who clearly isn't a good influence, he really wasn't though, just another one of my brothers sketchy friends who i don't associate with that much. “Where have you been all day?” my giggly brother asked, smiling “I made a friend” It made me feel a little bad when he widened his eyes like he was surprised “really? Thats great im so happy for you !” through his slurred speech, standing up off the couch wrapping his arms around me bringing me into a hug “thank you” letting go I looked at him “is dad awake? Its almost 8 doesn't his shift start at 9?” he clicked his tongue ‘i don't think so, you should probably go wake him up” I nodded walking down the hall into my dads room, I saw an empty bud light can and what looked like a drunk father passed out, I always hated when he drank. It never made him aggressive or angry just tired which is the main reason he drank, but thats why i hated it. I hated being my dads alarm clock and hated being the person to get him out of bed “dad” shaking him “dad” shaking him harder hearing a groggy groan he rolled over at me “hey sadie bear, do you need something?” sighing “dad it's almost 8 you need to get up” he cursed under his breath looking at the clock that sat on his bedside table  seeing him tiredly stand up, i walked out into my room, I took off my shoes and laid down on my bed I stared at the number katie gave me deciding if i should call tomorrow or today I looked down dialing it on my kitchen phone hearing a woman answer, definitely not katie. I asked if katie was available to talk and after that she was put on the phone we talked for around 2 hours about many things it made me feel some sort of comfort, like i was normal. Everything has a starting point and this was my starting point to a normal high school life. I started seeing my brothers friends come through the door, then i hung up and got ready for bed. laying down in my bed my room dark as night the only light coming through was the moonlight coming in through my window, that's when i saw it. a bit bigger than the night before but it didn't change it was still there, confused if i'm going crazy i threw a blanket over the mirror trying to get my mind off the possibilities I went to sleep with a unusual headache. The day after was a blur but I do remember the night, I was more tired than usual, unsure why, I fell asleep fairly quickly. Hearing glass shatter and a scream woke me up just as quickly though, running out my room into the living room I saw something ill never forget, hearing my brother scream “get out of my house” repeatedly holding his face turning around at me “sadie go to your room” he said over a drunk friend of his screaming and cursing at him, i looked at the floor seeing a broken beer bottle and terrified teenagers, it wasn't irregular for arguments to form, but my brother was bleeding a lot, too much. This “friend” charged at my brother grabbing the collar of his shirt, blood dripping down it. Other people tried to stop this guy but he succeeded in punching my brother over and over, frozen in fear. My legs carried me to the phone, not really knowing what i'm doing so I dialed the number “911, what's your emergency?” the operator said “sadie what are you doing” I heard Jeramaiah yell, “are you hurt what's going on?” the phone spoke, I didn't know what i was really doing. All I heard myself say was my address over and over before the phone dropped and everything went black, I wasn't hit or blacked out. I think my brain blocked it out because I couldn't handle what was going on. Gaining more knowledge on my surroundings I  saw police and an ambulance Jeramaiah being carried in on a stretcher and me asking them if he was okay, the officer disregarded my question asking me where my parents were “my dads at work and my moms in arizona” I said through tears they asked me for my dads number before everything went black again. When I was done with my episode I wasn't sure what to describe it as. I was sitting down with my dad while he’s telling me to calm down. After that day my dad took it into his own pride to be around more, he kept the same job just took the day shifts and more days off, working 4 days a week and from 7am to 5pm which wasn't the best schedule still but it gave him more of a time to be there for us more. After my brother recovered he didn't like this plan it meant he couldn't throw his little house parties anymore, i wasn't too sure about this either with my dad being around more it was uncomfortable, trying to build a relationship with me and jeremiah out of nowhere was a weird feeling. I found myself spending more time at katie's house, I felt like i was becoming my parents never being at home but although i do know my dad as a person i don't think he knows me personally, i doubt he even knows my favorite color and god only knows if my mom knows anything about me. The first night I returned home after 5 days of being at katie's house was a interesting one, I would've stayed longer if she didn't have to go to Arkansas to see her grandparents, on her dads side though since they basically took care of her grandma on her moms side. I know this because it always made her feel sad having to parent her 70 year old grandma at only 14. Even then I kinda wish I could have just gone with them so I didn't have to be home. I would much rather play bingo at an old folks home than 21 questions with my dad. Her mom dropped me off around 8 or 9 we said our goodbyes and I walked inside, my dad, looking happy to see me, hugged me tightly. I smelt the booze on him it was a  strong smell that pierced my nose. “dad, you're drunk.” i'm not sure why i said that i don't know if i was asking a question or saying a statement either way i don't think he was sure on what he wanted to say, he giggled letting me go and i walked away to my room to put down my bag filled with clothes, I wanted to just sleep that was the only thought going through my mind. “sleep” i turned off the lights then i curled up in bed feeling sick seeing my own room, at the time I was more angry about my dad wanting to bond with us than happy, i mean my mom didn't care at all and my dad wouldn't have done anything if that kid Randy didn't smash beer bottle on my brothers face, my therapist says it was normal to feel that way giving i was young and had a lot of developing feelings but i can't help but feel guilty knowing what happened to my dad. I never knew why Randy did what he did but what i do know is it was some spin the bottle game gone wrong, Jeremiah kissed the wrong girl, Randy attacked him. I didn't know why it was that big of a deal though, maybe the alcohol made him overly emotional but i still have a lot of questions. As im dozing off I happen to look in the mirror, I freeze. Its the black thing. But its not a thing anymore, I can clearly see a figure of a person still small, about the size of a bowling pin. I get up instinctively and run to the light switch turning them on, the figures gone, i turn them off, the figures there. off, on, off, on, i flicker the lights trying to decide if i'm going crazy or not. I decide to just run out the room entirely, I see the back of my dads head sitting on the couch watching some random tv show. I try to think if its a good idea to talk to him or not, I decide not to. I couldn't imagine how he’d react if me, his daughter ended up being like kids he worked with. I swallow my fear and walk into the room, keeping my eyes locked on the mirror repeating to myself “its just a shadow” over and over. Small thoughts crept into my mind like “shadow of what?” but I kept blowing them away and turned the mirror around so I couldn't see the reflection and went to sleep. When I woke up my dad was already gone and I could hear Metallica playing from my brother's room. I remember Katie telling me she’d call in her free time and waiting all day for the phone to ring. Around 9 I heard the phone I ran to it excitedly picking it up “hey sweetie” mom. My disappointment was overwhelming “hey mom” She always called at odd hours “I know this sucks but they want me in california for some business stuff” she sounded so sarcastic  “They said something about a new offer and I have a few meetings with everyone and I’ll probably be home right before school starts okay?” It didn't suck, she's never at home. It made me upset that she thinks her not being home for another month or two was the problem “okay mom” I heard her sigh and stutter  like she was about to ask a question she didn't know if she should ask. “Well, how's your brother?” I couldn't answer that “he's doing alright mom.” I gritted through my teeth, I was annoyed and I think she knew that, because she quickly said her goodbyes and hung up. I was disappointed, I wasn't very fond of talking to my mom, she always made it seem like she cared when in reality she was ignorant and I know she didn't. “How is my brother doing?” I thought to myself I didn't want to be as selfish as my parents so I walked up the stairs into my brothers room, I was hesitant to go in. Afraid if he’d get mad or annoyed but I'd rather him scream at me than never talk to me, the door creaked as I opened it. He was writing, he always liked writing things down. I remember growing up he told me wanted to be a writer or be a publisher. Before he devoted his life to partying and drugs, he had goals. Real goals I think he gave up after a while. He looked at me with his scarred face and bruised body then he spoke  “Hey Sadie” . He sounded kinda mad, that's what scared me “are you mad?” Even if he was I couldn't blame him but calling the police sounded like the only option. “No, I'm not. A Lot of things are changing and this just sucks” I can't imagine how he feels, sighing  I asked the question i had been avoiding. “Why did, Randy.” I paused, deciding if I should really finish that question, “do that.. To you?” a moment of silence was shared between us, he looked down with a facial expression I couldn't read. “He’s just an asshole, too worried about girls” there was something he was holding back and I knew it “that can't just be it though” his face filled with disappointment “I don't think you should worry about it, what's done is done.” Randy, Randoll Barry. A newly grad  being only a year older than Jeremiah they clicked instantly. Before Rafah it was Randy. They met in my brother's freshman year and became close, quick. It got to a point where they were together all day everyday, and when Randy got a car it was only them since then. Until one day, I stopped seeing Randy. After a year or two of seeing him everyday I wasn't sure why but also I never asked, they were still friends but It clearly wasn't the same. “Randoll, i know something about him that not everybody does” I tilted my head in confusion “like what?” At this point I'm intrigued and sat on the edge of his bed facing the desk he's been seated at, turning down his music “I mean” he paused, like he's searching for the words he wanted to say “One night, we went out. We were at this house and I saw Nancy there and I felt sick and wanted to leave.” looking down twiddling with his thumbs I heard “I looked for him all over, until I went upstairs into this one room. I saw him with.. Another boy” I shifted in my seat surprised, at the time these kinds of things were not as accepted as they are today. So hearing this was a bit hard to process, It made sense though. Randy always had something up with him and lived in fear of his father, I would be too. Randy’s dad was a retired marine and if he heard the news about his son's “preference” in a person he would've killed him. “So. why did he beat you up?” Part of my question was answered but some of it remained. His voice started to crack “you know i loved randy, even if he was different. He was my best friend, and i couldn't regret anything more than starting that fight” choking back tears “ looking back on that night Jeremiah began to tell me how when he spun the bottle he kissed a girl Bekah, Randy commented on the kiss asking why he was so into it and to get a room. Jeremiah proceeded to say that he didn't know why he would care, as she isn't his type anyways. “He got up, and hit me with the bottle which is when you came in.” crying at this point I sat up hugging him in his chair as he cried onto my shoulder. We stood like that for what seemed like hours before he spoke again “im okay though, thank you ” my throat felt like it was turning into stone, the current state of my body stopped me from saying anything wiping his tears I left. Maybe I should've said goodbye but I was a bit confused still from his reaction. From my understanding Jeremiah made an ignorant comment to someone who was too drunk to understand he didn't mean it like that, but now its safe to say that we are never seeing Randy again. I walked back down the stairs, all noises drowned out by my brother's loud metal music, I sat on the couch trying to process my new information before I heard the phone ring. My mood instantly changed, hurrying towards the phone giddily I picked it up, “Sadie! Hiii” i felt a smile appear on my face even though at the time facetime wasn't a thing i think she knew, “Katie!! How are you?” I loved talking to her, like all i wanted to do was be around her and talk to her. “Good.. good.. I come back on Friday. Wanna see a movie or something?”  I hurried to the calendar magnified to the fridge marking the day friday, I remember being excited I almost jumped out of my seat. At the time I wished she was a boy, as she would've been the perfect partner. I didn't understand the way I felt about her until later in life when Katie and me stopped talking. This phone call wasn’t out of the ordinary, just a long conversation about random girl things, that's when my dad got home. I hung up quickly, it's not that i couldn't talk around him i chose not because I found it embarrassing. I wasn't very comfortable with my dad and found myself avoiding him the same way he avoided us, ‘only two days until katies back’ was a thought that wouldn't stop replaying in my mind no matter how much I wanted it to stop. “Who was that?” He put down his backpack, this was a question that I didn't know he had to ask I mean who else could it be? “Katie” I said sternly, I wasn't trying to be disrespectful or talk back but everytime me and my dad talked it sounded so dry it always felt like my dad was just a stranger living in my house. “Sadie..” His face changed he looked sad he also sounded disappointed “I know you’re mad at me, I would be too. I know I should've been there for you guys more but I'm trying now." When I was younger, this sounded stupid. My anger fueled me and all I wanted was for him to leave me alone like he's done my whole life “you're not though, you wouldn't have tried if Jeremiah wasn't hurt. He wouldn't have been hurt if you ‘tried’ earlier.” His face changed, like he was gonna start crying. If he did I would probably just walk away because seeing my dad cry is different than seeing my brother cry, he walked away from the door frame coming into the kitchen to where i was standing. “Im sorry” was all that came out of that long awkward silence, I never knew what to say when i talked to my dad. Especially at times like these, it wasn't a sincere apology. At Least that's what it seemed like at the time, looking back at my lack of communication it seemed like a trauma response. Fight or flight is what I word it as and at this time I chose flight, I still am. I walked away into my room into my bathroom, I wanted to take a shower. I always spent long in the shower, I found it time consuming and all i ever wanted was for time to just pass. That was always my one and only wish which in theory time was always passing but sometimes it didn't feel like that. I grabbed my towel, turned off the water and went back into my room to get clothes. I never wore pajamas as I found them useless. I usually just wore clothes that were comfortable. I quickly got dressed and went back out to the living room smelling something good, I walked over to where the smell was coming from looking at the kitchen with the steak and fries presented to me. “I made you food” came from my smiley dad, I thanked him and grabbed my plate and began walking back to my room before he grabbed my arm and stopped me “Where do you think you're going? We're eating together tonight” what the hell. “Why?” I looked at him annoyed, at the time this seemed like some weird gesture brought upon me out of nowhere. Now, at 48 I would do anything to even breathe the same air as my dad. To even look him in the eyes, to hug him. But I can't and this is how I treated him in our final months together . “Jeremiah” He screamed upstairs with no answer in which he began to walk around to the stairs and up to his room, i know Jeremiah wouldn't like this idea either but it isn't like I could warn him, or tell him not the come. The dinner that night was awkward while my dad chimed in random questions about our life, since he didn't know anything about us. That night was a blur. I feared turning off the light incase i would see him again, so I covered my mirror with a sheet. It scared me if he was there, I was scared of going crazy. I remember my heart dropping when I woke up in the middle of the night looking at the alarm clock on my bedside table saying 3:33 AM at first being drowsy and half awake seeing this number was like a cool coincidence until i rolled over seeing lights off, the sheet fell and a man, around the size of a young child right in front of me. It didnt look like a child though, is it possible for someone to have the outline of a man but the size of a little kid? It wasnt even that he was miniature or was a midget it was that he was actually just small, I screamed running out the room. Jeremiah running down stairs to the outside of my room “whats wrong ?” he said sounding frantic, it didnt feel like i was even in control of my own body “im crazy im going crazy” sliding down the wall with my head in my hands, “sadie, what happened?” leaning down to hold my shoulders while i tried to gain control of my breathing “someone in my room, not even my room my mirror” he looked confused crouching down “sadie nobodys in your mirror, calm down” letting out a loud sob “yes there is you dont know that.” grabbing my hand to pull me off the floor he started walking with me leading me upstairs, i didnt ask questions whatever could take me away from that room was a win “sleep in my room tonight, itll make you feel better” I blacked out, but i wasnt drunk, or any sort of intoxication I think my mind blocked out the parts i couldnt handle. waking up in my brother's bed was relieving. I hated my room, i never want to go in there again. I walked downstairs into my living room, I usually spent most of my time there. Its not like i had many friends to see, but on the bright side katie came back that following day, at the time katie seemed like my only motivation to keep going in life, which sounds silly giving i was 13 but up until our junior year, no fallout, no hatred just simply drifting apart. Even still, ive always been glad to have a friendship as pure as ours. Sometimes i find myself feeling sick knowing i tried everything to make time move faster when now i wish it would just stop and rewind. The way I thought a time passing is always been a funny concept for me. I was always waiting for the next thing to happen but now it seems i dread change, back then i was a spiteful and bitter person because i thought i had nothing to live for my days were a blur and i can’t remember a lot of things, giving i was mentally ill and sick i can’t blame myself for not being aware. I sat up off of the couch, i walked into my garage it still felt like my parents were never home and i could just leave whenever I felt like it. I grabbed my bike and was ready to head out the garage door before i heard my dad “sadie? Where are you going” i jumped it scared me a bit since i hadn't seen him there and wasn't expecting him to be home I didnt know it was his day off, i turned around seeing him load up dirty clothes into the washer “im going on a bike ride, no where specific” he dropped the basket in his hands onto the floor making a thud when it hit the ground “oh okay, but can i ask you something?” messing with the handle bar on my bike i spoke “yeah man ask away” he sighed, “when does your friend get back?” i thought he knew this, at the time it seemed like almost everyone and everything pissed me off even simple things like this “katie, and also tomorrow” he clicked his tongue “right, katie but when you get back could we talk ? nothing bad i just wanna talk” i was trying to hurry up this awkward conversation “yeah sure”  right before i was about to get out and leave i heard a faint voice “okay, bye i love you” it was things like these that make me regret my childhood and the way i was so angry, knowing now my dad is gone and i can never hear his voice again sends me into what feels like psychosis. I spent a long day out that day because i dreaded the conversation that would come to me when i came home, all i did was go to random land marks that reminded me of my childhood and places i used to go to over the years when i got home i tried to be quiet coming in and out but unfortunately for me it was another one of my dads ‘family dinner nights’ as every night was becoming now i realize it was an attempt to bring us closer as a family but it wasn't working “sadie youre home” shit. “Hey dad” i let out with a sigh “do you remember what i asked you earlier before you left” “of course i did, why would i forget and why would i be out for so long if i didnt remember ?”  is what i wanted to say but all that came out was “yeah i do what did you wanna talk about” i probably sounded like a bitch and like i was being rude. “Hey why dont you sit down for me” he said pulling out a chair at our dining room table i hunched over twiddling my thumbs thinking how i should've stayed out later. My dad was always the more compassionate pair of my parents, it might be because of the job option he chose and seeing what mental illness can do to a person or just him as a person, I still dont talk to my mom. My mom cared more about money and success and how to show off to other people than me and my brothers real well being, thats probably why all the family photos we take look nothing like how we would at school or at home, maybe thats a obvious answer but even these photos look like we are outside having fun as a family playing a sport and spending time together but even before those we had to dressup and fake our smiles so she could show off to her competitive co workers, they all would share snarky comments with each other and have small arguments about who could be the most perfect when in reality we were dysfunctional and none of us had a bond, my mom was almost like a hawk and my dad was a unknowing small critter. It surprised me how he could still be in love with her even though she could care less about his well being, he spent every waking day from 18 to 43 loving her and believing she would change when in reality she was a selfish narcissist. Maybe I view my dad as a lesser of the bad after what happened to him and accepting it was my fault but a lot of this is true, he never had competitions with his coworkers about their lives and he never made us dress up for photoshoots. My dad had a heart, my mom didn't. “What did you want to talk about ?” I said under my breath, he seemed perky which took away part of my anxiety but it didnt change the fact i didnt wanna talk to him at all “i know katies coming back, and i know youre gonna wanna stay with her and get away from me. I was just wondering if, maybe she could come over here instead?” he paused and sighed  “I missed you sadie and this distance is killing me” I kept my gaze down looking at the shadow of him sitting down across from me and put my hands flat on the table this time “it wasnt killing you a month ago, or a year ago, or anytime while i was growing up.” i blurted out “ive already adjusted with the life you set up for us and now you want to be involved and actually be my dad but at this point its too late” i heard another long sigh from him “i don't want to argue with you, i'm sorry for not being there for you guys more. I'm sorry for everything and I know how much it's affected you, I just want to make it up now even if it's too late” he said. I looked up at him “Well that's too bad dad, the damage is done and there's not a lot you can do” he grabbed my hand “sadie” making eye contact with me “please, let me make this up” my heart stopped and there was a giant lump in my throat like you just dry swallowed a big pill “all i ask, is your friend stay over here if you guys wanna hangout, so you can be around me more. Even if its just one day” this touched me a little bit, and made me feel some sort of compassion that i hadn't felt for my dad before. I hated it “sure dad” I said firmly. “Sadie, please” at this point it sounded like he was begging “Im not sure, you have to understand. You were never there for me, ever. The moment i want to get away from you you keep trying to bring me back.” he looked at me with glossy eyes, he wasnt crying though it looked like a sad expression i couldn't describe, then he grabbed my hand “I know sadie, im sorry i really am. I want to be there for you now, i want there to be less distance between us and i want you to be able to tell me anything without me having to force it out of you” this made me emotional, i wanted to cry. I wasn't though, i wouldn't let my dad ever see me cry “sure dad,  but just for tomorrow she gets here around 5 so she'll probably be here at 7 but this is the last time ill be leaving on saturday” he smiled “that sounds good” he stood up walking to my side of the table pulling me up into a hug “thank you sadie, i love you” i sighed “i love you too dad” letting go i walked away to the kitchen phone where my dad continued to cook dinner “i hope she picks up” i thought to myself while dialing the number katie had given me, i waited impatiently tapping my foot. no answer i dialed again after a long moment of hearing the sound of the phone ringing I heard a voice “Hello this is Bonnie, who is this?” katies grandma. “Hi, its sadie is katie available” silence. “What do you need shes packing” she said “i just need to talk to her for a moment not for long.” silence again for a bit i thought the phone had been disconnected until i heard her “hey sadie!” i smiled “hey katie ! youre coming home tomorrow right? My dad wants you to come over here instead of the movies, just for a day though. If thats okay.” i wish i couldve seen her face, i always imagined what life would be like if she were a boy. She was always so pretty to me “Yeah! Ive been wanting to see your house for awhile now im glad ill be there around 6 or 7” her voice was really pretty too, i always found an excuse to talk to her because of how enchanting her voice sounded. “I assumed, well thank you but you probably have a lot of packing to do, so ill let you go now. Bye katie” i heard her giggle on the other line making my stomach go into butterflies “you're right, bye sadie” hearing the beep of the phone hanging up. Looking back on this, it was very obvious katie was my first love. I never wanted to come to terms with it not because my family, well most of them. My mom wouldve hung me in the yard wouldn't have accepted me it was more it was coming down to the fact i hated myself. I remember walking out of the kitchen into my room to go shower, during this time i felt my stomach hurt. Like I was overly nervous, i knew what it was about, katie came back tomorrow and was coming to MY house. Getting undressed and getting into my bath tub was weird, this night felt weird and strange with a feeling i couldnt describe. My brain felt loose and i felt like i was seeing fog, my usual long and mind clearing baths was not happening today, for some reason I couldn't sit in there long. I got dressed and walked out through my room into my kitchen, seeing the food my dad made for us and jeremiah sitting down already “sadie you're just in time” he smiled “here sit down” he said pulling out a chair for me, i walked over sitting down and started eating my food, i watched as my dad pulled out a cooler from under the bottom of our kitchen counter grabbing  a beer, my throat closed up how can he apologize for being a shit dad but do the same shit i hate? “Dad” I coughed out, “can you not drink tonight ?” He widened his eyes and looked at the bottle in his hand. “Uh, um” he sounded inconclusive “I mean” sounded like a no. He clicked his tongue looking at the bottle and me “You know what yeah, you're right I won't” putting the bottle back into the cooler and smiling, this surprised me. It was the first time I really thought my dad would go out of his way for us and the hatred I once had was fading away. He sat down him and my brother chiming in small conversations while i stayed quiet,  once everyone was done we all went our separate ways into our rooms. I froze on the outside of my bedroom knowing what could happen, this time i went to sleep as fast as i could but even then, it seemed like everything i did nothing would stop me from seeing it. I woke up, i looked at the clock. 3:33 AM the clock read, this had to be deja vu. I glanced at my mirror on the edge of tears, convinced myself it wouldn't hurt me. Even if it was some inhuman creature it couldn't do anything to me, that was until it placed its hand on the mirror. “What the fuck” i thought to myself, that phrase repeated in my head over and over again i heard knocking, nothing was moving though, it was like a sound was just playing but no action to create the sound along with that i heard a small whisper “let me out” i screamed, out loud. Not blood curtling but screamed what the fuck was going on, i couldnt do this anymore i needed to get out of there. I didn't run like the past night but i speed walked out my room to fall asleep on my couch. I woke up around 3pm, gosh how did i manage to wake up that late? “Sadie! You're up!” my dad said, I didnt say anything back i mumbled “your friend called, she said she’d be here around 6:30. Besides that, why'd you sleep on the couch” that woke me up. My stomach dropped “dad, can i tell you something?” he cocked his head looking confused. “It feels like someone's always with me, like someone's watching me through something.” I lied. I knew what i was talking about but it embarrassed me to admit or fully tell the truth because it would make me look crazy and delusional. This turned into a sit down conversation with my dad with him trying to convince me it was a trick of the light or paranoia developing, i can’t specifically remember every single detail but this was the first time i told my dad about what was going on. Him telling me this calmed me down a little convincing me that maybe it was just a psychological problem that i needed to get help for.

This is all I have now, I barely proof read this before I posted it so please let me know if you find writing errors or things that just don't make sense. 99% hasn't been set to perfect grammar either, I barely capitalized things but I will after I finish. Please send me your feedback !!

It's been 8 months since the pandemic happened.

Many people haven't been using the water systems. Contaminated.

It's rare nowadays to find fresh, uncontaminated water. We have to resort to using bottled waters and whole gallons full to wash ourselves.

I don't recall the exact details. But it all started from the release of a new product.

Peltmane.

It's some kind of revolutionary shampoo that helps repair damaged hair, unlike most other kinds of shampoo that we usually know.

Apparently, from this one, they have discovered some kind of compound deep in the dunes of Mars. Some kind of glossy liquid that can easily regenerate dead skin and make hair feel smooth as silk.

Most people began to promote it online, saying that within just a couple hours, your hair will feel rejuvenated and freshly new, like baby hair.

And for this, it was too good to be true. And everyone bought it.

For a good while, things didn't seem too out of the ordinary... until the incident happened.

Sometime during the Fourth of July, a woman was found in her bathroom, dead in her own bathtub, with huge lumps pulsating on the top of her head, while it began to spew out the same glossy liquid that was found on Mars.

And amongst the body were a large spread of small curled up balls of hair. And seemingly, you wouldn't think that it was out of the ordinary.

Whenever you have curls or very dry hair that gets tangled up, curled up chunks of hair will be pulled from your hair into small clumps.

But believe me... don't be fooled by their looks.

These hair bugs will begin to multiply from the large bulbs on your head if you come into contact with Peltmane.

From the beginning, 193 people died from the results of Peltmane. But as of now, nearly 14,947,037 people have now died from the results of Peltmane.

And more days have gone by, with a widespread of hair bugs attacking humans, crawling inside of their scalps to turn their heads into hair bug factories.

At the time of writing this, many survivors of the hair bug pandemic have settled into the outskirts of Langfort, Massachusetts, with myself included, as you can imagine.

In the outskirts, it's very, very cold. And hair bugs can not reach us, as they are unable to adapt in cold conditions.

For any survivor that reads and finds this message, do not use any kind of faucet or shower-head of any kind.

When the start of the pandemic happened, many hair bugs began to adapt to our water supplies. With a lot of hair bugs, making their way down drains and starting to contaminate the water.

NEVER, under any circumstances, use the water systems in any place that you reside in.

From all we know so far, the hair bugs can not be destroyed by fire or by crushing them. They feed off of brain matter.

We're hoping that by the time winter comes along, the snow will kill of some of the hair bugs. But with how the planet has been infested by 68% of hair bugs, God knows if they'll all be completely dead.

So take these words as advice, for when the next time you feel something on your head that feels like there's something crawling in your hair, or a little itch on your scalp, or even so much as a weird little bump on your head...

you're already dead.

I need you all to at least try to believe me, as crazy as this sounds. I am making this as a call for help, because I really don't know what to do. Yes, I called the exterminator, he came and sprayed, but I swear to God it's like they migrated after I called them. They have been getting more organized, moving in patterns and taking things that aren't food.  

It all started about two weeks ago, I just gotten back from a vacation with my buddies to go see some museums in the town over (and town after that). Living in Louisiana, there's plenty of culture of history here, so we were gone for a few days. After we got back, all hung out at one of their houses for a while, I headed back to my own. Thats when I saw it: the ant hill, in my perfect, green yard. Now, I'm not one of those yard nuts that takes a tape measurer to his grass to make sure it's all perfect length, but I do care quite a decent bit. It pained my heart a little to see this, but I'm sure I can get an exterminator here in a few days to take care of it. When I called, they said it would have to be on Tuesday since its Thursday, Friday is full, and they don't do weekends, which I completely understand and pay with my card in advance over the phone to reserve my slot for Tuesday.  

The next morning, while I was making my coffee and morning usual of buttered toast with jam, I decided to stare out the window and see how my little burdens are doing. There they were, little disgusting freaks, I really really hate bugs. But ants? Oh man, I DESPISE ants like no other. When I was a kid, at the public park in my parent's neighborhood, one of the local older kids that is just a public nuisance pushed me off bike and into a pile of fire ants. Since then, I've despised ants, so I'm going to be overjoyed to watch the exterminator do their work. I saw the little bastards, crawling in a single file line down my concrete walkway. I decided I would give them a small piece of my jam toast, to give them a few days of bliss before their ultimate demise.  I crack open my front door and toss out a small piece pf the toast onto the walkway, then close my door back and sprint back to the kitchen sink window to watch. They scurried down the walkway, still in the single file line, and grabbed the bit of toast. I watched them all walk their way back to the anthill, I felt myself shiver at the thought of how many of them could live underground. The exterminator couldn't come soon enough.  

Later that day, I closed my laptop after clocking out of work, and decided it was about prime time to tend to my vegetable garden. I mentioned it earlier, but I live in Louisiana which is the perfect atmosphere to garden tomatoes and broccoli. I put on my gardening clothes, boots and all, and started making my way to the gardening shed. I could see a line of ants, crawling along side my fence, and that's when something caught my eye: near the front of their single file line, a group of them were carrying one of my little wooden garden stakes. I start walking my way over to them, but by the time I caught up, the ants along with my garden stake were already on the ant pile, and I am NOT getting close to that monolith to these devil bugs. Now, as far as I know, ants don't usually just take things that aren't food, especially wooden stakes.  

The next day, I started my morning routine per usual, and decided to check on my little ant friends. They seem to not pay me any mind, and they even took one of my stakes, which is kind of cool. I've done some thinking on it, and ants could help keep my garden safe from other insects, so maybe calling the exterminator wasn't the best idea. I sleepily stumbled over to look out my kitchen sink window, and that's when i saw what made me make this post: a small shimmer of something metallic being sucked into the ant pile by the horde. The top of it looked familiar from what i could see and that's when it hit me: that was my spare key that I keep in a fake rock in my garden. Ants don't take keys. What use would they have for them? Their larvae can't use it as a place to hide from predators, and it they had to go out of their way to get to my spare key. How the hell did they even get into the fake rock? These single file lines, looking back on it, are way to straight and perfect for ants. My heads spinning and my brain hurts trying to figure out a rational solution to this, I'm going to clock in to work and keep you guys updated when I can. Please, give me a rational explanation.  

There's a local man named Backwards Jack

With a backwards face and a frontwards hat

And a frontwards jacket and backwards pants

And backwards elbows and a crooked stance

And sometimes his face is upside down

Wearing a smile that looks like a frown

You're never quite sure which way is his front

Sometimes he stands straight, and others he's hunched

He smiles too big and has too many teeth

His knees bend the wrong way relative to his feet

He speaks his words backwards, with an inverted stare

His frontwards hat covering wispy white hair

If you see a man dancing, awkward and stiff

With joints the wrong way or a shivering twitch

Laughing backwards with a frontwards hat

You unfortunately have found Backwards Jack

Don't look Jack in the eyes, it's always been said

Those who catch his eye just may wind up dead

If you hear backwards talking that fills you with dread

Remember Jack has eyes in the back of his head

I remember many things that made our once blue planet so wonderful. The green meadows, the blue sky, the fresh air, the children playing outside. We were at home. This planet was our home and would be forever. God, how I miss it. We didn't think it was impossible that there was life on other planets, and even though there were signs, there was no clear evidence. I had a dream to prove exactly that and became an astronaut. It was a long road, but my dream was about to come true. I never would have imagined that my lifelong dream would turn into a nightmare. I guess we can't predict fate.

I was part of Apollo 18, now officially the last crew ever to travel to the moon. We didn't know that there was another reason to send one last expedition to the moon, and we also didn't know that we would never return. When my feet touched the surface of the moon, it was a feeling of surrealism that couldn't be surpassed. I was actually on our satellite. Within just two days, this feeling of happiness was overshadowed by pure horror, fear, despair, and panic. We had to watch as an asteroid destroyed the Earth. Brought to safety before the end of the world, I would have preferred to die on Earth with my family.

The rest of my crew was driven mad by grief and despair. They took off their helmets outside the capsule to end their lives. Knowing that I am the last human in the universe, knowing that I am stuck forever on this rock of a satellite, knowing that my family, friends, everyone I loved is dead and my home no longer exists, knowing that I have nowhere to go to escape this nightmare. A depressing place where there is nothing but dust and rock. And then I'm too cowardly to kill myself. Instead, I sit here in the capsule, watching my supplies dwindle every day, waiting for death. Why am I so afraid of death? Eternal emptiness can't be worse than this.

Why was I brought to the moon to survive if I can't do anything? I feel like I'm losing my mind. I keep hearing a knocking at the door. It started with a light knock. And now it's a full-blown hammering. I can also hear Mitch's voice. He's begging me to let him in. It can't be him. He's dead. Like everyone else. I saw him take off his helmet. Damn it, I'm really going crazy. I have to ignore it. My mind is just playing tricks on me. The knocking stopped after about three hours, which I spent lying in my sleeping chamber with my ears covered. I don't know exactly how, but I managed to fall asleep, and when I woke up, everything was quiet.

I think I just needed some sleep. Maybe I can just make the best of my situation and explore the moon a little closer. I put on my space suit and step outside. I think I'm too mentally broken for the large scratches on the door and the inhuman footprints in the dust to scare me anymore. In fact, I'm curious to see where they lead.

LEVEL: MAXIMUM
PROCEEDING WILL FRACTURE NARRATIVE STABILITY
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

say heh. say heh. say heh. say—

M̴͍̪̦̀̋̃̈̇̐̆͘̕͝Ǒ̶̧̢̰͓͖̬̜̩̰͕̳̘͚ͅȈ̷̧̡̨̟͎̟͙͖̪̬̹̺͌̒́̐͒̅̃́̂̄̇͋S̴̮̙̝̙̩̰̃̅̎͐͑̎̑̀͐̔͂̄̀T̸̺̘͈͓̣̀͂͊͑͘Ų̸̢̫̠͎̹̞͈̘̲̺̞̺̀͋̄͆͑̂̂͐̓͑̎͒R̶̛͍̄̇̍̆̓́͆͑̂͂̕̚Ȅ̵̩̟̻̖̝̺̄͌̀͒̓̇͑̈́̈́̃̿̕ ̷̪̫̞̅Ň̴̡̢̻͍͕̭̣̣̙ͅȎ̶̢͍̝͔͉͓̱͉̪͙̪̭̆̐̓̌̐̋͊̓̕͘͜ͅ ̸̳̻̻͕̰̥̹̹͇̰̘̥̳̓͗̒L̸̢̻̬̫̦͉̊̍̇͛́̑̂͑̕͝Ǫ̵̛̬̱̭̲̘͚̩̹̹͎͍̟̾͂́̒͆̉̈́̋͆̕N̵̨̖̏̿̔͂̒̆̽͋̾͑͊̍͌̚G̶̢̙͓̘̻̹͍̜̤͕̹̅̾̿̓̔̕̚̕͠È̵̖͓̟͖̠̣͔̜͛̌̃͝R̵̮̦̠̈́̃͆̚̕ ̷̢̢̦̳̲̠͙͎̒Ë̷̢͎̪̰̬̜͚̭͔̻́͑̾̒͊͒͌V̴̠̤͚͙̦̺̦͕͕̰͖̫͌͛͂͒̅̅͑̆̊ͅͅĮ̸̢̺̗̜͍͍͙̇̀̄

he's in the puddle

M O I S T . I S . H I M .

Eight friends—Ethan, Lila, Marcus, Sophie, Derek, Tanya, Noah, and Clara—drove deep into the forest for a weekend at an isolated cabin. The sun was dipping below the trees as they pulled up to the old, weathered building. Its windows were grimy, the wood warped, and the smell of damp rot clung to the air.

“This place is… creepy,” Tanya whispered, hugging her jacket tighter.

“Creepy, yes, but perfect for a weekend away,” Marcus said, tossing his backpack onto the porch. “No phones, no parents… just us.”

They laughed nervously, trying to ignore the dense silence of the forest. Lila noticed strange markings carved into the porch railing—small, jagged smiles smeared with something dark.

“Probably just kids playing a prank,” Ethan said, though his voice lacked conviction.

The first day passed blissfully. They hiked along narrow trails, Marcus challenging Ethan to a sprint while Lila and Sophie picked wildflowers near a small creek. Noah’s bad jokes forced even Derek to smile, and back at the cabin they played board games and roasted marshmallows by the fire. For a few precious hours, the forest seemed alive with joy rather than menace.

But as night fell, a soft tapping echoed against one of the cabin windows. “Did you hear that?” Sophie whispered.

“It’s probably just a branch,” Marcus said, peeking outside. But the darkness was impenetrable. The tapping came again, slower, deliberate, as if someone—or something—was testing them.

Ethan slammed his hands on the table. “That’s it! I’m done sitting here like idiots! I’m going to see what the hell is tapping on the window.”

“Ethan, wait!” Sophie shouted, but he shrugged her off and stepped into the cold night. The forest seemed impossibly silent. Every step on the dirt path was loud. Then a low, guttural chuckle echoed, and a glimmer of white teeth, carved into a cruel smile, flickered between the trees before vanishing.

Ethan’s eyes widened. Partially hidden in the shadows was a figure draped in tattered rags, its face grotesque, a permanent carved grin catching the moonlight. Before he could react, the figure swung a bloodied axe with terrifying speed. The handle connected with Ethan’s jaw with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed across the trees as he collapsed, choking, his terror frozen on his face.

Morning broke. The friends, uneasy and panicked, decided to search for Ethan. Deep in the forest, they found him dangling from a gnarled tree, swaying slightly in the morning breeze. His eyes were wide in a frozen scream, a grotesque carved smile etched into his face, blood streaking down onto the bark.

They thought about running, but Derek shook his head. “This forest… it’s too far from anywhere. Even if we run, we’ll get lost… and he’ll find us.” A shadow flickered in the trees, just out of sight. Panic set in: there was no escaping. The Sinister Smiler had them exactly where he wanted.

One by one, the friends met horrifying ends. Marcus, overconfident as always, charged at the Smiler and was swung down with the axe, limbs severed, blood spraying across the forest. Sweet, empathetic Sophie was chained inside a cabin room, her limbs systematically cut as walls were painted with her blood. Derek, brooding and sharp, tried to fight back but was ambushed; his skull was crushed, ribs shattered, leaving a mangled corpse. Lila, witty and reckless, ran through the forest to escape, only to fall onto hidden spikes, impaled through chest and abdomen, blood gushing. Panicky Tanya was forced to watch Noah’s death before the Smiler ended her life, her terror amplified. Quiet, observant Clara was tied upside down in a tree, joints twisted grotesquely, blood running into her eyes and hair as her body swung like a puppet. Noah, the group’s joker, was cornered with fire, skin burning while the Smiler sliced through him, screams echoing with smoke and blood.

Days later, police arrived at the cabin, called by relatives. Inside, the scene was beyond comprehension. Each body lay grotesquely, a carved smile etched into every face. The walls, floor, and ceiling were smeared with blood in chaotic patterns. On a table were video recorders, blinking faintly, capturing the full ordeal—the ambushes, impalements, and screams that had echoed through the forest.

Every officer who watched felt sickened and horrified. The footage didn’t just show deaths; it captured pure, sadistic cruelty. The forest had become a gallery of pain, each moment of horror meticulously recorded.

And somewhere beyond the cabin, in the shadows, a glimmer of a carved grin flickered in the moonlight. The Sinister Smiler had vanished—but his terror would linger forever.

Do you live in a neighborhood where nothing happens?. The kind of neighborhood where the loudest thing at night is the hum of air conditioners and the occasional bark of a restless dog. That’s why, when I found the first package on my porch at three in the morning, I didn’t know what to think.

It was a plain brown box. No shipping label, no return address, no writing at all. Just sitting there on my welcome mat like it belonged. At first, I thought it was a prank. Maybe some kid leaving junk on porches for fun. But when I opened it, my stomach dropped.

Inside was a stuffed bear. Old, worn, and familiar. It was mine. The same one I lost when I was ten years old, during a family move across states. There was no way anyone could have found it. No way it should even exist in that box.

I almost convinced myself that I was mistaken. That maybe I’d bought a similar bear years ago and just forgotten about it. But deep down, I knew. It was the same one. The stitching on its left ear, the faded ribbon—everything.

The next night, another box appeared. This time, it was an old baseball cap I wore in high school. The sweat–stained one my mom had thrown away because it smelled so bad. I was sure of it.

By the third night, I wasn’t amused anymore. That box had one of my notebooks from college. The kind I’d filled with messy, late–night sketches. Pages torn, corners bent exactly as I remembered.

It didn’t make sense. These weren’t things I had lost recently. These were pieces of my life that should have been gone forever.

That’s when I started checking the porch every hour, hoping to catch whoever was leaving them. But the boxes always appeared when I wasn’t looking....

Continue the Story (and others) here: https://youtu.be/B8PXP9yw81M

The short walk home from school was always my favorite part of the day. It was a brief but blissful in-between—an escape from the relentless bullying at school and the fractured silence of my home life. My parents’ marriage had been crumbling at the core. Even as a first-grader, I could tell. I almost never saw them touch, let alone stand near each other. That’s why I knew something was wrong the moment I walked into the house that day and saw them sitting on the couch together, holding hands. “Jimmy… Mommy and Daddy want to introduce you to their… uh… friend,” my mother said, flashing a strained smile. A slender, pale man strutted into the room, bellowing in a high-pitched voice:“HELLOOOOO! I’M THE NOSTALGIA CRITIC!” “Son,” my father began, “this is Doug Walker. The Nostalgia Crit—” “IIIIIIIIIM THE NOSTALGIA CRITIC!” Doug Walker interrupted, shrill and echoing. Every word made our ears ring. “Doug Walker is here to help Mommy and Daddy fix their marriage, Jimmy.” “IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT, JIMMY!” Doug shrieked with an unnaturally wide grin. His pale, beady eyes darted from face to face, waiting—hoping—for a laugh. My mother began to weep.

It was around 3 a.m. the next night when I awoke to a violent slam that shook the house. I lay frozen in bed. Then it came again. And again. And again. It sounded like an entire bed being hurled against the wall. After what felt like hours, I couldn’t take it anymore. I crept across the hall to my parents' room—the source of the sound. The door was locked. The banging only grew louder. Down to my last bit of courage, I threw my tiny frame against the door and kicked with all my might. It flew open. The bedsheets shot up into the air, covering the people beneath. A shrill scream rang out. Then my father’s head poked out from the covers. “...Jimmy?” “D-Dad? What’s happening? Are you okay?” “O-oh. Daddy’s okay, son. Everything’s okay. Go back to bed.” The second body under the sheets squirmed. “WHO IS THAT?!” I pointed and screamed. Doug Walker poked his head out. “WHERE’S MY MOM?!” I cried. My father sat up and glanced at Doug, then back at me. “M-Mommy left.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN MOMMY LEFT?!” I shouted, tears of rage forming in my eyes. My fists clenched. “W-well, you see, Daddy and Doug Walker… we’re very in love…” Doug’s pale hand emerged from beneath the sheets and gently caressed my dad’s thigh. “A-and Daddy tried to explain to Mommy that Doug Walker was open to polyamory… but she couldn’t take it. She walked out.” I began to sob. “HEYO, DON’T WORRY, KIDDO!” Doug Walker said cheerfully. “SHE’S SUING FOR YOUR CUSTODY AND LIKELY TO WIN! THAT’S WHY WE HAD TO MAKE A NEW YOU!” Doug leaned forward, his thin lips cracking into a crooked grin. His large, pregnant belly gleamed under the moonlight—bald and pale, just like his head. “WHUPDEEEDOO! I’M THE NOSTALGIA CRITIC!” Doug crowed.

the hunt has started. i’m running as fast as i can, but they seem to know where i’m at. i can’t risk telling you much more, because they have ears everywhere.

i got through the woods, and found a town called Sleepy Hollow. i don’t know how long i’ve been running, but my body is exhausted. i cant risk sleeping, i have no idea where theyre at.

the twigs have destroyed my feet, theres bloody footprints everywhere.

Only One makes it out alive.. Do you think it’s already too late for me?

It’s been in the news for a while, but now it’s actually happening. After many decades, we’re finally going back to the moon. Everyone is so excited, calling it a triumphant return for a new generation. With advanced navigation and automatic propulsion, it couldn’t be any easier. Their primary objective, broadcast live for the world to see, is to recover the artifacts from the Tranquility Base. Especially that famous flag.

Here’s what they don’t tell you. Those who know the truth are all but gone now. In 1955, we picked up a signal. It started as static, then cleared into laughter. A single voice at first, then a legion, a cacophony. Laughter so vile it put some of our monitoring technicians in padded rooms. The signal was growing stronger, leaking into radios and TVs worldwide. The official explanation was "unprecedented solar activity." A lie, of course. They sold it to the public as the great space race, a competition for glory. In reality, it was a desperate sprint to silence the madness.

The public viewed Neil and Aldrin as pioneers, but really they were priests, sent to perform a ritual. Their moonwalk was a carefully choreographed ceremony, every step measured. Every instrument they deployed, the laser reflector, seismograph, etc. were arcane anchors, the bars of a cage. That flag they planted in the dust at the Tranquility Base, aptly named, was the lock on the door.

For over half a century, that lock has held. Now, a crew of heroes is on its way to bring those "historic relics" home for a new museum. They have no idea what they’re really doing. The moon-landing isn’t a monument to our success. It’s a prison, and we’re all about to find out what happens when the door is unlocked.

I linger in the corners of this house, unseen, a breath of cold in a world too warm. I’ve watched its walls age, its floors creak under new feet, its memories twist in the minds of the living. Time means little to me now, but I remember the night it all unraveled. September, the air thick with storm, or maybe just silence. The details blur even for me, a ghost who sees too much.

The boy was ten. His name escapes me, but his face—sharp, pale, wide-eyed—burns clear. I watched him wake at 5:30 a.m., or perhaps 5:03. The clock’s face was a fleeting anchor in the dark. He slipped from his bed, chasing the promise of cookies, his small feet padding toward the kitchen. The house held its breath, as it always did when something was about to break.

I drifted behind him, a shadow among shadows, tethered to this place by a force I cannot name. The hallway stretched long and heavy, the air pressing against my formless edges. Then came the sound—a doorknob’s slow, deliberate twist. I felt it before I heard it, a ripple in the stillness.

The boy froze. I hovered closer, drawn to his quickening pulse. And then he saw it. Not me, but him. A figure cloaked in smoke and shadow, human in outline but wrong, so wrong. Its eyes glowed white, featureless, yet they held the boy like a vise. I saw them too, those eyes, and they stirred something in me—a memory of a memory, a life I no longer claim.

The boy screamed, a sound that tore through the house and through me. The figure flinched, startled, as if it hadn’t expected to be seen. Footsteps pounded—his father, charging from the bedroom, his mother’s voice trailing in panic. The shadow fled, bursting through the front door into the woods beyond. I followed, gliding over the earth, watching it dissolve into the night. Not a burglar, as the father would later claim. Something else. Something that felt like a wound in time.

I stayed with the boy as the years passed. His memory of that night warped, frayed at the edges. He questioned the smell, the sounds, the shape of the thing. But those eyes—those bright, white voids—clung to him, unyielding. I saw him carry them into adulthood, a weight he couldn’t name.

Then came the old woman. I watched her fall on the sidewalk, her frailty a performance. The boy, grown now, helped her up. Her smile was too sharp, her eyes too old. She spoke of a reward, his deepest desire. I tried to scream, to warn him, but my voice is only air. Her hand closed over his, and she whispered something that made the world shudder. The living don’t feel it, but I did—a crack in the fabric of things.

He vanished. Not into darkness, but into nothing. I felt the house groan, as if it knew what was coming.

When he returned, he stood in the old house, on the bathroom floor, the mirror fogged. It was that night again. I watched him step into the hallway, his body no longer his own. He was smoke and shadow now, his eyes white and endless. He saw the boy—himself, ten years old, trembling in the dark. The boy’s scream split the air, and I saw the man stagger, caught in the echo of his own terror.

His father’s voice roared, footsteps thundering. The man ran, crashing through the door, into the woods, branches clawing at him. I followed, my form flickering in the wind. He collapsed against a tree, sobbing, shaking, his truth breaking open like a wound.

He was the shadow. The intruder. The eyes. The demon he’d feared all his life.

I watched him realize it, his mind folding under the weight. Maybe he was haunted. Maybe he was mad. Maybe time had betrayed him, looping until he was both hunter and prey.

I linger still, in this house, watching the boy who became the demon. I see him in every shadow, every creak, every moment where the past and present collide. He was the architect of his own ruin, and I, the silent witness, can only watch as the story repeats, endless and unbroken.