u/GildedArchways

You guys are probably gonna think I'm weird but idk where else to put this.

When I have a breakthrough thought involving spiritual/inner change or when I do an act of genuine good in the world, I get this band of warm, well, "goodness" that rolls down from the tip of my head to my toes.

It never lasts for more than maybe 5 seconds, but sometimes it will pulse, depending on how consequential the action or thought is. Every time it has happened to me - which isn't all the time by a long shot - has been personally powerful.

I would describe it as maybe grace, or recognition, or even presence, but I'm not sure how to describe what I mean by that word. Either way, it feels, right. And good. And hot.

I don't know if this belongs here. But I feel it is attributed to something greater than me. Like I've been met with, or I met, the sensation. This might sound so dumb. But I'm curious if anyone here has ever experienced something similar.

Thank you

I was almost at my lowest. Fresh out as a trans person, depressed, losing my job, alone, blah blah blah. Point being it sucked and I had a great idea.

Post nudes on 4chan. Because that's how low my self worth was.

And I did that for a while. Got thirsty transphobes - some of them at least - to betray their principles and ogle my tiddies. I mean, it helped. Made me feel wanted when it felt like no one wanted me. I even started my own Tumblr for posting a nudes, and met an ex that way lol. But that's not what I want to talk about.

Because I was doing well financially then too. And so I had another great idea: do giveaways. For a price too. So I'd go like this:

Tiddies. Ass. The first person to stick two carrots up their nose gets Farcry 5 Deluxe Edition. Tits. Buttcheeks. First person to get six peeled bananas in their mouth at once gets a video game of their choice.

And that? That combo? It was lethal for some people, up to and including me, who was actively selling her soul. People bit. I had one guy lather his face with whipped cream. Another guy really did the banana thing. 🐿 looking ass by the end of it. Haha. They each got a video game of their choice.

And they'd even come back and validate it for others, so it kind of snowballed into this main character moment for me. The whole board was locked onto my schlong and my demands. I felt like a dungeon dominatrix, but the dungeon was full of troll goblin hybrids. I mean I hate to say it, but I sometimes think fondly of it.

Deeply smell your own dirty underwear.

Post yourself licking your bathroom floor.

Text your mom you love her and that you miss her.

The possibilities were endless. I felt like a god for a split second. And the whole time, the whole time, people were trying to get double digit final numbers on their post ID to make me flash them. I finally had attention. Validation. I was effectively Tranta Clause to those people.

I look back on it and see it for what it is. Sad. A need for attention. Validation seeking. Kind of pathetic.

But it's also really funny to me, so I can't help but give myself a pity chuckle. I'd never do it again, but just for that ripple in time I felt like I mattered to someone.

Now I just try to matter to me, my wife, and my family. It's not as striking as nudeposting while you hit randos with $70 games while they have a thong on, but you know. It's better. More than enough.

I don't regret it though. It felt like lightning. Just, thank god lightning doesn't strike twice lol.

Lol you guys downvoting, have some fun, sheesh

This one needs a little backstory.

I remember a rainbow. I'm not sure why, but that's what I remember when I think about how she and I met. Eighth grade, a wet playground, a rainbow, and her drawing in a sandbox with a stick.

She liked to doodle in the wet sand - apparently it just held its shape better - and the day I said my first hello, she was in the middle of etching the same circle over and over.

I asked why she was just drawing a single circle, and I clearly remember her shyly saying, "Because it doesn't end."

I thought she was weird, but hell, so was I. So I sat and grabbed my own stick and drew a circle next to her. From her little grin, I could tell she found it amusing.

We became fast friends.

Some time later, something odd happened. I started getting more deja vu, just flickers of it, hinting that I'd already been here or done this, whatever it was. I wrote it off; it was a little freaky but my parents told me it was fine. My friend even said it happened to her sometimes too. So, you know, I thought it was fine.

But it got more frequent and more aggressive. I'd be doing homework, and I'd get that feeling again, and when it went away, whatever question I'd been working on, I had already written down the answer somehow.

Or, I'd be talking to a friend over the phone, and I'd have these moments, and just kind of say what they say at the same time. Like I knew.

I told people. My parents, friends. Unable to explain it, my parents took me to a doctor. In his office, he said he had no idea what my folks were talking about, and that he could try medication, but it wasn't recommended. We didn't have a lot of money, so they just took me home and let me be.

And all my life, I've dealt with this. It seems to have reached a sort of plateau, happening here or there and then not again for a long time.

I lost contact with my little sandbox friend some time ago. Years at this point. And I moved on, learned to deal with it. In some ways, it was pretty handy. I could sometimes guess test answers in college, if the sensation hit. Or I could tell what my boss would say, almost before he said it.

Life moved on. Until a few days ago.

I got home from work exhausted. It had been a long day. Sat in my car just breathing for like half an hour when I got home. And then I got that nibble in my brain. It's like a little worm wiggling around. The deja vu was about to strike, and I could feel it would be a strong one, like lightning.

It did. And for a moment it felt like I was both in my car, and at my door, where a small, folded note had been taped. "For you," it read.

A bird called in the twilight. And I was... on the way to my door. I don't remember getting out of the car, which is really weird for these already weird moments. Honestly, it left me a little dazed. Took me a minute to literally shake it off and head up my brick stairs.

There it was. The note. And I knew the handwriting, too. Something of a shock still hit me as I opened it though. A circle sat perfectly drawn in the center of the page, and in it, the words, "We need to talk. Meet me at the Cat Brew Cafe."

O-kay, I thought. Strange, but not unlike her. Shrugging, I opened my door to kick my shoes off and settled in. But as I came inside, I saw the tail end of a shadow slink into my kitchen.

I froze. A cold pang jabbed at my stomach. My breathing quieted, and I crouched and hugged the wall, pulling out my phone with trembling hands. It could have, I suppose, been my friend. If she was still as weird as ever, she'd do something like this. Still, I couldn't take any chances.

Carefully I crept up to the intersection between the kitchen and the hallway, and peered into the dark room. No shadows, nothing really, so I snuck in and grabbed a knife from the block as quietly as I could. Then, I tip toed to the lightswitch, and as quick as I could, I flipped it on and skipped a heartbeat.

Nobody.

I searched the whole house, inch by inch. All of the doors were locked, the windows too, and I didn't find anyone, so I wrote it off as my imagination and sat down to eat.

I got halfway through my salad before I heard a noise at the door, like someone had rasped their knuckles on the outside of it.

My heart fluttered. I stood, packed my salad away in the fridge, and walked out to the hallway to see what I could see. Nothing, so I headed back into the kitchen, and that's when I heard the door unlatch and swing open. With a gasp, I flipped the light in the kitchen off and ducked behind my island counter.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. I held my breath and worked my way over to the living room, crouched down. I barely made it before I heard them reach the kitchen. Between quick, sharp breaths I cursed and sneaked around the loop that is my home back to the hallway.

I heard a sharp breath in the kitchen. The light flipped on. More footsteps. "Fuck me," I whispered, sweat starting to bead down my forehead. As quickly as I could, I made my way to the door and, silently, I slipped out the front and into the night.

I thought about calling the cops. Was about to, when I felt another strong nibble in my mind. A malfunction. "Not now," I quietly pleaded.

Then the deja vu hit.

I saw myself both outside of my home, on the brink of tears, *and* parking at the Cat Brew Cafe. I both stood and began to cry, and stood outside of the café, searching for my friend. It's really hard to describe. But then I heard her voice, delicate and sweet, call my name, and I suddenly found myself just at the café.

I blinked. "What the fuck?"

She came into the center of my view. Her blonde hair had grown out to her waist, but her slender body remained sleek. She wore casual clothes and carried a seemingly empty backpack on her shoulders. Her sharp smile still stood out to me. It felt uncanny. Unreal, right now. But welcome and familiar.

"What's going on?" I asked her.

And her smile softened, saddened. "We need to talk," she said.

I stared in disbelief. "The café is closed! How did you know I'd be here?"

"You know how," she explained. "It happens to me too."

Blowing out a deep breath, I slumped on the street corner curb. "Okay. Well. You won't believe the night I'm having. Sorry to take over the conversation, it is good to see you. But someone broke into my house."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Yeah," I said, cradling my head in my hands. "It's a nightmare. I'd have called the cops but, well, I kind of ended up here first. Somehow."

She licked her lips, nodded slowly. Sat beside me gently and said, "Yeah. I get that. That's happening to me, too."

I shot her a sidelong glance. "What's happening to you?"

"The deja vu. It's moving me around," she said.

My fingers flexed outward. "So... ok. This is a lot. What's up with the deja vu? I feel like that's what you wanted to talk about."

She nodded, her hair glowing in the orange lamplight of the empty street. "As much as I'd find catching up to be charming, we don't have the time."

She reached into her backpack and pulled out what appeared to be a sketchbook. Handed it to me. Told me to look. And when I opened it, I found page after page of circles. Single circles on the same page, all different in composition, with strange swirls and branching tendrils. In that moment, a deep discomfort settled within me. I stared at it, then her, and opened my mouth to speak - but she stole the words from me.

"What's this?" she asked on my behalf, taking the book back. "I don't know what it's actually called. People online call it 'Circular'. It's a language. An old, old language. The oldest known to man by far."

"Um, what?" I said, my eyebrow creeping up.

She shook her head. "Look." Then, she opened it to what I assumed to be a certain page, traced the circle there with her finger, and said, "This word. This is the one that matters most."

"I'm sorry," I said, "Who on the internet is saying all of this?"

And she gave me an owlish gaze. "The others like us. That's what this word means. It's for people like us."

"I... this sounds insane." And it did. A circle-word for people with predictive deja vu from a language older than our oldest languages - sounded like enough to get anyone locked up and medicated. Still... "What's it mean?" I softly asked.

Her glare grew somber. "Look here. This branch means "somewhere in time"," she started, pointing to an indistinct scribble. "And this one means, "not". Here is "immediate", and over here is "both". It's a word we don't have in English. It means "nevernow"."

I mouthed an awkward "oh" and said, "And... that's, us? We're "nevernow"?"

She hummed and gave a single curt nod. "Yes."

Speechless, I simply shrugged and flipped my hand out. She seemed to be able to read me, even after all these years, and said, "I know it sounds like nonsense. But for me at least, the deja vu is getting stronger. So I did some deep dives on these really weird websites and forums for people like us. And some of them do something really weird when the deja vu gets really strong like mine."

"Okay?" I said.

She let her eyes fall to the road, scanning it for invisible easy-answers. "They start posting the same final comment over and over again at an interval. For some it's twenty minutes. Others get a whole day. But they keep posting the same exact same comment like clockwork."

I felt something inside of me. The deja vu. I groaned out a pained, "No!" but it was too late. My friend gave me the sweetest, most concerned look I'd ever seen her give - and then I saw myself both there, sitting with her, and in my car, headed - I knew this somehow - to a park, in tears.

To the me still there, with her, I heard her say, "It's starting for you too."

And then I was there, parked at the park, entirely disoriented. It felt like I had to uncross my mind, like you might your eyes when you first wake up. I moaned and rubbed my forehead, the tears already drying on my cheeks. I yelled.

Screamed.

Slammed my fists on the steering wheel.

My chest grew tight, my body rigid, and I started spitting out every curse in the book.

This was proving to be one of the most stressful nights of my life. Blankly, I stared out at the lambent glow of the lamplight on the park paths. The shadows in the trees, the empty playground, the whole place felt stuck in time.

And so did I.

My phone began to buzz in my pocket, nearly giving me a heart attack. My friend's name popped up on the screen, though I didn't remember giving her my number. Still, I picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey," she said. "Did you make it safely?"

I hesitated. "Yeah. I guess. I'm at the park."

"You need to be very careful," she said. "Me too. When I was reading about the concept of a "nevernow", people were saying they tend to get trapped after a certain point."

"Trapped?"

"Yes," she said, her voice mellow and melancholic. "They... um. They get stuck in these loops."

I pressed my head into my seat's headrest and let out a long sigh. "Loops? What are you talking about?"

"I'm still trying to figure it out myself. Just, watch out for being followed. Or following," she said. "I have to go. Call me in the morning. Please."

Unceremoniously, she hung up on me. I sat back and replaced my phone in my pocket. Without any other ideas - and certainly without a desire to go home - I decided to walk around the park and soak in what I'd just heard. I packed up my things, locked my car, and set off on the winding, glowing pathways.

I stopped by the playground, sat on the swings. The rocking motion helped a bit, but I began to feel a little sick from the tumult. All I wanted was to go home and sleep it all off, but even that scared me. I had no idea what to do.

As I sat, I heard hurried, heavy footsteps rushing off into the dark. I almost fell off the swings.

It was getting colder, and I was creeped out. I needed to leave.

I stood, gave the park one last look over, and headed back to my car. I got a ways there when, in the silence, I heard the creaking of swingset chains behind me.

I didn't even look back. I just broke into a sprint and ran.

Threw myself in my car. Locked the doors. Started the engine and pulled out. As I left, I saw a figure sitting on the swingset, a woman. Short black hair. Underdressed for the cold. Seemingly lost in thought in the shadows.

I sped out of there.

That night, I slept in my car, albeit in my own driveway. Uncomfortable as it was, it was the only place I felt truly safe. The sleep was dreamless and I woke up aching and tired. Still, when I saw that early morning twilight filter through my deeply tinted windows, I felt a cool wave of relief hit me.

I got maybe three minutes of peace before the deja vu hit again. Now, I saw myself both in my car trying to warm up, and at the Cat Brew Cafe nibbling on a breakfast sandwich across from my friend.

I'm sure you get the idea by now. I blinked, and then I was there, eating and talking. I remember I froze, my sandwich halfway to my mouth, my friend giving me a quizzical look. Then, she said, "Hello again."

I scrunched my nose. "Hello? Have I not been here?"

She hummed, taking a sip of her water. I noticed in the condensation on the glass, she'd been drawing little circles. "You have, but you also just got here. I can read it on your face."

My hands started to shake so badly that I dropped my sandwich on the plate. With a desperate whisper, I pleaded, "What is happening?"

"The same thing that's happening to me. Has happened to other "nevernows", if I'm right." She tsked and looked away. "The worst part is, I don't know why, or how to make it stop."

My quivering lips could hardly eke out a word. "I feel like I'm skipping around in-"

"Time. Me too," she said.

But, speaking of time, and maybe because I was desperate for some sense of normalcy, I checked my phone and blurted out, "Oh shit! I'm late for work! I have to go, I'm so sorry. I'll call you tonight."

She watched me stand with these big, sad doe eyes. "I hope so," she said.

We parted ways, her in her beat up sedan, me in mine. And on my way out of the parking lot, I saw what looked like my car, tinted windows, red paint, scuff on the bumper, pass me headed into the lot.

I vomited. Spewed all over the clothes I'd worn to the office just yesterday. In fact I threw up so hard that I think I triggered the deja vu again, because the next thing I knew, I was *leaving* work. My clothes were clean, but the same as I'd worn yesterday. I had no recollection of the day, nor of changing my clothes. One minute I was hurling, the next I was in my car after work in the shadow of a eight story building.

I went straight home, sobbing the whole way. And at home, I cried some more. All I wanted was my bed. To sleep. Intruders be damned, I thought. I kicked open my door and stumbled out, throwing it shut. I walked around the curved path to my door, to my brick stairs, and when I laid eyes on my door, I watched it close behind someone.

I hesitated for just a second, but that was the last straw for me. I barreled into my house, quietly whipped the door shut, and shuffled inward. A figure slipped into my unlit kitchen, leaving the light off. I stood there, shaking angrily, wondering: am I really going to do this?

I was, until the light flipped on. I froze for a long time, scared shitless. Thirty minutes or so passed before I could find the courage to get moving. But when I could, I marched into the kitchen ready to demand answers. And there I saw, well, no one. Nothing was different, moved, or taken except for a single knife from the block.

Careful, I turned the light off. I didn't want to be spotted. I took another knife, crept around the house, and made it back to the hallway just in time to see...

Well. To see myself slip out the front door like a scared cat. I dropped the knife. Held my breath. That was absolutely me. The short bob haircut, the underdressed office clothes, the quick gait. It was me. Just like that was me at the park. Me at breakfast. Me me me, it was all me!

I shrieked.

Ran out of my home.

Got in my car, called my friend. But she didn't answer.

Then, there, just a few minutes ago, I got another wave of deja vu. I saw both my perspective from the car, holding my phone and calming down from a long day in the twilight... and me, heading up the brick stairs to my door. I saw a note on it. Read it.

"For you."

When I snapped to, there I was, headed up my stairs to my door. The note sat taped to the wood. I snatched it, hurriedly opened it. Recognized the handwriting. Read the words, "We need to talk. Meet me at the Cat Brew Cafe."

And collapsed on my stairs. That's where I am now. Sitting here, reading the note over and over. I'm scared.. I checked my phone to try and call my friend again, but her number isn’t in my phone anymore. In fact, there aren't even calls between us.

My memory of the past two days feels fractured, hazy. Maybe that's part of why I'm writing this, to remember as best I can. I don't understand what is happening to me and I'm terrified.

If anyone can help me, please, please say something. If you're having serious deja vu like me, how do you deal with it? This "nevernow" shit is freaking me the fuck out, so any advice would be super appreciated.

As for me, I guess. Well. I don't really know. I'm hungry. It was a long day at work. And I have this mysterious note from my friend that I don't understand.

I think I'm going to head inside and eat something. A salad maybe. Try and figure this all out. Or something.

I... think.

I just had to reread this whole post to remember why I'm even typing right now. And I feel more deja vu coming on.

I'd better go inside and eat. Lord knows I need the rest.

I am exhausted. It's been a long day.

My last post is here.

I woke up a little while ago. Sat in my jeep, looking over Candletown. I dunno. The more I stare at the town, the less afraid I become. I still see the shadows down there, lurking, creeping. Arguing, suffering, starving. But they've been leaving me alone, thankfully.

I thought about where to go from here. I'd been almost all over town, except for that historical marker obelisk. I figured it'd be my last bet for getting out of here. It was getting dark - I slept all day - but I didn't care. I started my jeep and headed down the hill to the marker.

It's just down a short road, and it has it's own parking lot. I stopped there and stepped out, looking up at the obelisk. It was, I'd say, two and a half me's tall. Sharp white stone with a black cap on its top pyramid. On a base of chiseled rock. I approached carefully.

The plate on its base held no words. Just, another red moth. So, it wasn't a historical marker after all, I realized. It was a monument. And before that monument sat a single unlit candle in a simple candle holder. Its red wax taunted me. After everything I'd been through these past few days, I was exhausted of the color. Done.

I went back to my vehicle, grabbed a lighter from my center console, and walked back to the candle. It was my best - my only - idea. And I bent down, tried to light the candle. The lighter clicked, again and again, spitting flame at the wick. But the candle just would not light.

I fell back on my ass. Leaned back. Groaned. I was tired. Just... so tired. I wanted out so, so badly. But at this point, a piece of my mind truly did contemplate surrender to Candletown. I felt beaten. Battered psychologically. And just before I fully collapsed, I gave the obelisk's plate one last glance.

That red moth. Staring at me. Waiting for me. That red moth.

It struck me like lightning.

My eyes grew wide. My breath stilled. My body chilled. I locked up.

It was the one we'd seen on our camping trip. That moth, the last time we were happy. Before she knew. Before things fell apart. Before the fire, the guilt, the, the grief. That little moth, landing on her finger as she smiled in our unzipped tent. A strange desert moth I'd never seen before, as beautiful as she was. As delicate. As underappreciated.

I tried to stand, but instantly fell to my knees. Staring at that red moth. The last time I saw her smile, she'd been holding that moth on her finger.

Our house burned down a week later.

I stared emptily at the candle. Felt it - felt the moth, felt the town, the sky, the shadows, the desert - staring at me. And for whatever reason, I started talking.

"I'm an asshole," I said.

"I'm an asshole, and I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life. And I'll never get to let you know how much it hurts that I was an asshole to you."

There it was. That burning spark behind my eyes. Those tears, creeping in, begging for release.

"You deserved better than me. Even in your lowest moments. Especially in your lowest moments."

The agony behind my eyes grew hot and angry. Hurting. Desperate.

"She wasn't worth it. She wasn't you. And I should've been with you."

A tear.

Finally, a tear.

"You... were there for me. Even when I struggled. And I let you down. Hurt you. Left you alone."

More. More tears, staining my cheeks. Dripping down my chin. Leaking to the desert sand below, which quietly drank them.

"I remember now. I remember everything. How I ran from it. Chased nowhere, because it was the only place I didn't see *you*. I... you... you haunt me. It all haunts me."

I fell on my hands and knees. Heaved. Openly wept.

"But you? You deserved so, so much better. And I am so sorry. I did you wrong and I am so sorry."

I collapsed to the ground. Sand stained my wet cheeks. My fingers dug into the dirt, grabbed at the earth beneath me like I could cling to it in the storm. But there was no safety here, no refuge. The agony washing over me, I deserved.

"I let you go," I sobbed. "And you went."

I felt the inferno of regret inside my chest crescendo. The hate and disgust I felt for myself produced a horrific revulsion at what I'd done. Not even the tears could wash that away. But, between the gasps, the sickness, the pain, the wet on my cheeks, a warmth hit me. A light. And when I looked up, I saw the candle had been lit. The little flame flickered in the night - alive, stubbornly alive.

I swallowed. Watched it flicker and hold it's flame. It danced, lively and fresh. And I felt a hint of peace.

Footprints came from behind me. I scrambled to my feet and spun around, coming face to face with someone who looked just like Bray, or Shay, but was neither. I soaked in her long black hair, her tall frame, her sharp features and studying eyes.

It was all I could do to eke out, "May. I... I'm so sorry."

She stared at me, unwavering, judging, thinking stoically like she did. She seemed to be peering into my very soul. Then, after agonizing seconds, she said, "We cannot forgive you on her behalf. But you may leave."

And then, in wisps of black smoke, she withered into the wind in a delicate fade, and was gone. I stood there for the longest time, leaning on my jeep, hunched over, weeping. I finally understood this place.

What it wanted.

What it got.

And for that, I let loose a desperate cry. For me. For her.

And when I was done, when the tears had dried and my face had been wiped, I climbed back into my jeep and started her up. I went onto the main road, and gave it one more glance. The hotel was back, I saw. I didn't even question it. I could feel it in my soul. I'd been released. And that was all I needed.

I drove over the hill, down that long desert road, and by the grace of whatever Candletown actually is, I got back on the highway. Just seeing the highway was enough for me to pull over and cry again. I was free. I am free.

Not from my sins. Not from the grief. But from something, deeper. Some... debt, I guess. What I owed.

One of the first things I did was call my sister. She picked up, groggy and tired, and the first thing I did was ask what time it was.

She told me 11PM. That's what my clocks said, too. I couldn't help it. I burst into hysterics, cackling like a hyena.

Impatiently, she asked if I was alright, and I told her yes, of course! I was better than ever! I tried to explain that I was finally out of Candletown, but she huffed and said something to the effect of, "I thought you were going somewhere called Havensburg or something."

I paused. Soaked that in. And laughed even harder.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," I said between breaths. "I'll call you later. Night!"

And again I hung up without decorum. I sat back in my jeep and breathed. Continued to breathe. Felt. Didn't run. Soaked. Absorbed. Didn't flinch. Just... accepted.

And that's where I am now. I think I'm going to go home. Screw this "Nowheresville" nonsense; I'm tired of running. I miss my home, what's left of my family. This will be my last update. I'm free. Free to be okay. Free to grieve.

The stars are back. I think I'll let the moonlight guide me home.

As I type, a little red desert moth just landed on the hood of my jeep. I think it's looking at me.

Hello, little moth.

Say hi to May for me.

My last post is here.

I'm not sure how to explain the events of the past 24 hours. I don't know if anyone will believe me. I hardly believe it myself.

I woke up yesterday morning in my jeep, on the hill. There may be no stars in the dark of night, but thank whatever god is out there that the sun still rises. Might sound silly, but part of me was unsure it would happen.

Sleeping in the driver's seat is no fun. I ached, my muscles and my mind sore. But I forced myself to rise with the morning and get on my way to the mines. The sky bloomed into a vibrant, ominous red rash as I drove down the hill. The sun peeked over the horizon just as I hit the town.

I had expected it to be empty. And, I mean... it, it was. But not as it had been the past few days. There was nobody here, of course, on the deserted main street. But I saw shadows, in the hotel windows. The door of the chapel opened and shut, maybe from the hot morning wind, maybe not. To keep some sense of, I don't know, normalcy, I rolled the windows down for some air, and in the distance, in the burnt homes, I swear I heard what sounded like an argument. Indistinct, yet clearly angry.

It was right about now that I noticed I was low on food. To my knowledge, the only place with snacks was the gas station, but god damn I did not want to stop there. My stomach growled, demanding nourishment, hunger pains sparking inside of me with flint and steel. I didn't feel I had much of a choice, if I was going to keep, well, going.

Reluctantly, I pulled into the pump.

From my jeep I peered through the dirty store windows. No sign of Bray. No sign of anyone, really. The lights weren't even on. So, okay, I thought. In, and out, as fast as possible. I took a couple of deep breaths, clenched and unclenched my fists, psyched myself up, and opened the door of my vehicle.

I'm telling you I *ran* into the gas station. Threw open the doors like they owed me money. And then, I just kind of... froze. A shadow slipped by me, like a, a 3D shadow. There and gone just as fast. No sound, no footsteps, just a figure that evaporated almost immediately after I spotted it. It took me some gusto to finally get moving again.

I darted through the aisles and snatched up as much as I could carry. Chips, beef jerky, a couple of water bottles, candy bars, if it fit in my hands or pockets, I stole it. I dashed for the door, nearly spilling some of my loot, and pressed against them with my back to thrust them open. As I did, the little bell on the counter let loose a ding.

My heart dropped.

I got out of there so fast. Hurried to my vehicle and threw the stuff in my passenger seat carelessly, started it up and sped away.

Looking in my rear view, I saw the door to the store open, and then shut. I wasn't sure what I was seeing. Ghosts? Spirits? Something worse? Something more, sad? All I knew was, I wanted them away from me.

The mines weren't too difficult to reach, though the final maybe quarter of a mile is washboard sand, rather than road. I pulled up to the pit and parked. Ate a bit. Stared into the ground. After gorging myself, I got out of my jeep.

The pit yawned at me as I stood over it, looking in. It was mouthy, with a descending dirt slope that reminded me of a tongue. Minecart rails ran down the left side of the ramp, disappearing into darkness. A small, ancient gust of wind escaped the hole, flowing up at me like it was breathing on me. As true a maw as I've ever seen.

I stood there, deliberating. I actually said aloud, "Am I really doing this? This is so stupid."

But what choice did I have? Looking behind me to the town, I could see more elusive shadows. They peered from behind buildings, stared from old windows, materialized in the streets only to wisp away in the wind. And I knew, it was this, or that.

"I'd rather this," I muttered.

So I turned around again and, with only my phone's almost dead flashlight, I took my first steps into the mine.

A cold washed over me. Dry and biting, it only got worse the deeper I went. I hugged the wall, terrified, trembling, feeling lost despite having only gone straight. It was the only way to go. Despite this apparently being a mine, it was as though the miners had just bored a tunnel straight through the rock at a 30 degree slope. My footsteps echoed through the chamber, my rattled breathing louder than it should've been. Every so often, I was hit with a light breeze from deeper within.

At first, the walls were bare save for the scars of machinery. But as time went on, maybe fifteen minutes or so in, things started appearing on them. My flashlight hit a section of wall just by chance and illuminated what looked like a stone age cave painting of a red moth. I whipped it around again and revealed a menagerie of stick figures around a painted hole in the ground.

The deeper I went, the more there were. Some were just, circles. Surrounded by nothing. Others held more meaning, such as a lit candle, a crudely drawn, blood-tipped dagger, or a collapsed and ruined house. And something dawned on me then.

I felt... meaning, in these symbols. Like I understood them despite having no idea what they meant. They weren't familiar, per se, but they were, I mean, legible. Understandable, in some way. And the feeling they imprinted on me was one of ghosts. Remorse. Things left unfinished.

Unsure of how long this cave went, I continued on. I felt more and more certain that whatever Candletown wanted from me, it wasn't requesting it. It was demanding it. My attention fixated on that as I tread on.

Eventually, I did hit the bottom of the mine, long after the rails had ceased and the imagery vanished. There, so many feet down, was this chamber. It was massive. Domed. So tall my flashlight could barely reach the top of it. And it was vast, too. I couldn't see the back until I was near the middle. And, in the middle, was a rectangular hole.

And a headstone.

Icy terror gripped me. I leaned over the hole, cast my light into it, and found it to be just, black. Bottomless, maybe. A breath of wind rushed up from it, washed over me. I slowly, unsteadily backed away.

My light hit the headstone. Shone on the name.

"May."

I... knew that name. Know that name, but I couldn't say how in the moment. I whispered it like it was sacred, trying to remember. But I just couldn't.

Finally, I gave up. It seemed there was nothing here. So I turned to leave.

And saw Bray and Shay standing right behind me, cradled in shadow, their eyes angry and sharp. The scream that ripped out of me was animalistic. Primal. Pained. But before I could even flinch, as I hardly took but a step back toward the pit, they said in unnatural unison, their voices almost merging: "Dig deep."

And together they shoved me into the grave.

I'll do my best to explain what happened next, but it's not going to be easy.

I fell, first. And fell. And fell. For some long minutes, I descended into that darkness. The wind lashed at me with the force of a thousand whips. I reached for the sides of the pit, only to find there were no sides. I tried to scream, but could hardly breathe at all. The deeper I went, the more constricted I felt. And then, after a long, long fall, the falling sensation kind of just, stopped.

I felt like I was floating, in space, or underwater. In a void, for certain. I saw nothing, heard nothing. I held my breath, helpless. Frozen in time.

And then... I heard footsteps. I looked around for the source, but found only more darkness. But in that darkness, I heard a voice. My own voice.

"Well maybe if you got off my fucking back a bit!" I - not me, but the me from the nether - screamed. I mean it was a violent, angry yell.

Then came Shay, or Bray's, voice. "I try my best for you, and you just, drink it all away!"

I swallowed, listening. It didn't make sense. I hadn't met Shay or Bray before this.

More footsteps, this time from a different direction, interrupted my thinking. A door in the ether slammed shut with a horrible bang. I could hear some kind of liquid being poured into a glass, and a loud, dissatisfied gulp. Then silence. Then a shattering sound.

I, me, I yelled out, "Hello‽"

And in return, I heard my own voice angrily yelling, "I didn't do it!"

To which one of the twins responded, "Stop lying, I already know!"

More clattering. More... contemptuous words.

The woman cried, "Why am I not good enough for you‽"

And my voice, falling somber, simply said, "May, I can't do this right now." And then a door slammed shut.

And I was left in the ether. I was there for a while, too. Left to think. May. No wonder I knew the name.

After some time, I heard what sounded like... like fire. Flames licking at fuel. It started small, a spark, and rapidly grew into a raging inferno. I could feel the heat, smell the smoke. It became unbearable, insufferable even. I thought I was cooking. The void had become an oven and I was roasting.

I called out. Cried out for help. Begged. Pleaded for release. In return, I got a whisper.

^"Does ^it ^hurt?"

And I lunged out of bed. A hotel bed, specifically. The bed in my room. The fire was real, eating, consuming the room around me. The heat singed my hairs and scorched my skin. Fire cradled everything: the furniture, the tables, the walls. Thinking fast, I pushed myself up off of the floor and ran for the door. It essentially crumbled into ash and flame at my touch.

I ran as fast as I could, hacking and heaving from the dense smoke. Timbers collapsed around me, rooms spat fireballs into the hallway behind me, and I just barely made it through the gilded lobby before it too went up in flames. The noise of cracking beams and hateful fire followed me as I escaped. Outside, I turned around, faced with the starless night sky, to watch the hotel burn down.

Luckily still clothed, I collapsed in the street, eyes glued to the bonfire. I didn't want to understand the familiar feelings of this place, but... I did. And I think I knew what Candletown wanted from me. It wanted me to watch. To listen. To know. To remember.

And so I did. I watched the entire hotel burn. It took all night.

I'm walking back to my jeep now, which is still at the mines. The morning sun is rising again, the sky that malignant red it likes to be. I have a lot on my mind right now. Shadows keep staring at me from windows and behind corners.

I say, let them. I, I just can't focus on them right now.

I have other things going on. But first, I'm going to try and sleep. I feel like death. I think I almost just, you know, died. And I have a feeling the town will leave me alone for a little bit. Just for now.

I'll update again soon.

I'm so sorry, May.

Update.

My last post is here

I'm at the old mining structures. I knew I couldn't just sit there and waste on top of that hill, waiting for nothing in nowhere, so here I am, having followed my instincts. Probably a stupid idea; my "instincts" got me into this mess. I doubt they'll get me out.

But here I am.

These buildings are rusted to hell and back. Tall conveyor belts link storage tanks to multi-story structures of weathered, sun-baked iron. There are half-buried train tracks here. They pop in and out of the sand and dirt like they're as anxious as I am to be there. Hiding in time, like I wish I could. Some mine carts are toppled out in the desert past the structures. There is an old battered boxcar sitting on a piece of rail behind them. I can tell this used to be quite an active site, some long time ago.

There's a few minecart rails running from here to the mines down the street. Might be my next stop. But first I needed to explore here. I didn't think I'd find all that much but... well, I'll explain.

I got out of my jeep and headed into the long rectangular structure directly in front of me. It's metal door made the most awful screech as I pushed on it, like it hated me for even trying. I admit I tensed up. I didn't want Shay or Bray to know where I was, so any noise made me extremely paranoid. I wasn't even sure I could truly hide from them, but dammit I was - am - going to try. Hence, I propped the door open with a fallen brick, worried it would scream again if I let it shut.

Every step I took produced a little plume of dust. I pulled my shirt up to cover my mouth and nose, and pulled out my phone to turn the flashlight on. It was dark and grimy here. Undisturbed. There were a couple of desks, filing cabinets, and shelves scattered around, but they all seemed mostly empty. I pulled open some desk drawers, found some hard hats and hammers, and closed them back up. The filing cabinets produced much the same. Some lug nuts, wrenches, and scrap, but nothing noteworthy.

I did notice the "company slogan" for whatever mining corporation this had been. "Dig deep", it said, written in bright bold yellow letters on the interior side wall of the office. Seemed generic enough to apply to any mining company, but it didn't really matter.

After some rummaging, I headed up some stairs to what I assumed were the foreman's offices. It was, uh, more clean? Certainly still dusty, but more organized to say the least. In the center, before a set of bay windows overlooking the office space below, a desk sat facing the door. An empty swivel chair greeted me as I came in. It was tempting to sit, to try and relax for a moment. But I knew better.

I pulled open the filing cabinets here. Still nothing. Rummaged through a tool chest near the corner. There were, as expected, tools. And finally, I reached the desk. Its surface was empty, dusty. But the top drawer was a different story.

When I opened it, I nearly had a heart attack. I mean my heart leapt. Inside was a picture of either Bray or Shay. Behind them stretched an empty desert of nothing. I want to say it was the Nevada desert. But it looked so wrong. There was a plant I'd never seen before, with a single beautiful red flower blooming, way in the distance. The stones were an off color, almost black. The more I stared, the more I understood this was not Nevada.

I picked the photo up. Beneath it, scrawled into the desk drawer with what might've been a knife, were the words, "Dig Deep." I leaned in to inspect the writing. See if I could decipher whose handwriting it was. And as I got close, a little red moth made its escape from the drawer.

It flew past my face in a flurry, making me gasp and fly back. I swatted at it - panicked, even - backed away. Started stomping my feet in adrenaline fueled anxiety.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" I cried. "What do you want‽"

I cracked open an eye. The moth was gone.

Letting loose a deep sigh I leaned back on the wall and let my head hang. In my hand I still held the picture of one of the twins. "Dig Deep"? I was starting to think it wasn't just some company slogan. Honestly, I don't think this is just "some building", or "some town".

It feels... I mean this might sound crazy, but it feels like the town is talking to me. Like... like it has something to say. "Dig Deep"? "Does it hurt"? I pressed my fists to my eyes and tried to think, think! But no matter how hard I tried, truth be told, I can't even remember what got me started on "Nowheresville, USA". The entire reason for me coming out here, the reason for it was a mystery. I remember my sister. I remember... having a job. Working. But everything is so fragmented. It's like my mental thread of cohesion was snipped into thousands of little bits.

I groaned, let fly several curses under my breath. Tears sparked behind my eyes, if you know that burning sensation I'm talking about. Like I needed the release, but didn't earn it. A fire behind my eyes that wouldn't quite light. I bit my lip and stood back up, letting my shoulders sag and my spirit go limp.

Casually, accidentally, I cast my gaze out to the office space below. There, dozens of red moths had taken up space, fluttering about in an invisible, nonexistent wind. They bobbed, spun, flirted with each other. I watched in what I can only describe as bewildered awe. In five minutes, over a dozen, two dozen moths had showed up.

I left the foreman's office and headed down the stairs rather slowly. The moths danced through the air, spinning and twirling, like they could hear some sort of music inaudible to me. In the air, I tasted the cold, the longing, the sadness that seemed to follow these moths wherever they went. It tasted like, ah, "empty", if that were a flavor. Void. Cold, sad, and hopeless. And it spoke to me on some emotional level, so much so that I almost felt lost in it.

Candletown is a grieving place, I'm finding out. Dark and hollow and pained. I feel it longing for more. For something it can never have. I felt it surrounded by those moths. And I feel that same feeling somewhere deep inside of me, too. I don't know if I accrued it as I stood in the center of those waltzing moths, or if it was already inside of me, drawn out by the town. All I know is that as I stood there in those moths, I felt my knees weaken, my body slump, and my soul despair in the quiet.

It was the darkest silence I've ever experienced.

I shambled my way out of that building like a ghoul, fresh from the grave. When I got to my jeep, I just sat there, staring blankly at the building. In the windows, I could see the moths still locked in their delicate dance. I wondered if they were watching me, as I watched them.

I'm headed back to the hill, for now. I plan to sleep in my vehicle there, as far away from - well, between - the town as I can get. That's what feels the safest. Then, tomorrow, I'm going to the mines. I don't know how to explain it, but looking at this picture of one of the twins, I feel called there. Like I am supposed to be there. It might be a lure, or a trap. But it might be my next hint at getting the hell out of here too.

It's getting dark now, as I prepare to get on my way. There's no moon out, so you'd think there'd be stars, but... there aren't. The sky is just darkening with no sign of space, or stars, or anything. It's like there's some kind of firmament over me, or a giant void. I'm scared.

My sister is calling me. I'll update once I'm at the hill, and let you all know how the call went. Wish me luck tonight. I could use all the luck I can get.

Edit:

I'm at the hill, and just got off the phone with my sister. She's really worried about me. I told her I'm still alive, still kicking. I asked if she'd called anyone for me, and she said she didn't know who to call.

I don't blame her. I mean, do you call the cops? The government? A paranormal specialist? I don't know, and neither does she. So she's just been biting her nails, waiting to hear back from me.

I did send her a picture of the photograph of the twin. The photo itself went through, but it just came up black on her screen, which is unsettling to say the least. In that moment, it sunk in just how truly isolated I am.

I'm shocked I have service at all, honestly. But it seems like the only thing that's going to get out of here are my words.

I'll keep you all updated when I hit the mines tomorrow. I'll try and keep alive, or sane, or just... keep whatever it is this town is trying to take from me.

Because it does want something from me. I know this now. It's talking to me. Demanding, from me. But it can't have whatever it wants.

I refuse to give up even a shred of my soul to this cursed place.

Update.

You know, I've eaten meat my whole life. I've known about veganism for most of it, too. And despite knowing that, yeah, eating meat has consequences, I just... didn't care? Like I know that sounds selfish, but honestly, it is selfish. And I've been an asshole.

I used to mock vegans. Say I hated vegans. I thought vegans were snobby, haughty, arrogant - everything I myself was being, projected onto people who, after much thought, I now see to be 100% correct.

I think I was sold lies about vegans. That they were annoying, demanding, that they thought they were better than people who ate meat (after some internal reasoning, I'm starting to think there's a hint of truth in that last bit). I was also sold lies about meat. You know, the standard arguments, about teeth, health, the natural order, etcetera. And at the end of the day, I just, like meat.

But that's what it boils down to. Those "lies" are just cope to deal with the cognitive dissonance that meat is ruining the planet, ruining our ecosystem, hurting living creatures for profit and taste, and is, generally, nothing special - certainly nothing you can't get from plants, which are healthier for the self and the world. I was covering for the fact that I liked meat. The vegan mockery was just, part of that.

I've been getting a lot more honest with myself as I grow into my 30's. And part of that is thinking about my diet and my personal footprint on the world. I thought long and hard, not even about vegans or veganism, just, about health and the Earth. And one day I just kind of blurted out to my wife, "The vegans are right."

She gave me this like, shocked look? I guess? She knew me as someone who thought the worst of vegans. So I suppose the 180 was a mindfuck. But I told her what I'm telling you guys. Vegans are right about the world, our diet, our impact, and even morally. I wouldn't eat a dog - why would I eat a pig? I wouldn't burn an acre - why waste it for industrial animal husbandry. I wouldn't willingly give myself diabetes or colon issues - except apparently I would, if it meant I could eat meat.

I was wrong. You guys were right. I've started eating more salads, more beans, rice, corn, green beans, sprouts. Drinking veggie juice. And most importantly, eating significantly less meat. I admit I'm hesitating to make the leap to veganism. It's... a big ask. So surrender one of my guiltiest pleasures.

But the more I think - and I think a lot - the more I feel, idk, ready. I feel like it's been time. So I think today I'm going to do in depth research about vegan diets. Y'know, make a serious push for it. It's just, the correct thing to do.

I'm not here to ask what I assume is a typical "how to go vegan" question. I can do that on my own. I just wanted to own up to being wrong for so long, and let you guys know that no matter what people like me throw at you, accusations or falsehoods, you guys are just, right.

I'm sure you know that. I just wanted to say it. I at least understand it now. Hopefully sooner rather than later, I'll actually be able to call myself one of you. Sorry it took so long. I guess everything is a process.

For reference, my last post is here.

I didn't get too much immediate help last time, so I ended up just, sitting in my car staring at the Candletown Church for a while. It occurred to me to look for a denomination sign. You know, see what I'm working with here. And while there is a sign, there isn't a denomination. So without anything more to go on, I just kind of sat and breathed, trying to calm down, to work up my nerve to go inside.

Could I be dreaming, I wondered. Was this a nightmare? Silly as it may sound, I actually pinched my arm as hard as I could. Hurt like hell but I didn't wake up, so. I assume I'm in reality. Well, something similar, at least. Throwing my head back against my headrest and letting out a violent sigh, I then kicked my door open and stepped out into the hot desert sun overhead.

The church has a small set of stairs which I ascended. Carefully, I took hold of the door's ornate handle, and pushed it open. I'm not sure what I expected. A cross. Pews. Stained glass. The works. But I was only half right.

A crimson carpet spilled down a split down row after row of wooden pews. Following it forward led to a stone altar, nestled between two tall, beautiful candelabras. There was no cross overhead; instead, where Jesus might've been, there was a large scarlet moth, wings outstretched and head toward the steeple. The stained glass, rather than depicting nativity or perdition, was all flame and fire. It cast a haunting, if melancholic orange glow throughout the church, catching a plethora of dust motes in the beaming light.

I looked around. There was no literature, not a Bible in sight. None of the candles were lit. The whole place was as quiet as I assume the moon to be. And there was just one person here, dressed in black. They sat in the front pew and stared up at the moth, seemingly oblivious to my entrance.

My carpet-muffled footsteps rang out in this hollow place as I headed toward the front. There, I leaned forward to get who was either Shay or Bray's attention. A shy wave was all it took.

She turned to me with a welcoming smile. "Oh, hi. Glad to see you stuck around. Have a seat."

Tense, I slowly sat beside her. "It wasn't by choice," I said.

To which she replied, "It never is." Then, after thinking, "Will you stay for mass?"

"What is this place?" I demanded through gritted teeth.

"Church," she said. "We do mass here."

"Who is we? There's no one else here!"

She chuckled softly. "The church is full right now."

But when I turned around, I saw nothing but empty pews. I shot her an angry glare. "Unless it's full of ghosts, this place is completely empty. Where. Am. I?"

But she simply placed a finger to her lips and gently shushed me. Then her delicate forefinger pointed to the altar, and when I turned to look, I saw Bray. Or Shay. I still can't tell them apart. But she was at the altar, dressed in red robes laced with moths, embroidered into the shoulders of the garment. She, at the altar, raised her hands, and an even more, well, quiet silence, befell the halls of the one room chapel.

Despite neither of the candelabras being lit, I felt some sort of glow had taken hold in here. The woman in the robe - I'm just going to say she was Bray, despite having no idea - Bray, pulled her arms down, tucked them close, and put her hands together. Then she crossed her thumbs and spread her fingers, making wings of them, and slowly flapped them in the dusty air.

"Grief," she said. "A powerful thing. For where there is grief, there are regrets. Where there are regrets, there is suffering. And where there is suffering, there is desire."

She raised her hands, still in the moth shape, over her head and closed her eyes.

"And where there is desire, there is need. And need, well. Need is the most powerful thing we feel."

I started feeling this deep, deep malcontent. I found it harder to sit still. Harder to organize my emotions. "Uncomfortable" doesn't do the sensation justice. It was more... urgent, than that.

Bray lowered her hands and broke the mock moth she'd made with her fingers. "We need many things in life. Restitution. Relief. Love. A home."

I looked at Shay beside me, whose eyes were also closed. It seemed she was lost in her mind. Thinking, or feeling. So I looked back to Bray, who added to the sermon: "And home. Love. Those are the easiest needs to lose. And so we pray."

Bray began to murmur a chant. I don't think it was Latin. Despite sounding familiar in some unnamable way, I couldn't parse out a single word. The desire to run grew loud within me, into a cacophony of "you need to leave". I tried to stand.

But when I did, Bray opened her eyes and locked directly onto me. There was a fire in them. A heat in her gaze. It bore into my soul with an unseen pickaxe. I winced. Looking down to Shay, I saw she was giving me the exact same look. Slowly, I backed out, into the aisle, where I broke into a sprint for the doors.

I passed empty pew after empty pew, nearly stumbling as I reached the exit. The very moment my hand touched the door, I heard Bray say, "Some things we escape - others we do not."

I shoved the doors open with a loud clatter, spat myself back into the daylight, and for the first time in almost half an hour, it felt like I could breathe. Leaning on my knees, I dry heaved. I honestly thought I'd spit up some bile before I was distracted by a fairly large scarlet moth fluttering before my face.

I screamed. Stumbled backwards on the stairs of the church, fell on my back. I stared at the moth as it hovered along its way, up and down in the light breeze until it was gone from sight. I sucked in sharply, pushed myself up and scrambled to my jeep. Locking the doors helped me feel safer, but only slightly.

And so here, I was at a loss. Sweaty and shaken, I just gripped my steering wheel, not knowing what to do next. I could've called my sister back, answered the missed call I had from her, but it felt, I don't know. Pointless. Deep down I felt my only alternative was to explore Candletown some more. Not that I wanted to. I just wanted to go home.

Instead, I turned out, and headed down the road to the dilapidated neighborhood down one of the offshoot streets. I thought maybe I could learn something there, find some clue that would help me escape.

The buildings here, though. They were more than crumbling. They were... burnt. Like some great fire had ravaged Candletown some years ago. The wood stood blackened and sharp, the roofs caved in, some didn't even have doors or windows left in their thresholds. I pulled up to one at random, parked on the road, and walked up the scarred, charred driveway.

Whatever was here, it was almost guaranteed to be better than whatever was in that church.

Charcoal crunched beneath my boots as I headed inside. The sunlight overhead drizzled into the one-story once-home in rays, casting strange shadows on the walls and the rotting furniture. I headed through the living room and noticed the nice, broken TV on the stand before the incinerated couch. This struck me as really odd. Despite how old the town seemed, this was a modern TV. I could've owned a TV like this.

There were photographs on the wall in the hallway. The faces were burnt out, leaving only partial prints of the bodies of the people who'd lived here. A man and a woman, at a beach it seemed. In the mountains. I have no idea who they were, but it did bring me some comfort to know real people were here at some point.

I followed the hallway to the master bedroom. A burnt bed stood dead center here, with what I can only describe as a Hiroshima-esque burn shadow on its mattress. Just one. Maybe the other person made it out of the fire alive.

There was a bedside table here. On it sat a crispy leather journal, surprisingly somewhat intact. Feeling a flicker of hope, I picked it up gently. It felt like it could crumble at any moment, that's how stiff and crunchy it was. With tender care I opened it and started reading what I could of the contents.

The name was illegible. The first page was smeared and smoked. I flipped to the last filled-in pages, hoping that there I could find some insight as to what had happened here. Despite being difficult to read, I could make some of it out. Desperately written scrawling filled the last page. I could almost feel the despair in the words.

"How could he do this? How could this happen to me?"

I licked my lips and turned a page back.

It read, in part: "I have given up. Surrendered. It is all too much to bear, and I cannot go on."

The pain was readily apparent, and I felt it, on the inside. Whoever wrote this, they were in clear anguish. It didn't explain the fire though. Especially seeing as the whole residential area seemed to have burnt down. I turned one more page back.

And there I saw a drawing of a moth, much the same as the one that had passed me outside of the church. I freaked out. I flinched, dropped the journal, and fell back against the wall. It buckled, but didn't cave, thankfully. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my heart beating with it.

And then I heard a voice. Shay, or Bray, calling to me from the living room. I shot a glance down the hallway, where she stood stiff as a board, staring at me through the fractured sun rays. Her hair mixed with the shadows at the end of the hall, and her black dress lightly flapped in a weak breeze. Her eyes were cold. Dagger-like. And she said, "Does it hurt?"

The sound that came out of me barely sounded human. I ran past the bed and jumped through the windowless sill, hitting the ground with a harsh thump. My hands shredded on the rocky ground as I scrambled to push myself up and run to my car. I looked over my shoulder as I ran, only to see her standing in the doorway, glaring at me.

I threw myself in my jeep and swerved out of there so fast that I left behind black skidmarks. I nearly lost control of it, even, fishtailing on the road as I fled. I dipped. Right out of town, as fast as I could, to the top of the hill, overlooking the same cursed town.

Behind me, the town.

Before me, the town.

Inside of me, dread. Fear. I feel, even... sad. In a way I can't explain. I feel existentially depressed. It took a while for my nervous system to calm the hell down. And now that I'm as okay as I think I can get, I'm here. Writing again. I have no idea what the fuck is going on, and I'm actually terrified.

All I know is that I do not want to go back into Candletown. I really, really do not want to go back. But I'm afraid I might have to. For answers. For a way out.

Does anyone have any ideas for where to go from here? As much as I absolutely hate it, I think I might go to the mining buildings next. There might be something more, I don't know, official? In there. I don't know. Any help is much appreciated.

Please.

Please.

Update.

Has anyone ever heard of this place? Because I'm stranded here. It's a ghost town unlike I've ever seen, and I'm an avid explorer who's been to many a ghost town. Let me back up to the beginning though.

I like to travel. Specifically, I like to travel to nowhere. Small, middle-of-the-empty towns, isolated parks, and, of course, forgotten ghost towns, things of that nature. I'm actually working on a travel series called "Nowheresville, USA," documenting my adventures to places like this.

Well this time, I was headed out to the middle of Nevada, way out in the desert to a small ghost town called Havensburg. It is *way* out there, like, so far out in that tan wasteland that I was worried I'd run out of gas. I'd been traveling for hours at this point, down an old state highway with absolutely nothing but shrubland and sand around me, and I was starting to get nervous. I did have an extra gas container, but... well, you never want to have to actually use the thing.

So imagine my relief when I saw a big, beautiful sign for Candletown, USA. Population 250, if the sign was to be believed. It felt like finding an oasis in the Sahara. Gas and food, and a little bit of rest, all promised in shining metallic green. And it was just 15 miles ahead, off the highway.

I sped there. My gas light was close to lighting up, so it was pedal to the metal for 15 long, empty miles. Then, an exit, and two more miles on a side road into desert land. For a minute, I felt I'd been lied to. There was a hill before me, but no sign of the town so far. Typical, for these isolated hamlets. But unnerving all the same.

And yet when I crested that hill, there she was in all her dilapidated glory. Roughshod, collapsed buildings dotted the sandy valley. There were only a few beaten and sand-blasted roads off of the Main Street, one leading to a small, deserted residential plot of homes, another to what appeared to be a mine shaft. Another still branched up a hill to old mining buildings, and the fourth went to a sharp, white-stone historical marker in the shape of an obelisk.

The main street was quaint, if empty. An empty parlor with no door sat beside an old grocery store, its windows whole but dusty. A few empty, decaying cars sat parked in slanted parking spots. There was a church, and it seemed to be in pretty solid shape, its wood well painted and its steeple still standing proud. Beside it, a gas station, and then, a hotel, both of which seemed open. Hallelujah, I thought. I'd be okay.

I stopped at the fuel station first, parking at its only pump. By now, the desert was growing colder, darker as the sun began to retreat beneath the bruised horizon. Lucky me, that hotel was right there. I slipped into the store and looked around, resolved to hurry up and snag a room to rest.

The shelves were stocked, which was nice. I grabbed some bottles of water, and some snacks, and headed to the vacant counter. A little dinner bell sat here, begging to be tapped, and so I did. Its little ding summoned the attendant.

She was tall. That was the first thing I noticed. Very tall, like six and a half feet. Slender and beautiful, though, with long black hair and sharp features. She offered a wary, if pleasant smile as she came out of the back.

"Hi," I said, placing my purchases on the counter.

"Hello," she purred back. "We don't get many travellers out here. Is this all for you?"

I nodded. "This and thirty on your pump."

She began to ring me up. "So," she said, her voice almost humming, "What brings you this far out?"

"Oh, I'm headed to Havensburg. I'm a sort of writer-explorer, and Havensburg is my next topic."

She grinned. "Ghost towns, huh? You know, Candletown is considered such. You might consider staying a while and writing about us."

"Oh, maybe," I chuckled. "Maybe on my way out. I mean, it is pretty desolate. Kind of wild to meet anyone at all out here. You live here?"

Shrugging, she said, "Sort of. My twin and I keep the spirit going."

"Twin?" I asked.

"Yep. She runs the hotel next door. You'll know her when you see her."

My eyebrows shot up. "I was actually going to try and rent a room there!"

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, well, tell her Bray sent you. She'll comp the room; seems like you could make good use of it anyway."

"Oh yeah, absolutely," I said. "I'm exhausted."

Her smile widened. "Glad you're here. Always good to see a new face out here."

I smiled back. "Thanks a lot, I appreciate you."

She merely winked as I turned heel to go fill up my jeep. Once that was done, I scooted my car a lot over and parked at the hotel. It's old, the hotel. From the 60's, maybe the 70's. Certainly preserved well. By the twins, I figured. Still, something about it was, um. Odd. Out of place. I pinned it to the pristine nature of the building, as juxtaposed with the rest of the ghost town. But I didn't - and don't - think that captures the entire essence of the hotel.

Still, I needed sleep.

So I grabbed my travel bag and headed on in through the etched glass doors and found myself in a marble-floor, glass-chandeliered lobby. The furniture was all antique, plush and richly red. The receptionist desk stood out to me, being lovingly chiseled redwood. The symbology on it was, well, odd to say the least. A carved-out circle in the center, surrounded by a flock of moths, all above a clean row of lit candles, it read to me as ornately confusing.

On it was another little dinner bell. I dinged it, and from the back, came the spitting image of Bray. I mean, identical. She did say "twin", but I didn't expect just... her again. I blinked, let loose a kind of incredulous chortle, and said, "Uh, hi. I think I just met your sister?"

The woman gave me a coquetish smirk. "Ah, you met Bray. I'm Shay. It's nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's mine," I said. "I just need a room for the night."

She seemed to study me for a moment, her eyes wolfish and astute. Then, she wagged her eyebrows and said, "Any friend of Bray is a friend of mine. Room's on the house."

She bent down and pulled an old key out from under the desk. "Room one-oh-three, just down the hallway here. Enjoy your stay, and holler if you need anything."

I took the key, and started to head to my room, but hesitated. Turning around, I said, "Are you two the only ones in town?"

And she shook her head with a sharp laugh. "No, no. There are others. Not many, but some. Some people like it here." She shrugged. "They don't leave."

I mouthed an awkward "oh, okay", and thanked her before heading to my room. Down a crimson carpet hall, I found it, and unlocked the door. When I opened it a wave of just, old, hit my nose. Old dust. Like the room had been undisturbed for years. But there was something else too, a, a burnt smell. Smokey. I don't know what that's about.

I came in, set my stuff down, flipped the bedside lamp on, and cozied up in the (surprisingly) comfortable bed.

Wasn't long before I was asleep, just happy to be somewhere somewhat safe. And as I fell asleep, I thought back to Shay and Bray. It's odd, but they felt familiar somehow. Like, maybe we'd met before. But I'm fairly sure we haven't. I chalked it up to being tired.

I don't think I dreamt that night, which is unusual for me. So I didn't exactly wake up rested. Still, the sleep was welcome.

But when I left the room that morning and headed out to the lobby, I found it oddly quiet. And I mean, Candletown was already quiet, but something about this just felt... still. I set the key down on the desk as an uneasy jitter crept through my gut. I felt that now was as good a time as any to leave.

Outside, I loaded up my jeep and started her up. I pulled out onto the main street, and still I didn't see a soul. That "creeped out" feeling started getting more urgent, so I hit the road for the highway, leaving Candletown in my rear view mirror with a heavy sigh of relief.

I traveled maybe two miles down the road.

And then, cresting a hill, I saw... Candletown. The main street. The hotel, the gas station. The obelisk marker, the church, the mines. And I admit, it kind of broke my brain. I couldn't comprehend it. I know I didn't go the wrong way; I had gone the way I came. But it just, looped back to Candletown.

I drove through the town again. I don't know why, but I thought if I just, kept on through the main street, going straight, I'd get (somewhere else*. But as Candletown vanished behind me, as I drove over another hill... Candletown appeared.

I stopped at the top of the hill completely speechless. I audibly breathed a "no fucking way" through my lips. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and stared, jaw agape, at the crumbling town. I did the only thing I knew to do: I checked my phone. I still had service, so that was a blessing. I thought as hard as I could. I had a sister in Phoenix, Arizona. Maybe she could help, if she didn't think I'd completely lost it.

I hesitated. She might think I was mad. Maybe I had gone mad. But she was still my best shot. So I called her.

It rang once. Twice. Three times, and I started to pray. But then, she answered. She sounded tired, groggy.

"Uh, hello?"

"Hey! Hey. It's me," I spat out. "What are you doing?"

She groaned. "Sleeping, jeez. What are you doing?"

I paused. "Why are you still asleep. It's like, mid morning."

"What?" came her disbelieving response. "It's three in the morning. Are you okay?"

I swallowed. My clocks said 10AM. The sun was rising in the sky. "Are you sure?" I asked.

She huffed. "Yes, I am. Where are you?"

I sucked in a sharp breath and, not knowing what else to say, I told her, "Candletown. Candletown, Nevada. Have you ever heard of it?"

"No," she said. It sounded like she was sitting up. "I thought you were in like, Havensburg or something."

"Well, yeah. I was headed there but I almost ran out of gas and ended up in Candletown. But like, I..." I paused. How was I supposed to even begin to explain this? "I don't think I can leave."

"What are you talking about? Are you safe?"

I licked my lips. "I do not know. To be honest."

From there, I did my best to explain myself, but I'm not sure she understood. I don't blame her, I mean. I wouldn't believe it if she told me what I had just told her. I did my best though.

Beneath the panic, I had an idea. I told her to hang on while I pulled up my maps app. And when I did - well, I was expecting something, but the maps app was black. Empty. Like I was in a void.

"I don't think I have GPS," I told her. "Can you see where Candletown is?"

I heard the tap tap tap of long nails on a phone. Then a pause. Then more tapping. And after another bout of silence, she said, "There is no Candletown in Nevada. There's no Candletown in the US, like at all."

I dropped my phone, her "hello?"s echoing at my feet. And I just stared at the town. The town in the middle of nowhere. The town in nowhere, apparently. I guess I had finally found the literal "Nowheresville".

Eventually I managed to get some of my senses back. I picked up my phone with shaking fingers, pressed it to my ear, and said, "If... if there's no Candletown, where am I?"

Silence.

Then: "Share your location on snapchat."

I did so.

"Well?" I asked.

More silence.

Then, finally: "I don't see it. It doesn't even say you're online."

My heart began to flutter. I felt queasy, cold, rigid. Like a corpse with food poisoning. I didn't know what else to say, what to do. My breathing quickened and my tremors grew to a shake. And then, just before I could say anything else, I saw movement in the town. A figure. Someone, going into the church.

They were tall, dressed in a black dress. I think it was Shay. Or Bray. I'm not sure.

Without anything left, I told my sister I'd call her back and hung up unceremoniously. Whoever that was, they were probably my best bet. I started my engine and made my way down the hill to the main street where I parked at the church. It loomed over me like a sentinel, guarding... something.

And, I mean, that's where I am now. Just sitting outside of the church, staring at its wooden doors. Truth be told, I'm afraid to go in. I have this sickly feeling, a nausea from the pit of my chest, just staring at the building. Maybe it's because I'm already incredibly freaked out. Maybe my gut is telling me something. I just don't know.

A red moth just fluttered by and I flinched. Just to show how, I dunno, how paranoid I am right now.

Does anyone have any advice, please? I don't know what to do. Should I go in the church? It seems like it might be my best bet, if that's where Bray/Shay went. Maybe they know something. Or, I mean, maybe it's a bad idea. I don't know.

Help. Please. I don't want to be stuck in Candletown.

Update.

It all started when I began noticing little red threads appearing on my fingertips. I was out for coffee with my girlfriend, at a cozy little café on the main street of our quaint mountain town. It was a normal day, like any other. We were hitting late autumn, when the leaves start to tan and redden, and the air gets that biting, chilly afterburn that makes a hot coffee hit in just the right way. And as I picked up my cup mid-sentence, I saw them. Little red threads stuck to my fingertips.

My girlfriend asked if I was okay; I suppose she'd picked up on my quizzical squint.

"Yeah," I said. "Just have some red string on me."

She gave a "huh", and when she asked where they might've come from, I told her the truth: I had absolutely no idea. I hadn't touched anything red. The chairs and table were made of treated iron. The cup was white. My clothes? Blue jeans and a black T-shirt. Puzzled, but unconcerned, I wiped the tiny strands off - they fell off quite easily - and continued on with my day.

But when we got home that night, shopping bags in hand, I noticed that they'd returned. I set our groceries down in our apartment kitchen and just kind of stared at my fingers like they were misbehaving. And again, she noticed, and said, "You probably have something in your pockets."

Naturally, I emptied them out, and out came my wallet, phone, keys, and a lint-ball, but nothing at all that could produce red strings. She and I just shrugged it off and packed the food away, before climbing into bed for the night. And in bed, as we were cuddled up, I just couldn't pay attention to the TV. Instead I just kind of stared blankly at the wall, thinking about the red fibers. My girlfriend can practically read my mind at this point, and with a squeeze she muttered sleepily, "Maybe you're just coming apart at the seams."

Now, she likes to joke around, and I get that. But that comment just felt really... weird. I'm a bit of an anxious person, so I chalked it up to overthinking and settled in to sleep. That night was a little rough. Weird dreams. I think her comment got to me, because I dreamt I had a red thread coming off of my right palm. It was all fragmented.

I dreamt it leaked from my hand. Spooled out to a dark void. It didn't hurt, at least, I don't remember it hurting. I just remember unwinding, little by little, until everything I was, had been pulled out along that red thread.

Suffice it to say, I felt pretty weird waking up the next morning. Oh, and the threads were there again, stuck on my fingertips and my palms now. After that dream, I could feel this pang of eerie discomfort stab at me. I launched out of bed and stumbled groggily to the bathroom to wash off the threads, which again, came off with ease.

At breakfast that morning, she could tell something was really wrong with me, I guess just from the slouch in my posture. So she took my hand and gave it a squeeze, and said, "You know, there's a little trail we haven't taken up the mountains yet. I hear it goes to a small lake. Want to go? Might make you feel better."

As I let go of her hand, I noticed some red threads from my palm had rubbed off onto her. She noticed too. Wiped them off, stood, gave me that beautiful, toothy smile she has as if it just didn't matter.

"When?" I asked.

"Whenever. Just let me know," came her response, sweet as a songbird. Then, she fluttered away, leaving me to stare at the crimson fibers on my palms.

I figured I'd do my due diligence. Maybe it was some kind of medical emergency, though I had no idea what could make me secrete red string. Still, I typed my "symptom" into Google. And the results produced absolutely nothing of relevance, to my dismay.

I finished up at the breakfast nook and came into the living room, where my girlfriend seemed to have been expecting me, with this almost, I dunno, giddy? Eager? Smile. Wider and more excited than usual.

"You're that excited to go hiking?" I asked.

And she giggled and chirped out, "I'm just really excited to show you this place. It's really neat, I think it'll help take your mind of things."

My eyebrow twitched up. "You've been before? When?"

She just shrugged and said, "Oh, a while ago."

I told her to let me think about it, and that I was going to go get some air. On the way out the door, I paused, and turned back to her.

Quite uncomfortably, I asked for the name of the lake. And she told me, cheerfully, its odd, almost nordic name. When I asked where it was, she seemed to dodge the question and said, "Oh, it's a little trail outside of town."

Baffled and disquieted, I thanked her and headed out.

I just kind of walked around that day. Something about her demeanor had shifted, this much was obvious. Usually, she was quiet, demure, and settled. This energetic glee radiating from her, I'd hardly seen it before. So I did the only thing I could think to do, and pulled out my phone to search for the lake. Once more, I had to brush off ever-multiplying crimson fibers from my sticky palms.

Before I even got to open my phone, I noticed that the threads were creeping up my arms. I spat out a panicked "Shit!" and shook them off as violently as my heart did beat. Breathing heavily, I whipped my phone up and punched into the name "Lake Aefinligr".

And I got a lake in Norway. We live in Colorado. There was no "Lake Aefinligr" in Colorado.

I went back home around mid-afternoon, only to find her getting our hiking items ready. Our poles, water, compasses, packs, all of it was in the car and ready to go. "Whoa," I said. "It's a little late to go hiking, don't you think?"

And she gave me this starry-eyed look. It was inky, and animalistic. "No, I think it's the perfect time. Come on, I'll show you where the trail is!"

I... I was stunned, honestly. And yet I could just feel that "no" would not be an adequate answer here. I stared at her, jaw agape, as she crawled into the driver's seat. I wanted to leave, to get the hell out of whatever this was. But I felt frozen. Stuck in the moment.

I don't know why, or what compelled me, but eventually I just quietly sat in the passenger's seat and stared emptily out the window as we departed.

I didn't register much of the drive. I do know the fibers were getting intolerably annoying, replenishing themselves within minutes of being brushed off. And they were getting irritating too, like insects crawling up and out of my skin. Like I was an anthill, and they were the ants. I started scratching myself, and it just made it worse. It started to burn.

"Don't do that," she said, giving me this wry, owl-esque cocked-head stare. Like she knew something I didn't. And I admit, I was too... scared to ask what the hell she meant, what she knew. I wanted to ask, before it was too late, but as we drove past the edge of town, I realized "too late" had come and gone. So I just pushed that dark, unsettling cold down and sunk into my seat.

The trail was fairly close by now. Out in the lush coniferous forests that ran up the mountainside, on an old dirt backroad just off the main highway, was a little pullout giving way to an unmarked trail. She parked here and, in a smooth and inhuman movement, turned her head to me with the biggest smile I'd ever seen on her lips. Huge. Hungry.

Unnatural.

My breath quickened, my palms grew clammy, the fibers sticking to me. "What... what is this?" I stammered.

Keeping that beautiful, frightening grin, she said in the most golden voice I've ever heard, "We're going hiking, silly."

I felt sick. Like I could launch my lunch at any moment. She scuttled out of the car in that just, animalistic way, hands pressed to the side as she ran around in glee to open my door. As it swung out, she dropped into this all-fours stance, dug her fingers into the pine-crusted dirt, and slowly stood tall, letting the dirt fall through her fingers and onto her face.

"You are freaking me the fuck out," I snapped. And usually, snapping at her, which is rare for us, is enough to make her *cry*. But she just smiled. And smiled. And smiled.

"Grab your hiking pole silly!" she said, dancing away.

"No!" I cried. "This ends now. I'm going home, and you can come with me or not, I don't care at this point. I need to get to a doctor, and so do you."

And her dancing stopped immediately. She spun on her heel, standing on but one leg, and leaned forward with a sly, starving smirk. "You always say something like that. It never works."

Ice. I felt ice, right through my heart, trickling down my veins to the pit of my stomach. I scowled and rushed to the driver's side, where I punched the ignition, determined to get the hell out. The car did not respond. I hit it again. And the car simply sat quietly as if it'd been told to do so.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her, leaning in with that, that look. "See?" she said.

I was sweating now, so badly it was getting in my eyes. And in the beads were little red threads. I wiped them away, smearing more from my palms on my face. My breathing grew shaky, and I just wanted to go home. I wanted to go home so badly. And like I said, it's like she can read my mind, like she's *in* my mind. I could feel her inside, reading, watching, poking, prodding, as she said, "We'll go home soon. But first we should go see the lake."

I let out the most pathetic, fearful whimper I've ever given. My knuckles were white around the steering wheel. My teeth clenched and ground to the point of squeaking. I even felt a tear leak out. I had never been so, so freaked in my life.

All the while, she was there, smiling at me, leaning in so close that I could smell her sweet breath.

Through quivering lips, I managed to push out, "You promise? You promise we'll go home...?"

And she leaned further in, so close I could almost hear her heartbeat. Both of them. And she said, "As always. If you come with me, I promise."

"Oh god," I whispered. And she did the weirdest thing now, leaning up to my cheek and licking away a tear as it crept down my face. This wasn't my girlfriend. Or maybe it was? Was or not, this was a predator. I've never felt like prey in my life before this, but now, I understood.

I took a deep, painful breath, licked my cracking lips, and nodded silently.

"Good," she whispered.

She took my hand and pulled me out of the car. Neglecting all of our supplies, she pulled me into the forest as the night began to fall. Not once did she let go of me, nor would she let me let go. Her grip was iron, forceful, and demanding. In a way, it brought me a sick sense of safety in those dark, moonlit woods.

If there were any other predators out here, I did not feel afraid of them. For there was a much more serious predator holding my mind, casting twisted smiles back at me, singing, chanting in a ghostly tune without a care in the world.

It took maybe fifteen minutes of walking before we hit the lake. Small, nestled in the pines, soaking up the reflected moonlight on its still, black waters, it felt profoundly out of place. Just laying eyes on it gave me this... this wrong feeling. A sensation of unbelonging. A rare emotion I'd never felt before that seemed to blend unease, familiarity, and fear and warmth, all at once. It was silent here. No insects. No bird. No wind. Just me, and her.

And the threads that fell off me like red snow.

Looking around, I saw something else. Two stones, sitting upright at the edge of the lake, uncannily prominent. My girlfriend skipped and danced over to them, motioning me to follow with elegant fingers.

And so I did.

The writing on the stones was runic and old. They'd had to have been there for quite some time, though one was far older than the other. In the pale moonlight, they seemed honorable, venerated, ghostly.

"What are these?" I asked in a whisper.

"These are for you," she said.

I paled. "What are you talking about?"

And she just tsked and said, "It's part of the deal."

I shot her a glare. "What deal?"

"The one you made the day you died, silly," she said. "You wanted to live. Forever, like me! Your thread is mine, will always *be* mine. And so it goes."

My heart dropped.

Before I could even ask what she meant, she grabbed my hand and held my palm out. There, dead center, was a small red thread that seemed to come from within my hand. It stuck up like a hair, waiting to be plucked. She pinched it with her forefinger and thumb, and to my horror, began to pull it out. Like sinew it came out, hot and stringy. It never stopped, never broke, just unspooled on and on and on.

And as it did, I felt weaker, more fragile. Hollow. Weightless. My breathing stopped. So did my heart. It was as though I'd lost the need for both. She pulled and pulled and pulled, dancing around the lake as she did so. The red thread danced with her, seeming to respond to her chanting, her glee. The longer it grew, the weaker I felt. And the more it unspooled, the larger the deer antlers on her head grew.

Soon they were massive and proud, strong and commanding. And woven between them like a spiders web was red, sinewy thread.

She danced around and around as I fell to my knees, the shore of the lake lapping at me lovingly, hungrily. She pulled, and pulled, and pulled, until I collapsed on the ground and stared emptily at the moon. My vision darkened, my emotions faded, and my senses dulled. Everything blackened. The sounds of her chanting, the light of the moon, the cold of the forest... all evaporated.

And the last thing I saw that night was her, standing over me, looking down with that wide, otherworldly smile, her massive antlers framing the moon perfectly. I wondered if I'd seen this before, twice now. If I'd see it a fourth time. And a fifth. I couldn't remember how I'd gotten here, or when. But I finally understood why. With a whispered thought, I called out to remember.

And I fell into the void.

I'm sure this all sounds insane, but I, at least, am pleased to say that I did wake up in my own bed the next morning. Beside me slept my girlfriend, unhorned and peaceful. It took me a second to register where I was, but when I did, I shot up, breathed heavily, and looked around as if I'd never seen my own room before.

She stirred at this, and sat up with a sleepy smile. A normal smile. And she said, "Babe? You okay?"

I just, stared at her. For the longest time, I just silently stared. She seemed uncomfortable, shrinking under my gaze.

"Babe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I lied. "Weird dreams, is all."

But that was a lie. I hadn't dreamt that night. And I knew that, that... whatever the hell that was at the lake? That was no dream. I don't think she thinks I remember. But I do.

The rest of the day was... normal. We got coffee. Talked. Cuddled at night. And the whole time I just, pretended to not know. Pushed it all away. I'm scared of her, of whatever she is. But I think I'm tied to her in ways I might never understand. She isn't human though, that's for sure.

That night, I had a dream I was at the lake again. Only, I was here alone. Wandering, remembering. And this time, there were three headstones. The oldest, the second, and... the new one.

After breakfast the next morning, I slipped away to the bathroom. There, I searched for the meaning of "æfinligr".

Turns out, it means: everlasting. Eternal.

I'll try and be as coherent as possible. My mind is a mess and I feel scattered more often than not now.

About a week ago, I was out for a hike in the woods. For context, I live in R̷̤͕̻̃a̵͓͒͌͜͠ț̶̨̧̑̎͠ơ̵̳͆ͅn̵̤͑, a small town in Northern New Mexico off of I-25. Nearby is a place called Sugarite Canyon, a beautiful state park of woodlands, riverlands, and wildlife. It's this deep green, lush valley of a canyon, and it's where I spend my weekends more often than not, hiking around. Usually I'm with people, but this time, stupidly, I was alone.

Bad choice when you decide to go off trail.

But that's what I did, heading into the woods with a compass and a pretty decent understanding of the area, which gave me the confidence to even do this in the first place. As I trekked through, I felt something etheric in the light. If you've ever been hiking through the quiet forest as the light filtering through the canopy gets like, golden, you'll know what I mean. It's fae-like, in like a fantasy sort of way. Beautiful and otherworldly. And I could just feel it, as if I'd stepped into a little pocket dimension of untouched nature.

Eventually, I guess I got far enough in that I was in the true wilds. I found this old cabin. The wooden logs were rotted out, and its roof had long ḏ̷͐e̷̩̍č̷͜ă̸̫ͅy̸͇̏e̶̞̒d̵͔͓̈́̊, leaving this empty four-walled room for me to explore. Naturally I did. I pushed through the overgrowth into the cabin, which was completely empty save for a collapsed desk on the far wall beneath an empty window.

And there on that desk, I found the journal. It's quite peculiar, honestly. Despite the condition of the place, the journal itself seemed untouched by time. The plain stained leather cover was bound by tan leather cord, and it's pages, which felt like cloth-paper, were completely empty. I assumed a previous explorer such as myself had forgotten his log here. Or something. For the life of me, I couldn't explain it.

And I flipped through every single page looking for something inside. But it was truly just blank. Neat find at least, and a cool story, so I picked it up off the desk. The moment it left the wood, a warm breeze rolled through the trees and into the cabin, and I'm sure this'll sound insane, but it felt like a whisper, or a sigh. Like... like the forest just breathed on me.

I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. I couldn't explain it if I tried, but I felt observed. Journal in hand, I skipped out of the cabin and resolved to just head home for the day. Took me a few hours, but I did eventually get out of that golden light and back to the trail. Getting home that night was the first time since the cabin that I felt, I dunno, safe.

After that I tossed my things down, showered, ate, and slumped on my bed with the journal. Something about it felt curious. Definitely out of place. So I opened it again, just to see if I'd missed anything, and right there on the first page, there was something! Not much, and maybe I'd just missed it, because it was small - but up in the upper right corner there was an ink upside-down triangle. Now, I swear I scoured this thing at the cabin, but at that point I was too tired to question it and just assumed I'd missed it. The rest of the journal was still empty anyway so I closed it and tried to get some sleep.

I had the weirdest dreams that night. I was back in the cabin, only it was nighttime. And again the wind hit me, breathed on me. I could hear it rustle the trees. The whole forest whispered at my presence.

That's all I remember from the night. But I woke up in a puddle of my own sweat, cold and clammy. I had to take another shower that morning. I should mention, I do have a roommate, and they saw me drenched and said something to the effect of, "Why do you look like shit? You okay?"

And I just, didn't know what to tell them other than that I'd had a rough night.

Well, I got out of the shower and changed my sheets, and my eye caught the journal again. Did I miss something else, I wondered. So I took it to our breakfast nook and cracked it open while I ate.

This time, on the front page, the triangle seemed larger. More prominent on the page. Maybe a trick of the eye, so I turned the page, and found writing. The ink was bronzed, old. But it was clear and legible, and fascinated - if a little freaked out - I read it.

There were three short sentences. The first spoke of the wind, almost poetically. The wind dancing, the trees singing, kind of thing, and it ended with the words, "You've taken me."

The second simply said, "I am Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹." I think that's a name.

And the third simply said, "Greetings." As if it was talking to me.

I'm not ashamed to say I slammed it closed. I *know* that writing wasn't there the day before. My roommate saw this and said, "Are you okay? The fuck was that?"

And I was just so shaken that I didn't say anything, and just stood and left. I mean, what was I supposed to say? Oh yeah, I'm fine, just being spoken to by a journal I found in the woods! Other than that, it's a fine Sunday!

Out on our balcony, I opened it again. On the next page, there were even more new words.

"Who are you?"

I was just, speechless. But maybe I'm also stupid, because I grabbed a pen on our balcony table and sincerely contemplated writing my name. I'm not sure what compelled me. Curiosity, bewilderment, I don't know. But that's exactly what I did. I wrote my name, and said, "Hello."

I stared down at the page as if it would change, but it didn’t. I let loose a small chuckle. Nerves, you know? And closed the book. And then it dawned on me.

I reopened the journal, and sure enough, there were new words.

It's nice to formally meet you.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I wrote, "Who are you?" And closed, and opened the book.

The new writing said, "I've already said, my name is Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹."

I thought for a minute, and wrote down, "Is this your journal?"

Closed it, opened it. Now it said: "Yes."

I could *not* believe I was talking to a... living book? I didn't know what to make of it. So I closed it and headed back inside, and went about my day. Coffee, college work, a little bit of video gaming, you know. Day to day stuff. I didn't open the journal again until that night when I'd crawled back into bed. Now, there was something new in the journal, on the next page.

Vertical, how do I put this. Runes? Had etched themselves down the entire page. Didn't look Nordic, which is what I think of when I think "runes". This was something else, something I had no experience with. And even looking at them upset me. I felt like they were reading me, not the other way around. Very odd feeling.

When I turned the page again, I saw, in English, "We're going to get along."

And I shuddered. I got this chill down my spine, gooseflesh on my arms, and an uneasy warmth in my gut. I figured I'd just go to bed and maybe get rid of the journal in the morning. But that night, I had that dream again, where I was in the decayed cabin in the woods at night, the wind murmuring in the trees.

Only this time, it sounded like it was actually saying something, or like, chanting. It was too rhythmic to be natural, that's for sure. And in this dream, I recall walking up the window over the desk and looking out at the dark forest, as if I was looking for something. It felt like something - someone - was out there. Waiting for me. Or waiting for something, at least.

Again, I awoke in a pool of my own sweat that I had to shower off.

I tried to go to class that day. Tried. I had to leave early because I just couldn't stop thinking about the journal. It was all I could focus on, all day, as I think anyone would if they found some magic journal in the woods. I ended up back at home around noon to open it again. New words had appeared.

I can hear your dreams.

I grabbed my pen and wrote: "What do you mean?"

Closed it, opened it, and read: You dream of the cabin, and the woods. Of the trees and the wind.

Another cold chill ran down my core like a lightning bolt. "How do you know that?" I wrote.

Close. Open. Only to see more verticle runes down the page in ancient ink. My breathing quickened to the point of me feeling lightheaded. I closed it, and opened it again, and on a new page were the words: Don't be afraid. Symbiosis is key.

"What does that mean?" I wrote.

And when I opened it again, I read the words, "Come to the cabin and find out."

My roommate knocked on my door just then and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "What?" I snapped.

And they opened the door with this shocked look and said, "Just checking on you, you don't usually skip class."

"I'm sorry - shit, sorry," I stuttered out. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and said, "I'm just not feeling well."

And they gave me a once over and said, "Yeah, I can tell. Just, let me know if you need anything."

"Sure, yeah, thanks," I forced out. And they left me alone.

I opened the journal again, just to see, and found more runes and words, which read, "I'll be waiting."

I started shaking now. I set the journal aside and curled up, staring off into space. Nothing made sense at this point. And so I pulled out my phone and googled the name Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, just to see. Nothing came up. So I googled "cabin in Sugarite Canyon," and just got a bunch of camping information. It felt like I was beating my head against a wall. So, in a last attempt, I searched up, "Empty journal found in Sugarite Canyon cabin off of trails."

And this time, I got a result.

A two year old forum post from a user named Raton_Baton, talking about almost exactly what I was going through. This person wrote out how they, like I, went off path in Sugarite Canyon and found the beat-up cabin with a journal in it. They too were overwhelmed with curiosity, and opened it only to find it empty. And like me, they felt the wind when they picked it up off of the desk.

When they opened it again, there was writing in it. Weird runes, a name they refused to write, and a "hello".

They went on to say that they had weird dreams starting that night. Dreams of the cabin, the woods, the wind, dreams they couldn't explain. And as time went on, the dreams got more vivid and intense, escalating from quiet winds in the cabin to storm winds that shook the walls. But what stood out to me was their draw to the window above the desk, which they said they always found themselves drawn to.

Like me, they began writing in the journal too. Talking to whatever it was that spoke to them. The user said the journal started calling them out to the cabin, telling them to be unafraid, talking about mutuality and symbiosis. And worse, they said they were getting weaker against the pull. That they were feeling increasingly drawn to the cabin.

They ended their post with the dream they had the night before. This time, the winds were so violent, the poster said he was sure the cabin would get swept away. Again, he was drawn to the window, where, this time, he saw a woman. A lady in white, he put it, her brilliant white dress whipping in the wind, her white hair covering her face. He said she was just staring at him, that she clearly knew he was there.

And when he woke up, he wrote the post, ending it by saying he'd be going to the cabin that day. That he couldn't resist anymore.

There were a couple of responses to his post. Some thought it was creepy fiction, others seemed concerned, but notably, he never commented again. No follow up posts, no responses, *nothing*. Now, R̷̤͕̻̃a̵͓͒͌͜͠ț̶̨̧̑̎͠ơ̵̳͆ͅn̵̤͑ is a small town. Everyone knows everyone, but I've only lived here for about a year and a half. So if someone went missing two years ago, I had no idea. Google fixed that.

A man had disappeared from Raton on the exact day that post was made by Raton_Baton. It wasn't hard to put two and two together. I put my phone down and hunted down my roomie, who'd lived here all her life. She was out on the patio smoking.

I asked her if she knew the man behind Raton_Baton.

And she gave me this puzzled look. "Yeah," she said. "He went missing in Sugarite Canyon like two years ago. Why?"

I chewed on my lip for a moment. "Did you ever speak to him before he disappeared?"

She shook her head. "Not really. He wasn't really social."

I nodded, thinking. Then, she added: "I do know he was acting pretty odd before he disappeared though. And when the cops searched his place they found writing on his walls."

"What kind?" I asked.

And she shrugged and said, "Like weird runes or something. Why?"

Shaking my head I simply said, "Guess I just... read something about him. Online. It was weird. I dunno."

And I slipped back inside before she could ask any more questions. I went back to my room and picked up the journal and a pen, opened it to a new page where new runes had formed, and wrote down, "What happened to the last person who found this journal?"

Closed it. Opened it.

New words. He came to the cabin, like you will.

I slammed the journal closed and started to cry. I was scared now. Shaking and sobbing and sick. That night, I hardly slept at all. But when I did, I dreamt.

There I was, in the cabin, the winds picking up with fervor. Alarmed, I tried to steel my nerves as yet again I was drawn to the window. Out in the shaking trees, the chanting grew louder, a crying whisper riding the coattails of the wind like a ghost. And this time, I could make out the words.

"Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, c̵͕͗̃o̷̖̐̀̔̾ͅm̵͉͑̑̈͗͝a̴̛͔͕̭̖̭̗͂̎͊̑̕d̸̡̳̥̗̖͛͑̅̉̚ͅö̸̻͓́̆͛̈̋͠n̶̨̬̦̺͖̍̀͆ ̸̗̩̰̰̞͖̊̑e̸̩̣̿̅̕m̶̧̹̗̻̻̦̾̔͛̄̊̓ ̴͔̒̽̾̚͝t̵͚́͜r̴̩̮̞͖̦̱͒̾̀̈͂͂ą̷͂ḡ̷̨̨̮̤̪̲e̴̡̘̽͋͑͛n̸̨̻̘̟̗̦͐̍."

Just, repeating.

"Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, c̵͕͗̃o̷̖̐̀̔̾ͅm̵͉͑̑̈͗͝a̴̛͔͕̭̖̭̗͂̎͊̑̕d̸̡̳̥̗̖͛͑̅̉̚ͅö̸̻͓́̆͛̈̋͠n̶̨̬̦̺͖̍̀͆ ̸̗̩̰̰̞͖̊̑e̸̩̣̿̅̕m̶̧̹̗̻̻̦̾̔͛̄̊̓ ̴͔̒̽̾̚͝t̵͚́͜r̴̩̮̞͖̦̱͒̾̀̈͂͂ą̷͂ḡ̷̨̨̮̤̪̲e̴̡̘̽͋͑͛n̸̨̻̘̟̗̦͐̍."

I gripped the windowsill and called into the forest, "What do you want from me‽"

And only got back: "Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, c̵͕͗̃o̷̖̐̀̔̾ͅm̵͉͑̑̈͗͝a̴̛͔͕̭̖̭̗͂̎͊̑̕d̸̡̳̥̗̖͛͑̅̉̚ͅö̸̻͓́̆͛̈̋͠n̶̨̬̦̺͖̍̀͆ ̸̗̩̰̰̞͖̊̑e̸̩̣̿̅̕m̶̧̹̗̻̻̦̾̔͛̄̊̓ ̴͔̒̽̾̚͝t̵͚́͜r̴̩̮̞͖̦̱͒̾̀̈͂͂ą̷͂ḡ̷̨̨̮̤̪̲e̴̡̘̽͋͑͛n̸̨̻̘̟̗̦͐̍."

I had no idea what any of this meant. Again I awoke in a pool of sweat. I immediately opened the journal and wrote these words down, asking what they meant. Closed it. Opened it. Read the response.

It is the call of the winds. They yearn.

"For what?" I asked.

Close. Open.

You.

Close. Open.

And you, for them.

And it was... true. I felt an urge, a calling back to the cabin. Some sucking force pulling my mind back to the dreams. And, I admit, a terrible curiosity. Despite my innate fear, the longing to return had taken root, just as it had for Raton_Baton.

I didn't open the journal for the rest of the week. But every night still, the dreams grew more vivid, the winds stronger, the chanting louder, the fear, more palpable. I began to sweat like a pig in my sheets. And then, two nights ago, I woke to something new.

That night, I'd dreamt of the cabin, as I'd expected. But this time, on the walls of the cabin, in the rattling, chanting wind, were those runes that kept appearing in the journal. They were scrawled, etched all over the rotted walls, unreadable to me but reading me all the same. And when I looked out of the window, I heard the cry of a coyote, mournful and longing. It was close. Too close for comfort.

And when I woke up, those same runes were all over *my* walls, my fingers stained with ink, my pen busted open on the floor. I screamed. I screamed so loud that my roommate came running, trying to open my door. I leaned on it to block her out. I couldn't let her see this, for a reason unknown to me. But then, I did know why, didn't I. The runes weren't for her; they were for me.

"Are you okay?" she called out.

And I said "Yep! Just a nightmare!"

"Well can I come in?"

My heart racing, I cooked up an excuse as fast as I could. "No, sorry!" I said. "I got sick in here, don't look! I'm okay though, I promise!"

That got her to relent. She made me promise I'd talk to someone if I wasn't feeling well, and I made that promise, knowing I couldn't keep it. I had other things to do. Other things on my mind. And when she finally walked away, I ran to the journal and opened it to read the new words.

Simply said: I shall see you soon.

I knew where this was headed, and yet I knew I could not stop it. As the runes stared down at me from my walls, I knew I'd already been seen, been touched. Escape wasn't an option, but neither was surrender. I knew one thing, and one thing only: this would only be resolved by going back to the cabin.

I spent all day in my room, staring at the symbols. Trying to decipher them, understand them the way they understood me. And the more I stared, the more they stared to make sense. They're not words, yet they contain a promise. Not letters, but ideas. Concepts. They're offers, to me. Of something I've yet to understand.

I didn't leave my room that day, not to eat or drink, save for one trip to the bathroom. When I saw myself in the mirror, I saw just how pale I was, with dark circles under my eyes and no color in my cheeks. I looked like I hadn't slept in over a week. And so that night, I resolved to try and get some actual rest by drinking myself to sleep with the vodka in my room. I got drunk, black out, hoping it would stave off the dream I knew was coming.

It did not.

That night, I was there in the cabin again, surrounded by watching runes, listening to the violent chanting in the angry winds. The cabin walls rattled and shook, the chanting speaking directly to me, the window calling me. In the distance, a coyote howled.

Again I allowed myself to be pulled to the window, and there, I saw her. Slender, beautiful, youthful and pale. In her simply hewn white dress, her white hair shrouding her face in the storm winds. Her dress whipped violently against her sculpted form, showing me every curve and angle like a funeral shroud might to a corpse. And she stared at me from behind that hair, watched me silently, the wind speaking on her behalf. Then, she moved, slowly and ghastly, silently forming an upside down triangle with her fingers.

In that moment, I felt it.

I felt her calling, knew her name.

Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹.

And in that moment, I knew I had lost the battle. I awoke this morning, dry and calm. Something had changed. I gathered my hiking supplies, took the journal, and without a word to my roommate, left.

I'm headed to the cabin now. I currently stand on the boundary of Sugarite Canyon, listening to the gentle breeze in the trees. Hearing the distant chanting. Feeling her presence. Once more I have opened the journal, finding one more upside down triangle, and the words, "Welcome home."

Indeed, I feel I am. This is where I must be, and what I must do. If you're reading this, know I am headed back to the cabin now. Know that I have found the truth. Know that I am with her.

Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹.

For I shall heed her call, as did the last. As will the next to find the journal.

"Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, Ḙ̷͌l̴̝̈i̴̯̕c̴̫̋ĩ̴̱ḓ̶͂ȁ̵̹, c̵͕͗̃o̷̖̐̀̔̾ͅm̵͉͑̑̈͗͝a̴̛͔͕̭̖̭̗͂̎͊̑̕d̸̡̳̥̗̖͛͑̅̉̚ͅö̸̻͓́̆͛̈̋͠n̶̨̬̦̺͖̍̀͆ ̸̗̩̰̰̞͖̊̑e̸̩̣̿̅̕m̶̧̹̗̻̻̦̾̔͛̄̊̓ ̴͔̒̽̾̚͝t̵͚́͜r̴̩̮̞͖̦̱͒̾̀̈͂͂ą̷͂ḡ̷̨̨̮̤̪̲e̴̡̘̽͋͑͛n̸̨̻̘̟̗̦͐̍."