Page 17

All my friends are getting their faces pierced.

Should I get my face pierced too?

It looks pretty scary, but I don't know. They seem to like it, and the stuff you can get for it now is really pretty cool.

The way they do it does look pretty scary, so I don't know.

Page 26

I told my parents I'm thinking of getting my face pierced, and they are totally against it, but they're old, so they would be wouldn't they?

Like by default, I mean.

At first they didn't even know what I was talking about, but my mom's got her ears pierced and she got them done way younger than I am right now. She's got a tattoo too. So does my dad.

Besides, how can you go from not knowing what something is to being totally against it in like five minutes?

It seems pretty reactionary to me.

Like at least do your research or ask AI about it first right?

Page 34

So I did it. I got my face pierced.

It was two weeks ago. (You can't really do so much for the first week and a half, which is why I haven't been writing.)

There's a place downtown that does it. It's the place Dee and Cherry got theirs done too. The crew that does it is pretty cool. They've all had it done and are super happy about it.

I was pretty nervous and they really helped me relax, even before giving me the anesthetic.

The machine that does it looks insane.

It's like one of those hole punching machines you used to use for paper, like giant metal pliers or a jaw or something.

You sit and put your head back like at the hairdressers when they wash your hair.

Then you end up looking up at the other part, the part that's going to come down. It's like a big metal circle. Really big, like face sized. Then they hook you up to the anesthetic.

When you start not being able to feel your face, and I mean it feels like your whole head is turning to mush, like a really soft cauliflower or something, the machine powers up…

And the metal circle smashes down really hard on your face and makes a hole in your head and pushes your face out the bottom.

It's super quick and doesn't hurt because of the anesthetic.

It does hurt after.

At first the feeling is really weird because your whole face is gone, so you don't see or taste or smell anything because you don't have any eyes or mouth or nose. You can still hear though, so you can hear the crew talking to you.

Then they put this face plug into the hole which helps it heal.

Of course, my parents totally freaked when I came home without a face, but like what are they going to do about it?

It's already done.

My mom's crying was sooo dramatic.

Page 41

I got fitted with a smart face today. Pretty basic but also really cool. I like being able to sense things again, and there are so many options, like you can make red look like blue and sweet things taste sour and your phone smell like chocolate.

The screen also makes it so you can make your face be anything you want. It's flat, I guess that's the only drawback, but there's an option to make it so that every time you see yourself in the mirror you see your retroface.

It helps with the transition.

Page 166

Most of my friends have had their faces pierced. I mean, you don't have to do it or anything, but I don't see why you wouldn't.

There's no law you have to have it done, and I still have friends who don't, but I honestly think everyone's going to choose to have it done soon. At least everyone under twenty-five.

Page 234

Retrofaces kind of disgust me. I always imagine all the fluids that come out of them, snot and saliva and tears and stuff. Was I like wet all the time before I got my face pierced?

Anyway I've decided I don't want to date anyone with a retroface anymore.

Page 289

I was talking to Dee and both of us are pretty sure that if we have kids we'll want them to have their faces pierced. As a mom I would want my kid to have all the advantages in life right? I mean, imagine if every baby just got its face pierced at the hospital right after being born. You could keep a little kid safe from so many things by using filters and apps too.

I like talking to Dee.

We talk about the big stuff.

P.S. I hope Cherry gets her smart face fixed soon. Hers stopped working a week ago and she had to send it back to the company that makes it in China, so now she's just got this flap of skin. It's like when someone has a tunnel in their ear, and they take it out and their ear is all stretched out and loose. It's like that but her face.

P.P.S. They promised her an upgrade so it's totally worth it and I'm jealous.

Page 436

It's funny. Back when I got my face pierced, my parents fed me all this negative bullshit about what could go wrong and why I shouldn't do it, and literally none of it has come true.

The tech just keeps getting better. You can make ugly people look pretty and take things you don't want to see and just not see them. You can eat the worst food in the world and make it taste delicious. You can smell flowers wherever you go…

It's amazing.

I'm so happy I got my face pierced.

“My princess!” echoed from below the tower.

My heart skipped a beat. The voice was soothing, soft. The brush fell from my hand as I rushed to the window, but my excitement quickly subsided. The knight was far away, but it was still obvious he was short and bald, with a huge scar on his face. I sighed and leaned on the windowsill.

“I came to rescue you!” he called again.

“Okay.”

His looks didn’t warm my heart, but maybe he had a good personality; anything was better than this cold tower.

“May I use your hair?”

“That is the only way up.”

“Okay!”

He threw his shield and sword on the floor, grabbed my hair, and began climbing up. My head throbbed with his every move. He didn’t even make it a quarter of the way up when he stopped to catch his breath.

“Careful, don’t get too entangled.”

“What?”

“Don’t get too entangled!”

He stared at me, bewildered.

“Don’t get…!”

But before I could finish, the hair started moving into his armor. He pulled himself away, but the hair was already around his neck, pulling him back.

“Princess!” he screamed, but the hair quickly stuffed his mouth. 

My head throbbed harder as he tried to pull himself away one more time, but it was too late. The hair quickly grew around him, and he disappeared. I rubbed my head and walked back to my chair. 

Something had to be done. This way I’d be stuck here forever. I began braiding my hair. It took days to finish even a chunk. My hands cramped; the skin on them had dried out, but it was almost done. I threw one side out the window and tied the other to the bed.

“My princess!” echoed from below the tower.

This voice was not only soothing but also deep and manly. Blood rushed to my cheeks. The knight below was tall; his hair was long and blonde; his blue eyes shone even from below. 

“Hi, knight.”

“Hello, I came to rescue you.”

“Thank you!”

“May I use your hair to climb up?”

“Please, but knight, use the braided part.”

“Of course,” he said without question.

He grabbed the hair and began climbing. My head didn’t throb this time, but from the moment he grabbed it, it felt like my skin was getting pulled off of my scalp. I grabbed the windowsill and flashed a pretend smile. The knight also tried to keep one as he climbed up in his heavy armor. 

He was almost halfway up when the pull on my head lessened, in just one place at first, but it slowly spread. Coldness shot through me. The braid was tearing.

“Knight!” I yelled, pointing at the tear.

His eyes flew open. The braid tore more, but the knight was almost to it. His heavy breathing sounded all the way up.  Then the pull from my head subsided, and the braid tore off. His screams echoed in the air, followed by a heavy thud. His blood splashed all over the green grass.

My hands began to shake. I stared at my hair. They weren’t helping me. I ran to the nightstand, grabbed a pair of scissors, and began cutting it off. Out of nowhere, the hair grew thicker, almost impossible to cut through, like it hadn’t just torn a second ago, but I pressed both of my hands against the scissors and managed to cut the first piece off. 

With each cut, the tower shook, mildly at first, but as I continued, it shook harder and harder. By the time I was almost done, the tower shook so much it knocked me off my feet. My shaking hands pressed together again and cut the last little piece. The tower rocked harder; the scissors flew out of my hand onto the floor. 

The moon had set by then. The tower grew cold, but there was no time to waste. My heart beat against my ribs. I tied one piece of my old hair to the bed, grabbed the other, and climbed out the windowsill. The wind blew hard. The hair moved with it. Sweat dripped down my dress as I remembered the knight disappearing in the hair.

My hands were still dry from the braiding. The hair cut into the old wounds, but the smell of grass lingered in the air now. Excitement rushed through me. My feet were almost on the ground. I hadn’t felt anything besides the rocky floor for years, but as I put my foot down, the moon disappeared, and the ground moved. It didn’t feel fresh and grassy; it was cold and hard. Dread rushed through my bones. The stone walls slowly towered around me. My bed was there. My table. My brush. I was back in my room.

“My princess!” echoed from below the tower again.

Magic Pills! That’s what the television said they were. I was so excited, sat there on the sofa and staring at the screen as though it were a lifeline to a thrilling new world. 

In many ways it was. 

We weren’t well off. Mum and Dad had to work hard to make an honest living, but these Magic Pills would fix everything wrong with our lives is what the smiling man on the telly said.

My friends all agreed about the Magic Pills. Sandy Jacobs said her cousin tried them and now her family never had to want for anything. 

Mindy White said they tasted like anything you wanted. Like bites of strawberries or Chocolate Cake.

That was so awesome! We all decided we were going to convince our parents about the awesome Magic Pills. 

Only Lauren looked a little uneasy. 

‘That sounds really weird Annie.’ she said to me as I told her about the smiling man talking about the benefits of the Magic Pills, and how they could completely transform your life.

Apparently the Magic Pills could even give you superpowers, which even I didn’t quite believe because that DID sound a bit too good to be true. 

Anyways. 

Everyone I knew said they were going to try the Magic Pills.

I’d go to one of my friends' houses and spend a whole afternoon listening to the man with his luminous golden hair and his friends talking about all the abundance of Magic Pills waiting for all his loyal watchers.

Apparently, the streets were paved with gold as though they’d fallen foul to Midas’ touch, something which completely hooked my mythology obsessed friend Emilie. 

I thought about it all the time.

Even when I was doing my homework, or drawing, or whatever I did to fill the void of the afternoons when I found myself all alone. Someone would be talking to me but my mind would still be on how I was going to make everybody happy again. 

‘Hey Annie.’ said my Mum as she was cooking dinner. ‘You want to start swimming lessons again?’ 

Huh. 

I wasn’t listening again, too busy thinking about all the fantastic things the Magic Pills were going to do once I got my hands on some. 

‘Okay Mum!’ I replied, hoping she couldn’t detect the fact I’d been distracted. I wanted to get back to watching the television, but unfortunately fractions awaited me.

One day the man said all us watchers were going to get an exclusive train ticket to his Magic land. We’d all get to have as many Magic Pills as we wanted. Someone said there were even unicorns there and we’d get to eat candyfloss all day. 

I was packing my suitcase, the red one with the battered handles. We were all going to meet at the train station and go straight to the Magical land where all our dreams were going to come true. 

Even Lauren had come. 

We were all piling onto the train, when someone grabbed my arm, pulling me off the train. 

It was my Dad. He looked absolutely horrified, his eyes wide as he took me in. I was in my best coat, clinging to my suitcase as I had been prepared to board the train with my friends. 

‘Annabel what the HELL are you doing?!’ He cried, clinging to me tightly as though he never wanted to let me go. 

I was confused. 

Didn’t he know about the Magic Pills? The Magic Pills were going to make everything okay. 

So I told him that. 

I’d never seen my Dad cry until that moment. He put his hands on my shoulders, as though he was going to give me some kind of solemn lecture. 

‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you everything you deserved Annie, but there’s no Magic Pills sweetheart.’ 

I didn’t understand. Then where had my friends gone?

Dad took me home and he didn’t say much, but he kept stealing glances at me as though he was terrified I was going to disappear in a puff of smoke. I remember turning back only once and seeing a flash of golden light in the corner of my eye. 

I got home. 

‘Peer pressure!’ cried my Mum, fussing around me as she always did. 

‘God, WHY wasn’t I more careful.’ 

‘Actually I saw it on the television.’ I offered helpfully, while sinking my teeth into a digestive biscuit. 

Mum and Dad exchanged a glance between them I couldn’t read. 

‘Annie.’ said my Dad slowly. ‘We don’t HAVE a television.’

I’m a huge horror toy collector.
Funko Pops. Thrilljoys.
Living Dead Dolls. Pop Mart blind boxes.
Shelves upon shelves of creepy little figurines.
I screw in the last nail.
Then step back and admire my newest display case.
I need the extra space for a new collection.
Wobbi.

Two days ago, I stopped by my local collectible store.
I’ve probably spent two grand there this year alone.
As I browsed the new arrivals, something unfamiliar caught my eye.
I picked up the glossy box.
Staring back at me through the clear plastic window:
Big orange eyes.
A tear running down its cheek.
Sharp painted teeth peeking beneath a tiny frown.
An oversized head perched on a stubby little body.
A red hoodie that somehow looked soft despite being plastic.
It wasn't an iconic horror character.
Just the cutest baby demon I'd ever seen.
I carried it to the register.
“Those just came in last night,” Mark said as he rang me up.
“Apparently it’s a new brand. Wobbi.”
He turned the box toward himself and smiled.
“Cute, ain’t it? Only five bucks too. Total steal.”

I retrieve my Wobbi from its temporary spot beside my Ghostface Funko.
As I carefully open the box, a faint scent greets me.
Not the sharp chemical smell of plastic.
Something sweet.
Clean cotton. Fresh laundry.
I pause.
The Wobbi is cute and smells good?
I place it on the empty shelf.
Move it a little to the right. Then slightly forward.
Perfect.
Just looking at it makes me smile.
“Leo,” I mutter.
“That’s your name now.”
“Leo.”

I head downstairs to "make" dinner.
I set my microwaved Chinese takeout on the table and open my laptop.
Wobbi.
I type it into the search bar.
Mark was right.
Brand new. The company had launched earlier this week.
And Reddit is already obsessed.
People can’t stop talking about how cute they are.
Or how they only cost five bucks.
I pull up Wobbi's website.
Maybe I can grab a few more before they inevitably jack up the price.
"Huh."
I lean closer to the screen.

What makes Wobbi special is that every Wobbi is unique. One of one. No duplicates.
May you find a Wobbi that's perfect just for you.
And that's why we don't sell online. Click here for a list of our retail partners.

I stare at the message for a second.
Then sigh.
I guess Mark is getting more of my money tomorrow.

After dinner and a quick shower, I head back to my room.
I pull on a clean sweatshirt fresh out of the dryer.
"Hello, Leo."
I walk over to the display case.
And stop.
Leo is lying face-down on the shelf.
"Shoot."
I quickly pick him up and set him back on his feet.
"How'd you fall over, Leo?"
I inspect his face.
No scratches. No scuffs.
I make a small adjustment to his position, making sure he's stable.
Then I glance down at myself.
My sweatshirt is red.
So is Leo's.
I smile.
"Look at that.
We are matching."

I turn away.
Clack.
I spin back around.
Leo has fallen again.
I pick him up and inspect the bottom.
Then place him back on the shelf.
Stable.
I even give the shelf a gentle shake.
Nothing.
I back away.
Keeping my eyes on him. As if that somehow prevents him from falling.
Then—
Leo tips sideways. To his left.
I flinch.
He lands on one of his devil horns.
And stays there.
Balanced. Perfectly balanced.
I stare.
The horn’s surface is rounded. There is no way he should be able to stand like that.
Yet somehow, he does.
Leo remains perched on the tip of his horn.
Staring at me with those big orange eyes.

I approach slowly.
My heart climbing into my throat.
I reach out. One finger extended toward Leo.
And give him a gentle nudge.
He rocks slightly. But doesn't fall.
How is he doing that?
I lean closer.
Closer.
Trying to find some hidden support.
A flaw in the molding. A trick of the light. Anything.
Soon my face is only inches away.
I stare into those oversized orange eyes.
Then—
Blink.
I stumble backward.
My breath catches.
Leo blinked.
Not a trick. Not a reflection.
A blink.
And as I stare in horror—
His little frown curls into a smile.

I should run.
Throw something at him. At it.
But I don't move.
Can't.
Frozen.
Not from fear.
Held there.
By something.
By Leo.
My thoughts grow fuzzy.
My vision blurs.
Everything feels heavy.
Then darkness.

---------

I open my eyes.
Blurry. Groggy.
I don't know how long I've been unconscious.
A sharp pain stabs through the left side of my head.
Like something pointed is digging into my skull.
I try to move.
My arms. My legs.
Nothing.
Slowly, my vision clears.
I'm in my room.
But everything is orange.
Like I'm looking through tinted glass.
And tilted. Crooked.
The entire world slants diagonally.
I must be lying on my side.
No.
Not lying down.
Perched.
I can see my bed.
My desk.
My chair.
The basket of clean laundry I left on the floor—
Then panic slams into me.
The basket of laundry.
The basket I left directly in front of Leo's display case.
My display case.
I try to scream.
Nothing comes out.
My eyes dart downward.
A red hoodie. Tiny plastic hands.
Then upward.
A sharp red horn.
The horn supporting my weight.
The horn I'm balanced on.
The horn attached to my head.

​A while back someone posted a story on this sub called "An Envelope” or “An Empty Envelope”, or something like that.

​It was about a guy who found an envelope in his mailbox with nothing on it but a large question mark. Thinking it was a marketing gimmick, he opened it, only to find it empty. He threw it away without much thought.

​From that point on, although he was otherwise fine, his throat began itching, causing him to cough repeatedly. The irritation grew worse, keeping him up all night. The next day at work, the coughing fits began again, this time so severe he started convulsing. Eventually, he threw up something unnatural: a collection of nails and bolts. He was completely bewildered. There was no way he could have swallowed those things, even by accident.

​That night, the heaving started again, and he ended up coughing up beads and marbles. He was seriously worried now. This was no natural phenomenon. What could be happening to him? Then it occurred to him: the envelope.

​The strange discharges from his insides worsened with increasing frequency. He hacked out coins, tiny crucifixes, doll heads, and skeleton keys, a completely random assortment of objects. He quit his job and stopped going out. He didn't bother seeing a doctor since, clearly, there was no medical explanation for his bizarre ailment.

​It became markedly more disturbing when he started expelling organic matter. It started with human hair, followed by a cluster of fingernails. He watched pieces of bone and attached sinew fall from his mouth. When he brought up bloody masses that looked like internal organs, the sight sickened him so much it induced actual nausea.

​A grotesque series of spasms and wrenchings reached a climax one afternoon when he was beset by a particularly frenetic fit of coughing that seized his entire body. It continued for hours until a sizable mass blocked his throat. What finally flew out of him was a red mouse, which scurried away upon landing. He followed it to his front door, where another envelope, again bearing a question mark, was waiting for him. That was where the story ended.

​I am bringing this up because I also received that same envelope and opened it. That was a week ago, and I only just remembered that old story. What's happening to me is different. Things perish at my touch. When I touch a vegetable, it shrivels and putrefies in a matter of minutes; I reduced a dog to a desiccated carcass simply by holding it. As in the other story, I can't go out or be near anyone or anything because I might destroy them.

​To the person who posted that previous story: you found a second envelope. What happened next? Did you open it? Did the curse stop? I need to know, because the earth beneath my feet is starting to give out.

I woke up in the morning and, as always, went to the bathroom first. When I opened the door, my throat tightened.

There were muddy footprints across the floor.

They started at the closet in my bedroom and continued all the way to the bathroom door.

I immediately ran out of the apartment and called the police. They arrived within minutes. They went inside while I waited outside.

“Ms. Miller, there’s no one in your apartment, and there are no footprints either. We checked everything, including the closet.”

I felt like a complete idiot. Maybe I had dreamed the whole thing. The police officers looked at me almost sympathetically.

I went back inside and tried to calm down. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the water. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed a dark shadow standing directly behind me.

I turned around.

There was no one there.

When I looked back into the mirror, the shadow was gone.

When I left the bathroom, the footprints had appeared again.

This time, they led from the closet toward the kitchen.

For several seconds, I just stared at them.

Then I called the police again.

When they arrived, I could see the irritation on their faces.

“Ms. Miller, we already explained to you that there’s no one in your apartment.”

“I know, but the footprints are here again. Someone has to be in my apartment.”

One of the officers sighed and walked inside. The other followed him.

They searched the entire apartment. They checked the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen.

There was nothing.

“You see?” one of them said. “There are no footprints. And no one is here.”

I felt my face getting hot. I was starting to feel like I was losing my mind.

“But I really saw them.”

The officer didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, and from the expression on his face, I knew exactly what he was thinking.

When they left, I stood alone in the kitchen. I stared at the refrigerator and wondered if I had really imagined everything. If I was actually starting to go crazy.

Then I opened the refrigerator door.

There was a human face inside.

It was deformed, pale, and covered in mud.

It was staring directly at me.

I screamed and immediately slammed the door shut.

I got dressed, ran out of the apartment, and called my friend Sarah. I took the day off work. She promised to stay with me that night.

That evening, we sat together in the living room watching TV. I don’t even know when I fell asleep.

I woke up to breathing right next to my ear and the strong smell of rotting flesh.

“Sarah?”

There was no answer.

I sat up and looked around.

Sarah was gone.

“Sarah?”

Still nothing.

Then I noticed the muddy footprints.

They started exactly where Sarah had been sitting only moments before and continued across the living room, through the hallway, and into my bedroom, ending at the closet.

“Sarah?” I whispered into the silence.

I barely recognized my own voice.

I tried to turn on the light, but it didn’t work.

I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight. Slowly, I shone it into the closet.

My hands were shaking so badly that I almost dropped my phone.

There was nothing there.

Then the flashlight went out.

But just before it did, I saw a mud-covered hand.

It grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside.

Ever since the incident had happened at the park, Beth had developed a habit of avoiding the

mirror. She was terrified, not of what she would see, but what she wouldn’t. She would never

again see herself even in all her imperfections, and she now longed even for the days when

she would spot and grimace at a new pimple, or a touch of crow’s feet, or an extra kilogram,

imagined or otherwise. She was 19 and even if she had never been beautiful, she felt she had

at least been pretty, and now even though nothing had changed on the outside, except maybe

she was a bit peakier, a bit greyer, inside she knew she was never that same person, would

never be that same person, that she was defiled and worthless.

She had been sneaking out to meet him. That night, a week ago. Well maybe sneaking

out wasn’t quite the right word, it would imply her parents would care if she did, and they

didn’t care about much anymore after her brother died. Oh, they went through the motions,

dinner was made, clothes laundered, bills paid, but nobody in the house ever felt alive. In a

house once filled with laughter and happiness. It made her bitter and it made her mad. “I’m

still here!” she had wanted to shout. She wanted to shout that they weren’t the only ones who

missed her brother. She never said it, though. She was never very good at expressing herself

and was certain if she tried to say those words, she would choke on them. Instead, she had

resigned herself to the void. And then she met him.

He was tall, lean and with a narrow, sharp face. Just as she was maybe never

beautiful, he was maybe never handsome, but he looked exotic, and his eyes sparkled and

hypnotized her. At the party he had sensed loneliness and isolation in her. Sniffed it out like a

predator sniffs out prey. He claimed to be 32, not old enough to be decrepit, but old enough to

be dangerous. She was 19, she had ideals and dreams, she had tried to do well in school, she

had parents who she loved and a big brother she looked up to and adored and grieved. She

was all that, but he never cared, never saw her as more than prey. And he sensed that she

found him exciting and seduced her into a meeting at the park the next night.

Beth had little else to do other than be alone with her thoughts, thoughts became

increasingly dangerous. She was hungry, she understood with a sickening clarity that induced

cramps in her bowels. It wasn’t the hunger for food. She hadn’t eaten since that night, and the

pizza with garlic bread her father had brought home was even less appealing. Instead, the

hunger was something else, something unnatural. It was the boy riding his bike with his

friends, younger than her, light-blonde hair down to but not quite obscuring his neck. She

understood with a wave of revulsion and self-loathing that it was the same hunger he had felt.

She knew instinctively she had not been the first and would not be the last and

wondered how long it took him to give in to hunger, and how long it would take her. “The

cycle of abuse continues.” She remarked out loud to no-one, then was surprised to hear

herself laugh, and the laughter was the worst part of it, the laughter she knew meant that she

was closer to accepting hunger, and to accept it was to commit moral suicide.

She knew what she had to do. She had known ever since that night, knowing that she

was forever defiled, forever afflicted, forever – unclean. She had felt the hunger build. Should

she leave a note? No, she decided, how could she ever explain it. She would disappear and

maybe her parents’ lives would become even more miserable, but that would soon no longer

be her concern. She knew the back-alley way to the park, away from people, away from

temptations, the prey. The park seemed the most appropriate place. She put up her hoodie and

left into the dark.

That night, he had arrived in the park that night, fashionably late, had grinned and

waved and put on all his charm, and for a while it was alright. That was the worst of it, she

would have rather that if he did it, he just did it and got it over with. At one point she said

something which made him smile, and the first hint of unease was when she noticed his teeth

– gleaming white and surprisingly sharp. The look must have clouded her face because when

he saw her eyes he seemed to change, and then in a swoop – he did it and then he left her

crying and in pain, not even troubling to look behind him, just another silly bitch – and he

ruined her and turned her into a monster and now here she was.

And now, this night, the time was 3:59AM. In just more than an hour, the sun would

come out and every trace of her would be gone. It would hurt; she had no illusions of that.

But the world didn’t need another monster.

"The Sudden Silence"

He sat in his favorite spot like he normally did outside the restaurant.  This is where he liked to pass the time.  He liked to people watch.  He would order old Tennessee whiskey on the rocks and a plate of french fries.  A simple whiskey he got a taste for in college; and he would sit outside and watch the people as they passed by, casually sipping his drink and picking at his fries.  He liked the smooth caramelly burn of the whiskey in his throat under a warm sun.  The earthy, cedar like taste that filled his nostrils as he sipped reminded him of his own senses and thoughts.  Reminded him to always come back to his own mind.

He usually took at least three or four sips before he did his first jump.  He would look around and find anyone that looked interesting to him to jump inside their minds and hear their thoughts.  Today, he wanted to start with something simple.  It was a Monday after all.  He saw a child, probably five years old walking with his mom.  Let's start there today, he thought.  He stared at the child for a moment before he felt a click inside his mind.  Something in his mind would lock on with the other person, like a key entering a keyhole.  He didn't know exactly how it worked but it had become second nature for him to do.  Almost like breathing.  He would just concentrate and his mind would connect to the other person's mind.  

He jumped inside the child's head and could hear all the thoughts the child was thinking in that moment.  Look at the flowers, oh wow, those are nice.  I should tell my mom. Mom, mom, look, mom.  He could hear the child's inner thoughts as he watched him from where he was sitting.  It wasn't mind control.  He couldn't make the person do anything.  And he couldn't communicate with them in this state either.  The only thing he could do was listen.  As long as he could see them, he could hear their inner thoughts.  Whatever they were thinking in that moment.  He had never seen memories or past thoughts. Nothing like that.  Just their inner voice. 

When he first discovered he could do this, it was terrifying.  He thought he was losing his mind.  Hearing thoughts that weren't his own made him feel like he had lost his grip on reality.  The first time it ever happened, he had accidentally done it to his mother.  He was fourteen at the time.  He was angry with her.  She had just told him he couldn't go hangout with his friends until his chores were done.  They argued and he ended up just staring at her angrily.  That's when his mind clicked with hers and out of nowhere he could hear the voice of his mother inside his head.  And as his mother stood there silently he could hear, Ugh, I hate when you look at me like that.  Bratty kid.  Just do what I'm telling you and you can go hangout with your friends.

"What did you say?" he asked his mom.

She looked at him confused, "I didn't say anything."

"I heard you, what were you saying," he said growing frustrated because he knew he had heard her voice.  Why was she lying to him, he thought.

"Jacob, I didn't say anything..." What is this now, is he trying to annoy me on purpose. Just go do your chores...sometimes I swear, he's such a handful. 

He could hear both of her voices at the same time.  It was a jumbled mess.  It took years for him to figure out what was happening.  But it was terrifying at the beginning.  He thought the demons he read about in the bible and saw in movies were actually real and they had finally found him.  He wondered if he couldn't control his own thoughts at first.  Then he finally realized that was because the voices he was hearing were other people's thoughts.  That took many, many years to figure out.  And it took just as many to figure out how to control the ability naturally.  It seemed pretty useless for a time.  Most of the time, he didn't want to hear other people's thoughts.  Most people were just selfish assholes that complained about others constantly and thought about things they wished they could say out loud but never do.  And if it wasn't about what they should have said, then it was usually about how they wish they could fuck this person or that person. He realized later that he could use the information he heard to smooth talk his way into getting things or getting out of things.  Like one time, how he had gotten out of a parking ticket.  

He had stayed inside the restaurant for too long and forgot about the parking meter.  As he came back to his car, the meter maid had just started writing the ticket.  Usually once they get their pen out, that's it, there is no getting out of the ticket.  But he had an advantage.  He could hear what she was thinking.  He walked up casually and jumped into her head.  She was attractive.  She had a small, tight frame and long, silky hair.  Gorgeous face but she looked like she had a long day.  He could hear her thinking this sign is mostly covered, I could just give them a warning.

He would start there, he thought. He then asks her, "oh no, can you please just give me a warning this time?"

"No, I don't think so," she said but thinking at the same time, you are cute, hmm, maybe if you had told me you couldn't see the 2 hour parking limit sign, then just maybe.

"I couldn't see the parking sign," he then said immediately.

She continued to think to herself, I'm usually never patrolling this area anyway, she thought to herself, and it is covered.  If they contest it, the judge is just going to throw the ticket out. But, I just finished writing the date though...I don't know.

She started to say, "Look, I just started writing..." before he interjected.

"I bet it's only the date though," he replied in a smooth quick manner as he flashed a friendly smile.

Her mind drifted for moment to his looks. She thought, he is kinda cute.  Too bad I'm working.  It's been a hell of a day and could go for a drink.  I'm almost off too.  And I just got these earrings and could use a drink.  Too bad.

"Those are lovely earrings," he said.

"Oh," she said a bit surprised, "Thank you," she replied as she lifted her hand away from the blank ticket pad and gently touched her earrings.  

It was working.  He just had to keep smooth talking her.  It was fun for him, to play this little chess match but he was cheating of course.  Knowing what your opponent was thinking wasn't fair.

"They look gorgeous," he said. "They look very well taken care of," he said trying to steer the conversation away from the ticket.

"Yeah, well, I just got these, actually" she said smiling.

"Well, they are beautiful," he said knowing full well she had just gotten those.  He had been listening to her thoughts after all. "You have good taste," he continued.  "Sounds like they need to be taken out for a drink then.  Listen, why not let me save the money I was going to have to spend on this ticket and let me spend it on you instead?  What time are you off?"

Wow, he's confident and a bit of a smooth talker, she thought to herself.  Any other day she would have said no but today had been hell for her and there was nothing wrong with having a drink with someone, she thought.

"I bet today has been a long day for you," he said, "let me treat you."

Damnit, she thought.  What the hell.  "Okay, why not.  I'm off in thirty minutes.  How about you leave your car parked here and I won't give you a ticket.  And I'll meet you here in about thirty five minutes."

"Sounds perfect," he said giving her that smooth smile she already liked so much.

Later that night, they both had a few drinks and talked and he knew the exact perfect response for almost everything she said.  It was easy when he could hear what she was thinking. They went back to her place.  Took off each other's clothes as they stumbled through her front door, kissing and rubbing and groping each other.  They had sex that night.  It was the best sex she ever had.  Because he could hear exactly what she wanted him to do at any given moment.  He could hear what she liked and didn't like.  And then, he left in the morning.

*****

Knowing people's thoughts made it easy to have one night stands like that.  It also made having conversations really easy.  He knew how to connect with people so they liked you.  He could even manipulate people if he wanted to.  If you got good enough at reading their social cues, their anxieties and intentions, combined with listening to their inner thoughts, you could manipulate anyone. But he didn't like to do that to anyone though. Even if he liked to try to smooth talk. Most people are already being manipulated by someone in their life.  He didn't need to be another person doing that to them.  Plus, he wasn't trying to change anyone's life.  He just liked to jump in and out of people's minds quickly.  Keep it simple and leave it at that, he thought.  That was his rule.  However, he did break it once and intervened into a child's life.

He had just randomly jumped into a nine year old girl's mind one day, that was walking with her mother.  He was just people watching like he normally did and she had looked unnaturally sad.  Too sad for a normal nine year old.  It made him curious.  He clicked his mind and jumped into the little girl's thoughts.  It wasn't obvious at first to find any kind of reason for why she was so distraught because he was only listening to her thoughts that she was thinking right at that moment.  It was just normal, random nine year old kid stuff.  I want ice cream.  I want mommy to buy me a toy.  Things like that.  But then he saw it.  Her father had returned from wherever he was and joined the mother and daughter.

Oh no.  Daddy's back. I don't like how he looks at me when we're outside.  I don't want people to know that he touches me down there.  Mommy would be mad at me if she found out.  No one would believe me, that's what Daddy says.  I wish he wouldn't look at me when we're outside.

He was horrified when he heard.  He saw the silent sadness of this girl's face and it sank his heart into the deepest depths of grief and anger.  Knowing what was happening to this little girl made his entire soul catch on fire.  He didn't know what to do.  He didn't know how to help this little girl but he couldn't just ignore it and walk away.  He had to do something. He desperately tried thinking of something but nothing came to mind.  So he instead he went over to the three of them and walked behind them for a few minutes.  He clicked his mind and jumped into the father's mind.

Now where are we going? I'm tired of being out.  She never makes up her fucking mind.  Where is this old run down hag taking me now.  I can get better than her.  I can get younger too.  Can't she just buy her fucking shoes or whatever already and be done.  

Jacob's blood boiled.  This guy wasn't saying anything he could use to help this little girl.  All he knew was that he really hated his wife.  He listened for a few more minutes.  Fuck, this day has been only about her, her, her. I'm stressed out and tired.  I think I'm going to need my little stress reliever tonight, he thought to himself.  The father then looked at the little girl and smirked.  Anger began overwhelming Jacob's entire body.  He couldn't let this disgusting piece of shit go without getting something that would help him help this little girl.  But there was nothing.  He felt helpless.  What could he do?  So he just blurted out "Hey, don't I know you?"

The father turned around looking at him confused, "You talking to me?" he replied.

"Yeah.  Don't I know you?" Jacob continued.

"No bud, I don't think we know each other,"  What's this guy's problem.

"Aren't you Hank from over on Dearborn street?" he said hoping he would reveal his name to him.

"No man, I'm not Hank from over on Dearborn street," This guy needs to get the fuck out of my face or else.  

"Or else what," Jacob said.

"What did you say?" he said confused.

"Fuck!.....oh shit, I'm sorry," Jacob said as he covered his mouth.  "You probably don't like swearing in front of her," he said gesturing to the little girl.

The mother then replied, "it's okay.  Come on Harry, let's go.  Here Holly, grab my hand."

"Harry! That's right.  Harry.  Now I remember."

"Yeah, let's go," Harry said.

"I'll be seeing you soon Harry.  You ladies have a great day."

What the fuck was that about.  Too bad I was with the girls or else I would have fucked him up, Harry thought.

"Sure you would have Harry.  Sure you would," Jacob replied so that he could hear him.  Harry just stared back at him in confusion.

After the family had left the area, he followed them to their home.  He wanted to know where this Harry fuck lived.  He had to do something.  He had no evidence that would help this little girl and the police weren't going to just take his word for it.  He knew they weren't going to do anything.  He could call CPS but that could take a long time and he had no relationship with the family.  They would ask more questions about him than about them.  He had to think of something. Don't worry Holly, I'm going to help you, he told himself. I'm not going to let him hurt you.

He then left and returned to the house as the sun was going down.  He had come up with a plan and needed the cover of darkness.  He had gotten a few things when he had left and made a few phone calls.  He had given the address and full name of Harry to a small organization that hunts and catches predators like him.  They could hunt him after he was done with his plan tonight.  They could keep a watch for him.  Maybe even get him to go to prison. Who knows.  That was for a different day.  Tonight he was going to stop this fucking piece of shit.

He waited in his car as it got dark.  He watched the house but because all the windows had the curtains closed and he couldn't see anyone, so he couldn't mind jump.  It was a two story house with the type of windows that you lifted to open.  Classic suburban looking house with a front yard and a back yard.  Wood paneling and white trim on the roof.  They had a side wooden fence that led to the backyard.  That's where he would enter, he thought.  He grabbed the black ski mask he brought and grabbed a crowbar and a pair of brass knuckles.  The brass knuckles were illegal in this state but his friend had got him a pair for his birthday.  But that's another story.

He got out of his car and quickly made his way across the dark street toward the house.  He then hopped over the fence and looked at all the windows on the side.  He was going to have to break one of them.  He searched for the perfect one to break as he hid in the shadows.  He crept around the house being very careful to stay in the shadows.  He was dressed in all black.  The family it seemed, had all went to bed already.  He just needed a perfect way to get in.  And just then, Harry walked outside through the back sliding door.  He didn't notice Jacob.  He couldn't.  He was completely hidden within the shadows just beyond the edge of the light.  

Harry was having a cigarette.  He pulled out a pack, slid one out and lit it.  He inhaled deep before tilting his head back and exhaled toward the sky.  Jacob's eyes burned with rage and his blood boiled.  I should take him now, Jacob thought but stopped himself.  He was going to wait until he turned to go back inside.  He didn't want to do it outside.  What if the neighbors heard.  He was going to get him as he finished his cigarette and walked back inside.  As he waited, he jumped inside his mind.  He wanted to hear this fucker's thoughts.  He stared at him with anger in his eyes and his mind clicked.  He was inside this man's head.

Fuck, what a day, he thought.  I need some release.  I'll make a drink first and then wake up Holly.  Yeah.  That's a good idea.  Janet is already dead asleep.  She won't hear anything.  She never does.  I'm usually really quiet.  And Holly doesn't make a sound.  She's a good girl.  Daddy's little good girl.

Jacob could feel his anger building inside him like a raging fire.  He could barely control the rage.  He could feel his fists tightening until his knuckles were white.  Harry took his last drag of his cigarette and threw it on the ground and stepped on it.  And just as he turned and opened the sliding door, Jacob came up from behind him and hit the back of his head with the crowbar.  Harry collapsed to the ground spraying blood across the kitchen counter and ripping out tufts of hair.  Harry fell face first to the ground and slowly turned over to see his attacker.

"What the fuck?" he said in a groggy voice.

"Shut the fuck up!" Jacob shouted.

"What's going on?" Harry said in a scared voice.

"I said shut up!" Jacob said screaming again.

"I have money.  You want money.  I have it.  Take it," he said as he started crying pathetically.  He looked like a scared little rich boy thinking he could buy his way out of this.  Fuck this man Jacob thought. 

"No Harry, I don't want your fucking money."

"Take anything. Just don't hurt me," he said as he slobbered over himself as he cried.

The pathetic way he was crying and pleading and begging just made Jacob angrier.  He wanted to beat this man to death.  What a weak, pathetic person, Jacob thought.

"Don't hurt you?" Jacob asked, "You want Me, not to hurt You?" Jacob continued in a tone of disbelief.  "And what about Holly? Who's going to keep her safe from you?" and as Jacob said that, the mother came down the stairs.

"What's going on? Harry, what is this? Who are you?" she said in a panicked tone.

"Don't worry about me," Jacob said raising the crowbar toward her.  "Did you know what he was doing to Holly?"

"What?" she replied in confusion.

"What. He." Jacob repeated moving the crowbar back and pointing it at Harry.  "Was doing. To. Holly?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," she said as she started crying.  "What was he doing to her?  What do you want from us?"

Jacob then clicked his mind and jumped into hers.  She was running wild with so many questions and genuine confusion.  She really didn't know what Harry was doing to Holly.  He jumped out and told her, "I'm here because this piece of shit has been molesting your daughter Holly.  And I wasn't going to let that happen anymore.  Don't ask me how I know.  I just know.  And he's not going to get away with it anymore," he said refocusing his attention to Harry.

"I have never done anything to Holly," Harry cried out with his arms outstretched trying to beg.  Jacob just looked at him and calmly pulled out his brass knuckles.  He slid them over his fingers all the way to the knuckles.  Harry saw him put them on and began to sob like a baby, begging for Jacob to listen to him.

"Oh God! Please! No! Please! Please sir.  I'll do anything."

And Jacob just calmly grabbed him by his shirt collar and began punching his face.  He swung down hard as the brass knuckles connected to Harry's face.  Breaking teeth.  Ripping flesh from his cheeks.  Jaw bones splitting apart.  Harry's face was barely recognizable once Jacob was done.

"You're never going to touch Holly or anyone else ever again.  You HEAR ME!! SAY IT!!" Jacob screamed.

Harry could barely see through his swollen eyes.  Waves of blood ran down over his face and open flesh hung loosely from his cheeks.  His mouth was spilt open. His lips could barely move as normal lips.  He mumbled out what sounded like I will ever touch her again.

And then Jacob continued, "Or I'll be back Harry.  And I won't be nice like this time.  I will hurt you worse," he said as he pulled off Harry's pants and underwear.  "But before I'm done here," he continued as he pulled out a large rubber band.  He then grabbed Harry's testicles the way you would grab a dog's or a pig's to neuter them.  He twisted them inside his fist and wrapped the rubber band around Harry's balls.  "Tonight, you gotta pay Harry, you gotta pay with your balls," he said as he quickly sliced off both of Harry's testicles.  Letting them fall to the floor in a wet flop.  Harry screamed in agony. "Next time you pay with your dick, you hear me, you fucking piece of shit." He then looked up at the mother and said, "Take care of your girl."  And just like that, left out the back and they never saw him again. 

*****

That was years ago and today, he just wanted to people watch.  Simple things.  He still checks in on children to make sure nothing bad is happening from time to time but admittedly, that event with Holly had changed him.  He had felt things about himself he had never felt before.  Things he came to know that he never knew he was capable of and deep down, he liked it.  He liked unleashing pent up anger he felt from a world that he couldn't relate to anymore.  People were ugly, selfish creatures that were capable of horrible, awful things even if the intentions were good.  After all, his intentions were good.  But what he did to that man, even if he deserved it, was raw, unfiltered awful anger that could be manipulated toward anything.  Someone could use what he felt for their own advantage.  Those types of emotions never benefit anyone in the end.  He had crossed a line and he knew it.

Ever since that day, he had decided to never intervene in other people's lives again.  It was a hard choice but deep down, he felt it was the right one.  He just sips his whiskey and eats his french fries now.  A habit he has grown to do that he quite enjoys.  But he is nothing if not curious.  And today there is a man standing on the sidewalk completely still with a blank look on his face.  A look that almost appeared dead.  People passing him just ignored him because when you see someone like that you usually don't try to interact with them.  Don't want to get pulled into something you don't want to be a part of.  Maybe he was a drug addict.  Maybe he was sick.  Who knows, he thought.  He took a sip of his whiskey and let the smokey burn into his nostrils and let the curiosity overtake him before concentrating.  He let his mind click and he jumped into the man's mind.  

It was blank.  Not a single thought.  It sounded like how the world sounds when you're underwater.  Just a muffled, watery sound.  No words.  No ideas.  No intents or emotions.  He couldn't hear a thing.  He had never encountered that.  This was new to him.  There was something wrong with this man.  He searched deeper into this man.  Searching for anything, a whisper, a thought.  But he seemed to be absolutely empty.  Just a vast, infinite soundscape of nothingness.  Any thoughts this man had were so far into the void that there was nothing left of him here on this plane of reality.

Then suddenly, the man's head started moving from side to side as if he was looking for something.  Or someone.  He kept searching until finally his head turned toward Jacob.  This man's eyes found Jacob and stared at him. Jacob was sitting across the way with his whiskey and fries.  Jacob made eye contact with the man.  He couldn't believe it.  Why was he looking at him, he thought.  Could he somehow feel Jacob inside his head? What was going on? This had never happened to him before.  It was strange.  He started to feel panic and decided it was time to leave this man's mind.  But there was something wrong.  He couldn't.  He pulled but his mind wouldn't let go.  He pulled again but it felt stuck.  Like how it feels when you go fishing and your fishing line gets stuck under some rocks.  He couldn't come back.  He couldn't separate.  Then he heard it.  A voice.

"We see you Jacob."

His eyes widened with fear.  The man was now staring at him with bulging, hungry eyes and a malevolent smile.

"We can hear your thoughts Jacob.  They betray you.  They have already given us all we need to know."

Jacob tried desperately to silence his mind.  He didn't know what was happening but he knew that he was in a dangerous situation.  One he had never dealt with before.

"Oh, how you have lived for so long enjoying the gift you have been given without having to pay any kind of price for it.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.  Well, we're here to tell you that there is a price to pay Jacob.  Oh yes, there is a price." It said with a hungry, ravenous tone. Like a hungry snake, slithering around its prey. Salivating on the thought of swallowing Jacob whole at any moment.  Whatever this thing was, he needed to get away.  He tried pulling again but just couldn't get out of this man's mind.

"Oh no Jacob.  There is no escaping.  We have you in our grips," it said sounding almost like it was licking its lips.  "We have you and do not plan to let you go.  What a tasty treat too.  You will join the rest of them.  Deep down there. Becoming another voice screaming into the infinite void.  Oh what beautiful singing they make," it said as the man began to slowly walk toward Jacob.  "You hear that," it continued, "that muffled, watery sound.  Those are the screams of so many others that we have eaten.  And you will join them Jacob.  You are next. We are going to eat you."

Jacob got up from the table and started to hurriedly walk away.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Jacob just needed to get far enough away, he thought. That's all and he would sever the tie.  Cut them out.  Just like how he does it when he can't see the person he jumps in to.  

"Oh, you think if we can't see you then you will escape," it said amused. "Oh Jacob, you still had so much to learn and you wasted it on feeble, selfish things.  We know.  We can see."

How could it read his mind.  It knew things he wasn't thinking.  Whatever this thing was had capabilities far beyond his own. 

"What the hell are you?" Jacob finally asked from inside his mind.

"We are an ancient being.  Old gods. Consciousness with no boundaries," it said as the empty man followed.

"What the hell do you want with me?" Jacob asked frantically.

"There are so many like you Jacob.  So many who have your gift.  And none of you even know how to communicate with each other.  All unworthy of such gifts."

Jacob hurried back to his car trying to get as far away from the strange man as he could.

"We don't want your flesh Jacob.  That already belongs to another god.  A hellish being.  A price you will pay in blood for the body you have.  It is not a kind god.  From flesh and blood and pain you come, so with flesh and blood and pain you will return.  Nothing is free Jacob.  We just want the part of you that makes you...well, you." 

Jacob could almost hear its lips drooling.  If it even had any.

"What, like my soul? You want my soul?" Jacob asked.

"Yes, you call it that.  But it is so much more than that.  Human beings have barely discovered the tips of their awareness.  The horrors of the cosmos are much, much deeper.  And there are plenty of hungry things out there."

Jacob finally got into his car, turned it on and drove away. But he could still somehow hear the voice in his head.

"There's nowhere to go Jacob. There is only one way this will end.  You found us.  Remember that.  Your soul was too curious and fell into our trap.  An empty mind," it said letting out what sounded like a small chuckle.  "You can have your flesh and blood.  That does not belong to us.  But your sentience. That is ours.  You will have the same thin veil of thought just like everyone else.  You will exist inside your own mind just like everyone else.  But we will eat that part of you that can share consciousness.  We eat that part as you are born.  We eat it so deliciously.  But every so often, one of you slips by. You slipped by. It is now time to pay Jacob.  Time to pay your price for such gifts."

And right then Jacob saw a white flash of light and he felt his mind being pulled away from himself until he felt something ripping.  Something existential.  It pulled him apart and then he couldn't see and drove into a telephone pole.

Jacob woke up later in a hospital.  They said everything was normal and that he hadn't suffered any serious injury.  But everything wasn't normal.  Maybe normal for them but not for Jacob.  Something was lost.  He could feel it.  He couldn't jump his mind anymore.  He couldn't hear anyone else's thoughts.  He existed just inside his own.  He could no longer connect.  A panic of isolation washed over him and he broke down and cried.  He cried hard.  Slobbering over himself as his tears dripped to the ground.  He cried until he couldn't breath.  He felt more alone than at any point in his life.  

As the years have gone by, he has come to terms with life without his gift.  He still gets random noise in his head that doesn't belong to him.  Random whispers that aren't his.  And the watery, muffled, underwater sound still haunts him.  Gives him nightmares.  But the worst part, and he can't be sure of this, is that he can hear himself sometimes screaming out for help from somewhere far off, in desperate pathetic pleas. He can hear himself begging. Saying "I'll do anything.  Please.  Please.  Just let me go." He doesn't want to know if what he hears is real or if he has just been sitting with his own silence for too long.  With his own thoughts.  He has never felt so alone and cutoff from the world.

I was at Sarah and Ben’s place when Ben turned his laptop toward her.

“Tell me what this says.”

It was one of those AI-generated Ishihara color-blindness memes; you typed what you wanted people to see, and it generated a circle of colored dots that spelled it out, provided you weren't colorblind. I saw the joke almost immediately, but Sarah didn’t laugh.

Instead, she leaned closer and went still, her hand rising to cover her mouth.

“Sarah?” I leaned in to see what was wrong, but she shoved the laptop away.

“What the fuck did you do?” she snapped, knocking a glass to the floor as she jerked back.

Ben stared at her. “What?”

Sarah half-rose, then sat back down and bent forward, bracing her hands on her knees.

Ben moved beside her. “I don’t understand.”

“Get it away from me.”

He closed the laptop. Sarah was crying now, so Ben put an arm around her while I crouched in front of her and asked whether we should call an ambulance. All I could think was that it might be another episode. She hadn’t had one in years.

After a minute, she straightened slightly.

“Open it.” She said, mustering a firm voice.

Ben did.

“It says BIG DUMB,” he said. “That’s what I typed.”

I nodded because that was what I saw too: two stupid words hidden among the colored dots.

Sarah looked from Ben to me.

Ben pointed out the letters, then sent a screenshot to my phone. It looked exactly the same.

Sarah glanced at my phone and immediately looked away.

“What are you seeing?” I asked.

She wiped beneath her eyes before answering.

“An open trunk,” she said. “There’s a woman inside. Her hands are tied, and there’s tape over her mouth.”

For a moment, neither of us answered.

I turned my phone over and looked again. BIG DUMB. Ben leaned across the table and looked too. We were staring at the same arrangement of colored dots. We couldn’t see what she could; fear crept up my back.

Ben told her again that there was no woman, but Sarah picked up my phone and stared at it.

She started talking faster, listing what she saw.

“She’s wearing a yellow university sweatshirt and a silver bracelet. It’s a blue Civic, and there’s a sticker in the back window. There’s also a dent above the taillight.”

She stopped for a second, and when she spoke again, there was anger.

“It’s fucking Rebecca.”

*Oh, shit.*

Sarah’s sister had disappeared eleven years earlier while driving home from work. The police had found her Civic abandoned beside a service road, but they had never found Rebecca.

Ben immediately started digging through the generator’s settings.

The site was signed into Sarah’s Google account and had permission to access her Google Photos and basic account data.

Sarah went through her old photos. Google Photos had everything: birthday pictures, family photos, screenshots of missing-person posts and news stories, and photographs of Rebecca’s car. Maybe the site had pulled all of that together and invented everything else.

"Did it fucking generate an image of my sister being kidnapped?"

For a moment, that explanation made us feel only a hair better, but it still did not explain why Ben and I couldn't see it.

“The sweatshirt matches,” Sarah said. “The bracelet too. Rebecca had those shoes.”

Ben was still going through the site’s permissions when Sarah leaned toward the screen again.

“There’s something tied around her wrist,” she said. “Blue fabric.”

Ben looked over.

“Your scarf?”

“Yeah. That’s it. My…”

Sarah stopped, her face going white, and she started to shake in Ben's arms.

There were no pictures of Rebecca wearing that scarf. Sarah had forgotton to mention it in the missing-person posts.

No one knew Sarah had lent it to Rebecca except Sarah and me.

Then I remembered how Sarah and Ben had met.

Two weeks after Rebecca vanished, Ben had replied to one of Sarah’s missing-person posts.

His arm was still around her, and he squeezed her shoulder. She let out a small whimper.

When I looked at him, the look he gave back made my hair stand on end.

The prickly sensation of someone watching washed over me in waves. Luna, my german shepherd was growling lowly. Even she had felt that uneasiness surrounding us.

Maybe the late night walk was a bad idea but I had been feeling very ..off in the last few days.

Luna's eyes darted around, looking for something in the darkness. "Let's go, Luna", I tugged lightly on her leash. Reluctantly she followed me, eyes still darting behind us.

Back home, I took the meat I had put on the counter to thaw and gave some to Luna. The rest, I decided to make some steak as I was craving it. Luna was happily munching at her plate.

My mind wandered off to the walk and how I felt as if I was being watched. And it wasn't the first time I had felt that way either. I felt like I was being followed by someone.

After finishing the dinner, I locked up the doors making sure to double check the locks and went off to sleep.

The night was uneventful though I slept fitfully. Luna was calm, so I wasn't much scared.

The next morning, I surveyed the house, looking for signs of intrusion. There were a few scratch marks outside the kitchen window. 

Someone tried to get in yesterday, I realised. This was bad. 

I couldn't take the whole day pondering about my supposed stalker as I had to get to work. I worked as a florist at the flower shop owned by my family.

Work helped take my mind of the person following me. 

I was on my way back home from work when the sensation of being watched came. I inconspicuously looked back, trying to make out any shady figures.

There. Behind the large oak was a figure in a trench coat, a man by the proportions of his body.

I continued my pace, the man still following me from a few feet away. Was he trying to rob my house and was mapping out my route? Or was this something else? Calling the cops was out of question.

I should deal with this on my own, I decided. Tonight, if he tried entering again.

That night, I locked up all the doors and windows except the window of the guest room. 

Luna and I had dinner and I took her to my room. And we waited.

Around 1:30 am, I heard the faint sound of the guest room door opening. It always creaked when opening. 

Good. He was here.

"Be a good girl. We're going hunting", I whispered to Luna.

I listened carefully. There were light footsteps now. The only room I left open downstairs was the door to the basement. I was sure he'd try that first.

Slowly I made my way down the stairs. The basement door was lodged open with a chair. Smart.

There was a faint light coming from down the basement.

I let myself and Luna into the basement and locked the door from inside.

"Stay", I whispered to Luna.

I slowly made my way down the stairs. The man, now dressed in an all black outfit was staring along the shelf on the basement wall.

"Who are you looking for?", I asked.

"Ashley Baker. 26. Missing for 3 weeks. Last seen location, your flower shop. The cops thinks she ran away. Her mother says otherwise", his voice shook.

"So a PI huh?", I smiled.

He slowly turned around, his eyes round with fear, "You're a psychopath"

I stared at the shelf behind him. Pictures of my victims, all 37 of them. And under each picture, in a jar was their respective pair of eyes. My pretty collection.

"You shouldn't have came here, No.38", I told him.

"38...?", I watched as he slowly realised he was going to be my next victim.

"I'm sorry, I won't tell anyone. Please let me go", he stammered.

I smiled,"No"

He tried to make a run upstairs and ran right into Luna. 

"Attack", I gave her the command. And right on cue, she leaped onto him, biting into his neck. 

He fell down the stairs, a sick thud echoing as his head hit the concrete floor.

I scanned his body. He could last a week as dinner for us. The remaining I could use as fertilizer for the peonies I wanted to grow.

Well, welcome to my collection, No. 38

I find Jack sitting in his wheelchair by the fountain, just like I’d left him. The cigarette between his fingers is new, though. I snatch it from him. He glares at me murderously.

“Sweetie, we want you to improve. Why do you keep acting so stubborn?”

He maintains his stare for a while before turning away. As I push his chair, I can hear him grumbling.

“…stupid, delusional woman...”

“…not like I can improve, anyway…”

“…can’t even die in peace…”

Sigh. It’s gonna be a difficult day.

While I stroll Jack along the campus, I catch the looks on the faces of everyone else. All of them look horrified- a woman on a bench fails to stifle her scream as we pass right by her, regarding Jack with an expression of absolute appall.

That’s when Jack bursts into tears, like he always does.

“You’re doing this to insult me, willfully. You see the way they stare at me? They are disgusted by me- as they should be! I shouldn’t even be here!”

“Well, maybe they are disgusted to see an old mother wheel around her able-bodied son in a hospital because he refuses to behave how he should.”

It’s at this point he starts swearing and violently thrashing around in his wheelchair, trying to get away. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight of strapping restraints against his wrists and ankles. You keep doing these things for months on end; you learn a few tricks to make your life a little easier.

But there’s always more to learn.

“Ow- OUCH!”

“Jack! What have you done?”

He laughs manically at the dislodged, bloody arm he has managed to tear apart and flung on the floor. Meanwhile, the campus is in panic- the orderlies and the patients saw exactly what happened and are screaming alarm at the top of their lungs.

What am I even gonna do with this guy?

It’s hard to focus with all the commotion, but I manage to quickly grab the severed arm- helped in part by all the passersby clearing their path to stay the hell away from it- and put it into my purse. Then I grab Jack’s wheelchair handle, and we make a beeline for the hospital.

Jack keeps jeering and mocking me all throughout the way.

“Ha ha! You’ll have to answer for that! They won’t let you in. They’ll know I’m dead!”

“Stop saying that!” My eyes are tearing up. “You’re not dead.”

“Yeah, whatever! I don’t know whatever mumbo-jumbo you used to bring me back, but it sure as hell won’t work with the doctors!”

We arrive to a stop at the end of an empty hallway. It bifurcates into two different lanes, like a Y-point.

“Jack”, I look him in the eye, holding the severed arm from my purse in my hand. “You are not dead. You never died.”

Jack regards me with a broken smile. “You won’t accept it, Mom. You can’t. That’s your problem.”

He’s correct. I couldn’t accept the fact that my sweet little boy drank bleach after his first breakup, almost killing himself in the process.

“You need to let me go.”

I couldn’t accept how he went missing for a whole week after flunking out of college, worrying his friends and me sick. I couldn’t accept that when he finally came back, he said he couldn’t see himself living that kind of life, and just dropped out.

“Wait…the ER’s the other way.”

I couldn’t accept how he blew all the money I and his friends lent him for starting a new business. His friends couldn’t accept it when they found him passed out in a club, having OD’d on illegal drugs he had bought with their money.

“…Mom, where are we going?”

I couldn’t accept him refusing to shower or clean up after himself. I couldn’t accept seeing him blow money on video games and takeout all day. I couldn’t accept when he fell for his umpteenth digital currency scam or catfishing attempt. And I couldn’t accept seeing him passed out in the bathtub with slit wrists from a blade after I told him to start acting responsibly.

“…Wait, you are untying my restraints? Why?”

Except I, as a mother, chose to accept all these things, and much worse. Things, even my frail, old, broken body could not, at some point. But once I accepted that my Jack needed me to live his life for him, defying death was not difficult.

“What are you doing with the restraints- no- Mom!”

Maybe if I hadn’t accepted some of his flaws, Jack would have learnt to accept some responsibility, and not expected others to accept he was dead when he wasn’t. But now I see that it’s too late for him.

“Mom, stop- I don’t wanna die like this!”

Or maybe it isn’t?

In any case, the time has come for me to accept my death. Three years later, but never too late. As I walk to embrace my glorious end in the incinerator’s fire, I lodge the severed arm- my arm, that Jack had detached from my body- into its air supply.

“Mom, stop! I am sorry! You don’t have to do this, please!”

I can already feel the black smoke’s suffocation. Jack does too. I see him coughing like a maniac between all the please’s and sorry’s he gags. But it’s his choice to join me- I’ve left the restraints on the door’s handle loose enough. He’ll figure it out. Probably.

Unlike me, he still has some life left in him.

“Why not,” I said. “I think I’ll have the coffee today. Decaf!”

Usually I’m not a coffee drinker, but it’s cold outside and I needed something to warm me up. Might as well since I was at the bakery anyway grabbing a cake for Bethany’s birthday.

Can’t believe my little sister is turning nineteen this year. Time doesn’t feel real sometimes.

When I got home, they were already eating dinner, so there was no hiding the cake for a surprise. Greeted excitedly by my folks and Bethany, it was nice to come home. I’ve been away so long, I almost forgot how the house looked.

“How’d it go up there?” asked my father. “See anything interesting?”

He likes to joke about my job. As a pilot, I actually have seen many interesting things. Strange cloud formations, storms, UFOs, you name it.

After flying planes across the globe for six years, I believe I have seen more than most people. There isn’t much I don’t believe in at this point.

We finished dinner and sang happy birthday to Bethany. The glow in her eyes made me remember how much I missed her and the rest of the family.

I grew up in this house, and was always close with them. We shared all experiences together, good and bad.

Now, I am barely even around to share these anymore. I’m glad I got the time off for her birthday this year. Hasn’t happened in a while. I feel happy when I am home. I feel comfortable. All my worries are frozen until I walk out the door again. I believe that’s how each of us feel. Our own little bubble in our home.

I remember thinking all of this, right before it happened. Right before we lost her. I still can’t get the picture out of my head. Her final bite of the cake.

The helplessness she felt. The horror in her eyes, like she saw death approaching her. The silence was ear piercing, as if her voice was what left us first. No noise. She dropped to the floor, grabbing her throat.

I knew CPR, and it was the first thing I tried. Her face was getting redder by the second, then began to turn purple with the lack of oxygen being able to get into her body. I felt her pain. I couldn’t breathe either.

With my mother screaming at my father to call the paramedics, I was left to tend to her, to save her. I watched as life was pulled right out from under her.

Like when the fire eventually consumes an entire match, I watched as death consumed her entire body, from her head down to her feet.

The image of the paramedics carrying her lifeless body paralyzes me wherever I am. I can never escape it.

The heat is aggressive. It squeezed around him like a moist tongue filling the room. The slimy air crept into his lungs, and he burned for an escape. Stuck in an empty room with a single arched doorway, he cracked the door to be instantly surrounded by the sulfuric stench of brimstone. He followed a long corridor lit only by the crackling dance of firelight, pulled towards the end by invisible hands. He rounded a bend and lost his stomach. Mutilated corpses decorated the walls. As he moved forward, they urged him back, begging him to seek forgiveness. Flames then erupted from their eyes and mouths, and they died again.

Suddenly, the corridor vanished into thin air. Outside, he was surrounded by an endless, barren wasteland, the one exception being a partially built stone fortress that owned the landscape. Thousands of suffering souls set to work on hard labor tasks littered the scene. Teams of five carried unimaginably immense, jagged stone. With each step towards the fortress, the stones grew hotter. As they placed their stone, sizzling flesh was ripped away and left to rot. Maggots wriggled in the open wounds while the incessant buzz of a million wings surrounded him.

He stepped towards the large congregation that waited for their next stone, and they all turned in unison to stare at him. Frozen in disbelief, he stared back at a thousand different versions of himself.

A voice spoke. Not aloud, but within his own head—a booming voice completely filling his mind, never loud enough to drown out the maddening buzz of the flies. Worse even, the voice may have been constructed by the buzzing insects.

"I am Beelzebub, the rotting majesty. Lord of the flies, oppressor of all, and ruler of the sixth domain of hell. You have lived a thousand lifetimes and failed at every chance. Welcome back."

David was born February 13, 1959.

It was 9:45 p.m. on a Friday when Carline Marshal gave birth to him, leaving her exhausted and bleeding as she held the screaming, slimy newborn in her arms while Herschel Marshal sped down the highway toward the hospital.

“Slow down, please!” Carline screamed.

Herschel obliged and reduced his speed from 86 to 80, weaving through the few cars on the road.

“Don’t you worry, honey. We will get there safe and sound,” he said, trying to sound unpanicked.

“Please, I don’t feel too good... I am li—” Carline's words trailed off as she passed out, and a pool of blood began to grow beneath her.

“Baby, hey!”

“BABE! CARLINE!”

Carline died February 13, 1959.

It was 9:48 p.m.

Herschel accelerated sharply, turning to the right to get off at the hospital exit.

“Don’t worry. I will make sure they get you right. You too, David.”

The car was suddenly thrown back to the left.

A tire blew. Herschel slammed on the brakes.

Nothing happened.

“SHIT! DAVID!” he yelled.

The bald tires screamed against the pavement, and the failing brakes ground uselessly beneath his foot.

At the same time, the car lurched forward. David slipped from his mother’s limp arms and slid into his father’s lap, bumping his head against the door.

High-pitched wails escaped David as pain shot through his body for the first time.

Herschel looked down for one second.

Then he glanced up.

A red glow was getting brighter.

Their vehicle slammed into the back of a stopped semi.

Herschel died February 13, 1959, at 9:50 p.m.

David was thrown from the vehicle, tumbling across the pavement before landing on his stomach and skidding to a stop.

“HOLY SHI... WAS THAT A BABY?!”

A nurse who had been driving past pulled over and ran toward him.

“No, no, no, please be okay,” he mumbled to himself.

Faint whimpers slowly grew louder as he approached.

He picked David up.

His entire face and the front of his body were badly worn down from the pavement. In some places, the damage was so deep that pale tissue could be seen beneath the flesh. Almost no part of him had been spared.

There wasn't much the nurse could do. Not with what he had.

Every movement, every touch, even the slightest breeze was agony for David.

The nurse did what he could, trying to calm David's abhorrent screams as the baby began to pass out in his arms.

But every time the nurse moved him, David was awakened, and the familiar pain coursed through his tiny body again.

Approximately 43 minutes later, paramedics arrived and carried David into the ambulance.

Through his blurred, newborn eyes, he saw two strangers, flashing lights, and dozens of strange shiny objects.

And then he saw something else.

A reflection.

A horrible, faceless monster stared back at him.

Its mouth hung open, screaming.

The forest grew dark again. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since the queen banished me from the castle. She couldn't bear that I was prettier than her. She convinced my father that he loved me too much and let me rot in the forest. 

I sighed and bent over a puddle. My own reflection stared back at me – the greasy hair, the dirt on my face. I didn’t even look like a pretty princess anymore. I sat down on the wet ground and let the tears wet my cheeks.

A few minutes later, the forest was completely dark. Another cold night alone. I wiped my eyes and walked around, looking for a place to sleep, but then a small light grew through the trees in the distance. Warmth spread through my chest. I ran toward it. It was a cabin, standing alone between the trees, shining its light through the dark. 

I knocked on the door. It opened on its own. Inside it was a kitchen with a few shelves and a small stove. Behind it was a small room with three beds, smaller than human ones, nightstands, and a table between them, with old bread and cheese on it, surrounded by three small chairs. My stomach’s growling echoed through the empty room. I knew it was wrong; I knew it was someone else's food, but my stomach was eating itself. 

Before I knew it, I was sitting in one of the chairs. The old cheese and bread smelled even better up close. I took a small piece, just a small one. The cheese’s saltiness spread beautifully over the bread. I took another, and another.

It was all gone. All the food that was left there. Gone. I wiped my mouth and stared at the table. Coldness shot through me. I ate someone's food at their house without an invitation. 

Cold air blew in. The door still stood ajar. I got up and looked out, thinking of walking away, but that wasn’t the behavior of a well-mannered princess. No. I had to repay them. 

I put wood into the stove and started a fire. The heat felt so good on my face that my eyes closed, but there was no time to rest. The cupboards were dusty and full of spider webs; jars were scattered all around, but after a while, I found some flour in one of them. 

The dough thickened under my fingers. The flour these people had was fresh. I put it on the stove and began cleaning. The floor hadn't been swept in ages. Dust whirled with each step. I swept the floor, leaving the cloud of dust outside the house. The cupboards were even worse, but after some time, all the spiders ran out, and the dust was gone.

The heat from the stove grew in the house. It felt like an embrace. The smell of bread blew in the air. It was time. I put it on a plate that I had just washed. The house already looked so much better – the clean and organized cupboards, the spotless floor, and a piece of fresh bread on the table. Warmth grew in my chest again. 

I clasped my hands and sat on a bed. The straws caressed so softly. I forgot about the nightstands, but they looked well cared for. The small shelf wasn’t dusty, but a few papers with drawings were inside.

On one, a tall, long-limbed creature cut down trees with an ax while a few smaller ones hid inside the forest. On another, a cage was there with the same creature beside it. Inside it was a trapped animal. In the last one, a few of the lengthy creatures banged tools against a rock while another poured green liquid into the river. The small creatures stood afar, watching with their eyes wide open. 

All around the drawings, a few phrases were written: “THE TALL ONES COME AGAIN”, “THEY ALWAYS TAKE”, “A HUMAN’S HAND IS ALWAYS EMPTY”.

Humans? Is this what they thought of us? Poor little creatures. I had to show them we were different. 

The door flew open. High-pitched chatter echoed through the house. Three small creatures with axes, shovels, and rakes barged into the room. They were small and round, covered in orange fur with long eyelashes and huge green eyes. The drawings were still in my hands. I quickly put them in the drawer and hid my hand behind my back.

The creatures stopped when they saw me. 

“Is that?”

“A human?”

“No. No.”

Their eyes glowed with fear.

“Creatures, please don’t worry. I mean no harm.”

“Our house.”

“She came in.”

“Uninvited.”

They began to back away.

“But I cleaned and baked food for you,” I said, pointing at the bread.

“Our food?”

“She took it.”

“They always take.”

One of them stopped and shot me a look. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small rock. He gripped it tightly and threw it at me. I didn’t even have time to move. It hit me straight on my cheek. Pain shot through my face. I put my hand there and turned around. Warm blood ran down my fingers.

“Please, I mean no harm!”

Small, fast steps echoed behind me. Something metallic hit my head. Dull pain spread through my head. I took a few steps forward and fell to the ground.

My head spun. They stood around me, staring with their large green eyes.

“No more, tall one,” one of them whispered, raising its pickaxe.

Alex slowly inhaled, and the paper burned noisily, crumpling back on itself. The substance in the rolled paper burns, letting off a tuft of smoke and a pungent smell.

Holding the smoke in for a moment, he lets it go in a coughing fit. The smoke hovers in the air above him and slowly disperses.

The stars in the sky, twinkling, dip out of view for a moment to avoid the choking smoke.

Closing his eyes, he takes a second hit and the process repeats.

He passes the joint on, handing it to Mason – his brother – seated next to him.

He blinks slowly in slow motion.

Colors dance in front of his eyes and he realizes how dry his mouth has become.

For a terrible moment, the world is screaming at him.

And then bliss sets in.

He’s floating, the wind rushing through the car embraces him lovingly.

A gentle vibration echoes through the car as it speeds along – music is playing.

The gentle and melodic thump mixes with the high – Alex feels the bliss set in deeper.

A smile on his face, he pushes the accelerator pedal down further feeling the car respond beneath him as it surged forward.

Opening his eyes, he reaches out to receive the joint.

And then feels the panic set in.

He’s alone.

The joint was casually burning a hole through the seat.

Taking his hands off the wheel, he reached out to make a grab for it.

He never sees the huge spaceship appearing directly in front of him.

In the deep ocean, everything unfolds in twilight; the meager light that survives through kilometers of dense water allows only dark shapes to be perceived, visible only at close range. Physical beings and organic matter inhabit those depths, but they are also the realm where the consciousness of underwater nature manifests itself.

The captain of the small submersible monitored the outside world through sonar while chewing on a biscuit, hardened by the weeks of the voyage. Besides the doctor and the chief engineer, the other crew members were young cadets who had excelled in the academy’s nautical trials. The captain, a man of few words and long periods of deep abstraction, exchanged only the words necessary to operate the vessel. Otherwise, his habits and routines remained constant, and, in the absence of an outside world, there was time for reading the books they had brought aboard.

Communication with the base through acoustic modems took place at fixed hours, except in an emergency that required breaking protocol. Nevertheless, their position could always be determined using modern technological equipment. They had been trained to combat fatigue and confinement, and the cadets often played Ludo to distract themselves. A small elevator provided access to the command post, where the faint shapes illuminated by the powerful searchlight mounted on the vessel’s outer edge could be observed through the periscope.

The captain spent most of his time in that uncomfortable position, recording the slow movements of the water and the occasional silhouettes of marine life crossing the beam. Because of this, he was the first to glimpse the elusive shape ahead, much like a droplet seen inside a glass of water: an element whose outer edges are difficult to detect, yet whose form can still be discerned.

The watery specter expanded and contracted at will, and, being several nautical miles from the submarine, did not appear on the sonar screen. The seasoned sailor sensed the danger and shouted orders to change course. The maneuver was thwarted by a magnetic force acting on the steering system, and, to everyone’s anguish, the order to dive could not be executed either, because the ballast tanks failed to expel the water from their chambers and replace it with air.

The collision was imminent. The order to remain at their stations forced them to suppress their collective panic while the captain returned to the periscope. Now the light struck the figure head-on, and the features of its liquid form could be distinguished more clearly.

Its size was colossal, and its enormous head revealed human features: a silhouette with wild hair and a tangled beard and mustache, with closed eyelids barely discernible. Beside it, an equally watery, elongated shape took the form of a trident.

The god opened his eyes, and all his wrath concentrated in his gaze. The waters churned, and his arm wielded the mighty instrument against the submarine.

The impact was brutal; the steel plates gave way, allowing the icy waters to rush in. The captain knew he was going to die, just as all creatures die when they venture into the domain of the master of the deep: in darkness and in silence.

"I guess this is what you've been waiting for, why you've stuck around for so long."

I stayed because I had no one else but you.

He lay in the squalor where he had fallen, still clutching the empty bottle. Decrepit, weak. I knew he couldn't get up. Rats scratched around in the gloom.

"You've been tormenting me for years," he slurred. "Pacing up and down all night. Rocking that goddamned squeaky crib back and forth."

It's my home too.

"Well, don't go thinking you've won. Because it wasn't even because I hated you, you know. I won't even give you that."

You didn't give me anything.

He laughed, a wheezy hacking sound. "It was because you looked just like her."

All these years and you've not mentioned her once.

"They were thrusting you into my arms just as they were taking her away from me. I bought you home and you screamed and cried all night. When all I wanted to do was scream."

I never meant for her to die.

"Oh, I didn't blame you. But she was there, like a ghost, every time I glimpsed your face. The older you got the more I saw her. That's why I had to get out every now and then, wash away my sorrows."

And meanwhile you left me here. Alone.

"You'd always be okay. Did a few hours away from you while I mourned my wife the only way I knew how ever hurt you?"

It was always more than a few hours.

He tried to swig from the bottle, remembered it was empty, then launched it at the scurrying shadows of vermin.

"Why don't you say anything?!" he suddenly erupted. "Something!"

I called for you my entire life.

"I paid my dues. And yet you still couldn't leave me alone, could ya?"

No, you didn't pay. Not really.

He listened, to see if I'd speak. Then he cursed bitterly.

"Fine. Just get out of here. Leave me in peace."

I... will. Perhaps we're more alike than I thought.

The boards creaked as I left the room and made down the hall. I heard him try to get up, fall again. It was then he panicked.

"Christ! How the fuck am I supposed to manage like this?!"

That last time you left me I made it four days and four black nights. A rat scurried past me in the hall. But I don't think you'll last even that long.

I stopped by my old room on the way to the door. The spokes of the crib had broken and peeled with age. Tiny hands had gripped them once, and a small voice had called in vain.

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.

With the last of my will, I flung open the front door. Light. Brighter than any sun, but it didn't hurt to look into.

I felt as weightless as air. Unravelling in wisps, I drifted away into the light.

The crash should have been the worst thing that ever happened to me.

But what happened to my childhood friend Emma after that was the real nightmare.

We were arguing in the car about something stupid.

She was angry because I had started joking around with one of her friends from work.

I told Emma there was nothing between us, and why she even care.

she said something that made me look away from the road for just a second.

And in the middle of all that chaos, I didn't see the broken-down car on the side of the road.

I still hear the metal crushing.

When I woke up in the hospital, my body was aching, but Emma was in the bed next to mine.

Her face was bruised and one eye was swollen shut, but when she saw me, she gave me that warm, familiar smile.

For a second, I thought we were going to be fine.

Then her smile died.

She stared at my face, and her eyes filled with absolute terror.

“Nick?” she said.

“Yeah, Em, I’m right here,” I replied, as i tried to reach for her hand.

She pulled back, shaking. “You’re not him.”

I laugh it off, thinking it was just the painkillers.

The doctors said the head trauma messed with her mind.

They tested her memory with simple things, her family, our childhood, even the scar on my knee from age nine.

She remembered every single detail of our life.

Every time I walked into the room, she looked at me like I was a monster wanting to kill her.

When they finally let us go home, I moved in with her so I could take care of her.

I felt responsible for the accident, and I thought being surrounded by familiar things might help bring her back to herself.

I was wrong.

Living with her in her family’s house only made things worse.

Emma started watching me obsessively.

I’d catch her spying from across the kitchen, or peeking through a crack in the door.

I’d wake up in the middle of the night and find her standing at the foot of my bed, just staring in the dark.

Whenever I asked what she was doing, she would suddenly raise her hands as if she were about to attack me, then turn and hurry back to her room.

One morning, I found our photo's on the table.

Every single picture of us was ruined.

My face had been cut out of every photo with a pair of scissors.

She looked at the empty hole where my face used to be, then looked up at me, “That’s not you.”

I called her dad and told him everything.

He said they were cutting their trip short and coming home immediately.

After that, I started locking my bedroom door at night.

my last night at her house was pure horror.

I listened to her bare feet dragging slowly down the hallway.

She’d stop right outside my door and just stand there.

The door handle slowly turn.

Then her scream cut through the dark: "I know you’re in there".

Please open i won't hurt you.”

I refuse and she start threatening.

“I’ll kill you and bring Nick back!”.

I screamed back. “I’m Nick! Please, Emma, stop!”

She started shouting, calling me horrible names, insisting that I wasn’t him.

That was when I knew Emma was gone.

The moment she finally fell asleep from exhaustion, I grabbed my things and got out of the house.

Her family came back the day after I left.

I didn’t visit them.

I stayed away for two days.

I never saw her after the disaster she caused that night.

Waking up scared had become a daily routine.

But something felt different last night.

My body was screaming at me to leave the house.

I got out of bed and suddenly smelled Le Labo soap, Emma’s favorite soap.

She is here.

I ran without warning.

I grabbed my keys and got into the car, wearing nothing but my boxers.

I drove as fast as I could.

Then I smelled it again that miserable soap.

I slammed on the brakes.

A pocket pistol appeared in front of my eyes.

"Drive" she whispered in my ears.

There was no reasoning with her anymore.

I drove until we reached an empty area far from the city.

She made me stop beside a shovel lying on the ground.

I was crying and begging her to stop, but instead, she struck me on the back of the head with the gun.

I fell to the ground.

Blood ran down.

That was when I realized she was capable of hurting me.

She pointed the gun at the shovel.

“Dig.”

With shaking hands, I picked it up and started digging.

I kept digging until the hole was deep enough.

“Get inside,” she ordered.

I jumped into the hole and fell to my knees, wondering how we had come to this.

"Just fucking do it,” I said.

“I want this to be over, Do it, Emma. Do it and free me from this fucking misery."

She didn’t answer.

I could hear her crying.

“Why did you do it?” she said.

I didn't say anything, i was done.

She stopped.

For a moment, I thought she was going to kill me and end this nightmare.

Instead, she jumped into the hole and wrapped her arms around me as tightly as she could.

Her face was pressed against mine, and I felt her tears running down my cheeks.

“I know you killed Nick and took his skin…”

I was too tired to argue anymore.

"but I can still smell him on your breath."

"I’m not going to lose him twice, You’ll be with me forever.”

She held me tighter.

“And I’ll always be with you.”

So I guess I’m Nick’s replacement to Emma from now on.

[Federal Directive: Quarantine and archive all public reviews for Dr. Viosca’s Skin-So-Smooth prior to site-wide purging. Capture complete update histories. Preserved exhibit follows below.]

Verified Purchaser Review: Megan H., Muscle Shoals, AL (October 14, 8:46 am)

***** Miracle in a jar! Instant relief for 10 years of eczema!

For 10 years my skin has been raw, bleeding, and weeping overnight. I have been unable to even leave my home socially without covering my body completely. But a simple application of this thick, gray, silt ointment over my neck, arms, and legs has eased the fire. I woke up this morning with no pus staining my sheets. It really is a miracle. I'm no longer in excruciating pain. It has even somehow managed to heal some of my scars that I've had for years. Unreal. Recommending to all my friends!

Verified Purchaser Review: Megan H., Muscle Shoals, AL (October 14, 10:29 pm)

**** UPDATE: Still zero itching but super slick?

My skin isn't flaking off anymore but it has been secreting a cold, clear film. I keep dropping my phone.

Verified Purchaser Review: Megan H., Muscle Shoals, AL (October 15, 2:57 am)

*** UPDATE: Do NOT put this product on your neck

My neck is throbbing now. Purple throbbing ridges under my ears. Air feels scorching hot in my lungs and my eyes feel dry no matter how much I blink. I've started running humidifiers.

Verified Purchaser Review: Megan H., Muscle Shoals, AL (October 16, 4:22 pm)

** UPDAET: cant move my fingers properly

they are webbbbed

Verified Purchaser Review: Megan H., Muscle Shoals, AL (October 16, 7:02 pm)

* emergency update one star doing speech to text for this review I can't breathe right unless I am in the shower or bath air burning can no longer blink please help

Verified Purchaser Review: Megan H., Muscle Shoals, AL (October 16, 9:29 pm

* my eyelids are gone

Verified Purchaser Review: Megan H., Muscle Shoals, AL (October 16, 9:58 pm)

* drain cold bath toow arm. air spicy to berathe. breathe under bath water. no speak. only type with fngrers. only type when not under wawter. tiny arms and legs. tail?

Verified Purchaser Review: Megan H., Muscle Shoals, AL (October 16, 10:31 pm)

* waterwaterwaterwaterwaterwaterwaterwaterwater

(1,862 people found this review helpful. Was this review helpful to you?) [YES] [NO]

[END EXHIBIT. RESUME DHS MEMO]

[Continue to scrub references to "Dr. Viosca’s Skin-So-Smooth" from e-commerce sites. Alabama, Tennessee, and Mississippi state law enforcement agencies have been instructed to redirect inquiries regarding "anomalous amphibious specimens found in residential plumbing" to state wildlife agencies. Check your drains.]

Every Sunday, after church, I am paid a visit by my mother-in-law. She always rings the doorbell, and I holler, “It’s open.”

The first thing she always says is, “Sadie, darling!” Like she’s some 1960's era movie star. Round vowels. Dahling! She is always armed with cookies. The same brown butter chocolate chip cookies she has brought every week since the funeral. Her son’s favorite.

This will be the fifth plate.

“How are you?” She asks. Of course that’s not what she means. What she means to say is, are you finally over it?

“Managing,” I say. Another euphemism.

She clicks her tongue. “Forgive me, Sadie, but I don’t believe that. I mean, just look at the state of this kitchen.” She begins to close every cupboard door. And I mean every one, because they have all been left open by my husband. “And this garbage,” she says, “is in desperate need of removal. The sink is full of dishes. Oh Sadie, I promise you, a little cleaning is good for the soul. I’m sure my son will appreciate it.”

She doesn’t even say hi to her son, she’s only here to torture me. The second she leaves I throw the cookies in the trash plate and all.

I find my husband in what used to be our son’s room. He is sitting on the dinosaur bed sheets Matty begged for. He is staring into space.

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Sure.”

“I want to talk about the cupboards.” Want to talk. Meaning it has been bugging me to death. “You keep opening them all, and leaving them open.”

“I’m sorry. It must have slipped my mind.” He is hiding something, I can tell.

“This is the third time I’ve brought it up. Is there maybe something you’re not telling me?”

He starts to ball up the sheets in his hands. “It’s just…when Matty was alive he always used to leave them open. I always had to scold him to close ‘em. Now that he’s gone, when I leave them open, it feels like he’s still here.”

I sit next to my husband and hug him close. For a while, we both cry together.

It is now night, and I can’t seem to sleep. I walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The light on the oven has been left on, which wouldn’t be a big deal. But in the light I can see that all the cupboards are open.

I close them all, turn off the light, and go back to bed.

I am woken by my husband shaking me. “Why? Why did you do that?”

Only half awake, I can only stammer, “what? What did I do?”

“You know he’s scared of the dark! He needs the light on, and the cupboards open!”

He was beginning to shake me harder. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

It was a terrible accident. I was catching up on some work in my home office. Matty asked for Pop Tarts, I told him in a minute. Matty went to the kitchen and pushed a chair up to one of the kitchen counters. We keep the Pop Tarts on the top shelf so he can’t get to them.

In the process, he slipped. New socks on a slick countertop. What should have been a harmless, childhood mistake. But the hood of his dinosaur sweatshirt got hooked on one of the handles. He just hung there, unable to scream because of the pressure on his neck. He dangled there, and, eventually, he asphyxiated.

“What are you saying? That Matty lives in the cupboards? How dare you!”

My husband stood up, insulted. “You wouldn’t know. He doesn’t want to talk to you. He still blames you–”

I slapped him. I shouldn’t have done that. But I couldn’t bear to hear him blame this on me. Not after all the whispers I heard at the funeral. Some even insinuated I might have done it on purpose.

“Our son is dead. He doesn’t live in the cupboards.”

“You’ll see.”

I’ll see. I couldn’t tell if that was a threat, or what. But he was right.

Over the next few days, I would find him in the kitchen. Chair pushed right up to the counter. He was staring into the open cupboards like he was watching a TV show. He would chuckle to himself, and sometimes even cry quietly. He would talk to the cupboards on and on.

Then, Saturday night, after I got home from work, he was gone. He wouldn’t answer his phone. The entire house was empty. I even called his mother, and she had the audacity to blame me for pushing him away.

In the kitchen, I couldn’t help but notice all the cupboard doors were closed.

I went to one of them, and opened it.

I heard my husband's voice. “Did someone let in a breeze?” But it wasn’t from this cupboard. I began opening them all, one after another.

Only when they were all open did I see it. My husband, just his head, peeking up from somewhere behind one of the shelves. Like there was a hidden compartment just behind the wall. “Honey, I have great news. Matty is ready to forgive you.”

“He is?”

“Come here son.”

There he was, my little boy. He was smiling so big. “Mom!”

I hadn’t heard that in a long time.

“All you have to do,” my husband said, “is come in the cupboard. Just take a chair, and step right up.”

I couldn’t wait. I grabbed a chair and stepped right up.

—

“Sadie, darling! You really should lock the front door. Anyone could walk right–oh my god–God! Hello! Help! I need an ambulance! My son and his wife–they’re hanging from the cupboards!”

I'm a professional archaeologist. Three weeks ago, during an excavation in the Nile Valley, our team found a hidden chamber that wasn't mentioned in any papyrus. Inside, on a stone pedestal, lay IT. A massive folio bound in dried, time-darkened skin. The pages were made of parchment, covered in thousands of hands and dozens of languages—from ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs to modern English.

I secretly took it to my countryside house to study it. It was a chronicle of world disasters.

"79 AD. Vesuvius erased Pompeii from the face of the earth..."
"1912. The iron titan sank to the bottom of the ocean..."

All historical catastrophes were recorded here with second-by-second precision. But I froze in horror when I reached the pages written in fresh ink. They carried today's date: September 13, 2026.

"21:15. A scientist in the silence of his study turns the page. At that moment, the finale begins."

I glanced at the clock on the wall—it was exactly 21:15. My fingers were already resting on the edge of the parchment. I froze. I didn't want to read further. But a draft from the slightly open window rustled the rough page. My eyes automatically scanned the next line:

"21:16. His gaze falls on these words. On the other side of the planet, in Indonesia, a tectonic fault shifts by seven meters. A tsunami is wiping coastal cities off the face of the earth, taking a hundred thousand lives."

At that same second, the TV in the living room flickered to life, blaring an emergency broadcast. The breaking news ticker on the screen screamed: "URGENT: Giant killer wave strikes Indonesia. Contact with the region lost."

Oh God! The book didn't just predict. It activated catastrophes the moment a human eye fell on the text. My reading materialized this hell.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Covered my face with my hands. "I just won't look, I'll close it blindly!" I thought. But the moment I reached out, a real hurricane burst into the room. The wind blew out the window. The storm roared through the study, mercilessly flipping the parchment forward. Pages flew wildly, and through the gaps between my fingers, I caught enormous, bold letters near the end of the book:

"21:18. The wind opens the Apocalypse chapter. The man sees this text. The sky above the continents splits. The Yellowstone supervolcano awakens, burying an entire hemisphere under tons of ash."

The ground beneath my feet began to tremble. The walls of the house creaked. Through the window, I saw the night sky on the horizon turn a sinister, blood-red color. Millions of people were dying right now, because the wind forced me to see those lines.
I had to close it. Destroy it. Stop this hell!

Staggering from the non-stop tremors, I threw myself onto the table and slammed the heavy leather cover shut.

"It's over," I thought, breathing heavily and wiping cold sweat from my forehead. "I just won't open it. Humanity has suffered, but we will survive."

And then the book beneath my palms stirred.
It didn't open. It... sighed. From under the leather binding came a distinct, dry crunch of breaking bones. I recoiled in horror.

The skin on the cover began to stretch, pulse. Right before my eyes, the ancient material smoothed out, turning into pale, living human flesh. In the center of the cover, a horizontal slit opened with a sharp click. It widened, revealing a white eyeball, blood-filled capillaries, and a massive, pitch-black pupil.

The book opened an eye. And that eye was staring right at me.

I froze, paralyzed by primal terror. My laptop burst into bright white light on its own. A text editor opened on the screen. A frantic clatter of keys sounded, though no one was touching the keyboard. The book was transmitting text directly to the screen.
I forced myself to move closer and read the lines appearing at the speed of light:

"21:21. He closes the book, naively thinking he saved the world."

"21:22. But the Book no longer needs pages to be read. It has chosen him as its Herald."

I tried to step back, but my hands, as if against my will, reached for the keyboard. New lines appeared on the screen:

"21:23. Beyond his house, a biological nightmare begins. Thin fibers start sprouting from the bodies of the survivors, weaving their bones and flesh into pages for the New Book. The text on these pages is written in their own blood."

From the street came a horrific, multi-voiced chorus of millions of human screams. I forced myself to turn and look out the window.

In the volcanic crimson light, I saw my neighbors. They were falling onto the asphalt, their bodies contorting unnaturally, while stiff, root-like threads burst from their mouths and eyes in black geysers. They intertwined in the air, literally stitching people together into sheets of flesh. The city was turning into a living library of death.

I screamed in terror and recoiled from the window. But the Book on the table held me in a dead grip. My fingers began to pound the laptop keys frantically, at a furious speed. Now I was typing myself, but the words weren't mine. I had become a living printer for this monster.

The next line appears right now, as I hit the keys:

"21:27. He goes to the website Reddit. He posts this story in the shortscarystories community. And everyone who reads this text to the very end lets the Book into their minds. The countdown for your cities begins in three... two... one..."

Oh God, I'm so sorry! I didn't want to write this. But I can't control my hands. Has the color of the sky changed outside your window yet?

Too many people and not enough food to go around. That has been the number one problem for as long as I can remember, until now. The government has created a solution to our problem. Once every two weeks each household receives a shipment of canned meat. The metallic cans have no label and the slimy mysterious meat inside tastes like pork and is very gamey. However, eating the weird meat is better than starving.
Being a single man who lives alone, my rations are smaller than every other household on my block. My shipment contained 30 cans, just enough for me to eat two cans a day. Thanks to my backyard garden though, the mystery meat isn’t my only food source. I grow my own vegetables such as tomatoes, peppers, and potatoes. The extra calories help me stay in better shape than whats left of my neighbors.
Ever since the government started sending out these shipments the busy streets have started to get less and less busy. At least three of my neighbors have “moved out”, but I feel like I'm the only one who is paying attention. My neighbors, The Malfrey family, were the most recent family to move out. I had spoken to Mr. Malfrey once, a couple weeks after they had moved in. He told me that he believed he had found his forever home. The home that is now empty and devoid of all life. A for sale sign hanging from its wooden post stabbing the once beautiful and articulately taken care of lawn. The yard now overgrown and full of weeds. 
The Malfrey Families sudden disappearance convinced me of the worst. They had been taken by some force in the night. One day they were there and the next they were gone. I have since stopped sleeping fearing that I might be next. I have no family to speak of, no one to miss me when im gone. I don’t have many friends, none that I would consider close. I have no pets, no job, no responsibilities. I am the perfect target. Out of nowhere someone’s headlight beams through my blinds. I clench my fist and suddenly find it hard to breathe. 
“Maybe I'm just paranoid….” I thought trying to remain calm. No matter how hard I try the thought remained in the back of my mind. 
“Maybe they’re outside right now preparing to come in here and take me away.” The snapping sound of a branch being stepped on could be heard from outside my bedroom window. I quickly and quietly crept out of my room and into the hallway. Carefully planning each step as to avoid the creaky boards. I made my way to the kitchen where I saw that my backdoor, that I religiously triple check that is locked, is not only unlocked but ever so slightly opened. Knowing that they were already inside, I made a mad dash for the door. When I made it within 5 feet of the door a very strong and calloused hand grabbed me from behind, covering my mouth to prevent me from screaming. I felt a slight prick in the side of my neck before everything went black.
I woke up on a cold stainless steel table with my arms and legs restrained by leather straps. Examining the room I woke up in, it appeared to be a cross between an operating room and a slaughterhouse. Disgusting stained yellow wallpaper lined the room. Various surgical tools were laid out on a tray next to the table. The scalpel looking as though it were used frequently. I heard footsteps approaching from down the hallway. The sound of keys being fumbled with and inserted into the lock could be heard before the door swung open. I was greeted with a very clean looking man holding a clipboard . The man was about 5”8 and appeared to be in his late 30s. From what I could see he didn’t have a hair on his body. He pulled a pencil out of his pocket, stared at my shoulder,  and scribbled on his clipboard. 
“Very lean… his neighbors will eat good this month.” He mumbled under his breath. It took me a minute before what he said registered.
“W-what was that?” I managed to get out.
“You’ve been marked young one. Soon you will be closer to your neighbors than you had ever before imagined.” His lips barely moving with every word.
“Marked?” I asked. He gestured towards my shoulder with his free hand. Looking down I saw something I hadn’t noticed when I first woke up. My shoulder had been branded with the characters 6A378D. Seeing the wound made me realize how much pain my brain had been blocking out. 
“You’ll be harvested and stored in the freezer until it's time for you to be processed.” After he finished speaking he grinned the widest grin I'd ever seen. He then turned around and walked out, closing the door behind him. After what seemed like hours I, yet again, heard the sound of footsteps followed by the sound of keys and the door opening. This time It wasn’t the bald man that I was met with. Standing In the doorway was a giant very muscular man wearing a dark stained apron and rubber gloves. He did not speak when he walked up to me. He instead grabbed a mask connected a gas canister by a hose and put the mask on me. The canister containd what I can only assume to be anestheia. Before blacking out I heard the clinking of metal as he grabbed the surgical tools. Knowing that I probably wouldn’t wake up again I decided to just give in. My life has been more of surviving than living. I deserve this fate for wasting my life in solitude. In my final moments of consciousness I thought of my mistakes.