r/Dreading

WE
WERE
ALL
WRONG

It took seven days. Nothing could explain what happened to us.

The sky did not change all at once.

At first, it was subtle enough to argue about. Sunsets became deeper. Reds lingered too long across the horizon, staining the clouds in violent ribbons.

Scientists flooded every platform they could still access with explanations, contradictions, frantic equations, and trembling reassurances. Dust in the atmosphere. Solar instability. Optical distortion. Instrument failure.

Then, gravity changed.

Not enough to sweep you into the sky... Not yet.

Just enough for everyone to notice. Coffee poured strangely. Steps felt wrong. Cars seemed lighter over bumps. Birds struggled against air currents that no longer behaved properly.

By the third day, satellites had failed, undersea cables were severed by inexplicable gravitational change, and we lost the ability to speak across the world about our doom.

The oceans had begun pulling strangely against the coasts, tides crashing with no rhythm humanity understood. Communication towers collapsed into silence one after another as electrical systems failed beneath stresses never meant to exist.

Even when they could speak, our world leaders had nothing to say.

On the cusp of the fourth day, we had seen night for the last time.

After sunset, the horizon did not fade. Furious red streams of light curled upward from every direction, painting the world in a dim crimson glow that never fully disappeared. We all knew, without speaking, that we were getting closer to this violent, angry star.

Morning came, night never truly returned. No one slept anymore. But none of it mattered anymore...

Everyone already knew.

The sun had darkened from gold to amber, from amber to crimson. We could look directly at it now without the sting of previous blinding light. It hung in the sky swollen and hateful, larger each morning. People stopped everything to stand and stare. They asked themselves: Why?

Strangely, there was very little violence.

No great upheavals of government. No nuclear fire. No violent warlords trying to take advantage of an already violent end. What was the point? Humanity stood together at the edge of extinction beneath a bleeding sky, and all the little things that once divided us suddenly looked microscopic against eternity.

Some of us knelt at every altar and sobbed. This was not the end that was promised to us... were we all wrong?

Families drove across entire states to sit together in silence. Old, bitter rivals met one another with shaking voices just to say they were sorry. Men who had not cried in decades collapsed into their mothers' arms like children. Scientists continued trying until the very end. The poor children.. they couldn't begin to understand what was about to happen.

None of them found an answer.

On the fifth day, Yellowstone suddenly heaved and the air itself burned away as the massive volcano erupted.

We should have known it wasn't going to happen like we expected. The earth split open across hundreds of miles. Entire forests vanished beneath waves of fire and pulverized stone. Ash clouds climbed into the atmosphere in rolling towers darker than thunderheads.

Yet, the strangest part was not the eruption itself. It was what happened after.

Millions stood watching beneath the broken sky as lava burst upward from this golden red wound... and kept going. The molten rock arced into the sky like glowing rivers torn free from Earth itself. Gravity no longer held it properly. Fire streamed upward in beautiful impossible ribbons, twisting into the atmosphere and beyond until it looked filled with burning veins stretching towards infinity.

Though thousands of miles away, we stood in silence watching the horizon glow orange against the blood-colored sky. No one spoke. Some fell to their knees. Others simply stared.

By the sixth day, we weighed almost nothing. Walking became difficult. A strong gust could lift a child from the ground if someone was not holding onto them. The atmosphere itself felt thinner. Breathing carried a strange sharpness that made lungs ache.

The moon drifted visibly across the sky one last time Too close. Far too close. We watched as it was inevitably pulled away from us, past the planet. We watched as it drifted off towards that angry, oscillating orb.

And then, the sun no longer looked like a sun. It resembled an eye. A vast red iris staring down upon us. Some wailed in terror. Others looked away and closed their eyes, hoping they would wake up from this terrible nightmare.

On the final day, Sarah sat wrapped in blankets beside her husband on the roof of their home. There was nowhere else left to go. Cities across the world had descended into chaos. Not from violence, but from collapse. Buildings shifted and began to crack at their foundation. Roads cracked apart like angry dark fissures. Fires burned unattended. Yet, beneath it all, there remained a terrible quiet.

Humanity thought they could exhaust themselves from fear. We weren't right about that, either.

The wind barely touched them now. The air itself seemed to be loosening from the planet. Sarah cried openly, her fingers dug tightly into her husband's shirt as though she could anchor both of them to the Earth by her love alone.

Beside her, he stared upward in silence. He looked calm. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. Just resigned. As though some hidden part of him had always suspected their universe would end this way. His jaw remained tight, his dark eyes hollow and opaque against the crimson light.

Outwardly, he had abandoned spirituality years ago. He accepted he couldn't know the unknown, and leaned on scientific theory to quiet that dark part of his mind. Reason become his answer to everything. Observable truths. Tangible laws. Measurable reality.

But now reality itself and everything he knew had broken.

And in the final moments, all the things he had buried came crawling back. Every cruelty. Every betrayal. Every moment he should have been kinder and chose not to be. The memories came fast near the end. Too fast.

Sarah pressed herself against him harder as the ground beneath the house began to shift. Above them the red sun pulsed unnaturally, dimming and brightening like a dying heart.

He realized this was the end foretold by all of humanity. We were right.

Then, suddenly, he sucked in a breath of thin air.

A broken sound escaped him.. the first true crack in the armor she had known for years.

His face collapsed into grief. Not fear for himself. Grief for her. He wrapped trembling arms around Sarah and buried his face against her shoulder as sobs finally overtook him.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered weakly. “My love... I'm sorry for everything.”

Sarah shook her head violently through tears, but he kept speaking.

“I hope we see each other again.”

She wanted to answer him. She wanted to say something comforting. Something certain. They had found each other and Sarah had never believed in souls or heaven or eternity. She believed in matter. Physics. The cold certainty of science. And, of course, deep, enduring love for the people close to her.

Science, reason, spirituality, religion, all just seemed wrong now. We were fools to think we were our own masters.

Then the sun vanished.

Not exploded. Not collapsed.

Vanished.

Light disappeared instantly as the star, within a single instant, went black. A perfect sphere of darkness replaced it, surrounded by warped halos of bent starlight that twisted the heavens into impossible shapes. For one frozen heartbeat, humanity stared upward together in absolute disbelief.

Then, we were lifted gently from our feet.

The atmosphere tore from Earth in vast streaming waves, roaring upward into the void. Oceans lifted from their shores. Mountains began to groan beneath stresses they were never meant to endure. The planet itself began to rise toward the terrible black eye hanging in the sky.

We looked down and saw the world come apart beneath us. We looked upon our loved ones we still held close. With our atmosphere gone, we looked about ourselves, unable to speak.

We were still afraid, but it somehow wasn't a terrible disquiet.

Sarah clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably at first. She expected agony. Expected her lungs to rupture and her flesh to boil beneath forces beyond comprehension.

Instead, there was only weightlessness.

Silence.

The Earth unraveled around them as continents split into glowing rivers of magma and stone, all of it spiraling toward the massive thing now above us. The only light with which we could see was from the desiccating planet itself. Around the black hole formed from our sun, reality itself bent into a soft red and yellow color and distorted ribbons of light. Stars stretched across the void like painted brushstrokes smeared across glass.

Then they crossed the event horizon. An absurd thought about spaghettification crossed her mind.. which startled her as she suddenly realized she was not dead.

Nothing happened.

No tearing flesh. No fire. No screaming torment.

Only light.

The darkness opened around them not as a void, but as something vast beyond understanding. Colors Sarah had no words for unfolded in geometric patterns that stretched infinitely in every direction, shifting like a living kaleidoscope across the fabric of existence itself.

Time no longer felt real. Neither did fear.

Beside her, her husband wept quietly, not from terror, but from awe.

Sarah stared forward, her entire understanding of the universe collapsing into something far larger than science, faith, or human language could ever contain.

At the very end, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she gazed upon the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

The one thing no one wants to talk about, is how good Long Pig actually tastes. 

It’s sweet, and when cooked just right, is like the best pork belly you’ve ever had. 

I didn’t want to eat it, well, not at first. 

Okay maybe a little. 

Biting wind and a lack of food will do that to you. Granted I took to it a little faster than everyone else, but hey, I’m a survivor what can I say.

Joel was first. I mean he was my first entree of the alps but also the first in the group to not make it. He just didn’t wake up one day. *Lucky me*. 

That’s what I thought. Here I was with pain in my stomach and sunken cheeks, and an option had just been dropped into my lap. I mean that literally. He fell at some point during the night while sleeping next to me. Actually landed in my lap. 

It didn't take long to put two and two together. *I’m hungry*. He’s not. 

The others resisted at first but I am a good chef. The smell of pork filled the fuselage. They caved pretty quick. 

One by one others started to fall out. I treated them all with respect by cooking them just right. The cold kept the meat in perfect condition as I rationed it out. 

When everyone seemed to be on the up and up, with strength to spare, I gave them a little push. 

I wanted to get out of here too, but it’s hard to quit a good thing. I had so many other things to try, and, the less people, the more cuts I could experiment with and eat myself. 

The last couple of flight mates started to get wise, *I think,* to me helping a few of the others slip away to sleep, but when you're the chef you get a little leniency. 

Too bad for them, I wasn’t just a good cook. I was smart too. I knew the right way to hit that mountain to not kill everyone on board. I’d been a pilot for years. 

I had a craving and I’m not ashamed to admit, I also had poor impulse control. Funny they never thought I had *planned it.*

Once I picked the last meat off of Robby, I packed up, and hid evidence of the crash site. Not perfectly, just enough to make it hard to find. 

I hiked for a while, I had a full stomach after all. I had been eating good. I pulled out the satellite phone I had hidden away and made the call. No one ever did find the plane. Of course I didn’t admit to eating anyone but I think the rescue team could tell I looked a little too good for how long I had been out here. 

It was an eye opening experience. I really learned my passion on that trip. Matter of fact, I’m opening up a restaurant soon. Advertising it as *locally sourced meat.* 

I rushed back into the house, hoping that Margaret was fine.
The only noise in the house was the teapot.

I entered the kitchen and almost screamed in Margaret's face.
"MARGARET! WHAT HAPPENED?! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!"

She slowly turned to look me in the eyes. I’d never seen someone look that empty.
Her eyes were so full of tears I could barely see her pupils.
She stood there frozen, right beside a broken cup, arms wide open as if she was trying to cover her face, but she just couldn't move.

"I'm so sorry Margaret, I'll send someone to come get Buddy, I don't want you to see him like that."

As if she was a painting, she just looked back at me.

My radio crackled.
"Chief, you there? Warren said there's something you need to see up at the crater. He sounded pretty worried."

The radio crackled again.

Margaret finally blinked.

"Go". I went. I left her there. Alone.

I got back in the car and went back where all started.

The area was completely blocked off by the local firefighters and the volunteers.
They moved the roadblocks as they saw my car coming, and Warren waved at me from afar.
I got off the car and reached him.

"Chief I... I..." he kept stuttering, I've never seen him like this.
"Get ahold of yourself Warren, why did you ask for me to come here?"
"Sorry, I'll just show you."

He stopped talking completely and I followed him as he brought me to a part of the woods near the crater.

"Something happened here. It looks like a trail of some kind." His voice shivered on every word.
"What kind of trail?"
"Death. Everything's dead. Plants. Animals. All dead and..." A pause. "Wrong."
"Show me."

We entered the forest.
I could feel the dead and grass crunching under my steps. The trees were completely leafless and gray. The trail kept changing directions, I couldn't see a pattern in it.
Then animal corpses started to appear, everywhere around the trail, not just where the dead grass was, but everywhere around it too.

"They're just like the dogs." I murmured to myself.
"What dogs, chief?"
"Mr. Harris and Margaret's. I just saw them, and they were in the same conditions as these animals. The eyes as pale as ash and torn out of their skulls."
"What the hell is going on chief? Is this some kind of chemical spill or weapon?!"
"I don't know, but let's try to keep this as quiet as possible, the only thing missing now is mass hysteria."

Warren looked ready to fall apart.
I needed him away from the trail.

"Listen Warren, I'll keep searching the area for a bit. Do me a favor and call Melanie, ask her what Barrett and Pike found. Then come report me what she tells you."
"You got it man, I'll go call her right away".

As he got back to the road I started to search for something new.
All looked the same. Just... Dead.

Until trees began to bend out of the way of the trail and ground flattened beneath my feet.
That's when I found it.

Just at eye level.
Its wings completely open.
Stuck in place.
Unable to move.

A small blue bird trapped in the middle of the air.
Like it was carved into stone.

I tried to touch it and it was cold.
It looked like it had been hanging there for hours.

I tried to move it but it wouldn't budge. It didn’t move at all.
Like the air itself was holding it there.

Everything around that bird still sounded normal.
Warren shouting somewhere near the road.
Dead leaves and grass crunching under my boots.
Water splashing in the distance.

But that thing stayed there like the world had forgotten it was supposed to fall.
And not even the wind would move its feathers.

I turned towards the road and yelled for Warren.
"WARREN! WARREN! COME I FOUND SOMETHING!"

Just as I turned back to face the bird, it fell to the ground.

"What did you find chief?"
"This... What?"
"You okay there?"
"I haven't gone this long without a drink in years. I think I'm seeing things."
"Okay... Well I heard back from Melanie and the guys. She said they're at the house of the young kid we found. And..."
"And what? Did they find anything?"
"The mother said that she last saw him with Jeremy Tom. I think you should go there."

I ran to my car and drove to Tyler's house as fast as I could.

I knocked on the door and Pike let me in.

"Good evening Ms. I heard you last saw Tyler with my son."
"Talk to me like a human being Tom, if I hear you call me Ms. one more time I'll send you beside my son." She said, her eyes were filled with rage and fear.

"I'm sorry Catherine. Truly I am. But I haven't heard from Jeremy since yesterday, and I'm really scared something might have happened to him. Do you have some idea of where they were headed?"
"They always hang out in the old house by the liquor store."
"You mean the Kennedys' house?"
"Yeah, exactly."
"Thank you so much and Cath, I promise you, I'll find out what happened."

As we walked away we could hear her cries.

Barrett and Pike followed me to the house.

"What would they even be doing out here?" Pike asked.
"Probably drinking and smoking, we're right by the Jefferson's store" Barrett answered.
"You two shut up and help me search the place." I told them.

The house had been abandoned for at least 15 years now, the Kennedys were forced to leave after the accident at the mill.
The wood floor was crooked, there were more windows than walls.

The stink of mud and bird shit filled the area. But I could still feel that constant old coin smell that seemed to follow me everywhere I went.

"Search everywhere, if you see something out of place, shout."

I started from the first floor, Pike searched the perimeter and Barrett went upstairs.

It didn't seem like anyone had been there for a long time, dust covered everything everywhere,
But that smell. I knew we would have found something.

"Chief! Pike! Come! There's something here!" Barrett screamed.

We rushed up the stairs. Barrett was pointing with his flashlight at a sealed bottle placed perfectly on a shelf in the hallway.

I recognized it immediately, it wasn't a random bottle. It was whiskey, my whiskey.

"I have to call my wife." I said to the two while my heart started to pump like a drum.
"Why? What's with the bottle?" Pike asked, confused.
"That's my whiskey, it disappeared from my kitchen this afternoon. Keep searching, but be ready for trouble."

I rushed outside and called my wife.
"Are you home?" I asked. My voice barely sounded like mine.
"Yes, why?"
"Go to your car. NOW!"
"Why? What’s going on?!” Her voice cracked immediately.
"Just go!"

A few minutes passed.

"Okay I'm in the car. What's going on? Where do I have to go?!"
"Just stay put for a moment, don't go back in, the house isn't safe."
"Why? Did someone threaten you?!"
"No... but are you sure Jeremy hasn't been home all day?"
"Yes, I told you, you were the only one coming and going all day."
"Tell me each time you saw me or heard me come or go."
"Let's see... You left for the crater, came back, then you went to the hospital, but you must have forgotten something and came back just a few minutes later, and left before I could see you. Last time I saw you or heard you it was when Monica came."

"When I left for the hospital... I didn't come back in."

Silence.

I could hear her breath through the phone. Mine too.

And for the first time since Mercer Ridge, I wasn't sure if I was the one in control.

Hi, I'm the creator of Project Humanvora, an analog horror series that takes place in a small town in Pennsylvania with a monstrous secret.

This series currently has three episodes out with more to come. It is a passion project of mine that my crew and I spent a lot of time and effort into creating it. For example, the third episode took over half a year to make! So, I would greatly appreciated it if you all check out the series on YouTube.

Link: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLaz4eWXA7Il-dGgXjElCcU4-aCUIXORL3

Hello, I’m challenging myself to come up with horror stories based on YOUR guys ideas.

This story is true. Or, at least I think it is. I still wake in a cold sweat sometimes, the memory clawing at me, and my heart aching for it to have been a dream. I've gone over it a thousand times, combing over every second meticulously. Every mundane detail is burned into my mind, easier to recall than my own name or birthday.

March 17th, 2022. A Thursday. I could never forget that date, not after how many times I confirmed it was the correct date. Just a day, like any other at first. Still, I catch myself agonizing over what we ate, hoping to remember the milk smelling off, a strange color in the eggs. Maybe the bread was moldy, or the chicken tasted funny, but no. There had been nothing wrong with the food; I can't blame this on some illness.

My husband, Ben, was off work that day as usual, and I had planned to go grocery shopping. Normally, my husband and our eighteen month old son, Cole, would stay home for bonding time, and I would enjoy a rare mental break from stay-at-home motherhood. But, as I was getting ready to leave, this sense of unease settled deep in my bones.

I lingered, pacing around the house as the boys played in the backyard. I could hear Cole’s laughter as I checked the fridge, going over my grocery list. I checked the bathroom; maybe we needed soap or toilet paper. I checked the basket of mail, but found no unpaid bills waiting. I looked out the window to see Ben rolling the soccer ball to Cole. His little foot kicked as hard as he could, landing a blow that sent the ball about a foot back towards Ben.

As Cole cheered his success, I saw Ben's face had fallen once Cole was no longer paying attention to him. His eyes darted around the yard, almost nervously.

Ben doesn't get nervous, I think as fear spiked in my gut. I crossed the kitchen and almost dove out the back door. Ben's head snapped in my direction, and the look of relief on his face gave me pause. I didn't have to tell him the shopping was off. He didn't have to tell me he knew. The primal instinct screaming at us both was saying don't leave the house, wait for tomorrow.

Neither of us was willing to ignore it.

“Go take a nap, Lilly,” Ben said, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

But he tucked me under his arm protectively, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. I wrapped my arms around his waist as we watched Cole kicking his ball around the yard. A nap was usually at the top of my ‘I want’ list, but now the idea was unfathomable.

“Maybe I'll get ahead on some chores…” I said after a few minutes. Neither of us loosened our grip.

“Mommy, look! Look,” Cole called in his adorable baby babble, excitedly running over with his ball. “I kick!”

He dropped the ball and reached out to me, wanting up. When I lifted him into my arms, it was like a balm to a painful wound. He seemed unaffected, but in a cuddlier mood than usual. Ben placed a hand on Cole's back, and we stood together like that for a good long time.

Standing in the warm sunlight, trying to convince myself everything was fine, I thought I could see something wrong in the sky. Or maybe it was the air. A sound? A distant hum? I could never pin down where the wild feeling of wrong came from. The more I thought about it, the more it evaded me, until I was no longer sure I had ever been aware of it.

When Ben ushered us all inside, Cole didn't even complain; unusual for him. The boy was content to lay his cheek on my shoulder and stare at his father. Ben and I were in agreement, we would stay inside for the rest of the day.

By dinner, we had both convinced ourselves we were crazy. Surely we had changed our plans for nothing. But, when bedtime came, I nearly had a panic attack at the mere thought of putting Cole down in his room. Too far away. I realized, as I rocked him in my arms, clinging to him as if for dear life, that Ben and I hadn't let him out of our sight all day.

We rearranged our blankets and pillows and told Cole it was a sleepover. Normally, Ben and I went to bed a few hours after Cole, but once he was asleep, nestled tight between us, I couldn't imagine moving.

“What's gotten into us?” I whispered to Ben.

He shook his head, and didn't answer. I knew him too well to buy the calm expression on his face. His unease disturbed me more than anything that day. I'd watched this man unflinching while staring down the barrel of a gun held by a mugger. Another time, he'd scared off a bear that crossed the hiking trail we were on– a laugh his only reaction. Even when I was rushed into emergency surgery to deliver our boy, he'd looked me in the eyes and convinced me everything would be okay.

And now my rock was wobbling under my feet.

Eventually, we fell asleep, fingers laced together above Cole's head. My sleep, while it lasted, was dreamless.

When I opened my eyes, unexplained terror washed over me. The hallway light was off, and at first I thought Ben had done it. The room was still bright enough to see by, the full moon shining in through the windows. A thin, cold shaft of moonlight lay across Cole, leeching the color from him.

We're in danger, a little voice in the back of my head warned. The thought caught me off guard. That was the first time I had realized we were hiding. All day, we had been hiding, and we had been safe.

Until now.

Ben's eyes snapped open just as the back of my neck prickled. You always know when you're being watched, and clearly Ben felt it too. He silently raised himself up, crossing a finger over his lips unnecessarily. I doubt I could have made a sound if I wanted to. Ben pointed to the door, and we both flinched when the floor creaked as he crossed the room.

I slip out of bed, paranoia demanding I check the bathroom. Cole didn't stir at the clipped cry when I stubbed my toe, his face still a peaceful mask of sleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Taking my eyes from him felt wrong, dangerous, but I had to check. The bathroom was connected to our bedroom, mere steps from Cole.

I flipped the light switch. Nothing. Ice prickled down my spine, and goosebumps rose on my arms despite the fact it was a warm night for March. Ben's phone, plugged in on the bathroom counter, lit up with a notification. I snatched it up, ignoring the notification, and turned the flashlight on.

The bathroom was clear. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I returned to the bedroom, hoping to sleep it off, telling myself it was nothing.

Ben returned, my phone in his hand. He must have grabbed it from the kitchen, needing the flashlight as I had. I laughed quietly to myself, switching off Ben's light and handing the phone back.

“Look at your notifications,” Ben said, unamused as we swapped devices. He unlocked and then held up his phone so I could see.

The homescreen was taken up completely by an amber alert-

No. Not an amber alert. The little red triangle with an exclamation point in the center flashed above large, bold letters.

WARNING:

UNIDENTIFIED PHENOMENON

REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

When I opened my own phone, there was the same message.

“It won't go away,” Ben says, but there's no surprise in his voice.

I spent a few seconds trying to clear my screen, but other than accessing the lock screen drop-down, my phone was a brick. Even the emergency call feature was inaccessible.

“I've never seen anything like this,” Ben said, his jaw tight. He slapped the phone facedown on the nightstand like it had offended him. It was clear he wanted nothing to do with the alerts. “The power is out. All the doors and windows are locked. House is clear. Let's just try to get back to sleep, I guess. Nothing to be done about it in the middle of the night.”

I nodded, putting my phone down, and sliding back under the covers. Just as Ben settled down with us, the night air exploded.

Lightning struck, so close the flash was synched with the boom of thunder. The white-hot light illuminated the window more brightly than the sun. Then again and again, making the house rattle with the cacophony of sudden, intense wind and rain. The sound was so loud, and the rain so heavy I thought the roof might cave in. I jumped from the bed again, no longer needing a flashlight from the constant barrage of lightning, and started pulling on my clothes and shoes. Ben followed suit.

I don't know why, but I was certain we would wind up outside. My mind raced, trying to remember where the tornado shelter was, and wondering if we would have time to get there.

I really, really wish it had been a tornado.

Just as I turned to the baby, his back arched off the bed, and he screamed. Like nothing I have ever heard from a child. My heart stopped as I scooped him up, the sound of his cries so loud and shrill I thought he might burst all our eardrums.

At last, Cole's eyes open, and his screaming slowed to a stop. I held him tight to my chest, whispering nonsense in his ear. He clung to me, whimpering, and gasping as Ben slipped tiny shoes on precious feet. My ears rang with the sudden silence.

Silence?

The house still shook, the lightning continued, but the sound was gone. When I turned to Ben, my voice made no sound. He called my name. Nothing.

Boom. Boom. BOOM!

I froze. Someone was pounding on the front door. Ben shakes his head at me.

“Do not answer,” he mouths, fear etched clearly on his face.

Another round of pounding shook the foundations. Who would be out there in the storm? I couldn't make myself believe it was just some unlucky person who got caught in an unexpected thunderstorm. I remember feeling silly, because I was sure it wasn't human.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sound came from the back door now. I huddled close to Ben, frozen in terror, and at a loss as to what to do.

UNIDENTIFIED PHENOMENON. The words flashed in my mind over, and over. What kind of alert was that? Is this some sick joke? Is this a dream?

But I had stubbed my toe on the bed frame just minutes ago, and the throbbing ache was enough to tell me this was no dream. I remembered this feeling when my father died, a desperation to wake from a nightmare that was real. And again with the loss of our first pregnancy. This was the same feeling; my mind unable to grasp the reality right in front of me.

Then the windows rattled, and the pounding was all around the house. The front door, the back, at every window. Surely the glass would break, the doors would splinter.

How could our voices– the storm– make no noise? Why could we hear the pounding? I didn't want to accept the answer my mind provided; so you know it's there.

Ben caught my attention, and spoke. No sound, but he mouthed the words as clearly as he could. “Stay here, I'll check it out.”

My heart galloped into a frenzy as he pulled his glock from the drawer, and slipped his hunting rifle off the hooks over the bed. He slung the rifle’s strap across his shoulder, and stalked to the door, his back ramrod straight, and his teeth clenched tight.

Just as he stepped into the hallway–

CRASH!

The bedroom window exploded inwards, glass flying across the room. I spin, curling my body over the baby, and feeling glass pelting my back as it rains like confetti across the floor and bed.

The scream in my throat is silent as wind and rain invade the room. Yet still, the only sound was the pounding on the doors and remaining windows. Ben was back in a flash, shoving me behind him as he raised the handgun to aim at the window.

Curling, black smoke drifted in, unbothered by the wild gusts ripping at my hair. The space around the window warped, almost like my eyes were a glitching camera melding two images together. The night beyond the window changed as the smoke pulled itself inside. Gone were the familiar trees, gone was the rain and wind.

When my eyes dart around, the bedroom is gone too. Sound slams back into my ears as I look down at the metal grate beneath my feet.

Ben fires the gun, and my head jerks up. I press Cole's ear into my chest and cover his other with my hand, watching in horror as Ben fires again.

The thing in front of us hisses, the black smoke whirling around the holes left by the bullets. It was unharmed, and solidifying. The shape of it twisted and jerked from one form to another, and looking at it made my head spin. It was like trying to look at an optical illusion, or trace a single cord through a tangle of wires. It was nothing. It was everything.

Cole began screaming again, his terrified eyes locked on the thing ahead.

“Da-da!” he wailed miserably, struggling in my arms.

I could relate. As nonsensical as it sounded, all I wanted was to cower in Ben's embrace. My fear-shattered mind didn't want to accept that he couldn't protect us from… whatever this was. No human could.

The thing was huge, at least fifteen feet high. It had too many legs, too many arms, but its shape kept changing and I couldn't count them.

Ben fired again. This time the bullet struck something solid with a sick, wet thwack. He emptied the rest of the magazine in a frantic roar, but each hole simply sealed itself. Flesh knit over smoke, smoke bled into flesh. The wounds were gone before the brass even hit the metal grate beneath our feet.

It took a step forward, outstretching a mangled hand. Or was it a tentacle? A snakelike tongue darts out, twitching as it tastes the air in our direction. With the next blink it's like some giant bee probing a flower with a deformed and rotting proboscis. 

I pressed my back against the wall as Ben hurled the gun at the creature. It slammed into the torso with a crackling thunk, disappearing into a fleshy, smokey hole before that, too, was covered over. Ben pulled the rifle and began firing into bottomless eye sockets.

That seemed to make it angry. The metal grate shook under us as it took another, more deliberately menacing step forward.

Click.

Out of ammo.

Ben spun around wildly, reaching for where the shelf would have been with another magazine. I don't think he realized our house was gone– or we were gone from the house?

His wide eyes met mine as he dropped the rifle. It rattled as it caught on the sling wrapped around his body, and hung uselessly at his side. Maybe we could use it as a club.

“Run!” he screamed at me. “Lilly, run, don't stop for anything.” He wrapped his big hand around my arm and hauled me forward when I couldn't make my feet work fast enough for him.

The pounding of metal filled my ears along with the pounding of my heart. The thing behind us hissed again. Different this time. Closer to words. I almost gagged at the sound of it, as if the sound itself were some germ to be avoided.

Ben picked up the pace, faster than I've ever run in my life. If I was winded, or in pain, or tired, I didn't notice it. My only focus was holding Cole to my chest as securely as I could without hurting him.

Cole had gone silent, and his wide-eyed panic hurt me to my soul. I had failed him. I couldn't protect him.

I almost tripped and fell when the ground shifted under my feet. Only Ben kept me upright as metal turned to wet grass.

“Wait,” Ben whispered, looking around in the dark.

The churr of… crickets and frogs? The sound rose off in the distance. The full moon was gone, but there was still enough light to see that something wasn’t right.

“Wrong way,” I whispered to Ben and felt a lead weight settle into my gut.

An endless, uniform plain stretched out before us, and I knew, knew as surely as I knew I would fall to my death if I jumped from a cliff, that something much worse waited somewhere in this void. There was nothing to be found. Nothing but unreal grass, and a facsimile of nature sounds. A trap.

Fog began to surround us.

Ben spun us around, and after only a few steps, we were back where we started.

The metal clanged under our feet as we barreled out of the fog, gasping for breath. I couldn't see the thing, the only light was a dim red glow that didn’t seem to have a source.

But I could feel the monster watching.

“Put the child down.”

I almost wet myself at the voice. Slithering, putrid, hateful. I clutch Cole tighter.

“The child must walk.”

“Lilly,” Ben whispered, his voice shaking. “Do it. Look at him.”

I glanced down at Cole and cried out in terror. His face was scrunched in pain, clearly gasping for air he couldn't get. The thing was punishing Cole for my disobedience.

Against every instinct in my body, I move to follow instructions.

The moment I let his feet touch the ground, he sucked in a lungful and began to cry again.

Bitter relief coated my tongue as I bent down to soothe him. It was not long lasting.

When the voice spoke again, my heart stopped, turning to a block of ice in my chest. It… sounded like Cole. A demented, evil version of his baby babble.

“Let go of his hand. All walk of their own accord. Do not touch one another.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. Ben looks sick, his face bloodless, his eyes almost lifeless. He nods at me, and I let Cole go.

“Follow Mommy closely, okay bud,” Ben says in a monotone. “It's going to be ok.”

I had never heard such a bold lie from my husband. The look on Cole's face told me he heard the falsehood as well.

The creature shimmers into existence, long limbs slithering around us like a fleshy, amorphous cage. The sound of it moving, like a squirming mass of insects, was almost as sickening as the putrid smell rolling off it.

“Follow mommy closely,” it said, mimicking Ben's voice this time.

Ben motioned for me to go first, and as much as I didn't want to take the lead, I knew he was right. Cole would try to cling to me, and we could keep him between us easier with Ben at the rear.

The monster marched us for a long time. Sometimes we walked through metal halls, sometimes through formless voids where nothing but the creature seemed to exist. Sometimes the floor turned to carpet, and the walls to tightly packed trees.

I felt that every step brought us closer to the grave.

Then I heard the screaming. Countless voices twisted in agony, echoing off the metal walls. My breathing was coming in ragged pants, and only Ben's voice from behind kept me going.

“Doing great, bud,” he said, still in that dead monotone. “I know, I don't like it either. Just follow Mommy. Yes, just like that.”

I couldn't bear to turn and face Cole's cries. I wouldn't be able to stop myself scooping up his pitiful form. I wasn't willing to find out what price I would pay for disobeying.

“Home,” Cole cried over and over. It was the only coherent word he could get out.

“I know, my sweet angel, I want to go home too,” I told him, and had to dig my nails into my arms to hold back the instinct to snatch him up. “Jesus, help us.”

The creature howled in rage. “Silence!”

Cole's voice again, and as twisted as it was, hearing rage in a baby’s voice chilled me to my toes. My step faltered, and I almost couldn't continue.

The screaming got louder. I heard women begging for children, men howling in anger, children's terrified sobs.

The creature stopped, unfurling its tentacle limbs from around us, and I could see the mass of people.

And more of the giant abominations.

The place looked… oddly familiar, like I had seen it before. But as I looked harder, I realized why; it was a livestock pen. Or something close to it.

A maze of fencing snaked through the place, guiding people as they filed through, like a line of sheep to slaughter. Oh, God, that's what we are, aren't we? Food for these creatures? I thought to myself.

I had never prayed before, but I did then. The monster ushered us through the gate with a guttural hiss, and grew angrier. My silent plea for whatever power could be out there became more desperate as its limbs flailed about in agitation.

“Move faster,” it said, almost unintelligible now, as if it couldn't be bothered to keep up the mimicry. My skin crawled.

I chanced a glance back at Cole, and the look on his face shattered my racing heart. His face was pale, his eyes were wide and glassy, continuous tears streamed down his little cheeks, and his crying had faded to a whimper I couldn't hear over the noise. He had never looked so frail, so delicate. Not even as a newborn. He chased after me, his wobbling legs stiff and jerky with fear.

Please, I begged, please help him, God. Please.

If these things could be real, if this place could be real, maybe that meant God could be real, right?

I couldn't make myself believe it.

I caught a glimpse of Ben, shuffling forward like a zombie. A helpless, hopeless feeling engulfed me, and yet I prayed. There was nothing else to do.

“Keep moving,” one of the monsters said, the sound of it clawing my ears painfully. The angry, contemptuous voice echoed through my skull, rattling around like chains beating on the metal floor.

I faced forward, and made myself walk on. My body became more numb with every inch of progress. I watched the people in front of me, crying, screaming, begging.

A child across the room, maybe seven at the most, fell over and her mother leapt to pull her up. The child screamed a wild cry before the sound choked off. One of the creatures swooped in to grab the child and her mother, one long arm grabbing them both in one hand. As they began to disappear into the smoking, shifting flesh, I looked away.

I couldn’t escape their screams.

The man ahead of me looked back— glossy black skin covered in mud and grime, like maybe he had tried to run too and had fallen face first in the grassy void— and for the first time I noticed the clothing of the people around me. The man ahead wore a brightly colored outfit that made me think of an African tribe.

Another woman wore a floor length dress that must be Mexican. A woman with rollers in her hair, and cartoonish bunny slippers. A man in a business suit, sans jacket. Snow gear on one family, beach attire on another.

Whatever this place was, it was pulling people from all over the world.

“No bud, follow Momma,” Ben’s desperate voice calls, fear raising his voice an octave above normal.

I spin around, walking backwards as best as I can. Cole is trying to walk back to Ben, his tiny arms thrust straight up. 

“Dada, up,” Cole whines. He danced from foot to foot, and then stepped towards Ben again.

Every fiber of my being screams at me to hold him. To grab him and run, and run, and run.

“Baby, no, we have to walk,” I pleaded, my voice cracked and strained from the lump of sorrow in my throat.

Cole looks back at me, and runs, full speed at my legs. I shuffle back as fast as I can, almost colliding with the man in front of me.

“No, no, baby, we have to walk. I can’t hold your hands. Please Cole, please walk. I think we're almost there.”

With a resigned wail, Cole follows instructions. My heart will surely give out before we get to the end of this maze.

“Please, God, help us. Save him,” I whisper to myself.

The screech of rage is deafening. Everyone froze, and Ben and I stared at each other in wide eyed shock. Cole covered his ears, his face screwed up in horror. I wanted nothing so badly as I wanted to comfort him.

The monsters crowded in, banging on the fence, their bodies twitching and limbs bending in unnatural angles.

“SILENCE!”

The word is nothing more than a shadow of speech, garbled with rage.

“Keep moving!”

With my heart in my throat, I started moving with the line. Cole toddled along as instructed. He had always been such a good child, eager to please. It made me sick to see his desire to follow Mom and Dad’s instruction taken advantage of so horrifically.

The smell hit me then. Burning, rotting, sulphurous. The stench made me gag, and for a moment I could think of nothing else.

We were close to the end of the line now. The tang of blood grew stronger with every step, until it overpowered everything else. What waited at the end? A slaughter chute? A torture chamber? The screaming got louder, each unique voice coming to an abrupt halt after an agonizingly long second.

I could see, then, how wrong I’d been. The truth drifted in slowly, almost as horrifying as these monsters. These things had lied. They had planted the idea in our heads that fleeing was dangerous, and we had sat at home, waiting for them. Even back in the grassy void, these things had somehow whispered into my mind that it was wrong, that whatever was out there was worse. As I watched a woman walk out of the gate, and vanish through a door, I suddenly remembered their voices. How had I not noticed? We could have gone home. All we would have had to do was keep running.

I swung my head around and studied every inch of the place I could see through the bodies surrounding me. There had to be a way out, there had to be.

My eyes landed on a fork in the maze ahead, almost at the front of the line. There was no one on that short path. And it ended in a gate, much like the path we were on now ended. The giant creatures avoided the gate. As if it was repulsive or painful to be near it.

They need our cooperation, I realized. They couldn’t force us through that door. But they could scare us through. Could there be a set of rules they had to follow? Did they need to leave a way out to follow those rules?

“Please God,” I whispered to myself.

A wordless howl rose up, though I was almost sure it was another command for silence.

And then it hit me.

The only time they had told us to stay quiet was when I had said “Jesus” or “God”. Even when I had been praying silently, the things had reacted. People were talking, pleading, and screaming all around me, and I had been blind. I had been weak. I had listened to monsters.

I spun around, the revelation on my lips, my arms reaching for Cole.

I stopped dead in my tracks. No. If we broke their rules now… no. I had seen what happened to the girl and her mother.

I forced my feet to move, walking backwards. I didn’t know what this would do, but it was my only shot.

“Pray,” I told Ben, and pointed at the fork in the maze. “Pray to God that the other gate is the way out!”

Chaos erupted as soon as the words left my lips.

Ben’s half crazed, half dead gaze turned to the gate, and for a wild heartbeat I thought he was too drugged with terror to recognize a way out. Then he looked back at me and nodded.

Like the coward I was, I was too afraid to scream to the others in front of us. What if I was wrong? What if I was right, and the monsters would stop me, or punish me, for warning the others. They had hurt Cole the last time I disobeyed their orders, what if they killed him for my transgression.

No, I would have to live with the hope that, maybe, when we broke from the line, others would follow.

I begged and pleaded with a God I didn’t know, didn’t even really believe in, and with every word that left my lips the things drew back in a rage. One of them rushed forward, screeching loud enough to actually make my ears bleed. After only a moment it retreated.

I kept glancing back, making sure Cole was still following in the chaos. Many people further back had stopped, crouched down, and covered their ears. The monsters, worked up as they were, didn't take kindly to that.

I shivered at the sight I couldn’t avoid, at the much more violent way the creatures dealt with the rule breakers this time.

I turned back to catch Ben’s eye again, and pointed at the fork, only feet away. He nods again, and I see his lips moving with his own drowned out prayer.

I beckoned to Cole, making sure he was watching as we reached the fork. Just as the man ahead was clear, I launched myself to the left, down the empty path, watching over my shoulder to make sure my boys followed.

I breathed a shaky sigh of relief as they cleared the fork and followed behind. When I looked back again, it looked like no one had noticed. They all continued down the certainly doomed path.

The chaos grew louder as we closed the distance to the gate. The creatures grew more frantic. Their bodies shifted from one form to the next with increasing speed. The smoke that had obscured them at the beginning of this nightmare grew thicker as it rolled off them in waves. Their bellows shook the floor, and my heart stopped when I heard Cole stumble and fall.

I turned to see him balling up on the ground, wailing. No, no, no. C’mon kid now is not the time.

Ben and I yelled over the noise, begging and promising bribes. Something in me warned it’s now, or never and our chance was slipping away.

“Cole, come on, there's ice cream waiting for us, you just have to get up and walk,” I shouted, my mouth just inches from his head. “And we can go to the store and buy any new toy you want! Please, God, please make him get up.”

Cole looked up, confused and terrified. I nodded frantically at his questioning gaze.

“Yes, get up, follow Mommy, please baby come on. We can’t stay here. Do you want to stay here? With these scary monsters? Please baby come on,” I begged.

“Be a good boy, Cole, listen to Mommy, and then we can have ice cream and get away from these bad things,” Ben shouts over the noise.

Cole struggled to right himself on the shaking floor, but at last he managed. I turned and almost ran to the gate.

It was closing.

No, no not yet, please not yet, please get him through.

“Go,” Ben shouts from behind our boy, waving frantically at the gate. “Go bud, run!”

The things noticed our position. They tried to

get close to the gate, they tried to snatch us with arms that were increasingly smoke instead of flesh.

But they could not.

My feet cleared the gate, and I turned, ready to catch Cole in my arms.

“Run, run baby, hurry!”

The sound seemed to melt away as I watched his tiny feet step over the threshold. My vision dimmed at the edges as Ben barreled out behind him, just barely squeezing through.

I snatched Cole up in my arms and bolted, Ben hot on my heels. I frantically scanned around the room, suddenly completely new. Metal walls replaced with glass and wood, light no longer the eerie red glow, but the too bright light of a full moon. I heard the screeching of the monsters fading away in the distance as the floor went from metal to grass to carpet and back again.

We ran, and ran, and ran until the black veil that had been closing in on my vision swallowed us.

When I could open my eyes again, I couldn’t make sense of what I saw. Rough, white, almost glowing in warm light…

Ceiling. My ceiling.

I bolted up in bed, and almost screamed when Ben gasped and jumped up too. I clutched at my chest, my racing heart almost painful as we stare each other down.

Cole. He wasn’t in bed with us.

Ben followed my gaze, and leapt up, thundering out the door and down the hall. I follow, almost afraid to check the house and find our son missing.

Ben returned before I caught up, a smile on his face.

“Sleeping peacefully,” he told me, and wrapped an arm around my waist as I went to see for myself.

Sure enough, my precious baby was sound asleep. He looked clean, no tear stains on his face, nor dirt on his clothes. A smile played on his lips as I whispered how much I loved him, how incredible he was, how many toys I would buy him.

I noticed the clock in the kitchen on the way back to our room proclaimed it was 5:30. And the glow out the windows told me we would live to see another day.

A crash from the bedroom almost gave me a heart attack. I rushed into our room, expecting the worst, only to see Ben putting the rifle back on its spot on the wall.

“I tripped… It was laying on the floor by the bed,” he told me.

“Did… that all really happen?” I asked, wanting more than anything to write it off as a fever dream.

But Ben wasn’t a liar. “I think it did.” He dropped the mag on the rifle to show me.

Empty.

I opened the drawer where he kept his glock. The gun was gone. The sound it had made when Ben had chucked it at the monster replays in my head.

My phone lay on the bed, where I had dropped it… before. When I picked it up, there was an odd rattle to it. It wouldn’t turn on. Ben found his own phone on the bedside table, and it, too, rattled like everything inside had been shattered.

The window was fixed, I realized, and no glass coated the bed or floor. We drifted through the house in a daze, mentioning details to each other, hoping we would find a discrepancy to prove it had all been a dream.

“Its still Thursday,” Ben whispers, frowning at his laptop. “But, how..?”

I didn’t want to think about it.

Cole’s soft laughter called my attention, and I looked to see him wobbling out of his room. A huge grin lit up his face when he saw me. My heart melted.

After more kisses and hugs and ‘I love you’s than the boy was willing to put up with, I began to wonder if Cole didn’t remember the night that wasn’t.

Ben and I never forgot.

And we never found the gun.

So if you ever feel a strange feeling, a terror to leave home for no reason? Don’t listen to it! Take a vacation. Get as far away as you can. Run**.**

Hi! I need advice on where to take my story next! I have two parts finished, and I mainly need feedback on dialogue, tone, pacing, and where to take the story next! (I will fix grammar issues when I'm grammatically proofreading it but if anything sounds clunky, please lmk!) I'm open to all critiques, but please keep in mind it is supposed to be a semi-comedic piece! There are warnings in the document before reading. Please heed the warnings!

WARNING THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS SCENES OF: SA, religious trauma, and implied CSA. Reader’s discretion is advised!

CONFIDENTIAL INVESTIGATION LOG - TEXAS STATE EMERGENCY RESPONSE UNIT
DOCUMENT STATUS: ACTIVE CASE FILE – SUBJECT TO REVISION
DATE OF REPORT: [REDACTED]
CASE CODE: TX-37-INF-MALDONADO
LEVEL OF CLEARANCE: RESTRICTED – CLASS C+

NOTICE: The following report contains preliminary findings regarding a series of anomalous events recorded in the residence of the [REDACTED] family, located on the rural outskirts of [REDACTED], Texas. Due to the sensitive nature of the case, identifying details have been omitted. The footage has been partially recovered from the damaged internal memory of a consumer-grade camera. Names and locations have been altered for public safety.

FILE 001-A: “RECOVERED MALDONADO FOOTAGE.”
DESCRIPTION:
The camera breathes to life the scene, being set. A young female (presumed to be 10–12 years old) places her camera unsteadily on her desk, sitting in the frame on her bed. There are visible posters of her interests; the room appears to be well-lived in. She takes a deep breath before beginning to speak to herself, looking in the viewfinder for reassurance.

"This is my first video, so sorry I'm a little nervous..."

Her eyes break contact with the lens as she takes another labored breath.

"Sorry, my mom just got home. She's been having me stay home lately ever since... Well, you should know."

She smiles nervously, putting one leg in front of the other. Her face seemed to read of unease before brushing off the tense moment. She begins to talk about some of her favorite movies. She cradles a plush toy in her hands, stroking it repetitively in deep concentration as if trying to escape some unknown force. A woman calls from beyond the camera's view as the footage comes to a sudden halt.

FILE 001-B: “RECORDING #2”
DESCRIPTION:
The camera blinks to life as it is set at a higher vantage point, now providing a clear view of the room. A small twin-sized bed sits comfortably, the nightstand hugging it, as everything seems to squeeze into the frame, almost as if trying to get into the shot. The young girl stands proudly, playing a pop track while dancing.

She now dons a surgical mask, used in later years to prevent disease from spreading quickly. She is seen to become visibly exhausted, but never removes the mask. She pauses, flicking off the track and going to retrieve her camera as a woman's voice calls again. Instead of turning off the camera, she immediately rushes over.

The room grows still; the once energetic scene is suddenly muted. Ambient noise shifts: a low, persistent coughing filter in—wet and ragged—periodically breaking the silence. Audio distortion follows. The camera continues recording for several minutes before cutting to black, likely from battery failure.

FILES 002–039: “INCONSEQUENTIAL MATERIAL”
NOTES:
The subject continues recording monotonously, showing various attempts at entertainment, from playing with dolls to singing and dancing. Visual deterioration is evident, as the young girl is seen to become visibly emaciated as the videos continue. Behavior becomes increasingly withdrawn. No signs of contact with outside individuals. No confirmation of utilities being used or functional. The timeline suggests isolation exceeding three weeks.

FILE 040-Z: “RECORDING #40”
DESCRIPTION:
The camera opens in a living room, the girl setting it down on a table as she sits back on the couch. Shuffling behind her can be heard as she continues to speak through tears.

"My mom hasn't been getting better. The doctors can't... She's... dangerous to them..."

She is seen wiping tears from her face as the shuffling stops. The girl jolts, swinging her head back to face the kitchen.

"[REDACTED NAME], don't call me that!"

A shrill voice can be heard—female, hoarse, and warped—yelling at the young girl, who has now been confirmed as [REDACTED]. She is seen apologizing profusely as a figure rises from behind her. Movements are erratic, and the skin is a deep red. The ailment of the woman was unknown.

The camera is left; the noises filling the screen allowed for only imagination to fill them. Shadows seemed to dance on the hallways and walls, moving unnaturally fast. Investigation proved that this is what we now know as the chase between the mother and daughter. We have confirmed from the rest of the footage that [REDACTED] was not affected by what her mother had.

The final seconds of footage include:

• High-pitched mechanical screeching.
• Repeated vocalizations from the child, begging.
• Wet slicing noise.

PART 1

The debrief came to a halt. Many officers seemed unnerved, and I was not an exception. My life was hardened by years on the field, but nothing could have prepared me for this outbreak. Even though crime was always prevalent here in the big city, it only seemed to increase as reports of monstrous, almost demon-like creatures were replacing family members. We wrote it off as just another mass religious delirium until we had proof, and admittedly, the proof was not solid, but it was a start to documented footage of whatever this outbreak may look like. I’m not saying we were all ‘round good, but the parts that were shining. I’m only writing this down for documentation anyway. Who knows, maybe when they find a bullet in my head, they’ll read this. I’m talking crazy at this rate; most people want our heads. The more our station denies these monsters, the angrier the public gets. This meeting was different, though; it was the day that marked the decision for our public statement. I’ll try to write down the meeting and subsequent events: The deputy and assistant chief stand as a group.Police officers (me included) are sitting. It was unusual to see them here, and especially with more experienced policemen in attendance. “Gentlemen…and lady.” Deputy Garza said, " The joke grows old the longer I work here. “We have an issue to address with the public. This ‘demon’ case is really gettin’ us in hot water. I gathered all highly ranked personnel here because this may be our breaking case. If we don’t prove that this has nothing to do with monsters, we may have a riot fast approaching.” While a little dramatic, we all could agree that there was unrest amongst the townsfolk. My mom had called a few times to make sure I was who I said I was. I didn’t want to upset her if I tried testing her too. “But, sir, what do we even say? I mean- if this evidence gets released….” “Then it won’t!” the deputy snapped, interrupting one of the detectives there. Detective Phillips was somehow always getting yelled at. “Morgan, Phillips! I need you two on this shit immediately! Do whatever you need to do, get this monster bullcrap out of my station.” The rest of the meeting was relatively the same, but with the deputy on edge, it soon devolved into meaningless bickering. Phillips and I exited the meeting silently, recouping in my section of the station. “Oh, man, this is a shit show! How the hell are we gonna do this?!” His voice was shaky and shrill. How could a detective be this bitchy? I pinched the skin between my brows, running over the details we had so far. “Look, we’ll start by going over to the crime scene. Homicide probably already picked up some evidence that’s getting sorted out at the lab. Maybe we can talk to the girl, too.” I said, trying not to escalate his feelings anymore. Phillips just nodded meekly, turning heel and walking towards homicide. I would’ve rather worked alone, but at this rate, I practically was. I sighed and got the details I needed for the house and the girl. I didn’t wait for Phillips, hopping into my own cruiser. As I drove to the place, I continued to try to dissect the information I had. I waited to see the grizzly scene, knowing the crime would help answer these questions I had bouncing around in my head. I got out and took a look around the scene. Everything seemed normal despite all the officers and police tape. It was like it was frozen in time. “The body has already been moved for examination. The crime scene is relatively clean.” A homicide officer said, making way for me to enter the house. That’s what they always said about these cases, but I knew better by now. I walked into the house, with inspirational quotes on the wall and seashells as centerpieces. The whole house smelled like a hotel towel. As I walked through, I started to see a small trail of blood out of the kitchen. Odd. When we heard the tape, it sounded like maybe the daughter got the upper hand. This showed there may have been more of a struggle than we didn’t see. It still didn’t make sense. How could a monster… or mother by that be taken down by a 10-year-old?. I smiled morbidly at the visual but quickly got back to work. The living room looked like it was the room where the murder took place. Each wall was caked in dark red; it was still dripping as if it were fresh. It was darker than normal blood I had seen and had a sweetness to it that normal death only had a slight hint of. It was almost like a birthday cake. I wasn’t interested in the crime itself, though. I wanted to know how this happened. I turned my attention towards the mother's room, noting the family portrait right outside her door. Strange. I noted down two other children who seemed not to be present. Maybe they were just being looked after by their dad, but I couldn’t be sure yet. I opened her door, and a sickly bleach smell emanated from the room. I noted the decorations were slightly different. I guess the mom was a hunter; animal skins and heads lined the wall. The top of her bed was a mouse head. On the bottom was written something in Latin, but I wasn’t too versed in it. Okay… Not the weirdest thing, but certainly close to it. I looked around more, finding a book open on the bed. This was where the bleach scent was coming from. It was doused in it, but it was never lit. It seemed like a manifesto at first glance, but the writing was big, bold, and sporadic lettering of a language that looked unrecognizable. Symbols in between numbers and hand-drawn emotes. Why hadn’t the team taken this? I reached out towards it, my clothes suddenly started to singe, and my skin felt hot. I immediately retracted my hand. That’s why. I didn’t even bother questioning why they hadn’t warned me; dickheads like them are a dime a dozen. I copied down a bit of the writing in my notepad and moved on. I made my way towards her bathroom. Sweet, it came with a jacuzzi! I peered in and around; it looked relatively normal. I turned from the hot tub to the mirror. Suddenly, bodies appeared in the tub, and blood started pooling out of it. I jumped and turned back, but the jacuzzi was empty. Despite my antics, this was putting me on edge. Something was deeply wrong with this woman. Although I had left the church a long time ago, I had nothing more to describe as a possession of either the mom or the house, or both. Garza would never take that, though. What was I missing? I turned towards her dresser. One of her drawers was marked with a cross in Sharpie. I had written it off as her daughter being a child, but the haunted bathroom now piqued my interest in this. I opened it and was disappointed to find a bunch of undergarments. I sighed, closing my eyes before reaching into the drawer and digging into it. My mom always used to hide stuff in her panty drawer. It was the only place I didn’t want to go digging in. I was about to give up when I felt a smooth plastic feeling. I gripped onto the edge of it and found a folder. It didn’t seem too interesting, brochures and advertisements for a fellowship meeting. Weird, my church was on the list. I took some pictures of each flyer before reaching the last one. It was different. Although the others were Christians (a few different denominations), this one was a Mormon church that had just opened up. I took note of it and left her room. “Hey, make sure to get someone on the haunted book, guys.” I said to some of the officers who were in the house, taking samples of fingerprints and blood. “Also, check under that bed. There might be monsters.” I shot a smile at the head of the homicide team. I made my way out of the crime scene, getting a few new things for our investigation. I sat in my car, looking up at the Mormon church. Weird. They were brand new and had a full crowd every service. They seemed relatively normal, having a fellowship meeting in a few days. I also translated the weird language, searching for it on the Mormon website to no avail. It wasn’t anything to note, just talking about a farmer and his fruit? The way it was described seemed very biblical, but I needed to focus my attention on this church; maybe it could be a lead for the book. I could feel that something was going on that Deputy Garza would not be happy about. I tried to shake off the supernatural feeling. It seemed as if even thinking about Garza summoned him, hearing him over the radio, addressing me. “Morgan, if you’re all done at the house, go ahead and pay that poor girl a visit.” I guess years of us working together made me predictable to him. I wrote down notes about the book, slipping the brochure into the file. I knew there was something more to this than just an abusive mother. I tried to focus on the girl; the thought of visiting a young girl in the hospital would make anyone’s heart ache. I drove the distance, my brain filling the silence with thoughts. It was abnormal to leave a scene with a murky feeling, but the bathroom was getting to me. Whenever I’m on scene, I try to remain as calm as I can, but now I can fully let my mind wander into those dark corners. Although most of the bodies in there were just bodies, there was one just sitting up in the tub and looking at me. She just sat there, scrubbing herself with a faraway look in her eyes. It was the kind of look my mother had when I left the church for the last time. I tried not to think about it. Approaching the hospital doors, I started to coach myself on how to speak to the girl. I didn’t know much about her except that her mom was dead, and she hated school. Ride on, I guess. While I made my way inside the hospital, I finally heard back from Phillips. That’s right, he was my assigned partner. “Hey- uh- you kinda left me here at the station… But uh- I just wanted to let you know that I’m at the hospital and- oh! I see you!” I turned my head up, seeing him haul ass to get to me. “Hey! I’m waiting for them to let me see the victim. They said she’ll be ready in a bit. Did you find anything at the house?” I shoved my hands in my pockets, sitting down in the waiting room with him. “The mom might be an evil Mormon.” I laughed, looking at my unamused partner. I explained the details: the color of blood, smells, the evil bathtub, and the magic book. “Dude, Garza is gonna be pissed! Did you send specially suited people for the book?” “I told Hancock about it. I’m sure he’ll get on it eventually.” I showed him my singed sleeve. He hesitantly reached for my arm, and I slowly brought it close to my chest. He extended his reach to my slight discomfort. “We really…should go to the crime scene together next time.” I ripped my hand away and laughed it off, talking for a bit. He didn’t find out anything more besides that they studied the footage more and concluded that the struggle was longer than the video. The daughter had injuries that didn’t seem to match the brutal audio. “What does that even mean?” Thinking about this was making my head hurt. We couldn’t say it was a monster, but we both knew it was seeming that way more and more. “Detective Phillips, she’s ready to be seen.” We made our way to the room, seeing her hooked up to a few machines to keep her stable. “Internal bleeding was found, but it’s nothing that we can’t help. She’s a little shaken, though, so please be gentle with her,” the nurse watching over her said, exiting the room. I made my way to her, the blue icy gaze meeting mine. Her face was a little chubby, and I could tell the machines made her a little uncomfortable. “Hello, I’m Morgan, and this is my buddy Hubert.” “No, no, no! That’s not my name!” I smiled slyly, which made the little girl laugh before coughing. “Hi, Officer Morgan. Are you here about my mom?” Wow, that was fast. The atmosphere changed as I nodded softly. “We just want to ask you some small questions, okay?” The interview went as well as it could when handling a traumatized child. We learned her real name was Seila and that she and her mom had moved here after her parents split up. She said that her other siblings had lived with them, but they went away to camp, and she hasn’t seen them in a few months. Huh. She rambled about school and other miscellaneous things. I couldn’t help but smile at her just being herself. Despite everything. Before we wrapped up the session, she grabbed my sleeve. “Aren’t you gonna ask me about the accident?” I choked up slightly, seeing that look in her eyes that told me she was reliving it. “We don’t need to discuss that right now, sweetheart. You rest up.” Phillips said in a soft voice, starting to finish off his notes. “I didn’t ask you, melvin.” A soft snort exited me, the old insult bringing back memories of the team ragging on him the same way. “Even though you’re right about him, he’s right. We don’t want to upset you, okay? You’ve given us plenty to work with.” Her grip on my sleeve tightened. “Please don’t leave just yet. I can’t be alone here!” Her eyes got big and glassy. I felt a pang in my stomach that rose to my heart. “We have to do our job, okay? I’ll make sure to come and visit some other time.” With that, I left with Phillips. We could hear her wailing while I gave the front desk my personal number for her. “So we got nothing that proves these are not monsters.” Phillips sighed, gripping his hair while reading over his notes. “Look, man, let’s just review everything back at the station and see what the labs will bring us. They’ll have to have something, especially with the blood.” I reassured him while he seemed to be following me to where I parked. “Sorry to uh- kinda impose on you but- I kinda took the bus here…” That’s right. Phillips' car got towed on scene once, and it’s become some sort of joke that he can’t get it back. I sighed and opened the door for him. “Thanks, you’re the coolest at the station.” I cringed slightly while I got into the driver’s side. “Just trying to do my job, man.” We rode to the station in relative silence, only being interrupted by the odd question. He seemed to be getting awfully comfortable with me. I didn’t want to seem like a bitch until I had to be one, though. Something deep down in me felt pity for Phillips. He was despised by many and seen as more of a charity case if anything. I glanced towards him during a red light; he was gnawing on his finger while going over his notes. “You can go now.” The green light bathed the car as the sun had disappeared. I pressed on the gas, growing more curious about him the closer we got to the station. “So, Phillips, where are you from?” He gave a long-winded explanation. I don’t particularly want to write down here. The highlights were that he was from here with both of his parents until his mom left. I nodded slowly while listening to him explain tearfully what had happened. The emotion was immediately shattered when he went into harrowing detail about his time at school. He explained in excruciating detail how he was always on top of everything, and now he was nothing to the world. “It chewed me up in exams and associate's degrees and spat me out without a care for who I used to be. I kinda regret caring so much about high school.” Those words are ones to document. His voice was filled with a brittle bitterness. I didn’t want to tell him he peaked in high school. As the car became tense with silence, he brought up a question that caught me off guard. “Why do you ask anyway? You never really seemed interested in knowing me.” I began to slightly question it myself. “Well, I want to get to know my partner, I guess.” I parked my car in front of the station, getting out with Phillips. Before I could step into the office, Deputy Garza was already storming outside. “Phillips! Morgan! In my office!” My partner and I looked at each other; his panicked, almost maniac eyes were slightly soothed by my indifferent gaze. “What the fuck were you two thinking? This crazy ass girl just completely went catatonic after she saw you two. Not to mention, another monster sighting has been reported, and it’s blowing up our station! Tell me you have a goddamn update!” Phillips' whole body was shaking as he passed the notes on to the deputy. “I built rapport with the girl, so I could revisit her tomorrow and get more information out of her. We also have a lead on a church that the mother went to.” “Haunted bathtubs?! Mormon churches?! I asked for answers, not a Scooby-Doo book! Morgan, go to the girl tomorrow. Phillips, you’re going to see what you can get from the lab. I want to have a solid lead by tomorrow. This is not a case to be dicking around with!” He slammed his door closed, almost crushing my partner’s toes in the process. He yelped, rubbing sweat from his brow in vain to stop his total freakout. “Great! Now what are we going to do… More people are dying and- and-” His chest was heaving. I tried to grab his attention, keeping eye contact with him. “Dude, stay with me. Breathe slowly.” I stammered, making a rash decision. While I hid behind grit, it was hard not to be empathetic towards people in this line of work. “Look, I’ll take you home, don’t worry about a ride or anything.” He stared at me and then nodded slowly. I had gotten to know him a bit better, and I just knew this dude was a mess. I know it was out of pity, but what else was there to do? I was in the middle of getting him out of the station when someone from homicide walked up to me, looking a bit nervous to deliver the test results. “Uh- we couldn’t exactly place the blood type. I know the deputy doesn’t want us to discuss the whole ‘sci-fi’ side of it all, but it’s looking more and more like a possible explanation.” She leaned in closely before handing me the manila folder. I knew for all our sakes that I had to talk to that girl tomorrow. She was our only key to figuring out what happened to her mom. I walked out of the police station, Phillips on my right shoulder. He was coming back down from his attack, thanking me for my help and telling me the direction to his house. “Thanks again.” He said meekly as we neared his house. It was rather secluded; the further we drove, the more the asphalt deteriorated into dirt. We neared his house, a growing dread lingering on me. That’s when it happened. He rubbed his hand on mine, smiling with pretense. It was like I was seeing past a front. At that moment, I didn’t do anything but freeze. He lunged forward and smashed his face into mine. I choked on his spit, trying to fight him off. I had years of training. There was no reaching for my center console; I was stuck and forced to endure it. I thought of the girl in the hospital. I thought of my case, anything to take my mind off the groping of my coworker. I was a police officer, but here I was just a scared little girl with a monster hiding as a trusted person. Maybe the signs were there, I wasn’t sure. There was a long silence after he was done. I didn’t know what to say or even be grateful; it was just touching. He stared at me, still as I rubbed his spit off my lips. He just smiled and got out of the car. I heard the passenger door shut, but my mind was somewhere else. Did I give off the wrong idea? What the hell was that? Why would he… I took a deep breath, contemplating telling the station. I needed to stay on this case. Maybe if I just played it off, it would be fine. I teared up, pushing the feelings down deep into me. I couldn’t bear to think about shit like that. Not after everything. I thought about the church, I thought about home. That’s all I had left to write about today.

END OF PART 1

PART 2 (semi still proof reading)

The next morning, I woke up in a cold sweat with the thoughts of yesterday plaguing me. Waking up with a deer head staring you down does not help. I felt like shit. Looking up at the ceiling, I had lain in a frayed panic the night before, trying to see if the world would pause for a second. There was no use. Opening my phone, it was already bombarded with messages from Phillips begging me to disregard yesterday's calls, calls from the deputy telling me to go to the hospital, and the actual hospital contacting me. Yesterday. My body shivered at the thought of it, pushing the thoughts back from the forefront of my mind. I started sorting through my messages, beginning with returning the call from the deputy as I got dressed for the day. Looking at my baggy shirt, which I had thrown on the night before, filled me with overwhelming dread. I slowly peeled it off my skin, not being able to stomach the sight of it coming off. As quickly as the safety wrapped me in an ambiguous shape, it left me with my body. Staring at my own reflection, I turned towards the side, scanning myself methodically. My brain is desperately trying to reason the night before. It was interrupted by the deputy picking. During his tangent about me not picking up, I was deep in thought until he mentioned Seila. “That punk is awake and asking for you back,” he said with a grumble, giving a long, exaggerated sigh before continuing. “I know it’s inconvenient since you have so much going on, but she’s been bothering the hospital staff ever since she woke up.” Despite his sarcastic tone, the thought of seeing the young girl lifted my spirits. I put on my clothes quickly to avoid further assessment of myself. Looking at my uniform, my heart began to beat out of my chest. A police officer. “Hey, dep.?” I bit my lip in a pensive tone. He responded with a short hum. I thought about my life, everything I had fought for to be my own person. “Spit it out, detective, we ain’t got all day.” I looked at the police officer in the mirror. “...Just glad to be working on this case, let’s catch ourselves a demon.” I hung up before he could become irate. With a smile, I opened my door and began my day. The girl, I saw her in my mind with a smile on her face. The thought of letting her see me as this motivated me. My own problems weren't my priority now; thinking about the case was a necessity for me. I got into my car, looking out towards the road. Evil Mormon mom, weird book, spooky bathtub. Today was the day I had to get information. The rest of the ride was a blur; it’s weird how you can drive and not remember anything. The hospital was cold and had a strange feeling clinging to it. As I waited for her, I looked around for any sign of my partner. Thankfully, his ass was nowhere to be found. I looked back at my notes from the previous day. While I waited, I drew pictures of the book on fire. “Detective Morgan?” A nurse came up to me, snapping me out of my focus. “She’s ready to be seen but seems a bit more hesitant to talk today. She seems to have just processed the things she’s been through.” With that, I was sent into the room. The interrogation was more about school, and I noted she was a bit more cagey. I took notes periodically, but she kept leaning over to look behind me. “Where’s the guy?” She asked while peering over me. “Oh well…” “Did he finally do it?” The air changed; it got slightly colder. “Do what, Seila?” She didn’t answer my question, looking off into the distance. The same vacant look that reminded me of my mother. My church. Why was I remembering all of it at once? My hands shook while I looked down at my notes for anything to explain this. Her behavior seemed normal I- “He always tended to favor the girls.” My chain of thought was broken. Was I imagining this? The voice was coming out of her as if it were clawing its way through her. “Ms. Morgan?” As if it were just a dream, the tension seemed to melt, and her voice returned to normal. “Is something wrong?” My body was still tensed, and I had a sinking feeling she was only going to get worse. I immediately began to question her. My urgency seemed to frighten her a bit, but there was no point in being coy now. “What was the last church your mom was a part of?” She turned her nose up at the idea of church. “The one she dragged us to the most was the uh uh ‘Lat-ter’?…” “Latter-Day Saints?” Seila nodded before rolling her eyes and adjusting herself in the hospital bed. “All they did was sing over people, and then we’d eat. It was so boring.” Her description confused me. There would typically be more room for doubt, but seeing how much of a fanatic her mother was, it only confirmed my suspicions. I scribbled down some notes, biting the end of my pen inquisitively. Something tied both Seila and her mom to this church. The church. Something told me I didn’t have enough time. “You’re leaving already?” She called out, but I had no time to respond to her. It hurt my heart to leave despite her weird Green Goblin moment, but I had to get to the church. This was the only lead I had. Quickly updating the deputy of my findings, but instead of getting the usual okay, he called me. “Morgan, you step an inch into that church, and you are thrown off that case.” My blood ran cold. “You need to babysit this kid. Philips is finding us a way to bullshit out of this bullshit! You only have clearance to watch that girl, do it!” A part of me knew this was going to end stupidly. Ridiculously stupid. I looked back at the door, and walking back to the room felt like admitting defeat. I opened the door, and Seila was sitting up, waiting for me. “Ms. Morgan?” Looking at her made me want to do better by her. “I… I have to take care of you so we can get to the bottom of this.” There was a plan forming in my head; I just had to make sure not to fuck it up. She was released to me with temporary custody granted to me. “So…are you like- my mom now?” Seila asked, hopping into the backseat. “No, but I can be like…a cool…” I tried not to say adult friend. “Detective! Who can let you sit in the front seat!” She grinned, changing seats. As we drove back to my house, conversations were scattered. The radio emitted bluegrass tunes to ease the awkwardness…and also because my radio was broken. The voice she had emitted echoed in my head. “Am I going to see your house?” She said excitedly, shifting in her seat. “Yes, but there we need to have a serious talk.” The car filled with silence again. From time to time, there was a small sniffle. It was hard to notice over the music, but it was broken by a small, shaky voice. “My…my mom she’s dead, right?” I didn’t answer her, focusing on the road and trying not to falter. Silence dragged on, only making her crying intensify. No matter how hard I tried not to get choked up, the thought of having to do this questioning ate me up inside. “Well-” There was no way out of this. I looked over the familiar roads, knowing we had a while to go. It felt like the car was slowly being crushed by a hydraulic press as silence permeated while we both waited for the ride to be over. My parents did not prepare me for this. “When I was your age, my mother was…” Here we go. I swallowed hard, gripping the steering wheel as if it was happening to me all over again. “She didn’t- see me.” Her face began to emerge in my mind, seeing her smile fade in and out of memory. My knuckles whitened. I wasn’t sure where I was going with this. “Seila, sometimes in life you’re going to get hurt by people you love.” Seila’s crying turned into wailing. I tried not to shut my eyes as I focused on the road ahead of me. Trying to salvage the conversation, I brought it back to her mother. “Your mother loved you! She did, she cared. She was sick, I mean- that wasn’t her!” “How would you know?” Seila screamed; the volume of her scream in the cramped car made my head hurt. “Before the monster, didn’t she care?” There was a small pause before she winced out an answer. “All she cared about was the church.” My heart raced as we neared my house, her voice softly repeating. “She- she never saw me.” As I parked, I turned towards her. My thoughts raced, and I put a hand on her shoulder. “I know what she did, hurt you.” I choked up a bit, the corners of my mouth twitching upwards. “But now you have a chance to be better.” She took a deep breath, looking up at me with slightly more reassurance. “Is that why you became a cop?” I smiled solemnly, unlocking the doors for her to exit. I watched as her eyes immediately lit up at the sight of my humble wooden home. For the first time in a long time, tears streamed down my face. I quickly wiped them away, getting out of my car to hear the exclamations of Seila, completely taken by the outdoors. “Wow! Your house looks cool!” Seila looked at the front porch, leaning on a support beam. I took in the relief of ending the previous conversation, looking at her as she opened the front door curiously. Western decor that my mom had given me was scattered across my house. She never knew what I liked, but it was funny to keep the deer skulls. The girl walked around, stroking the animal hide draped over my couch. “So are you all…cowboys?” She turned to me with an eager smile. Finally, a question I can answer. We talked for a bit, but I knew the questioning had to begin soon. “So, about your mom.” I passed her a cup of water, analyzing her behavior. “It’s okay, I know now that she’s gone…That day is a blur.” Hastily, I pulled out my notepad, jotting down her subtle movements. She seemed oddly composed when talking about the traumatic event. “I kinda knew it was coming in a way, or at least that she was sick.” “What were her physical signs?” She held onto a cheap taxidermied duck for comfort. “Her…eyes were the first to…” Her tears welled up, turning away from me. I had to push through my feelings. “What did she look like?” I prompted her, but before she gained her composure, I pressed too hard. “I need to know these things so I can help-” She threw the duck at me and ran into a random room. “Seila! That’s my utility closet.” I walked towards her, evaluating the situation carefully. “We don’t have to talk about her, okay? Maybe we can color or…or whatever you like to do!” She emerged with a broom pointed at me. “Get away from me!” Shit. A part of me knew that this was going to happen. “Look, we need to discuss this case first.” She wasn’t buying it. Her stubbornness struck me. I knew what she needed to hear. “I know you’re scared and feel powerless…But sometimes the bravest thing you can do is-” The fucker knocked the wind out of me with the broom. “No, you don’t get to tell me what I want!” Her eyes were crazed, backing herself into the end of my hallway. She slid down the wall, covering herself with her arms. While I was recovering from the critical hit, I could hear her sobbing. “I know-” She cut me off with a scream of frustration. “Okay, okay! I don’t know!” I got up, rubbing my stomach as I walked carefully towards her. Seila looked up at me, uncovering her head with her arms. “I don’t know, but let me help you figure out who killed her.” “She killed herself!” She screamed, covering herself again. The revelation was a slap in the face. “Leave me alone!” She continued to scream and thrash. Looking down at her, I wasn’t sure what to do. I called her name to no avail. My feet halted in my spot a few feet away, and I sat there. My eyes closed, and my lips shook as I recited a hymn my mother used to sing to me. The endless nights of me screaming echoed in my mind, the nights I spent terrified of the shadows cast on my walls after that night. It took a little bit of second-guessing if it would work, but eventually, she was calm again. I was running out of hymns anyway. “She…Didn’t want me to see- I think?” Her speech was scattered as she caught her breath. “I’m not sure it was like she was fighting herself…” Her hands covered her face, but I could make out most of her mumbling. My arm hair began to rise at the image of it. I had dealt with many cases, but possessions were completely different. “She told me to get rid of the pain…I tried to, I shouldn’t have.” My blood boiled at the thought of all of this being swept under the rug. I stood up, holding my hand out for her to take. “I’m going to bust whoever's ass is in charge of this.” She laughed at me,e cursing, her laughter bringing me relief from the heavy conversation. She did great considering her circumstances. Despite the tone we left off on, she didn’t say anything else the rest of the night. That was the last she spoke of it for the rest of her time in my house. I wrote down everything in my notepad, but knew I was never going to give it to the deputy. This case was mine now, and I had to get to work.

END OF PART 2

I’m exhausted, but I can’t just not tell anybody about this. And since I’m not talking with my folks, you guys will just have to do.

I’ll start from the top—when I first realized something wasn’t right. It was Saturday, around two a.m. I couldn’t sleep.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling at the loose, dark skin that forms the bags under my eyes, and that’s when I saw another red, rust-colored scab on my lower eyelid.

Either this rash is weakening my skin to the point where it’s tearing, or I’m scratching myself bloody in my sleep.
I looked down at my left hand, the place where it all started. You’d think I’d put it between two feral cats having it out, judging by all the small red, crusty spots and lines running up from my knuckles to my shoulder.

It’s been two weeks, and the rash has only gotten worse. I’ve tried everything—chamomile lotion, aloe vera, hot water, cold water, even this weird suggestion I got from a buddy online about banana peels, though I think he was just pulling my exceedingly desperate leg.

I went to my doctor, and they said I must be having an allergic reaction to something. But what? I haven’t changed a thing. Same old laundry detergent, same old body wash, even the same old scratchy bedsheets. They set me up with an appointment with a specialist, but it’ll take a month to get in.

I tried a few other doctors, and at this point I’ve had so many doses of Benadryl forced into me that I’m surprised I haven’t overdosed.

Thankfully, I’ve got some sick days and vacation time saved up to wait this out until my dermatologist appointment.

My boss nearly fainted when she saw me.

Can’t exactly serve food with a smile while looking like a rashy leper.

Between the itching and the medication, my head’s swimming. I’m so out of it that I keep remembering scabs that aren’t there, or I’ll go to scratch a spot only to find a massive scab I swear wasn’t there an hour ago—like they’re moving when I’m not looking.

I leaned on the bathroom sink, pulling my eyelid down to get a better look at the scab. A nasty thing—small, but gnarly-looking, brownish red, like an old water-soaked wound. There was even a hair poking out of it, which was strange, because as far as I knew, hairs don’t grow on eyelids.

It must’ve gotten stuck during the healing process. A loose eyelash, maybe. Still, it bothered me. It was bad enough looking like some kind of burn victim—now this thing was just sitting there.

Mocking me.

I know you’re not supposed to pick at scabs, but I couldn’t help myself. I slid my finger up and rubbed at the small black line—

and OW! Jesus Christ!

Okay. Not a hair. It was stiff, and whatever it was felt attached deep. When I poked it, the entire scab shifted.

This was going to hurt.

I knew I shouldn’t pick. But just staring at that black line was unbearable.

I just had to be careful. Slow and delicate. After all, a foreign object in a healing wound couldn’t be good, right?
I grabbed a pair of tweezers, some rubbing alcohol, and a bandage to deal with the inevitable blood.

Slowly… slowly, I reached out with the tweezers and tried to grip the tip of the black line, but it kept slipping free—like it had a mind of its own.

Finally, on the fourth attempt, my patience wore thin. I grabbed it at the base, clamped down, and yanked.
It came free along with the scab and a small trickle of blood.

I dropped the tweezers and cupped the bleeding spot under my eye, cursing myself.

I splashed alcohol on the wound, hissing at the burn, then slapped a bandage over it. When I turned back to the sink to grab the tweezers, I froze.

My scab was twitching.

I stared in horror as I realized the black line wasn’t a hair.

It was a leg.

One of many.
I stood there, watching the little legs kick as the scab—which I now realized wasn’t a scab at all but some grotesque little beetle latched to my skin—flailed, trying to right itself.

Maybe it was the medicine. My head wasn’t right. It had to be some bug I just hadn’t noticed. I flipped it over with the tweezers.

Its underside—no, what made up its back—was a rusty brownish-red shell that looked exactly like a scab. The moment it landed on its legs, it took off, scrambling uselessly against the ceramic sink.

I turned on the faucet and washed it down the drain.

I stood there shaking, skin crawling. I’d mistaken some giant bed bug for a scab on my eye—and it had latched on so tightly it hadn’t even moved when I woke.

That’s what bed bugs do, right? They’re supposed to be sneaky.

Maybe that explained the rash.

The realization made my stomach turn.

I had to check my bed.

I walked from the bathroom to my cheap mattress, scratching my arm as I went. I flipped it.

Nothing.

I stripped the sheets, the pillowcases. No shells. No stains.

They had to be coming from somewhere.

I got down on my hands and knees and checked the wooden frame.

There it was.

Another red bug, lying on its back beside a dust bunny. I scooped it up with my slipper to get a closer look.
It was bigger than the first. Its shell was lumpy, edged in white.

That same rusty reddish-brown.

It looked exactly like a scab.

Not camouflage. Not resemblance.

Exact.

No.

No no no no no—oh God, no.

The thought finally clicked.

I looked down at my arms. Scabs lined them.

Under my arms. On my hands. My elbows.

Rusty reddish-brown.

And on one or two—

Thin black lines.

Moving.

I scratched.

I couldn’t help it.

The sensation, the sight—knowing they were all over me. I raked my nails down my arm and felt something rip free. One fell onto its back, flailing. Another vanished into some crevice.

I kept scratching. Pain burned through me, but the sight of a third barely hanging on sent me into a frenzy. Scabs and blood dropped to the floor.

Some ran when they hit the ground. Others bolted toward my feet, trying to crawl up my legs. I stomped and jerked around, half-hysterical. When one made it into my shirt, I tore the stained thing off.

I couldn’t tell where it went. Every scab felt like it was moving.

I slapped and rubbed at my skin until I stumbled back into the bathroom, desperate for the mirror.

I grabbed the alcohol, tore the cap off, and dumped it across my stomach.

The burn was immediate. Wounds bubbled. Two of the things fell free, writhing on the tile.

After that, everything blurred.

The 911 operator must’ve thought I was insane. Who would believe me?

But when the police arrived and saw me, they labeled my apartment hazardous immediately.

I don’t know what happened to my neighbors. I don’t know if they evacuated the building.

They brought me to some kind of medical facility.
Chemical wash. Observation.

They grabbed my phone and charger on the way out.

Thank God.

I overheard one of the staff mention Dermestus scabiformis while they were taking notes.

So I guess this isn’t their first rodeo.

It’s been two days and I guess i'm healing well.

The wounds have scabbed over again.

They keep telling me not to pick.

But… wouldn’t you?