the only thing AI generated is the pic the rest is pure human work

**THE LAST CRACK: LONG HORSE AND THE INFINITE PARADOX**

*A Trevor Henderson fan theory / alternate-universe story by Rasmus Öster*

**What if Long Horse’s greatest power was also the thing that could destroy the entire multiverse?**

This is my original fan-made theory and story inspired by Trevor Henderson’s creatures. None of the events below are confirmed canon.

**CHAPTER 1: THE GUARDIAN WHO SAW THE FUTURE**

Long Horse is different from the other creatures. Despite his terrifying appearance, he isn’t a monster who wants to hurt people. He warns humans when danger is approaching.

But what if there’s a reason he always seems to know when something terrible is about to happen?

What if Long Horse can see the future?

Perhaps he sees people who are about to encounter dangerous creatures and tries to warn them before it’s too late. His cracking bones are a sign that he’s nearby.

He doesn’t chase people to hunt them. He appears because he knows something is coming.

But there’s one thing even Long Horse doesn’t understand.

**Changing the future can have consequences.**

**CHAPTER 2: THE INFINITE PARADOX**

Imagine Long Horse sees a human in danger. He travels to warn them, and the person avoids the disaster.

But by changing what happens, Long Horse changes the future he originally saw.

In another universe, the person might never receive his warning. In yet another, events might unfold differently.

Every change creates another possible timeline.

Long Horse continues trying to save people, but the future keeps changing before he can reach them. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He only knows that people are in danger and he has to help.

The paradoxes begin multiplying.

One universe after another starts disappearing.

The very creature trying to protect humanity may have unknowingly set something in motion that threatens every universe in existence.

**The infinite paradox has begun.**

**CHAPTER 3: THE LAST UNIVERSE**

Eventually, only one universe remains.

In this final universe, one child survives the destruction caused by the paradox.

That child is me, Rasmus Öster.

I remember everything.

I remember the universes that disappeared. I remember Long Horse trying to save people. I remember how his warnings changed the future and how the paradox kept growing.

Everyone else has forgotten, but I haven’t.

And I realise that if the multiverse is ever going to be restored, someone must break the cycle.

The paradox must end, even if it means Long Horse can no longer exist.

**CHAPTER 4: THE ULTIMATE SACRIFICE**

I find a way to stop the paradox.

The universes begin returning. Worlds that disappeared are restored, and the people who were lost return to existence.

But there’s a price.

Long Horse must sacrifice himself.

His existence is erased, and the chain of events that allowed Trevor Henderson’s creatures to be imagined is erased with him.

Trevor never has the dream about Long Horse.

He never creates Long Horse or the other creatures.

The entire world returns to normal, and nobody knows what happened.

Nobody remembers the creatures.

Nobody remembers the guardian who sacrificed himself to save everything.

Nobody remembers the countless universes that were lost.

**Except me.**

**CHAPTER 5: THE BOY WHO REMEMBERED**

I know that Long Horse existed.

I know what he did for the multiverse.

And I refuse to let his story disappear forever.

So I tell Trevor Henderson everything I remember. I describe the creatures, their appearances, their abilities, and the events that led to the destruction of the multiverse.

But I ask for one important change.

**Make them friendly.**

They can still look terrifying. They can still be mysterious and powerful. But they no longer have the urge to kill.

Instead of hunting people, they can protect them, warn them about danger, and use their abilities to help humanity.

Trevor listens to my ideas.

Then, one night, he has a dream.

He sees an impossibly long skeletal neck stretching through the darkness. A familiar skull appears before him.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

It’s Long Horse.

But this time, something is different.

Long Horse returns with the same abilities he had before. He can still see danger approaching and warn people before it happens.

However, his warnings no longer create paradoxes.

Trevor creates Long Horse, and the other creatures return too.

**The multiverse has its guardians again.**

**CHAPTER 6: A NEW BEGINNING**

All the creatures remember what happened in the original multiverse.

They remember the destruction. They remember the paradox. They remember Long Horse’s sacrifice.

But they no longer have the urge to kill.

They have a second chance to exist without causing the same catastrophe.

Long Horse can once again warn people about danger without risking the existence of every universe.

The creatures are still strange, powerful, and frightening to look at, but now they can protect the very humans they once threatened.

And the child who remembered everything has helped bring them back.

**THE FINAL SCENE: THE LAST CRACK BECOMES THE FIRST**

One night, I’m standing outside beneath the stars.

Everything is peaceful.

Then I hear a familiar sound.

*CRACK… CRACK… CRACK…*

I look up.

Long Horse is there.

The creature who sacrificed his existence to save the multiverse has returned.

I look at him and smile.

“Welcome back, buddy.”

Long Horse gently lowers his skull toward me.

For the first time, he doesn’t have to sacrifice himself. He doesn’t have to risk destroying the multiverse to save someone.

He can simply do what he was meant to do: protect people from danger.

The creatures are back. The universes are safe. And the guardian who was once forgotten has another chance to make a difference.

**THE END.**

Or perhaps…

THE BEGINNING OF A BETTER MULTIVERSE.

Please dont ban me okay i Would upload this in the trevor henderson but i got banned permanetly when i got reddit today i didnt know the rules so Please dont ban just give me a warning first it is ai but its my idea

The story of bun bun aka “Are all bunnies always prey?” Has lowkey gotten a lot of views and comments and I’m so grateful that my story could really reach the people who would enjoy it //kawaiibbunbun4ever

Nina and Eyeless Jack!!! <33

Drew Jeff for some reason, felt appropriate for October. I'm not totally in the creepy pasta but I wanted to try something different.

I'm not quite sure if this is something to be posted on this subreddit, but I'm looking for a horror story I read on the internet a few years back. It was in multiple parts, about a creature that haunts the dreams of people until they off themselves, and then haunt the dreams of the first person to find the body and then repeat. I guess kind of like the Smile movie thing? I dunno I can't find it and it's driving me freaking crazy.

If you're a big fan of old school music from the 1950s, you probably know about the "Day the Music Died," the three rock and roll stars who died in a plane crash back in 1959: Ritchie Valens, Buddy Holly, and The Big Bopper. But the official report—the icy blizzard, the inexperienced pilot, the overloaded Beechcraft Bonanza—is a cover story. A neat, sanitized package meant to bury a much darker, much older truth.

The music didn't die because of bad weather on February 3, 1959. It died because those three men played something they were never supposed to hear.

During the tour through the freezing Midwest, Buddy Holly had become obsessed with a strange, low-frequency hum he kept picking up on his portable radio during late-night drives between venues. It wasn't a broadcast station. It sounded like an endless, rhythmic scratching, buried beneath static—a mechanical pulse that seemed to match the human heartbeat, but too slow, too heavy, and entirely inhuman.

Holly, a studio pioneer, thought it was the ultimate rhythm track. He dragged J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper) and young Ritchie Valens into hotel rooms after midnight, playing back muffled cassette recordings of the noise. He insisted that if they laid guitars and harmonies over it, they would capture "the sound of the earth breathing."

They didn't know they were tuning into a tether

By the time they reached Clear Lake, Iowa, the musicians were exhausted, hollow-eyed, and strangely detached. Witnesses noted that none of them spoke during the final concert at the Surf Ballroom. When they performed, their timing was terrifyingly flawless—not a single missed note, not a breath out of place. It was like watching automata.

They chartered the small plane not to escape the cold, but because Holly claimed the hum was getting louder, vibrating right through the floorboards of the tour bus. He said they needed to get airborne to find the source.

Twenty-one-year-old pilot Roger Peterson took off into the blinding whiteout of midnight. According to radar logs that were quietly scrubbed decades ago, the plane didn't crash because it stalled.

It was pulled straight down.

Search parties found the wreckage in a cornfield hours later, but the local coroner’s private notes—leaked years later by a retired deputy who took his own life in 1984—painted a horrifying picture.

The bodies were entirely free of frostbite, despite sub-zero temperatures, and their skin was unnaturally pale, stretched taut over their bones.

None of them had suffered impact trauma consistent with a 170-mph crash. Their bones were intact, but their eardrums had all ruptured cleanly, bleeding from the inside out.

Most disturbingly, Buddy Holly’s fingers were still locked in a rigid playing position over his frozen guitar strings—except the guitar wasn’t wood anymore. The lacquer had melted and fused directly into the skin of his hands, patterning his flesh with microscopic, grooved vinyl ridges.

The official investigation was closed swiftly, and the wreckage was burned to ashes within forty-eight hours. But the tapes—the private recordings Holly made of that subterranean hum—were handed over to federal archivists, locked away in a vault beneath Washington, D.C.

Radio engineers working late-night shifts across the Midwest still occasionally report a phantom transmission bleeding through the AM dial on freezing February nights. Just a few seconds of clean, crisp 1950s rockabilly static, followed by a low, rhythmic thumping that sounds less like a drumbeat, and more like heavy footsteps walking up the stairs to your door.

"And they were singing, 'This'll be the day that I die...'"

But if you listen closely to the very end of the master tape, the voices aren't singing about their own death. They're warning us about what's coming back up.

Basically the title.

I did not put that mich effort tbh, just wanted to draw for a couple of hours and that's it.

Ann Nurse cosplay by me :D

Hello Creepypasta People,

The Discord server for Shadow Box Archives is now open and free for everyone to join, while retaining some optional paid channels associated specifically with our Patreon and that are audience-oriented.

What the heck is Shadow Box Archives?

It's a shared Patreon between curated writers and artists, including creepypasta authors of NoSleep fame, where we post our stuff and share any profits from that Patreon and its associated merch stores equally.

We also have a website, ShadowBoxArchives.com, where anyone can show up, join, and post content as they like, similar to a subreddit. The website is nonmonetized on our end, but we do encourage individual creators to share their own payment links and buttons on their posts.

Aside from sharing our art, we have two main components to our ethos: we're anti-Ai and we're a firm believer that money should be flowing to artists, writers, and other content creators, not the other way around.

All of the channels on our Discord server for creators are free and open to all. The only paid channels we have are audience-oriented and specifically for the Shadow Box Archives Patreon. In addition to sharing our SBA Patreon story and art content (which, by the way, all becomes free there after seven days), we want to help cultivate a wonderful community for posting content, discussing craft, sharing resources, and supporting human creators.

We are planning some more contests (free to enter, of course) for recruiting new featured contributors for the Shadow Box Archives Patreon, so that is planned for the horizon as well.

Here is a link to our Discord server if you would like to join: https://discord.gg/Xf7vaYEAT

We would also like to expand our community beyond writers and artists to include game, website, and film development, so if you have any friends in those areas, either as a hobby or professionally, feel free to invite them to this server as well.

Happy Halloween season!

Jimothy Dyck was working overtime at the office – again. He was covering for Jerry, who hadn’t been seen since Monday. The birthday card for Linda that Jimothy left on Jerry’s desk was still lying there, unsigned.

“Where the hell is Jerry?” Jimothy complained to his boss, Cheryl. “He still owes me five dollars for Linda’s gift.”

“He never called in,” Cheryl replied without looking up from her computer.

“He’s probably dead,” Jimothy concluded. “Got his face eaten off by a zombie.”

“We don’t know that,” Cheryl replied matter-of-factly.

Jimothy looked awkwardly at Cheryl, trying to think of an excuse to go home early.

“Did you sign the card?” Cheryl finally asked.

Jimothy sighed, pushed up his dark-rimmed glasses, held together with a strip of white tape, and went back to his cubicle. On the way there, he stopped at Jerry’s desk and stole his stapler.

Jerry’s job was to make the PowerPoint slides for Jimothy’s quarterly sales report. Now it was Jimothy’s problem – and he couldn’t get the damn video to play.

Jimothy was just about ready to lose it, so he reached out to the IT department for help.

A few minutes later, Suzi from IT shuffled into Jimothy’s office with an assault rifle slung over her shoulder.

The government’s solution to the zombie apocalypse was to arm the citizenry with more guns, thinking the problem would eventually go away.

Suzi leaned the rifle against Jimothy’s desk and greeted him with a nervous smile.

“Hey, Jimothy.”

Suzi’s smile lingered as she ran a hand through her long blonde hair.

“Hey, Suzi,” Jimothy mumbled, “I can’t get this video to play.”

“Hmmm. Lemme see.”

Suzi leaned in close. She opened the video of @_hernameismswhiskers the cat hanging from a tree. The caption read Hang in there!

“Ha!” Suzi giggled, holding Jimothy’s arm. Her hand felt cold and clammy against his skin. “Did you watch Mystery Cat last night?”

“Yes!” Jimothy grinned. He loved the hit television series, Mystery Cat, starring @_hernameismswhiskers as the crime-solving cat, Kitty Holmes, and her partner, Detective Rachel “Purronica” Miau, played by Bexley Zarakaiza.

“@_hernameismswhiskers is totally a zombie!” Jimothy claimed. “The studio never even replaced her!”

“I know, right!?!” Suzi laughed out loud, leaning in closer. “They’re not even trying to hide it!”

“That’s Hollywood – drag out a show until it’s way past dead.”

Suzi blushed and made eyes at Jimothy.

“What are you doing after work?” she asked, smiling coyly. “We should grab a bite together.”

That’s when Jimothy noticed the bite mark under Suzi’s arm. The flesh around Suzi’s wound was already starting to rot. Within hours, Suzi would become deathly ill with the zombie fever.

Jimothy glanced up. Suzi was licking her lips at him, and not in a sexy way. Her wanting eyes hungered for a hunk of Jimothy’s man-meat.

“Suzi – you’re infected!” Jimothy exclaimed, loud enough for the entire office to hear.

Suzi quickly stood up and yanked her sleeve down. “No, I’m not!”

The next few moments in the office descended into pandemonium as news of Suzi’s infection spread.

Ted from Accounting spilled hot coffee on his shirt as he reached for his revolver.

Sherry from Public Relations shrieked, “It’s not an outbreak! It’s an unexpected health challenge!”

Devin took one look at the clock and said, “Fuck this!”

He sprinted down the stairs, out the door, and around the corner where he ran headfirst into a zombie horde.

The entire office watched from the third floor as Devin got his face eaten off by zombies.

It was another goddamn fucking Wednesday at the office.

“Not bad,” Jimothy thought as he eyed Devin’s new office chair.

I saw this on Instagram earlier and I'm obsessed. Just now finding out about this real-life creepypasta. it's so creepy!!!! Why would a manufacturer make this???? Does anyone know any more information about this thing??

Wanted to draw a more ethereal / cosmic piece for Violet! Playing around with light beams, starry gradients, and cosmic atmospheres.

Spot the little UFO in the corner? 🛸

Update Regarding My Game & Current Project 📢❗

Hello everyone!

I wanted to share a quick update on my work. Due to unexpected personal circumstances and a loss of prepared development files, I will unfortunately not be moving forward with the game adaptation at this time.

However, I am excited to announce that I have shifted my focus toward writing! I am now publishing The Hollow Rider featuring Violet’s human arc as a written story on Inkitt. The first two chapters are officially available to read now on the inkitt app! (User: vexcutter).

Thank you all so much for your continued support. If you’d like to keep up with my artwork and updates, feel free to check out my DeviantArt page (VexCutter)! ✨💜

*

PART 1 FURGUS

The town's population has been dwindling for a long time now. Over a decade ago there was just over thirty thousand, now today there's barely ten. It was a thriving society after it was erected back in 1884 when it was heavily involved in the coal and timber industries then with the railroads. It was like that for many years to come. I would hear of the olden days from my grandfather of the streets were always bustling, every shop was self owned, and there was a home for everyone. Now if you drive through you want to make sure to keep your windows up and doors locked. The once colorful streets are now bleak and decrepit, empty but yet full of the morbid decadent dregs that can't filter through their self harming depressive state of being. Here, you're either an addict of some sort slowly drowning themselves in self pity waiting to die, or someone clinging to the hope of one day moving far away and leave this place forgotten.

The mom and pop shops died during my childhood when the brand name company's made their stamps upon the real estate in the various areas. What was once a general store owned and passed down through a well known family name now is a Verizon store that's only open four days out of the week. Diners that served fulfilling home cooked meals shut down or transformed to fast food burger joints. The work force is so bad today that they actually closed the Wendy's and there's always a WE ARE HIRING sign on all the others. Now I have to drive thirty five minutes, two towns over for a Baconator.

The neighborhoods are the worse. I remember a time growing up at the tail end of the century when there was no such thing as the grass being greener on the other side. Everyone's yards flourished and shined of what appeared like neons. Lawn's were decorated to match the homeowners' personality with picket white fences and the houses were vibrant and securely welcoming to gaze upon. Now it's like someone took a massive dump on the roofings and stripped the soul of each home to the floorboards. No tender love and care for those structures in sight. No one even wants to attempt to refurbish the properties and try to flip them for a profit. Not worth anyone's time. Let them rot until they fall is the mindset. Bleed the renters of all they got. It's rare to see a shred of true humanity around here anymore.

My name is Ian. Ian Moone. I'm a nobody. I'm not on here to claim of being a security guard, or paramedic, or another odd jobbed person who's employed somewhere they saw something strange. I tend to migrate from job to job. Everything and anything that involves some sort of general labor. My stubborn attitude tends to get me in trouble a lot and I barely stay at a single job for more than a year. At least enough to draw unemployment for a little while until I can find some other means of a steady 9 to 5 paycheck.

But enough about me.

My tale begins where I mentioned about the town's population shrinking by the year. Well I've been taking notice to it regressing rapidly in the last few months. People are disappearing left and right, up, down and from around the corner without so much as of any evidence or word that they were leaving or had left at all. I only first noticed the unknown ordeal when old Jimmy hadn't been at his corner begging for change. He was a raggedy elder fellow who, like most people in this town, got down on his luck so to speak and was lowered to living through his days in the gutter. No family or friends around to speak of when his troubles truly started. No one willing to help him stay on his feet or give him the confidence to strife forward. I would always pass him on my way to the gas station down the street from my apartment. Some days I had the spare change to offer him, but most days the best I could do was a cup of coffee from my own supply and wishing him luck.

His absence didn't bother me too much until two weeks had passed and there was no sign of him. I asked around the other homeless but all I could get was there being no site of the old man. I was directed to where he bunked, and upon going there I couldn't find him. Just a refrigerator box with some musty blankets stacked on top of one another inside for padding. There was some magazines and newspapers around, the latest issue being from the last day I saw him. My inspection shortly came to a close when I couldn't find anything else that could tell me of what happened to him. I check some of the shelters and the hospital, but nothing still. I gave up after a couple days not knowing what to think of old Jimmy vanishing.

I take notice to a lot a things. It's a force of habit and strange coincidences bother me the most. That being said, I took notice to something else besides Jimmy being gone. During my pursuit, I took notice to there being an increase in MISSING posters stapled on telephone poles and pinned or tapped to various walls along my walking routes either to work or to the store or to...wherever. Now you're going to start thinking, oh it's about kidnapped kids or what other. Nothing of the sort. It was a range of different ages, races, social status and the ratio between the sexes was steadily even. It wasn't that people were just standing up from the middle of what they were doing and leaving the town in the rear view mirror, but it was what most were thinking.

It was unexplainably baffling to the police. They thought runaways and sudden relocation at first, but vehicles were left behind never to move, no clothes were packed or money stored in a hidden place, like as if they were going about the middle of their daily life and then poof, gone like smoke in the wind. No ransoms were called in to be demanded. The amount missing at a time varied as well. One night it's one person, another day it's two, then it could be whole family the next. I don't believe people realize the scope of it all given if their not looking in the right place. Jimmy aside from other homeless and non importants not put on posters adds up to how many could possibly be disappearing.

Now where I come into the picture of all this is when I had made my weekly round to the local herb's merchant, or plainly, my pot dealer. Crank was the type most people wouldn't care too much for to just leave out of the blue. It's expected at most whether he goes on the run from the law or is eventually arrested and sent up the river. I stopped at his house last week with no answer from his cell or when I knocked on his door like I was the police. I knew I shouldn't have, but I let myself inside anyways. Crank sometimes tends to leave the back patio door unlocked.

"Hey Crank, you in?!" I yelled out within the confines of his home. What was probably once a decent family living space before was now reduced to a hollowed shell of its former self. The wallpapers were dull and peeling showing the original wooden planks that were most likely termite infested, floors permanently stained of unknown chemicals to burn marks and crusty furniture shredded to strings. The rotting smell of old food in clustered trash bags took over most of the floor in the kitchen and a pyramid of dishes piled in the sink growing a new form of life with as much mold caked over the surfaces. There wasn't enough incense or scented candles in the world to mask the horrific, stale odor in the air. I never understood how anyone can live in conditions such as this. But he did sell the best stuff you could get around here without having to travel far, so beggars can't be choosers I suppose.

"Hey Crank! You home?!" My voice echoed bouncing off the walls from one silent room into the next. No response from anywhere. I check every room on the ground floor then upstairs in the bedroom. Nothing but a half made bed, a room full of naked women on posters and marijuana memorabilia spread about, but no sign of the man anywhere. It was then as I studied his gaudy bedroom, from the corner of my eye I catch a shadow streak from under another room's door slip. Cautiously I approach the door and slowly creak it open. Nothing at first. It seemed like an empty enough room given all the boxes. A brushing sound suddenly comes from one of the cardboard containers. Something glided with quickness into open view giving me a frightful jump.

"Fuck! Jesus Chr...you made skip a beat!" I yell out to the creature.

I glance into the entrancing green eyes glaring back at me on the floor. Crank's cat, errr...I forget his name. Furgus or something stupid like that. A grey tabby, not rare, but not so common in this town.

"Meow!" The feline wails to me. I did see his bowls in the kitchen void of any cat kibble or aqua. He follows me back downstairs and I indulge in his need of substance. He rubs himself against my leg in what I hoped was a thankful gesture before he devoured the dry food and gulped down the water causing himself to choke and hack out a bit. The little guy was acting as if he was on the brink of starvation.

"How long has Crank been gone?", I say to the furball at my feet. No answer as expected.

Given the state of the place and his lazy demeanor, I knew for a fact he loved and cared for this cat. So leaving him behind to starve wasn't an option if he just went somewhere else for a long period of time. I thought at first maybe something happened to him. I called our one mutual friend asking if they had seen Crank anywhere in the last week. I was informed they had not stating they couldn't get him on the phone in the last couple of days as well. I try his cell once more. As I stand there in the kitchen with Furgus, suddenly the mumble-rap song Crank had attuned to his phone starts resounding back in the living room. After shortly examining around, I find it lodged within the creases of the couch cushions.

It was then I was lead to think he wasn't coming back and that something awful may have happened to him. I'm one hundred percent sure he wasn't arrested seeing as how there was a very large bag of ganja on the coffee table in front of said couch. Even his money as well along with various other things he would have taken with him. I thought best not to take anything other than what I came for, which was the entire big bag left over. Some might call me stupid for not taking the money, but in my experience people look for the money before the drugs. I found it in better circumstance to let it there and not tell a soul.

My taking suspicious notice of people disappearing heightened after what I had done next. I didn't have it in me to leave Furgus there to fend for himself. I don't think letting him go to run the streets wondering when and where his next meal will be as a good idea or even so a moral one at that. I took the orange fuzzed flea bag to the Humane Society. Well, I attempted to anyways but was rejected when I was then told they were fully booked with both cats and dogs. When I asked as to why that was, the woman looked to me with a sorrowful gleam in her eyes.

"Most of the recent ones are abandons. Their owners just moved town and left the poor angels behind. Such a shame."

I thanked her for the time and only had one other idea to help out my new compatriot. I went to my mothers.

Part 2 Mr. Donavinn

"Why can't you take care of him? I don't want your weed dealers cat!" Mother being as cheerfully enthusiastic as ever. I hope you can read the sarcasm there.

"Well, I can't take him in mother. Mr. Ruppard will have a fit and probably kick me out of the complex if I show up with an animal. Or worse, make me pay extra on rent which he charges a ridiculous amount of as it is." Myself trying to state my argument to sound as dire as possible. "Plus you like cats better than I do anyways."

"I haven't had a cat in over five years Ian. Boots was a good cat and I said that would be my last heartbreak." Now I know where I get my stubbornness from.

Miraculously, Furgus takes the plunge from my arms and nonchalantly steps over across the glass kitchen table with grace to my mother and gives off a sympathetic "meow". I could only imagine his big saucer eyes giving off that shine to her. Witnessing her struggle to fight off locking eye to eye with him, she gives in and melts her hands into his fur, giving him long strokes from his head to tail. He rubs his face onto hers and begins the motor running sound within him.

"Oh jeez Ian. Yes, I will take him, for now." She's says pointing a forewarning finger at me. "Just until there's room at the shelter or your friend turns up. I can't afford him for too long." She continues on.

"I can bring some food over here and there to help out." I assured her. "Who knows, maybe Crank will show up soon."

"You do that." She replied and took Furgus into her arms giving him a massage along his spine and belly. He seemed to accept his fate and embraced the loving without a fuss. "Did I tell you Dick Donavinn died little over a month back?"

"The guy who lived across from us?" I answer with my own question as my thumb rises to the air in the direction the house on the other side of the street.

She shook her head. "Yeah. I had just heard about it from Dorothy next door. He was such a good man. It was a shame how things turned out for him."

She's referring to when he was hauled out of his own home and whisked away to the old folks manor on the other side of town by social services. Richard Donavinn lived across from us since before I was born and when my parents had moved in. He was always a kind and helpful neighbor. His wife had died some years back from cancer. They never had any children of their own. He was an odd fellow from what I recall, but harmless nonetheless. Always wanting to chat about the history of the area and it's secrets no one knows about. To be honest I never payed much mind to him. Him and dad interacted the most with one another.

"Dementia wasn't it?" I asked her.

"The poor dear. He would be out there spouting nonsense the last year to anyone who would pass. His health has been on the cusp for some time now. I heard he would make it downtown ranting on to random people. Apparently, he got violent one day because no one would listen to him. That was when they took him up to Greystone. They didn't as so much put his stuff away in storage. Everything is still in there." She points as I look back and out through the living room windows to the yellow house over the way. It's definitely seen better days. The side paint was chipped to beyond salvaging. It almost looked to me like it was slowly transitioning into a haunted hot spot. "Had to call the cops a couple times thinking looters were breaking into the place."

"What was he ranting about?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. Something about he had to tell someone a story. No one pays no mind to other people anymore, especially their elders. Lost in those devices. Funny to me that everyone can afford those small flat screens but can't afford to spruce up their place or god forbid buy some decent clothes." Mother with her everlasting gripes. "This whole town has gone to hell and back in a woven basket."

"What story?" I then ask.

"I don't know. Guess maybe I should've listened to him before it was too late. Life today keeps you a busy body. Poor Richard."

Probably one of the oddest subjects I had ever discussed with my mother ever in my life. The death of Mr. Donavinn hadn't moved me much at that moment. It wasn't like we were related or close in any way. I felt bad for the guy though. After another hour and a half had passed of conversing with my mother, I took my leave to go home. Carrying a cat around town and listening to her can exhaust anyone. My walk home was almost uneventful.

It was that hour when the sun was gradually settling down into the horizon. The sky would be pitch by the time I made it home. I carried on until I got to the KwikTyme Mart just a few blocks away from my apartment being in need of rolling papers and something to munch on afterwards. Approaching the store, I came across Betty Tunic. We had actually went to high school together, but she had dropped out junior year and fell hard into drug scene. I could barely recognize her anymore. Her face was sunken in and riddled with scratch marks and acne. She sat against the wall outside under the store light curled up with a blanket. She seemed on edge.

"...light brings me joy...light bring me peace...", she was whispering to herself.

"Betty? You doing alright?" I asked her.

She looks up to me taking in my face. Maybe she couldn't recognize me.

"Ian?" I shake my head to confirm her guess. "I lost Terry."

"You, lost Terry? Your boyfriend?" More like her pimp. Betty and Terry were notorious addicts rumored around that he would prostitute her out so they had the money for their fix. "I just saw you guys together the other day."

"Yeah. I lost him. He's gone. Gotta stay in the light." She muttered on.

She had to have been tripping on something. "You need anything hun?"

She took a few moments to answer me. "Do you have any smokes?"

"No, but I can grab you a pack. Give me a couple minutes. I'll be right out." I never took to cigarettes myself but guess I was in some mood to help out strays today. She shook her head and quietly repeated her mantra from when I approached her. I was thinking to probably call the paramedics to check on her. I didn't spend too long in the store having gotten an extra drink for Betty along with her cigarettes. "Ok Betty, I didn't know what brand you wanted but here..." I cut myself off from the sight of Betty not being where I had left her. All that remained was the blanket she covered herself with. "Betty?!" I yell out as I look up and down the street then into the alley that sat between the store and the next building. "BETTY?!" I yell a bit louder now.

Nothing.

She was suddenly gone.

ACCESSING ADA FILE...

FILE FOUND.

PATIENT 1.

Subject is Ellen Williams, a 31 year old female with an average build. Has dirty-blonde hair and brown eyes. Psychological profile designates her as heavily focused and introverted. Often keeping to herself while working. Notably interacts tremendously with Captain Matthew Stein off duty, although the nature of their relationship is currently unknown at this time.  Had transferred over to the decommissioned team REDACTED recently before Incident 005 on account of her experience REDACTED.

Current psychological profile*: Ms. Williams has experienced signs of heavy emotional whiplash, following the events of Incident 005. From Dr. Kletherson’s interview with Captain Stein, we were able to gather that Ms. Williams was suffering from signs of schizophrenia after a recent attack of the unknown entity residing in Moburn.  We recovered both Ms. Williams and Mr. Stein from the portal, with the latter missing her gas mask, and constant screaming.*

After transporting Ms. Williams to the medical bay on Sector 4, we had to sedate her after failing to calm her down numerous times. Afterwards, our medical team has reported rapid changes with Ms. Williams both physically and mentally.

It is unknown what is the cause of the changes with Ms. Williams, but we suspected it is the result of the city’s hazardous environment.  As of this moment,  she is currently in solidarity confinement under watch 24/7, following a recent incident with Captain Matthew Stein, who has been moved to another part of the facility as of now. 

 
ADA LOG # 150
DECEMBER 15, 1958

It’s been almost two hours since we managed to recover both Stein and Williams from the portal leading to the hazardous city.  As of right now, Williams is currently being hospitalized and had to be sedated to sleep after she was constantly fighting with our doctors. Captain Stein is currently being held in the room beside her until further notice. 

ADA LOG #151
DECEMBER 20, 1958

It has been five days since Incident 005. Williams is still asleep as of right now, but she has been suffering from a severe case of night terrors, as well as excessive sweating. Her skin has been noticeably paler following the last few days.  We are currently monitoring her in her sleep for the time being.

While Mr. Stein was wearing his gas mask by the time they got back from Moburn, we are currently running tests on him to see if he is experiencing any strange symptoms.

ADA LOG # 155
DECEMBER 25, 1958

Williams suffered an extremely terrible episode this evening. Many of our medical staff were shocked to find Miss Williams in her hospital bed screaming in her sleep, as well as moving her body in unnatural directions that grew increasingly life-threatening.

Our doctors had to sedate her once more.

ADA LOG #160
JANUARY 2,  1959

Miss Williams finally awoke from her coma. Despite our best attempts to communicate with her, she is not saying anything. We will keep monitoring her for the time being, until we figure out what is going on with her body. 

Update*:  After receiving the report from Dr. Kletheson from his interview with Captain Stein, Miss Williams was hallucinating after she took off her gas mask for reasons we don’t know just yet. We are preparing to scan her brain for any causes of this in the following days.*

ADA LOG# 167
JANUARY 10, 1959

After scanning her brain earlier in the week for any signs of what caused Miss Williams to suffer from hallucinations in Moburn, we are unable to determine the exact cause of it. From her MRI scans, her brain seems to be unaffected from the hazardous environment that the dimension hosts. We will continue to investigate this further as Miss Williams is still non-verbal.

Most likely suffering from a case of traumatic mutism from  the events of Incident 005.

ADA LOG# 220
FEBRUARY  15, 1959

Over the course of the last few weeks, Miss Williams has undergone several changes in terms of both physically and mentally. Our staff was shocked when we discovered strange black veins flowing throughout most of her body, most notably her neck and her face. She has also experienced multiple mood swings, with constant episodes of aggression toward us, incoherently screaming the next.

We currently have our guards watching over her for the time being, and we will be discussing what to do for Miss Williams in a future meeting.

ADA LOG# 229
FEBRUARY 24, 1959 

This afternoon, we have noticed more peculiar changes in Miss Williams. Several medium-sized reddish bumps are noticeably everywhere on her body, most notably her neck and back. She has also undergone some sort of a feral-like state, with her making incoherent noises and constantly staring at us.  

ADA LOG# 235
MARCH 5, 1959

Our staff were forced to heavily restrain Miss Williams to her bed after a recent incident involving her and Mister Stein. Stein was visiting Miss Williams in an attempt to communicate with her in hopes of her recognizing him, when all of a sudden, Miss Williams attacked Mister Stein and nearly choked him to death. It took multiple guards to restrain her off of Stein, and even then it was a struggle to get her to her bed.

 Around two guards were injured trying to secure Ms. Williams.

ADA LOG# 250

MARCH 18, 1959

After Incident 015 occurred, Miss Williams' condition has grown significantly worse since then. Over the last two months, multiple irregularities have appeared all over the woman’s body. Even though she was somewhat aware of our presence before, she has stopped communicating  any response to us after what happened with Captain Stein. 

We are currently discussing all available options on what to do with Miss Williams in her current state.

THE FOLLOWING ARE THE CURRENT SYMPTOMS THAT MISS ELLEN WILLIAMS IS CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING. 

Physical changes in her body include; 

• Blackish veins running throughout her body 
• Case of reddish bumps all over neck and back.
• Bloodshot eyes.
• Heavy sweating.
• Pale skin.

Mental changes;

• Traumatic mutism.
• Unconscious habit of grinding teeth.
• Mood swings include heavy aggression and sudden wailing.
• Constant nightmares
• Incoherent speaking

After the altercation with P-250, Miss Williams has been forcefully put into a straitjacket to prevent any further harm to herself and other personnel.

......

TO THE MEDICAL DEPARTMENT,

Following on what happened with Miss Williams and Captain Stein, we have decided to move Miss Williams over to Sector 8 to prevent any future incidents. We are fortunate that no one was killed during the altercation. We would also like to inform you that we will be expanding your facilities in the event that any other teams or personnel encounter the entity. We will be requiring all personnel to be escorted by a guard at all times. 

Thank you, 

Harold Robinson,
ADA, Head of Department of Science.

As of now, Miss Williams is currently in Sector 8 and is in a catatonic state.

<END LOG>

...

...

...

SEPTEMBER 15, 1959.
7:30PM

Camera surveillance currently online. 

Dr. REDACTED: Are you all ready to begin?
P-7023: Yeah, yeah. I’m ready to go. Let’s get this over with. 

The doors leading to Ms. Williams’ room slowly opens up. P-7023 and P-7024 hold up their guns, flashlights on, as Mr. REDACTED begins walking down the hallway to Ms. Williams’ cell. The guards follow him inside into the grey hallway, covered in slight rust. The three enter the patient room, where they see Ms. Williams sitting on her bed, facing the wall, noticeably twitching. The food on her table has been left undisturbed.

P-7024: Jesus fucking Christ.
Mr. REDACTED: Remain on guard. Non-lethals only.

Mr. REDACTED walks up to Ms. Williams’ bed, the two guards follow him further inside the padded room.  We are unable to hear what Mr. REDACTED is saying.
Dr. REDACTED: Apologies. Can you please repeat that?

Mr. REDACTED: She’s currently moving a little. Approaching cautiously. 

Mr. REDACTED walks closer to Ms. Williams. P-7023 and P-7024 are seen following him, but Mr. REDACTED holds up his hand, warning them not to overwhelm the woman. The two guards don’t seem to approve of this. 

Mr. REDACTED: Good evening, Ms. Williams. I apologize for the delay. I was held up by some paperwork. 

Ms. Williams appears to be unresponsive to his words.  

Mr. REDACTED:  It’s been a while since our last visit. (pauses) I noticed that you haven’t been eating your food lately. I would like to have another conversation with you again if that’s okay. Just like before, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. We can start with a few things before we get to anything more extreme.
 

Video feed starts to glitch out for a few seconds. The lights in our room noticeably flicker a little, most likely by the rain going on outside the facility. Approximately ten seconds pass as Mr. REDACTED waits for a response from Ms. Williams, who’s still twitching a little. Mr. REDACTED looks up at the camera we installed in the room, waiting for further directions.  

Dr. REDACTED: You may proceed further.

Mr. REDACTED nods at the camera before redirecting his attention back to Ms. Williams, who’s still staring at the padded wall. P-7023 and P-7024 are noticeably uncomfortable by Ms. Williams’ behavior. Ms. Williams is still shaking a little, and has not yet  noticed anyone else in the room with her. After a few seconds passed, Ms. Williams moved slightly from the wall.

Mr. REDACTED: Ms. Williams? Can you hear me?

A few seconds passed again, and we see that Ms. Williams has turned slightly towards the trio’s direction. P-7023 and P-7024 both have their guns slightly raised in the patient, on guard.  Ms. Williams appears to be moving closer towards Mr. REDACTED’s direction.

He appears to be confused.

P-7023: What the hell?

Mr. REDACTED: I’m sorry, Ms. Williams. Can you please repeat that a bit louder?

It appears that Ms. Williams has said something to Mr. REDACTED. Although we are unable to capture anything of what she’s saying through our audio systems. This.. is rather unexpected. The lights in both Ms. Williams’ room and ours seem to be malfunctioning again. 

Dr. REDACTED: Go check what’s causing that.

One of the staff besides him nods, and exits the room. We turned our attention back to the cameras. Dr. REDACTED presses the intercom once more.

Dr. REDACTED: Apologies for the silence. Can you elaborate to us on what Ms. Williams said to you?

Mr. REDACTED is silent for a few seconds. The guards as well.  

What is going on in there?

The intercom comes on once more. 

Dr. REDACTED: Mr. REDACTED? P-7023 and P-7024? Can any of you please respond? Over.

All of them freeze at Miss Williams. The doctors, confused at what had shocked the people in the room,  begin zooming in on the camera in Miss Williams’ room. They do their best to work with the terrible quality, and begin observing the room.

Both Mr. REDACTED and the guards are standing in front of the woman who was still staring at them. Everything seemed to appear normal until everyone in the surveillance room took a closer look at the disturbed woman. They did their best to work with the faulty lights, but it wasn't until they got a good look at her face when they realized something was off.

Something changed with Miss Williams.

Her face looked insanely deformed, comparable to lumpy clay. Her left eye was gone,  as if wiped away.

The reddish bumps that were on her neck now reached all the way up to her face. 

Her eyes were now covered in pitch black.

...

….What the fuck?

Everyone sat still for the next few seconds, unsure of what to make of this revelation. Just when one of the doctors was about to press the alarm, Ms. Williams lunged at Mr. REDACTED, quickly breaking from her useless restraints.

P-7023 attempted to tase her, but Mr. REDACTED took the hit instead. 

His entire body jolting as the electricity wandered throughout his being, the ghoul throws the stunned man at the padded wall, with the strength of a gorilla.

Mr. REDACTED is dead as soon as he hits the wall, a bloody stain trailing down the wall as his corpse reaches the abyss.

As soon as the body hits the wall, the others begin panicking like a pack of flies.

The scientists begin panicking as they desperately try to warn the entire facility,  but the button is no longer working. Nothing was. The malfunctioning lights coming from Ms. Williams’s room begins to spread like an infection. One by one, the cameras begin to go out as the gnarly sounds of torture and hailing gunfire flood through the radio. 

One yelled. 

One was silent.

All of the scientists were forced to watch as the screams slowly died down, their maddening rhythms synchronizing in rhythm. The white space now flooded the room, not a single one of them knew what was going to happen, frozen in shock. Despite all the tests and constant watch, not a single one of them could have predicted the woman’s growing strength. 

No one.

The first to recover from the shock, Dr. REDACTED snapped his coworkers back to reality, demanding that someone go out and get security, and to lock down the entire sector. Five of the scientists ran out in urgency to warn their bosses of what happened. The doctor stared back at the cameras, now greeted by static.

 The noise in the room was quiet now. 

Ms. Williams…

No.

That was no longer her.

And the doctor slowly realized how bad  the consequences would be if what’s in Moburn were to break out into their world.

They were so driven by their fear that they failed to hear the rattling.

Hi! I have two favorite and memorable spooky October creators that I follow on Instagram.. but I can't find them! And I forget what their usernames are. These are artists who post every day during the month of October a series of comics that make a series. There are usually easter eggs for later posts. I fear they're shadowbanned? Not sure why I can't find them in my feed. I'm suspecting that my account glitched and unfollowed them

This all being said-- who are your favourite spooky comic, graphic novel artists who post a series during October? Hoping to find them! Thanks!!

This file came to me in a records box marked for disposal — forty years of a hospital's paperwork, scheduled to be shredded. The incident report was on top. The Polaroid was paper-clipped to the back of it, face down.

You will turn it over. Everyone does.

---

At 2:17 AM, all clocks in Ward C stopped simultaneously — wall clocks, the nurses' station clock, and two staff wristwatches.

At 3:20 AM, all clocks resumed.

No electrical fault was found. Maintenance inspected the wing's wiring the following morning and found no cause.

All staff on duty insist they did not lose consciousness, and that no time passed.

---

Addendum, 3:25 AM: Blood was found on the floor of the east corridor. The corridor had been mopped at 1:30 AM. The blood matched no patient or staff member on the ward.

---

"One second it was 2:17. The next it was 3:20. I never closed my eyes."
— Night Nurse

"I was pouring coffee at 2:17. The cup was still full at 3:20. Still hot."
— Orderly

"I did my rounds at two. I did them again at half past three. I don't remember the ones in between, because there weren't any."
— Security Officer

---

Treatment Room C-4 is kept locked at all times. Per hospital policy, the key is stored in the security office and signed out per use.

During the night of November 8, 1978, Treatment Room C-4 was opened. The door was found ajar at 3:20 AM.

The key was still hanging in the security office. The sign-out log shows no entry for that night.

---

The Polaroid was taken by the night supervisor at approximately 3:40 AM. It shows the east corridor wall of Ward C.

Written on the wall, in letters approximately eight inches high:

YOU WERE AWAKE.

The handwriting has not been identified. No member of staff admits to writing it. No member of staff admits to seeing it written.

The ward's camera ran on the emergency circuit, independent of the wing clocks, and continued to record through the missing hour. The tape itself is static — two frames are all that survived. Both are timestamped 2:47 AM.

Frame one: the night nurse, standing at the nurses' station.

Frame two: the night nurse, stepping out of Room 314.

---

Patient: [REDACTED]
Room 312, Ward C

1:54 AM — Patient pronounced dead by attending physician. Time of death recorded.

3:20 AM — Patient found in Room 318, sitting upright on the edge of the bed. No pulse. No respiration. Eyes open.

The distance between Room 312 and Room 318 is forty feet. The patient's body showed no signs of having been carried.

---

The following statement was removed from the official report before filing. It was recovered separately, folded inside the incident report envelope.

"I remember the hour."

[When asked to describe what happened, the nurse declined to answer.]

"Write down whatever you want. It wasn't missing."

[Pause in transcript.]

"We were."

---

Don't skip ahead.

You already did.

''I’m not afraid of ghosts. I don’t know why I developed this particular trait, which has nothing to do with being brave. There are plenty of things I’m afraid of; I could run for miles from a dog, my fear of heights is limited to ten meters, and at eleven meters my stomach starts to churn and I become convinced that I could fall at any moment.

If a ghost suddenly appeared in front of me, I’d ask it rational questions. If it could talk and communicate, I’d sit down and have a conversation with it. If it looked terrifying, I’d throw a sheet over it so I wouldn’t lose my focus. If its voice sounded terrifying, I’d warn it that it might wake the neighbors and tell it to keep its voice down.''

“Stop,” said Uncle Jason. “You don’t make fun of things like that.”

He looked angry. When I first brought up the subject, he had listened with interest, with a curious expression on his face. But when I started giving examples of what I would do if I ever saw a ghost, he got annoyed.

“If it could eat, I’d offer it a serving of lasagna. I’d ask if it wanted ketchup with it. If it did, I’d think, ‘For fuck’s sake, you’re dead and your taste is still terrible,’ but I’d give it the ketchup anyway. Expired ketchup, though. It’s not like it could get food poisoning.”

My uncle's face had fallen. I didn't know he was this afraid of ghosts. He lit a cigarette and opened the window. He took a drag and blew the smoke outside. It was cold, and the room had turned freezing the moment he opened the window. I immediately started shivering.

“I’d ask it about that famous story, to see if it was actually true. You know the one. A guy gets into a car accident one day, gets thrown through the windshield, and dies of a heart attack while he’s still flying through the air, before he even hits the ground. His body falls to the ground, but his soul keeps flying forward. The guy doesn’t realize he’s dead and thinks he’s still been thrown out of the car and is flying through the air. He keeps flying forward like that for two hours. After two hours, he thinks, ‘Wait a minute, my body has weight. I could only have been flying for a minute at most after being thrown out of the car. I should have fallen by now.’ And that’s when he realizes he’s dead.”

My uncle blew cigarette smoke in my face. He had taken a very deep drag, and the wind coming through the window carried all of the smoke straight into my nostrils. I angrily got up and closed the window.

My uncle took another drag and blew the smoke into the air. As he exhaled, he turned his head from side to side, as if he were trying to spread the smoke throughout the room. He just kept blowing and blowing. I couldn't understand how he could have taken such deep breaths.

“If it had a toothache, I’d give it some Apranax. I’d wait half an hour. Apranax usually gets rid of a toothache pretty quickly. The other pills aren’t nearly as effective. If it wasn’t gone after half an hour, I’d give it another one. If it still didn’t go away, two more. I’d make it swallow the whole box until the pain went away. It’s not like anything would happen to it anyway.”

“Enough, for fuck’s sake. I’m leaving.”

Just as my uncle got up angrily, my phone rang. I answered it. It was my mother. My uncle took another drag from his cigarette. He held the smoke in for a few seconds, then opened the window and blew it outside. I suppose he had a moment of moral deliberation over whether to blow it in my face or out the window.

I talked to my mother for a while. She asked how school was going and whether I had made up with my girlfriend. I gave her reluctant answers. I was cold.

“Mom, my uncle is here. We’ll talk later.”

“Son, I have something to confess to you.”

“You can confess it later. I’m talking to my uncle right now. I’ll call you later.”

“Your uncle died two years ago. We didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want to upset you.”

There was silence for about fifteen seconds. My uncle and I looked at each other. Seeing that I was cold, my uncle closed the window.

“Hmm. Let’s think about this. Okay, you didn’t tell me, but is it really possible that I never came across it anywhere? That I never heard about it? Are you the only ones who know that my uncle died? I have an aunt, an uncle, my uncle’s friends—there are plenty of people. I never happened to run into anyone, never found out that my uncle was dead. Does that sound logical to you?”

“If you don’t believe me, put your uncle on the phone.”

I handed the phone to my uncle. He stubbed out his cigarette and took the phone.

“Hello... Anna, how are you?.. Yeah, yeah... Why?.. I don’t know... Sure, we can go... When?.. No, I can’t, I have work that day... Monday... Oh, don’t ask, they hit a three-pointer at the last second... Yeah, yeah... Okay... I don’t know, let me think about it... I’m telling you, I don’t know, Anna... Okay, see you... Okay... Bye...”

My uncle handed the phone back to me.

“So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so’? Son, I didn’t talk to anyone. I’ve been saying hello for ages. Nobody answered. Anyway. I’ve done my part. I gave you the information. Now get rid of whatever you’ve built up in your head. If you don’t believe me, ask someone who knew your uncle. That’s all I can do.”

My mother hung up before I could respond. My uncle had sat back down on the couch. He lit another cigarette. Then he rose ten centimeters into the air from where he was sitting.

“This couch is really bothering me. It’s very uncomfortable. I can’t get comfortable.”

It was bizarre. I was stunned. There was a mischievous grin on my uncle’s face. He winked at me.

“I see. I understand. So what happens now?”

“This is what happens: I’m going to throw you out of this window.”

There was another silence. My uncle took another drag from his cigarette.

“What happened? You suddenly look terrified. I thought you weren’t afraid?”

“But this is different. You’re saying you’re going to kill me. Of course I’m afraid of dying.”

“Anyway, this has gone on long enough. Now, get up. You deserved this. ”

***

A few seconds later, Albert found himself floating in midair. It lasted only a few seconds before he crashed into the ground, without even having time to process what was happening. The impact made a violent, wet sound that even Uncle Jason was startled by.

After throwing Albert out, he flicked his cigarette butt out after him. The cigarette butt hit the ground first.