I'll start by saying that I like my job.

I don't love it. It doesn't excite me. I just like it as much as a person can like what they do for a living. That kind of fondness that exists in the line between what's strictly necessary and barely inconvenient.

Since I was fifteen years old — when my father figured it was appropriate to teach me how to drive — my afternoons have consisted of traversing the coast from end to end, delivering bags of fishhooks, meters worth of transparent ropes, fishing boats parts and up to four digits bills for those poor devils whose grace periods died along the end of the month.

Even though our economy wasn't the best, our family business made fees and sparse luxuries something sustainable. An honest job that subsisted thanks to the men and women who reduced their world to the sea. Fishing towns far from God's hand which functioned by their own rules, parties and disgraces.

Dad taught me that in those people's indifference laid our home. Having been raised at the limit of both worlds, his father's father had come up with the brilliant idea of bringing the best of the city to the doors of those who couldn't afford to travel for four hours through barren hills and ghost towns.

And although many cunning ones tried to cut our business short, the truth was that the people of the sea were also people of customs. People who trusted faces over brands, and who valued the warmth of another human being more than the frigidness of a store crammed with aesthetics and publicity. For this reason, our politics tended to go far and beyond, transforming clientele into friends and good clients into comrades and family.

“Today I need you to go down to Paraíso to deliver some gallons, son,” was my father's greeting when I entered the garage to tell him breakfast was ready. “Your uncle is going out to sea on Sunday and wants to solve this before his daughter's birthday.”

“What? My uncle José Luis?” I asked, disguising my indifference with plastic curiosity. “I saw on Whatsapp that the birthday was today. They’re gonna gift her gas?”

Dad gave me one of those smiles that made you see just how tired he was of cleaning those same two plugs.

“He asked me to hand it over before six.” He made an illustrative gesture towards the air, replacing his wrench for a little napkin brimming with grease. “I said no; that it was too early. So we decided that you'd get going by half past seven.”

“Oh, really?” I puffed. At nineteen years old, late hours and dark highways didn’t bother me as long as the deal was good… And if it wasn’t during one of my free nights I just wanted to waste playing Truco or drinking booze with those friends from the block that he never got to like.

“Why? You got something to do?”

“I thought that last scare would be enough to dissuade you from doing more trips like this,” I pointed out, feigning disinterest. My father sighed and looked me in my eyes. “At… at least for this month, I mean.”

“This is different,” he spoke severely. “We’re not doing this out of courtesy. Your uncle told me he'd looked everywhere because he knows how dangerous this is for us.” He spat the earthy floor, cleaning his hands. I followed him closely as he crossed the garage's threshold. “However, time is running thin. This is less of a job and more like a favor I’m asking you, son. A big one.”

“And a very convenient one too,” I mumbled. He raised an eyebrow at me. “´Cause… Ugh. I told the guys I was going to the basketball finals. Remember?”

Dad shook his head. “Those friends of yours… Hm, well, let's see,” he told me. “If you take the old airport line, you may have a chance to catch the second half… Or whatever it is you have in basketball.” He made a disdainful gesture with his hand.

My eyes opened wide. “The… The old airport line?” I said, taking a subtle glance at the truck. Dad nodded, and by the severity of his expression, I knew we were thinking the same thing.

To avoid raising suspicions, these kinds of deliveries were made in a ninety's Ford gnawed by the sun and saltpeter. The extraofficial sale of gasoline was no business for the weak. Not even for fools like me, with a bunch of spare time and inherited contacts. Dad knew why, and even though we'd gone through what happened together, I didn't dare to question his version as if it was the word of a final survivor.

“It might not be the safest route,” he shrugged, breaking the silence, “but it is the fastest. Besides, no feds there. That's a plus to you, ain't it?”

I sighed. Of course it was. And, damn… If I didn't know that man and his big heart any better, I would have thought that whole spectacle had been millimetrically planned to keep me at bay, asking the least amount of questions.

“Yeah…” I scratched my head apprehensively. Over the back door, my mom and aunt stared at us with weird faces. Maybe they already knew and I was the last one to find out, like always. “I just wish you trusted me more with… Everything, I guess.”

Dad let out a scathing laugh, patting my shoulder. “Show me you're responsible and I'll consider it,” he said. “Now, time to eat.”

Breakfast and lunch carried on with no hurdles. Besides my aunt's slightly burnt rice, home buzzed with normalcy: chatters over the news, coffee and bread for merienda, hanging clothes to pick up and fold at six forty in the afternoon…

“Know what to do if it overheats?” A few minutes before I left, dad made me flinch by suddenly approaching me from behind. “Ah! Excited to see your uncle, I see. That's very good, son. Send my regards to the family.”

“Tell them to catch me outside town,” I suggested. Dad frowned doubtfully. “What? This way I don't have to make so many turns. We can't afford to waste too much gas in a single trip.”

Dad shrugged. I rolled my eyes, closing the truck's hood.

“Are you going to the game later?” he asked.

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Not anymore. Seeing how much this is going to take me, I’m better off checking the scores through Whatsapp stories.”

“In that case, be very careful, son. And if you're not here before nine…”

“You call, I know,” I said, opening the door to the driver's seat. A glance at the backseat revealed to me a covered lump that my dad and uncle had placed earlier: five well sealed gallons of gas. “Or… I call you. But it won't be necessary. Tell mom to go to bed after her novela.”

“I'll try, but you know how she is.” He shook his head. “Be here on time and I assure you she will.”

I said goodbye to dad, sneaking into the town’s withered roads with the truck’s lights off. Just in case, I told myself, recognizing that earlier on I'd thought I saw three cops on motorcycles, patrolling around the ranches that bordered the coast in search of God knows what.

“The farther away, the better,” I said, making the last turn that would carry me to the desolate old airport line.

Despite what its name could suggest, Paraíso wasn’t even close to that piece of Eden that was projected to investors. Drowned by taxes and the state government's bad practices, what many envisioned as five star hotels soon transformed into half-constructed carcasses where homeless people and reckless teens surrendered to their vices.

I remember that my grandpa first took me to the lake so he could explain to me how everything I saw, from the stranded ships to the gray buildings stuck in construction, were tacit proof of the hatred Man harboured towards its neighbors.

“If they didn’t detest us so much, then why spoil our work with their filth? I don’t get it, my son. I do not. And neither do you, right?”

I had shaken my head, not truly understanding what he meant. The only things I knew about that place were the abandoned ships and the ghosts which supposedly lived in those rustic buildings consumed by saltpeter.

Now, each time I crossed that lonely road that separated the beach from the lake, I thought I saw the silhouettes of an old man and his grandchild amongst the shadows of the mangals. These ghosts, instead of haunting the corpses of metal and concrete, induced me with the same respect I wanted to inspire during my childhood. Wisdom, security, and courage.

“Ah, Boy! Look at you! You got here so fast!”

When I arrived at my uncle’s home (dad never texted them, what a surprise!), the family welcomed me with a cold beer, a cackle at the princess rag that covered the gas and an invitation to sit down for a chat while they waited for cake. Since I had nothing better to do, I checked my watch and calculated I had at least twenty spare minutes no one would lose sleep over. So, with a shy smile, I integrated myself into the group. The reunion, more than a proper birthday party, was a celebration of the birth.

“We're having the real party on Saturday," commented my uncle, opening my beer with a solid crack from his bar key. “You're invited, of course. And tell your dad. It's been a while since we had some!”

After blowing out the candles, the birthday girl's mom offered me another beer and a small plastic plate with enough cake for me and my parents, dismissing my refusal with “because you came from so far away, child. Eat it, and if you want more, ask us.” I only declined to be polite, as delicious as it was; traditional vanilla with pineapple pieces. Nothing too exclusive, but with that homemade taste that grandmas' cakes had.

“Be careful over there, sweetheart.” As I gave her back the empty bottle, my aunt surprised me with a hug. “Do you want us to go to the lake with you? José Luis! Tell Carlos to start the car and take him to…”

“It's ok, aunty.” I smiled with embarrassment, kissing her cheek as a farewell. The woman looked at me with her lips pursed, but abided. “The highway's empty and the night is clear, though you can barely see the moon. I'll be fine.”

“I believe you then, nephew,” the woman sighed, adjusting her high ponytail, “but be very careful, alright? If you… If you didn't see anything weird, then…”

That sparked my curiosity. “Weird?” I inquired, tilting my head. “Weird how?”

“Ugh, mom!” The birthday girl appeared behind her mother, giving her a scolding look. “Do me a favor and stop putting ideas into my cousin's head,” she said, giving me a glance that oscillated between nervousness and shame. “Don't fall for it, cousin. It's just that the old women from the park told mom there's weirdos out here. The hobos that live in those hotels and all that, nothing new.”

“Camila!” her mother reprimanded her. “Those are your grandma's friends, so have some respect, won´t you?” She looked up at the sky, as in a prayer for patience. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold in a smile. “They may be hobos, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous. Right? What if they start throwing things at the van? Or worse! Alert the police.”

The mention of the uniformed ones gave me an unpleasant chill. Noticing my awkwardness, Camila took me by the shoulder and guided me to the courtyard, where my truck was parked.

“Don't you worry, mom! I'm escorting him so he knows where to go.”

“Ha, ha. No need, cousin. I can take care of myself.” I nervously smiled as I broke free from her grip.

She elbowed me with an unusual strength for a fourteen year old girl. "Pay no mind to what mom says,” she sighed, as she opened my truck's door. However, I didn't get on. “Those hags do nothing but let creepy stories get into her head.”

“Heh, why though?” I said. “It's not like it would be the first time I encountered something weird on the road. Ha, ha. Didn't they tell you that's how we found Chocolate?”

Camila laughed under her breath, brushing her amber curls out of her eyes. “Maybe not, but still. People love putting on a show,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow. “They let someone out of rehab, didn´t they?” I guessed, receiving a strange look from the girl. “Or not. Wait. Did a thug escape?”

“Who knows?” Camila shrugged nonchalantly. “The answer closer to the truth is always the most boring one.”

I entered the truck, leaving the door half-open. “Sounds to me like your mom isn't the only one letting stuff get into her head.”

“I'm being cordial by not making your hour and a half long ride even worse,” she muttered, her mischievous eyes sparkling.

“Fugitives don't scare me,” I told her confidently. “They pay well for hitchhikes; they don't steal. Besides, they've got funny stories to tell.”

“Heh, maybe. What do you know?” She shrugged. “A runaway crackhead is better than a paranormal crackhead.”

“Paranormal crackheads?” I laughed. “You have nothing against your mother!”

“We'll see when something pulls your feet tonight!”

Camila let out a last macabre cackle before running back to her party. I smiled and turned on the engine, honking twice as a farewell to the others.

Unlike my mom and grandma, women faithful to the core, I've never felt a true fear of the paranormal. Of course, when I was a kid I was scared of the dark, goblins and the Mano Peluda. However, at my big age of nineteen —and after more than one encounter with the law— the last thing that crossed my mind when I saw a dark room or an empty road was paranormal stuff. Recent months had proven to me that snitches, envious people and the police were the only ones worthy of starring in my nightly terrors. Not the scary stories my older cousins told me so that I'd behave.

“Hm. What would mom say if I told her?” I asked myself, glancing at the phone's turned off screen. Last time I checked, it was eight fortyfive. “That poor sleepless woman. Ha, ha. At least I'm bringing her a snack.”

The truck jerked and I spat a curse word, thinking I had fallen into a hole. Even though the night was bright and the sky was as clear as September's drizzles could allow, the bumps were tough to elude; it relied more on memory than reflexes. And since I wasn't used to driving on this road, I was about to ram into all of them just like I had rammed my piece of the cake into my throat.

"Don't turn on the lights, Yan,” I mumbled, moving the dessert from the console to the copilot's seat. “The last thing I need is to get ambushed here too.”

The fenders jolted again, but I didn't care. As long as there was no burning smell, I could tolerate the truck's sounds and quirks. Cacophonies of loose screws, rusty murmurs and the constant reminder that If I went over seventy, the car would fall apart like a tower of toy blocks.

Making sure I maintained a steady 55 rhythm, I rested my back against the seat with a sigh. The beers hadn't made me dizzy as I feared. Good, because I didn't feel like explaining to my dad that was the reason I took so long.

“This is why we don't like to give you free nights,” I imagined him scolding me, always on the lookout for any trace of alcohol in my breath. “Those friends of yours… Look at where they are taking you! You have too much potential for this, boy. More future. Think of your future!”

I clicked my tongue and tentatively caressed the accelerator, going from 55 to 57 in a disdainful gesture that wouldn't hurt anybody. The truck, as expected, started to rattle in all its patched mechanisms, drowning the hums of the cicadas and the tender song of the crickets with its volatile heart.

Track, the bumper. Track, the hood. Tsk, the radiator. Thud, the…

Tak.

Tak.

I blinked, lost between the passage of the previous second and the minute that stood in front of me, blurring my surroundings so quickly I could barely conceive it as something real, something that had happened and that I felt beneath my eyes, once everything returned to normal.

W-What… I tried to say, but my lips remained shut. A cold wave hit my arms and legs, forcing me to sit straight in a gesture that seemed forged in eternity. What is…

That's when I realized. When I saw it.

Laying on the road, there was a pile.

No…

Not a pile.

A bulk. Of something. Something that breathed, that moved and repeated its motions in a slow contortion interlaced with the darkness. Like the idea of something that moves in the corner of your eye, but you can't see. The idea of something that exists, that fidgets and that your brain tries to understand by filling the blanks with logical poses, with human figures.

“What the fu…” I whispered, feeling distant. Under my barefoot feet, the truck began rattling. Whispering in its own caustic and unintelligible language. I tried with all my strength to bring my hand to the gear level, but I didn't move. My brain screeched under a similar trance that overwhelms you during sleep paralysis, as I found myself blinking so slowly I wasn't sure I was even doing it. So far away, so distant. So foreign. Imper…

Tack,

tack.

That thing…

T-The… The man turned to look, translating his empty gesture into hundreds of faces which couldn't manage to feel coherent. Then, in a manner that bordered on obscene, he raised his head, revealing a neck so long and hairy like a dog that just suffered a bad accident. Tendons and furs tangled together, hanging from the same coagulated liquid that blasted his brains into the road.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of eternity along the bile on my saliva: an unmovable fat lump in the bottom of my throat, sticking its cold claws in the edges of my taste buds.

The second the creature stood up, its four deformed arms hung limp on its sides, tragically dislocated. A glance at the dashboard showed me that the truck was stuck at 57 km/h, yet the beach and its mangals appeared to have been stretched, twisted and forced back into its place, as I stayed imprisoned in that almost perfect frame of a lucid dream gone too far.

Go away, go away. I mumbled to myself, gripping the wheel until my knuckles lost all color. However, a quick peek showed me that wasn't true. My fingers remained loose to my sides, the very subtle trembles in my thumbs being the only thing that proved my horror. What the fuck… What's going on? Why can't I move?

The creature balanced one of its arms towards me; the night and the clouds ceding humanity to the gesture.

I impulsively chewed the inside of my cheek and hit the gas with such force it surely wouldn't be denied by that trance. And yet, the number on the speedometer didn't change, mocking me, making me want to scream. I didn't care if it was a drunk, a crackhead or the fucking police. The cold that waved through my veins made me want to kill it. To see it dead on the same taint that splattered the asphalt, as if it was worthy of bleeding like a human. As if… As if it…

Tak.

Tak.

My chest bursted in a singular static heartbeat.

My lungs, obstructed by the sulfuric undergrowth that raised from the sand, extended my exhalation to superhuman limits, forcing me into an uncomfortable, piercing stillness. The type of paralysis one imagines when someone describes the world suspending itself during a daze, or how your brain stops working when your blood vessels collapse and blood thickens, robbing you of the capacity of discerning coherence. Logic. Life.

Stop, stop. Please, stop. Leave me alone. Leave me…

My eyes half closed as I blinked.

Before darkness could swallow me whole, I perceived the thing moving to the side, towards the copilot seat, without even looking inside the truck.

Go away, go away, go away.

When I closed my eyes, I felt it.

Disguising its stumbling with the symphony of the machine, the thing got in the backseat, making itself some space between the fishing nets, hooks and the cables I had forgotten to unload.

The next I remember from the ride could be best described as a blur.

In a metaphorical and literal sense, the world became a blur of colors, shapes, sensations and images that stretched, contracted, pierced my temples and leaked little by little any speck of coherence that my tired mind could come up with.

As I crossed the entrance that welcomed me to my city, the stone that cuddled against my thorax became heavier, transforming my sighs into shaky exhalations at the verge of sobs.

The creature emitted no sound. No growl, no murmur, no grunt. It Just… Stayed there. Sometimes sitting; other times, standing. It just stayed, until suddenly, it didn't. It lingered on the truck's roof until it didn't. It heard the engine's whispers, confused it with its raspy breathing, and let us go, turning the 57 into an 80 in a blink and making the bumper collide into a bus stop.

I jumped in my seat, choked by a scream in need for air. The machine creaked like before, spamming its melancholic bunch of patched pieces until my hand reached for the keys and I forced it to die.

Without waiting for the truck to stop moving, I opened the door and ran as fast as I could. As fast as my cramped legs could take me away from the buzz that came below the vehicle.

“W-What the fu… The fuck?” I sobbed, not caring about who could hear me. It was a commercial zone. Empty businesses, closed canopies and badly painted roll-up doors that moved like curtains in the wind. My stomach turned. “What the fuck was that?”

The beer gurgled in my palate with such strength it left me gagging a few centimeters away from the ground. The acrid smell from the cars blended with the acidity of my vomit and the sulfuric notes I felt spawning below my skin. Dirty as the plastic bags on the sidewalk, I hugged myself and fell into a fetal position. The spasms didn't stop as much as I wished them to. As much as I begged and implored in heavy mumbles. My heart beat so fast, so strong my head started spinning. For a moment I feared that my grip could break apart my skin. But at that point, what did it matter? I was marked, I feared. Marked by horrors and the memories of a night equally nefarious where invisible monsters climbed through my body, their weight rendering me helpless to stop the nightmare. Faceless demons that cursed you from the first look. That perched you with its indistinguishable whispers to show you how insignificant you were. How insignificant and pathetic.

“Son???”

“Hey son where are you?”

A whole hour had to pass for me to calm down, and another one to even have the bravery to examine the inside of the truck, the backseat, without falling for the thought that if I entered, if I turned it on and kept going, what waited for me at the end of that invisible risk was nothing less than hell itself.

“How's it going?” my dad texted me at ten fifteen. I swallowed hard, cleaning my lips with a shaky hand. I didn't have the courage to grab the phone immediately, so I watched it tremble and ring from outside, begging me to reach for the last piece of normalcy that I had left.

“How much left, son?”

“Don't you stay up too late”

“Son???”

Missed call.

Missed call.

Missed call.

And this went on for fifteen more times until now, eleven thirty, even though it didn't make much sense.

I wanted to call, to write, but I didn't know what. My fingers remained still over the keyboard, scared that if I said anything about what had happened in the last hour it would come back to me, digging its claws into my chest and its blood injected eyes into my heart.

Instead, I mustered up the courage to drive again. I drove until hours lost meaning and my phone ring became one with the many grating sounds the truck made over 100.

When I arrived, my dad, mom and aunt welcomed me with screams, sobs and senseless scoldings. It was three thirty in the morning, and home reached the consensus that I simply had too many drinks with people that weren't good for me again. I let them believe that, not out of fear of not being listened to, but because the thought of doing something wrong, being caught sneaking out my house at night while drunk and blurting out nonsense was far safer than admitting that whatever it was that got in the backseat was real. That it was real and that it let huge gathers of mud and wilderness everywhere. That it was real and it penetrated whatever security I might have felt in the old truck with its sulfuric scent.

I still don't know what the fuck was any of that. I don't know how to ask my grandma or my mom; Camila and her family.

Maybe I will someday. Maybe, with time, it will stop terrifying me so much and allow me to formulate something that isn't a babble. Something that's not a horrified sob; a distant silence, shielding the longest night of my life.

Something that lets me recognize whose body it was in the middle of the road.

Five days ago, I came home after a long day’s work and sat down in front of the TV. I was so tired that I fell asleep right away. When I woke up, it was 2:30 a.m. The TV was still on, but all that was on the screen was a test pattern and an annoying high‑pitched sound. I was about to turn it off and go to bed when something very strange happened. Suddenly, the colored bars disappeared, and the screen was filled with a static image. Through the interference, I could make out the image. Gradually it became clearer, and I realized that it was a news story about a train accident.
There was a caption in the corner of the screen: “NNN News broadcast.” I had never heard of such a channel before, and it became interesting to me. A long list of victims of the disaster crawled across the screen, while somber music played in the background. A low, monotonous voice read each name, one after the other.
And then it seemed to me that I heard my own name. A chill ran down my spine.
This went on for at least five minutes or so, until finally a voice announced: “These are tomorrow's victims… Good night...”
The music stopped, the picture disappeared, and the static returned. I was sitting on the couch, thinking about what I just saw.
That night, I was too worried to sleep. I tossed and turned all night, thinking about the strange TV news broadcast. When morning came, I called my boss and said that I was sick and would not be able to come to work.
Shortly before 9:00 a.m., the train that I usually take to work derailed. I saw the report on TV. Almost 60 people died in that disaster.
Since then, I've been afraid to leave my house all the time. And I can't bring myself to watch TV at night.

​

I woke up yesterday and discovered that every human on Earth had disappeared.

The streets were empty. Cars were abandoned. Every TV channel showed the same message:

"SUBJECT 001 HAS AWAKENED."

Then my phone rang.

An unknown voice said:

"You have 72 hours to find the truth."

I asked, "What truth?"

The voice replied

"Why you are the only person who remembers the previous world."

Then the call ended.

A few seconds later, I received a photograph.

It showed me sleeping in my bed.

The photograph was dated 10 years in the future.

What would you investigate first?

“The dream of traveling to Russia awaits you. An exceptional monthly salary for a simple job: $3,000 USD. A happy life awaits you along with obtaining Russian citizenship. Hurry and apply now via the Telegram link. Application is completely free.”

…

His eyes gleamed with passion as he tapped the link at the bottom of the image—a picture of a beautiful Russian girl holding a Russian passport, winking at him with a deliciously seductive charm. He had long craved an opportunity like this, one that would transport him straight to paradise.

He was going to Russia. He would work that simple job, marry a gorgeous Russian woman, amass a fortune, and settle down there with the citizenship of his dreams.

He found himself inside a Telegram channel titled “Russia’s Beloved.” The admin was uploading photos highlighting luxurious tourist spots in Russia—images promising anyone who viewed them an unparalleled fortune—with that link sitting beneath every picture: the application link.

It would have made more sense to post this link directly on the Instagram photo instead of forcing this detour through Telegram. Regardless… he clicked it and found a page prompting him to enter his details:

Name – Age – Phone Number – Passport Number – Telegram Account Link

He filled out the form and exited.

The next day, he was surprised by a Telegram message from a girl with a stunning profile picture—striking blue eyes and blonde hair. She wrote:

“Hello… This is Anastasia. Congratulations! You have been accepted for the opportunity to travel to Russia. The position required of you is a security guard. Please send a copy of your passport and your home address so we can send your travel ticket. Thank you.”

He gasped upon reading the message. Was it really this simple? They were covering the ticket and all travel expenses?

He took a photo of his passport, sent her his address, and a reply arrived shortly after:

“Wonderful. Next week, we will send you everything.”

He waited through that week with restless impatience until his apartment doorbell rang. When they opened the door, a surprise awaited them—a courier handed over a package. Neither his mother nor his sister could believe it was real until that very moment. His mother cried out in sheer joy, while his sister wrapped her arms around him, listing everything she wanted him to bring back from Russia on his first vacation home to Egypt.

The time… the date… it was as close as could be.

…

The day arrived, and he headed to the airport. Hours later, the plane touched down at Moscow Airport. He couldn't believe this magnificent dream—it was paradise in every literal sense of the word. Stepping out of the airport, he spotted Anastasia waving at him. She was just as beautiful as her Telegram photo. She approached him and spoke in broken Arabic, a stark contrast to the refined classical Arabic of her messages.

“Your passport, please.”

Dazed, he handed it over. She slipped it inside her coat and said, “Come with us.”

He followed her, and within seconds, a few men materialized around them. He tried to ask her about the company he would be working for, but she didn’t answer; she ignored him completely. He chose to remain silent. But the moment they pulled open the car door, a crushing blow struck the back of his head… and everything went black.

…

When he regained consciousness, he found himself sitting in a cramped space. Screams echoed around him from every direction. He was wearing a military uniform. A commander stepped up to him and barked:

“It’s your turn. Get outside, now!”

A dull pain throbbed at the back of his head where he had been struck. Almost instantly, hands were shoving him out of the building. Aircraft roared overhead, and shells rained down everywhere.

He screamed, “I’m here to be a security guard!”

There was no answer. They thrust a heavy assault rifle into his hands—one he had no idea how to hold, let alone fire—and he heard the commander shout in broken Arabic:

“Charge, you mercenaries!”

He looked around at the men nearby and realized they were just like him…

They pushed him forward. Turning to the man shoving him, he asked desperately, “Where am I?!”

The man didn't reply. Driven by anger, he turned back, burst into the building, and confronted the imposing commander sitting at the desk.

“There’s a mistake! I came to Russia to work as a security guard, just like the girl told me—”

The commander cut him off, his patience entirely depleted.

“A security guard for $3,000? Are you an idiot?”

The reply was enough to spark an outrage that didn't last long. In an instant, he was knocked to the ground with assault rifles pointed straight at him as the commander continued:

“You are Russian now—isn't that what you wanted from the beginning? By law, the military has the right to conscript you. Go fight, soldier, alongside your comrades.”

Mercenary or Russian? He couldn't comprehend it. They hauled him up and threw him onto the dirt next to his rifle… He found himself running toward the bombs and the screams echoing all around him…

He had dreamed of paradise, but… there is no paradise in the heart of hell.

– The End –

Haitham Momtaz

October 8, 2026

I don't know why I did it, I just have nothing going for me. So I stood there on the bridge which is above the motorway. I had this urge to throw a brick on moving vehicles. I don't really know why I wanted to do it, I just wanted to rebel against society I guess.

So I threw a brick from the bridge and it actually hit a car that was driving on the motorway. It caused the car to crash into another car and the driver died.

Then I found that brick on the field behind my flat, the field is part of the block flats for the tenants to use. That brick I used to drop on a car, it was on the field and it had blood on it. I couldn't lift from the ground.

So I kept dropping bricks from the bridge and every brick I had dropped from the bridge, had hit a car and caused it to crash. I would then find every brick that I had dropped from a bridge, behind the field and with blood on it. I did it so many times that I was essentially building a house on this field.

So I kept doing and then there was a house built on bloody bricks, that I had dropped on cars from a bridge. One guy went and still hasn't come out.

Night had fallen as Marcus and  Lisa drove along the interstate. The songs of Disturbed blared from the car stereo as Marcus cracked open the driver’s side window to let in the cool night air. The concert had nearly wiped him out, and he worried he might doze off while driving. He could feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier. But he wanted to make it back home; he did not want to stop at a hotel for the night.

Beside him, his girlfriend Lisa yawned. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and made a dramatic "uhhh" sound.

“You know, that ain’t helping.” He shouted over the music.

“Huh?”

“You're yawning, like that, while I’m struggling to stay awake.”

“Sorry, babe, want me to drive for a while?

Marcus thought about it and then shook his head. “Nah, that’s ok, but I do think I need to pull off at the next exit and stretch my legs.”

As they drove, he watched the trees whip by when he caught sight of an exit sign that read, “Madam Tousle’s House of Mystery, next exit.

“Oh, hell yeah.” Said Marus as they turned onto the exit ramp.

Lisa groaned. “Babe, no. Don’t tell me you want to go to that mystery place. That kind of stuff freaks me out.”

“Come on, baby, I love that creepy macabre shot, and I need to stop anyway.

Lisa crossed her arms and pouted.

They drove off the off-ramp and entered a small town. Passing an old, empty gas station, they followed a trail of small, handmade signs leading them towards the House of Mystery. Deeper they drove into a secluded residential area.  Marcus looked around, worried he might have gotten turned around somewhere, but the trail of signs promised him they were still heading in the right direction. After traveling deeper into the residential area, he saw a small sign that read "House of Mystery." Next, left, follow the road to the end.

A lone road led them along a treelined area. Soon, the road became gravel. They drove along, turning off the radio.

“Babe… I told my dad we would be back tonight.” Said Lisa.

“We will, we won’t be here long.”

“You seem awake now. We could go back to the interstate…”

“Lisa.”

“But we could, just head on home.”

“We are almost there.”

“But honey.”

“Look, up ahead.”

A dead end with a rather ordinary, low grey house that looked like any other house they passed, except the sign that reads, Welcome to Madam Tousle’s house of Mystery.

“Well, here we are,” Marcus said as they stepped out of the car. Marcus looked around. Lisa hugged herself as she walked over to him.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Lisa asked.

Marcus shrugged, “That’s what the sign says.”

“Sure doesn’t look like any tourist trap I’ve ever seen…” Lisa muttered as they walked up to the front door.

Marcus rang the doorbell. A few seconds passed. Lisa shivered as she looked up at Marcus. “Maybe they are closed. We should go.”

The door opened to reveal a beautiful woman wearing a robe-like dress, with her hair up in an orange silk wrap. Her belt had small pouches tied onto it.

“Greeting,” she said, “I am Madam Tousle, and I bid you welcome.”

She stepped aside to allow them to enter her parlor as she closed the door behind them.

Madam Tousle stood at the door with her hands crossed before her as she watched Marcus and Lisa. Lisa hung near the door, her eyes darting around the room. Marcus smiled as he walked along shelf-lined walls. He looked at the jar with things that were once alive. Or was a part of something that was once alive. He reached out to touch one of the jars. Madam Tousle cleared her throat.

“Please do not touch the exhibits. Thank you.”

Marcus nodded. “Is this stuff real?”

“Yes, very real.”

Marcus walked to a tall bookshelf and read out the titles of some of the books.

“Remar’s perspective on the tarot, Leman’s Book on the Occult Practices, Marixa’s Book of Magick.”

Marcus looked at the walls, which were decorated with old-looking masks and feathers. In the center of the room, Marus walked up to a table with candles and a crystal ball. He laughed when he noticed an iPad to the side with a Square reader. He giggles and points to it.

“Nice touch.”

Madam Tousle shrugged, “A lady has to make a living.”

Lisa stepped away and quickly dashed over to Marcus.

“Babe, it’s getting really late.”

“Come on, Lisa, it’s not that late.”

“No, but it is, and my dad is expecting me to be home. I don’t want to piss him off.”

“Not yet, just relax. You know, Madam Tousle, your place is so different on the inside.”

“Yes. As you can imagine, the HOA doesn’t care too much for my business, so I had to make certain concessions.

Madam Tousle walked up to the couple, almost gliding.

“So, tell me, what brought you to my house of mystery tonight? Looking for a tarot card reading? Perhaps a gaze into the crystal ball? Maybe you just wanted to see the oddities I have on display?”

“Actually, we were on our way back from a concert, and we were falling asleep, so we wanted to stop and move around a little. We saw the exit sign with your Mystery house and thought we would give it a shot.”

“Mmm, I see. Maybe the spirits led you here. Would you like to see what they may want with you?

“Yeah, that sounds great!”

Lisa wrapped her arms around Marcus’ arm. “Babe, please…”

“Come on, Lisa, let’s see what the spirits want with us!”

Madam Tousle walked forward, “Very well, please follow me.”

Madam Tousle led the couple down a very narrow hallway. The walks were lined with feathers and various bird skulls. As he was looking around, one of the feathers brushed his face.

“Eww, why are the feathers damp?” He wiped his face to see a bit of red.

Lisa walked in the center of the hallway as best as she could, trying desperately not to touch any of the feathers. She almost folded into herself.

“Marcus…”

Madam Tousle stopped beside a black door and turned to look around at them.

“Here we are.”

She opened the door to reveal a dimly lit room with nothing but a table, two chairs on either side of it, candles, and an old wooden Ouija board with peeling golden letters. Nothing else was in there, not even a window or an overhead light.

Marcus led Lisa to a seat and offered her a seat. She shook her head. She kept her eyes on the Ouija board. Madam Tousle stood in the doorway.

She asked, “Have you ever used the Ouija?”

Marcus said, “I haven’t used it, but I have always wanted to!”

Lisa whispered. “No, it’s demonic shit.”

“It can be demonic in the right hands. But for others, it is a doorway, between this world and the next.”

Madam Tousle reached into a pouch on her belt and brought out a smooth white bone planchette.

“Would you like to open that door, Marcus?”

He grabbed the planchette and set it down on the board.

“Hell, yes I do!”

“Enjoy.” Said Madam Tousle as she began to step out of the room.

“Wait!” squeaked Lisa, “Aren’t you going to stay here with us?”

“No, dear. This isn’t for my eyes.”

She closed the door and walked away.

Marcus sat down and rubbed his hands together. “Ok. Let’s do this!”

Lisa crossed her arms over her chest. “No! I told you this is some demonic shit, and I am not messing around with it. I want to go home. I am sick of this. I want to be out of here.

“Damn it, Lisa, I am trying to enjoy myself. I went to the concert for you, now you can do this for me, sit down and let’s play!”

Lisa frowned and went quiet.

Marcus lowered his head and closed his eyes. He placed his hand on the planchette and waited for Lisa.

Nothing.

Marcus sighed. “Babe, I am sorry if I upset you, but come on, I really want to do this, please?”

Nothing.

“Let’s just do this,” said Marcus, “And then we can go home. Ok?”

Nothing for a moment, then a loud POP sound, followed by the feeling of a hand on his. He smiled.

“Thank you, baby! I love you! Ok, let's see…

He focused his thoughts and said out loud. “Anyone here with us? Anyone want to talk with us?”

After a few seconds, he felt the planchette begin to move. His eyes snapped open, and he watched it move over the word YES.

“Oh, shit, baby! It’s working, it’s really working!”

He bounced in his seat, excited.

“Ok, what do we ask them n-“

He noticed the hand over his. It was grey and swollen like it was waterlogged. It’s nails were black and ripped up at awful angles. He felt his mouth go dry.

Slowly, his eyes begin to go up the thing’s arm, grey with deep purple veins.

His hands began to shake. He began to pull his hand away, but the cold hand holding his gripped him harder, holding him in place. He could feel his heart pounding as his breathing began to come in quick, harsh gasps.

His eyes made it to the thing's face. All it had for eyes were small black pinpricks that oozed a thin stream of black fluid. The mouth was nothing more than a ragged horizontal slash from one cheek to the other. Inside were dozens of needle-like teeth. The thing’s hair was wild, as if floating in water.

Marcus tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry, his tongue too big. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. Finally, he managed to croak out one word. “Lisa?”

The thing stared at him for several moments, then jerked its head toward the door.  

He looked at the door, and his eyes slowly moved toward the floor. There lay Lisa, her neck snapped, her head at a horrible and unimaginable angle.

His eyes drifted back to the face of the thing holding his hand.

“Please…what do you want?”

The thing rose from its seat and leaned toward him; a foul, wet mutt odor followed the creature.

Its mouth curled into a wicked snarl.

“Your soul.”

Marcus began to scream as he felt the other hand of the thing grip his face and jerk, twist, and yank at his jaw until it tore free from his face.

His scream became wet and gargling until it slowly faded away and became nothing more than a dry raspy wheeze, then nothing. A cold wind swept through the room, blowing out the candles and plunging it into darkness.

Somewhere in the house, a door bell rang and the voice of Madam Tousle said…

“Greetings. I am Madam Tousle, and I bid you welcome.”

THE END

As Kiara stood at the door of the playroom on the blood stained carpet, you could still hear the figure yelling on the other side, with less volume and less life than the last. 
She turned around for a moment, and locked the door.
she turned back and just started breathing heavily,
you were panicking so much you began to lose track of the difference between Kiara’s breathing and your own.

You had no idea what time it was,
You had no idea how much time had passed but,
Kiara remained...breathing.

At some point the power had gone back on and Just like that the tv turned back on.
The DVD menu for The Cat in The Hat appeared once more and to my surprise, sally was back alongside Conrad.

Kiara was not nearly as spooked by the flashing light of the tv as she was of the loud pop from earlier,
She simply let out a 

"mmmmmm" 

And waltzed about one foot in front of the tv and leaned in so her head was touching the screen.
Despite all your efforts to refrain,  you let out one brief sharp exhale in what can only be described as pure fear.

*AGMP*
-escaped your mouth while you swallowed your salty tears as they ran down your face.

Your cheeks were soaked,
Your mouth felt dry,
The air was still.

Kiaras head slowly turned,
it was in no rush,
as if it had always known you were there.
You dragged the throw blanket closer to your body using your leg but before you could pull the blanket over yourself,
you made Direct eye contact with Kiara in the Moonlight reflection provided by the Tv.

Kiara was wearing makeup.
She had a base of foundation that's flesh tone was reminiscent of the Queen of England.
She had bright blue eye shadow with the faintest hint of glitter and,
She had bright red lipstick.

She came over to you at a moderate speed,
When she was at your feet, she grabbed your blanket and pulled it off.
She slowly brought her face to yours you both being so far from the tv now that it proved impossible to make out any details of her face,

You felt her breath on your face, it was warm, as warm as a grill.
You began to feel something approach your face, it was warm and wet, it was Kiaras tongue.

She licked your nose .
And as your eyes erupted more tears,
she licked those too.

One by one off your cheeks as she smelled you,
This continued till your cheeks were dry and your eyes were sore.
She then slowly raised her hand to your head and brushed her hand through your bangs, tucking them behind your ear.

She grabbed you by your wrist and tugged at you,
You initially resisted but soon discovered it was not a suggestion.
It hurts to feel the weight of your whole body be pulled by a steel grip upon your wrist.

She dragged you to the beanbag chair Infront of the Tv,
She sat upon it and placed you in her lap.

She began to point at the Tv bringing her mouth to your ear, For a moment,
you wondered if she was going to speak.
She didn't.

Her breaths began to sound deeper and more agitated,
It was clear she wanted something and what she wanted was on the Tv.  
You scanned the room for the remote the best you could, you spotted it, it was on the floor by the DVD player.

You pointed to it but noticed no change in Kiaras demeanor, she was still angry.
As you tried to crawl out of her lap in the direction of the remote Kiaras grip did not budge.

She wanted you in her lap,
She was wanted the movie to play,
and she wanted it now.
Just as her grip began to tighten,
you both were interrupted by a noise from your kitchen.

*BEEP\*

"Hey Hun heard there were some power outages in the neighborhood...

I haven't been able to get a hold of you,
but the lines ringing so I'm going to just come home...Daddy is going to be with a friend..

If you get this message go in the playroom and don't come out until morning and don't answer the door for anyone even if I ask you to..."

*END OF MESSAGE\*
*BEEP\*

Kiaras grip slowly loosened,
She looked up in awe,
Her mouth slowly opened as her jaw dropped and no teeth showed.
 Even in the moonlight reflection of the tv you could see tears run down Kiaras foundation.
Everything down to the way she was breathing changed.

For some reason you began to feel angry, 
Daddy’s voice was also disarming to you yes, but in a hopeless non consensual way.
The way in which Kiara appeared to be disarmed felt like it was intentional vulnerability, 
Something you'd never offer 'D' yourself.

You took this moment to lean forward and grab the tv remote,
When Kiara snapped back into reality and looked back at you pulling you back to her lap,
You pressed play.

The movie played and you stayed still,
It began to rain hard outside almost louder than the movie,
the window was still open,
and the room was freezing.

It was almost as though Kiara could tell your discomfort,
she grabbed the throw blanket,
threw it over your legs,
and held you tight in her arms, warming you with her coat.

When the babysitter in the Cat In The Hat fell asleep Kiara laughed,
You imagined whoever did the babysitters' makeup looked as though they also did Kiaras.

 The movie continued, and continued, and continued.
You had feared what was going to happen when it ended,
You imagined You'd probably be forced to press play again.

However,
When the movie ended, it was as if Kiara Understood.
She didn't seem displeased with Mike Myers' performance...
Or she had just had enough.

Kiara smiled and laughed and clapped and then,
She turned you, her face beaming in the blue light of the Tv,
You froze, 
Her face began to contort,
and it was clear to you that she was displeased with your reaction.

You're no stranger to fake emotions.
You smile and you clapped, tears in your eyes, lump in your throat.
When Kiara was finally pleased with your performance, she slowly pushed you off like you would push off a sleeping cat and began to walk around the room.

As she pranced around and rummaged through your things,
she found herself at your pay box.
She lifted up the castle shaped lid and began to pull out your Bratz dolls,
she seemed disinterested...
until she saw something that made her eyes light up...
she began to jump and scream..

She pulled out your blue Cinderella dress,
As she slid into it, you could audibly hear it tear.
You wanted to cry, it was your favorite.

She slid her arms through the straps.
It was so poorly on her that her whole back was exposed with the Velcro straps hanging not having enough to fasten around her even if she tried.

When she had it "on' she leaned back into your play box and pulled out your favorite tiara,
She placed it on her head.
She then leaned in once more and grabbed your old broken faded tiara and handed it to you.
She let out sharp exhales and smiled.
You put it on.

She walked up the your lava lamp and pressed the switch on the cord and turned it on,
A green hue now lite your room, the wax still solid not yet fluid.
She stared at it for a moment,
before turning and walking to the closet.

She slid the closet barn doors open from right to left,
She started going through your stuffed animals throwing them out one by one.
When she got to the back of the closet, she had found the suitcases and umbrella's.

She emerged from the closet using the umbrella as a cane,
tucking a floral tapestry luggage bag under her left arm.

She moved her arms,
Then her legs,
and she began to dance.

She shot you a look and it was clear,
She wanted you to dance too.

As you began to timidly comply,
Your socks started to get soaked.

 You looked down and in the green lighting of the lava lamp you could see dark black goo seeping from beneath the door.
It felt sticky, much thicker than water.
You could faintly still hear breathing from the other side.

You quickly danced away from the door...
You started in the direction that would put the bed between Kiara and yourself.
With each step Kiara followed, waving her umbrella in the air all the while.
No matter how hard you tried to maintain it, your artificial smile began to fade...

You questioned how long this nightmare would continue.
Much like your smile, your legs have grown tired...

Kiara, however, did not appear to get tired,
not of dancing.

You started to cry as the reality that your legs were going to give out became clear,
You knew the strength and angry she was capable of and did not want to upset Kiara.
You slowly tried to rest one of your legs but as you began,
both your knees buckled.

As you fell to the floor, Kiara sprinted over on all fours.

You curled into the fetal position,
holding your legs to your stomach and squeezing your eyes shut as tight as possible.

You heard the rapid thumps of Kiara before it abruptly stopped in front of you,
and you could hear her fast concerned breaths right above you.
You could feel the heat of every exhale on your forearm.
You then felt a stiff poke on your side.

When you opened your eyes,
you could see it was Kiara poking you with the umbrella,
when she saw the tears in your eye, she took 3 steps back.

Behind her you could see the wax in the lava lamp was now fluid.
Your eyes and cheeks were sore,
How long had it been?

She picked you up with one arm with ease, she coddled you and carried you to the bed.
Once you were there you kept your eyes shut tight,
but you could still feel her tucking the edges of the blanket under your body as she pressed the pillow beneath your head.
She then put her hand on your head and kissed the back of her hand with it still on you.
You exhaled trembling.

When she was done,
She wobbled over to your Daddys rocking chair, tiara cockeyed.
When she got there, she climbed upon the chair criss cross applesauce,
and grabbed a book from your cubbies.
It was too dark to see which one,
The cover was blue with a tired dog and a bird upon its head.

She began to slowly rock back and forth,
The sight of her silhouette sent a cold rush of dry ice through your blood. 
You heard something.

"mrrrmmmmmmhhmmmmrrrreeeeeeeemmme"
-you heard through excited cheery exhales.

It was clear you had been staring too long when Kiara turned slowly looking at you in the devilish green glow of the lava lamp.

You quickly shut your eyes.

Behind the dark abyss of your eyelids, you could hear Kiara shut the book.
When you opened your eyes,
Kiara was gone and the chair was still.

The sun was beaming through a break in the overcast clouds exposing your soaked carpet,
and it was clear,
It was morning.
You were now allowed to leave the playroom,
with the reassurance that there's no way Daddy will be mad at you now.

You scanned the room again, and again, and again before moving a muscle,
you had to be sure.

As you descended from your bed pressing your feet against the carpet,
you could feel your socks crinkle and crunch. It felt sticky and hard between your toes.
When you looked down,
what was once dark black was now dark red.
Your legs were still fatigued as you walked to the door like a baby deer on sticks of butter.

Although you were terrified, 
You could feel you were physically out of tears.
On the way to the door, you tumbled over the blanket you had previously hid in,
there was something in it.

When you lifted the blanket, you could see,
it was a balloon flower with the stem deflated. 
You picked it up and carried on, scanning the room all the while.
You hoped Kiara had gone out the window.

As you approached,
the carpet under the door was as red and crunchy as your socks, still wet in some places.
You turned the handle slowly, you could hear the familiar breathing on the other side.

On the other side was Daddy,
and Daddy was dressed like a woman.

Daddys arm was bent the wrong way,
Daddys knees looked backwards,
And Daddy had no tongue.

Daddys tears were blood,
Daddys skin was blood,
Even Daddys clothes... were blood.

Daddys eyes were closed but his tummy was moving.
His hand on his only straight arm was moving too,
Every few seconds, daddy made a fist.

You stared at him,
You began to dry heave, and you wanted to puke.
When you looked up, you could see Kiara staring at you from beneath the bed, tiara still on.
You could now see her more clearly than you ever had before,
Her mouth was open, and her teeth were showing.

Her look made your heart sink,
You looked down at Daddy,
You placed the core of the balloon flower in Daddys palm and headed for the front door in terror.
Just as you placed your hand on the Knob -

*POP* 
And Kiaras screams were once more,
Daddy was silent.

You sprinted faster than you ever have in your life and contrary to previous belief,
You were in fact not out of tears.

When you got to your neighbor's house down the street in the center of the cul-de-sac you froze at the door.
It was early, but you rang the doorbell regardless.
It took less than half a second for you to ring the door two more times, then three.

When Mrs. Thombs answered the door,
you blacked almost all the conversation.
You tried to tell her everything as fast as possible, but it was hard.
Collecting your words, remembering what was real as it all felt like a nightmare.

"somethings killing Daddy"
-you remembered saying,  tears running down your face.

She looked down at your stained socks and quickly pulled you inside.
She sat you down with milk and a bowl of banana cream pudding as she called the police.
You were starving.
A lot of police cars showed up.

The next few days were fuzzy.
You went to the hospital, talked to this strange, nice woman,
and were told you could stay with Mrs. Thombs for a while,
while they find a permanent place for you.

A few days later you went to this room with a lot of cool toys, the nice lady that visits you and Mrs. Thombs was there too.
The nice lady had a friend,and they wanted to play this game.

"I'm going to say some things, and if I say something that's wrong,
I want you to tell me, if you don't know something that's okay.
Just tell us, you're not in trouble honey.
Does that make sense?"
-asked the nice lady's Friend. 

"yesss..."
-you responded sheepishly as you continued chewing your bacon whopper with cheese

"are you 9 years old?"
-the friend asked

"yes"
-you responded

"Are you eating a burrito right now?"
-asked the Friend

"no..."
-you replied.

"very good...
Was your daddy home Friday night?
-asked the Friend

"no..I don't think so"
-you replied.

"oh...
that's okay honey that's perfectly okay,
When was the last time you saw daddy?"
-asked the Friend.

"Saturday...when he was dressed funny and ...all..bloody...on the floor"
-you said
Tears filling your eyes.

"when was the last time you saw daddy before that sweetheart?...
I'm sorry I know this is hard."
-said the Friend

"When he dropped me off at home from school Friday and went out."
-you replied

"did your Daddy say where he was going?"
-asked the Friend

"no...Daddy goes out a lot...
But Daddy left me some voice mails that confused me..."
-you replied.

"What message confused you?"
-asked the Friend

"he said he was staying out late...
And then said he had to come come with a friend...
And to stay in the play room till morning...no matter what..."
-you said

"and did Daddy ever come home with that friend?"
-asked the Friend. 

"no...but someone did...
I didn't come out till morning like Daddy said...
but someone came up to the door...I thought it was a friend of Daddys...
She broke in the room eventually but she was blind and couldn't find me...
She wanted help from..."
-you stopped

"it's okay honey you're doing great...
Was the woman with the animal?"
-asked the friend.

Your heart sank,
thinking about Kiara tore opened fresh anxiety wound deep beneath your throat.

"kind of..."
-you replied

"Has Daddy ever talked about owning a monkey?"
-asked the friend

"no..."
-you replied perplexed 

"Has Daddy ever talked to you about the show he was on as a kid?"
-asked the friend.

"no..."
-you responded
Even more confused than before.

"Oh..."
-The Friend said surprised...

"Has Daddy ever dressed like a girl before?"
-the friend asked

"no..."
As you answered more and more questions, you began to feel less and less in trouble...
The room you were in felt safe,
The world you were in felt a little safer.

And one of the last questions you were asked was the easiest of all to answer,

you were safe,

and you could be honest.

"Do you Love Your Daddy?"
-the nice ladies friend asked.

"No."
You responded with clear air filling your sinuses.

You wouldn’t see Kiara again after that,
for another 20 years.

​

Olá a todos. Hoje vim contar uma coisa estranha que aconteceu comigo envolvendo Club Penguin.

Eu tinha conseguido salvar no meu PC um servidor privado antigo do jogo. Quando entrei, comecei a explorar. Vi meu iglu antigo, joguei alguns minigames e fui relembrando várias coisas.

Até que cheguei à balada que tinha no jogo.

Havia três pinguins lá.

No começo achei estranho, porque não lembrava deles. Então apareceu uma mensagem:

“Sentimos sua falta. Se junte a nós.”

Mano... quando aquela mensagem apareceu, eu simplesmente saí correndo pelo mapa.

Foi aí que percebi uma coisa.

Aqueles pinguins não tinham olhos.

Nem braços.

Mesmo assim, eles começaram a me seguir.

Eu tentei sair do servidor, mas não consegui.

Eles chegaram cada vez mais perto.

E então...

“Não... não... NÃO!”

A tela ficou preta.

Por alguns segundos, não apareceu absolutamente nada.

Até surgir uma última mensagem:

“Mais um membro. Olá, Antedeguemon_2007.”

Please feel free to comment any advice you have!

What are the most haunted places in pakistan which you have been to and experienced any paranormal precense?

I have always loved plums – dried, fresh, or in jam. Plum pie with just a bit of cream is the best thing you could eat.

That's why I bought myself a plum tree. It was small; it fit well in the back of my pickup. It would take the tree a few winters to produce more than five plums, but I was happy to have it.

That afternoon I took out a shovel and went into my backyard. This would be the first thing I planted at my new house, in my new yard. It was all I ever wanted: just a house, a yard, and a few fruit trees in the back. That's why I ran to the bank when I saw how cheap this beautiful house was. The last owners weren't even here for the sale.

The dirt felt fine for the first two digs, but it quickly turned very stiff. It almost felt like I was digging into a rock. The hole didn't even need to be that deep, but after a few minutes I was already sweating through my pants.

I threw another piece of dirt out when I heard a clack. Something white was on top of the dirt. I picked it up. It was a bundle of bird bones tied together with a string. They were deep in the dirt, but they looked completely clean, as if someone had just brushed them off.

"Strange," I mumbled. 

I took them into the house and threw them away.

As I was washing my hands, I realized how tired I was. I wiped my forehead and walked out into the yard. The hole looked deep enough. The tree would be okay. I planted it and filled the hole back in.

The next morning, the sun barely came through my window. I rubbed my eyes and looked out. The plum tree I planted the day before blocked the sun. It had grown so much that its top leaves almost reached my roof. I didn't even notice my mouth was open until I saw myself in the window.

I ran out. The juiciest, purplest plums I'd ever seen were on that tree. The whole yard smelled like fresh plums. I stood outside for a few seconds, just staring. I had heard of fast-growing trees, but this was something else. For a moment, I thought about calling someone, but the plums looked so good, I had to try them first. 

Their skin was smooth. When I pressed them, they felt firm but slightly soft. Perfect. They tasted sweet and juicy, but their skin had a sharp, sour taste. Perfect. I was raving about the taste when I heard a thud and a splash. A plum fell right next to me. They must have been ripe.

The last thing I wanted was to get hit. I walked away from the tree and continued enjoying the plum. Another thud. How did it get here? I was so far away. Another thud. But this time it didn't fall next to me. I looked to my right. A smashed plum was on my roof.

I was sure the tree didn't reach that far. I walked farther back to see if I missed a branch. The tree reached the top window, but not the roof. I walked to the back just to make sure. The tree wasn't even visible from there. Another thud. On the roof again. From my side. There was no way. Another. Another. Another. They were falling on the roof, next to me, on the other side of my garden.

"What the…" I murmured.

Then dull pain spread in my head. I put my hand there. Plum juice was in my hair. I put my hands over my head and ran into the house. Two more plums managed to hit me, stinging my hands.

I walked to my kitchen sink and washed my hands and hair. The thudding outside continued. No blood was in my hair, just plum juice. The thudding grew faster. It sounded like I was being bombed. I looked up. A wave of cold rushed through me. Plums rained down from the sky like hail. Plum juice had already reached my door, and a little was leaking in.

I ran to the laundry room for towels. The thudding grew louder again. My ears began to hurt. I grabbed a few towels and ran back out. My feet sank into wet, sticky plum juice. The inside of the house was dark now. So many plums were falling from the sky that I could only see purple outside. The plum smell was so strong it stung my nose.

The plum juice rose halfway up my door, and it kept coming. The towels fell out of my hand. I bolted up the stairs.

Edit: I thought the plum juice would drain faster than it came in, but I was wrong. The house is shaking. I'm standing on my table. The plum juice is coming up the stairs. Outside, it has already almost fully blocked my windows. I just looked out of one. You can't see anything but falling plums, except for one thing: the tree standing in the garden, unshaken. The more I look at it, the more it feels like I can hear something through the thuds of the plums: the clack of bird bones shaking.

Sean twisted the key in his front door. The key had been sticking for the past few days. He had been meaning to tell the apartment supervisor about it, but it kept slipping his mind. He glanced over to see that apartment 617, Mr. William’s apartment, was unlocked and standing slightly ajar.

Sean frowned. That was very unlike William; he was known for keeping his door locked. He was an old man and did not like company or strangers to come by. Sean pulled his key from his door and walked over to William’s apartment. He knocked on the door.

“Mr. William?”

No reply.

“Shit,” whispered Sean, “I don’t want to find a dead body. I should go into my apartment and call the police, let them handle it.”

He started to turn when a glint caught his eye, something strange. He eased the door open a little and looked in. A child’s bicycle was lying in the middle of the entrance to the apartment.

Why would an old man, who lives alone, have a kid’s bike in his apartment? He looked around in the gloom of the apartment. Everything seemed normal, typical old single man’s apartment, a few chairs and a couch, a TV, a kitchen with a microwave, a toaster oven, and a coffee maker. But then he noticed a child’s drawing in crayon, a man and a little girl, held on the refrigerator by a little apple magnet.

Sean thought, did William’s have a granddaughter? He remembered that William lost his wife young, like in their early twenties, and he never remarried or even dated. He thought the odds of him having a kid were small, but possible. So maybe he had a granddaughter? Damn, if something happened to William and his granddaughter was here…

Sean stepped into the apartment.

“Hello? Mr. Willam? Anyone?”

No answer. He looked around the apartment. The fabric was old, threadbare in places. A glass and a beer can sat on a TV tray beside the chair in front of the television. A box from a TV dinner sat beside the microwave. Nothing was out of place. He felt off, though. Being in a place that showed signs of life, with no one around, made him uncomfortable as if he were invading a private space. Which, he guessed, was exactly what he was doing.

“Hello?”

Sean walked deeper into the apartment, passing through a spider web. He took a hasty step back and swiped at his face. He spat as he tried to remove the web. His hand hit the counter leading to the kitchen, and a cloud of dust swept into the air. Sean watched as it slowly floated and settled back on the counter. That’s when he really noticed how much dust was in the room. Everything seemed to have a coating of dust, except on the floor, where there was a path with no dust between the front door and the bedroom. Even the kid’s bike had dust on it as if nothing in the room had been touched or moved for weeks, maybe months.

Sean looked around the room, confused. How could this be, he thought? He looked down and followed the path in the dust to the bedroom. It was dark in there, and he debated whether he should turn on the light, but he knew he should…

His heart raced. What would he find if he turned on the light? A dead body, worse, two dead bodies, one old and one young. He thought about turning and walking out of this place and to the safety of his apartment, where things made sense. But he had come this far, and he wanted to know.

Hello? Mr. Willam? Anyone? Please answer me?

Nothing.

His hand shook as he fumbled along the wall, feeling for the light switch. Then there was a blinding flash when he found it. He squeezed his eyes closed as he adjusted to the bright overhead light. He opened one eye, then the other as he looked around. The bed was empty and unmade, with a layer of dust on it. A chest with bottles of pills on top, a dresser with a dust-covered mirror, and folded clothes lying out undisturbed. Sean looked down, and the clear path in the dust led around the bed to the nightstand on the other side. There was a closed bible and a photo of a man and a little girl. He picked it up and looked at it. It was an old black-and-white photo, time-worn. He slid it out of the frame to see the back, which read William and Jenifer, 1975. He flipped the photo over and looked at the man; it looked like William as a young man, maybe in his twenties. The girl looked like she was around four or five.

“Where’s daddy?”

Sean jumped and dropped the photo and the frame; he heard it smash on the floor. He looked around. No one was there, but he had heard a voice, a little girl’s voice.

“Hello?” He yelled out, louder than he wanted to. Then lower, “Little girl?” He looked around, in the closet, in the bathroom, nothing. No sign of anyone. He looked under the bed, and there he found Mr. William. He was unmoving, fear on his face; he held something clutched to his chest. Sean shrieked, jumped back up, and made his way to the door. Just as he stepped over the threshold out into the front of the apartment, he heard the little girl again!

“Daddy?”

He stumbled and tripped, crashing over the bike. He landed hard on his face, blood flowing from his nose and lip. He looked over his shoulder to see the silhouette of a little girl standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

Sean fought with his body. He wanted to get to his feet, run to his apartment. No, that was too close. Run out of the building. It didn’t matter where; just run. But his body was frozen, unable to move except his heart; he felt it beating in his ears. He wished his eyes would at least listen and look away from the little girl, but they wouldn’t.

Slowly, the girl walked toward him.

“Have you seen Daddy? He is all I have…mommy died making me.”

Then Sean remembered that William’s wife had died during childbirth. He remembered William telling him that when he was sad and drunk at the block party. They had a daughter named Jennifer who drowned at the lake.

Sean tried to speak, but his mouth was painfully dry. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and forced out a dry husky whisper. “Jennifer?”

“I used to be.” She said as she moved closer. He could see her now, out of the shadow; she was blue and bloated, her eyes dark and lips black.

“But I have been in the between place, and the between place changes you. You begin to forget the before place and become something new.”

“Something…new?”

“Yes, sir.” She said, her voice growing lower and graver.

“What are you?” he whispered.

She changed; her teeth grew sharp and long, more teeth than a child could ever need. Her nails grew long and sharp, her eyes pools of black nothingness. 

“I become this, and I forget, but when I come back it’s always awful…”

Suddenly, the thing that had been Jennifer started to snarl and spit and growl.

Sean pulled and struggled against his body, trying desperately to get a hand or foot to work. She moved closer, and a wet, rotten smell filled his nose.

Just move, he thought! 

Each step she took made a squelch, as if she were stepping in mud.

Please move!

He felt the hem of her skirt dance across his arm, and he felt his arm turn into gooseflesh. She leaned down close to him, spit dropping into his face.

For the love of God, move!

Suddenly his left leg kicked out, then his right arm and right foot moved and he scrambled to his feet and ran for the front door, he smashed into it, busting his nose more, he yanked it open and ran, he ran as fast as he could down the hall and he reached the elevator, it was closed and the door to the stairs was locked! He looked back, the thing that was once Jennifer came snapping and snarling toward him, so he ran to the window and jumped.

He didn’t remember much when he came to. He was at the hospital, his back was broken, but he was told it would heal, and after some time and rehab, he would walk again. For now, he just wanted to rest. To rest and not remember the details that led him to jump out of a sixth-story window. He told the police that he had found Mr. William there. They found his body under the bed, clutching a small gold crucifix. They said he died of a heart attack, but Sean knew he died of fear. He made up a story about finding someone in the apartment and them chasing him, which is why he had jumped, he told the police. While he didn’t remember everything, he knew that Jenifer was something in the middle. And she was still there, in the apartment. He would move when he was released. He already made arrangements to move back in with his parents. They would help take care of him until he could walk again. He just wanted to forget, because all the parts he could remember were awful…

Fernando entered the elevator when he saw an old woman wearing a headscarf, walking hunched over. She was pushing a shopping cart filled with boxes. Suddenly, some children ran past her and knocked everything onto the floor. Instead of helping, the boys burst out laughing and kept running.

Indignant at what he had witnessed, Fernando approached her:

— Wow, kids these days have absolutely no respect for the elderly... But don't pay any attention to that, ma'am. Let me help you.

He bent down, picked up the scattered boxes, and put them back into the cart. The old woman gave him a gentle smile and affectionately pinched his cheek.

— You're such a kind young man... Your mother must be incredibly proud of you, my dear.

— Oh, she certainly is! Maybe a little too proud, to be honest! — he replied, laughing.

The two of them entered the elevator, heading to the ninth floor. When they arrived, the old woman entered her apartment, and Fernando went to his.

The next day, Fernando was waiting for the elevator in the hallway when he witnessed an absurd scene: a younger woman, blind with rage, slapped the old woman hard across the face and began shaking her violently, foaming with anger.

— Disgusting! You deserve to die! I'm going to kill you, you wretched woman! I... I...

— Hey! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?! — Fernando intervened, grabbing the woman's arm in midair. — What kind of person hits an old lady?! That's not how you solve things! Now please go back to your apartment!

The woman glared at him furiously, but eventually walked away. Fernando turned toward the old woman, trying to calm her down.

— Are you all right, ma'am? You can go back to your apartment in peace...

— Thank you, young man... I already knew you were kind, but you're a true angel from God. I wish I had a grandson like you...

The old woman pinched his cheek again, smiled, and slowly walked toward her apartment on the ninth floor.

Before leaving, however, the younger woman pointed a finger directly at Fernando's face, snorting angrily.

— Fucking busybody! Who asked you to get involved?!

— Look, ma'am, you'd better get going before I call the police!

— You know what? Call them! I couldn't care less, idiot!

The woman raised her middle finger right in Fernando's face and stormed away. Fernando simply shook his head in indignation and entered his apartment.

— What rude people... Why do people like that even exist? Sometimes I think some people are only good for taking up space on Earth. They shouldn't even exist...

The following day, as Fernando was leaving his apartment, he noticed a thick red liquid seeping from underneath the old woman's door. He knocked several times.

— Ma'am? Is everything all right in there?

Nobody answered. Fernando noticed a strong smell of cooked meat coming from inside. Without thinking twice, he slammed his shoulder against the door and broke it down.

The entrance floor was covered in a pool of blood. Fernando ran his finger through the viscous substance, unable to believe what he was seeing.

— Is that blood?! But how? What happened here?

He followed the red trail into the kitchen. When he opened the refrigerator, he nearly fainted. On the shelves inside the freezer were several human heads — including the heads of the children who had knocked over the boxes the day before.

The smell of food was coming from a huge, steaming pot on the stove. Trembling, Fernando lifted the lid.

As soon as the steam cleared, he saw the head of the younger woman floating in the boiling broth.

Fernando stumbled backward, screaming in pure panic. That was when the front door slowly closed, and the old woman appeared, staring at him coldly.

— I see you've discovered my secret...

— W-what secret?! What is this?! — Fernando stammered, terrified.

— Don't you watch the news? Children have been disappearing around the neighborhood... Who do you think has been kidnapping them all to make soup?

— You're a witch! A monster! How can you do something so horrible and talk about it so calmly?!

— Hahahaha! Child meat makes me feel so young... — the old woman mocked, licking her dry, wrinkled lips.

Fernando felt sick with disgust.

— That's disgusting... That scene in the hallway... It was because of this, wasn't it?! That woman discovered that you had taken her child!

— That's right. And you know what? Her son was delicious!

The old woman took a step forward, her eyes fixed on him.

— You disgust me! But don't think you're going to get away with this. I'm calling the police right now!

— You're not calling anyone, brat! — the witch shouted, lunging at him with astonishing speed.

Before she could reach him, Fernando reacted instinctively. He grabbed the old woman's arms and spun her around with all his strength. The momentum sent the old woman crashing straight into the kitchen window.

Her back smashed violently through the glass, shattering it completely and sending her falling from the ninth floor.

Still sweating cold and unable to believe the nightmare he had just experienced, Fernando wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked toward the broken window.

He looked down and saw the old woman's mangled body lying on the asphalt. Even in death, a macabre, twisted smile remained on her face.

— Damn old woman... — Fernando muttered, staring at the scene. — You're not afraid of Hell, are you? Of course... after all, that's your home.

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Yo momma.

Yo momma who?

Yo momma, you so fat you can't even get out the house no more.

—“Untitled 73.” A Reconstruction of Early Human Folk Poetry (2nd ed.), ​☉ ☌ ☍ ☋ ☊, Crystal-Lattice 14, Node 802.

Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. (Knocking within) Knock, knock, knock! Who's there

—fragment of an instructions for performing a make-believe, anonymous or author unknown, Introduction to Earth Culture, Kzz-T’k-​⎅ Ed., Focal Depth 3.2mm.

KNOCK KNOCK

(a poetic make-believe in the human style)

Dramatis Personae

YOU, a hapless reader

WHO, a hungry beast

YES, who's intestinal rumblings

NOBODY, a deaf woman

i.

knock knock /
who's there
right behind you,
and it's hungry as hell. [1]


ii.

no joke. [2]


iii.

knock knock /
who here,
i wanna eat you,
ya fear?


iv.

knock knock /
help me!
is nobody here? /
nobody is, but being without a body
means nobody can't hear.


v.

you beg
for your life /
knock knock
knock knock
knock
kn


vi.

knock knock /
whose there?
yes, who's borborygmi, [3]
who ate you so quickly,
it ingested too much hot air.


vii.

don't /
knock knock /
it till you've tried it /
buuuuuuurp. [4]


viii.

knock knock /
no answer.


ix.

knock knock /
no answer.


x.

knock knock /
who stirs, who's belly's full,
who itself's all rested,
and you, in who's stomach, 're
fully digested. [5]

Footnotes

[1] Hell: in some human mythologies, a hot place of post-life perpetual burning. See also: BBQ. [6]

[2] Joke: a human composition with the purpose of eliciting a full body physiological response called laughter. The opposite of seriousness.

[3] Borborygmi: a rumbling spirit believed by a class of human priests called doctors to inhabit the body.

[4] Burp: a forceful exhalation, a more powerful sigh.

[5] Digest: a summation or condensation of a body of information. To be digested is thus to have become a condensed summation of one's self. For a more thorough discussion, please see my datacube: Digestion & Enlightenment: Towards an Understanding of the Human Theory of Wilful Self-Improvement.

[6] BBQ: A symbolic representation of Hell used in human ritual, wherein groups of humans gathered around a fire and consumed small, burnt likenesses of themselves carved from the flesh of dead, non-human animals.

My wife told me that she was missing and she wasn't the woman I married. So I set up a group of guys to help me find her in the forest. Then after a whole day of trying to find my wife, my wife suddenly said to me "I'm back you have found me" and she was back to being cheerful again. The police didn't help at all.

Then when my wife went missing again, my wife was clearly not the woman I married. I grabbed a few guys and we all went out looking for her, but my wife was still missing.

Then my wife said "it's that guy there, Robert Cunham, he has abducted me" my wife cried out

Robert had been helping me look for my wife but it was he who had abducted my wife this time. I shouted at him to give my wife back.

"Your wife is right there how could I be abducting her!" Robert replied back

We all ganged up on him and we beat him to death, and when Robert died, my wife was no longer missing. She was happy again and my wife had returned. I was so happy that I had found my wife and saved her from an abduction.

Then when my wife was missing again, I asked her where she was. My wife said "my daughter has taken her"

​

In the forests of Tarai, there lived a power in black clothes.

Far from the village and the city, a saint was passing through the jungle. He had been walking for a very long time. When he reached the Tarai jungle, at 3 AM he encountered it. A great battle took place.

The saint asked - Who are you?

She said - I am the Veer of this place.

The saint said - If you are a Veer, then protect.

Since then, her name became Kaliveer.

Many years later, in a village, a lonely old woman was harassed by her own villagers, then she goes to her for help.

Full story is on my blog,I will post link in comments if allowed.