r/spooky_stories

3 True Amusement Park Horror Stories

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Mission: Spider
Lieutenant Casamir
12th of February

Our deployment was ordered after a call was made in the early morning hours to emergency services from a small town on the border of Canada’s boreal forest. The owner of a local cafe, who was preparing to open up for the day, reported what looked to be a man pulling himself toward town with one arm. His other limbs limply dragged behind him. When emergency services arrived, the man, later identified as one of the many people gone missing from the area, appeared unable to speak. This was only one area out of many around the world that experienced a significant increase in missing persons after the war numbering in the thousands. It is the most pressing concern the world has faced after peace was achieved from years of conflict. While receiving care, the man would not turn his gaze away from the forest, barely acknowledging anyone else’s presence. Many strange injuries were found, most alarmingly all the joints in his legs and left arm were dislocated as well as multiple bone fractures along the length of each limb. His right arm did not show the same pattern of injury. The flesh of the front side of his body as well as his right hand was severely lacerated, presumably from dragging himself through kilometers of wilderness. His body also sustained frostbite; the digits on his limbs could not be saved. Despite his injuries and the fact that he had been missing for nearly two months, he only appeared to have gone without food for around a week, which caused profound malnourishment. After being taken to a hospital, it was found that for the two months he had been gone he had been subsisting on a substance chemically similar to milk, though from what species was unknown. After six days of hospitalization, a nurse reported he came out of his detached state to weakly mutter one phrase before becoming unresponsive once more: “help them.”

Due to the many unanswered questions and the hundreds of missing people around the forest, a team of 44 agents, led by me, were mobilized to the area. We were hastily recruited by our employer the Sisyphus Foundation, a seemingly new agency overseen by the UN. They reached out to the many veterans of World War III. After nearly six months of seeking people to fill their ranks, the Sisyphus Foundation was only able to recruit a measly 72 members. I researched who Sisyphus was after hearing the name as it sounded familiar. I found stories of a man forced to push a boulder up a mountain for eternity due to grievances against the gods. It was an interesting choice for a name, one that I can only hope does not draw parallels to our fate.
I reached the location via van around noon; the fog hanging low in the air. I arrived alongside 10 other members, one of which I remember serving with during the war, Sergeant Emilio. We exchanged only warm nods of recognition. I hate to say it but I miss the war. The everpresent fear of death and acknowledgment that every day could be my last always hung in the air like a suffocating fog; I was able to continue during those dark times since the few lights that shone were brighter than any I had ever experienced. Every little interaction and shared humanity with my brothers and sisters kept me going and made me feel alive in a world of death. When I arrived back home from the war, I no longer felt human. Only with the threat of my life being taken from me did I truly treasure it. When the offer arrived to return, I accepted without so much of a second thought- or a first for that matter. It felt as if I was returning to my calling. All that I did during my time away was grow fatter and older, straying further away from the person who should be leading 43 men and women against an unknown threat.

I was told that upon arrival, I was to meet up with the debriefer to discuss the new findings from their unmanned surveys of the forest. I asked one of the agents who was assisting with unloading our gear where I could find them.

“I’m not sure, but I would check with Dr. Judith in the big tent over there,” he said pointing to the end of the two lines of tents that enclosed either side of us.

“Thanks,” I replied, turning to head over.

“You're our Lieutenant right?” he blurted, stopping me in my tracks.

“How’d you figure that?

“Well, not to be rude, but you look very… battle worn,” he said sheepishly.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Boba, Private First Class, sir.”

“Boba? Like the little chewy things in tea?” His name matched his face, his cheeks being filled out to an almost comical level and two big dinner plates for eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay Boba, word of advice: don’t go ‘round calling your superiors old.”

“I didn’t mean any offense, sir. I honestly have so much respect for those that are able to grow old in this profession. I know many who aren’t able to say the same.” His gaze wandered towards the ground solemnly.

“Sorry to hear that.” I paused, watching his eyes slowly meet mine again.

“Thank you, sir.” He then clumsily dragged my stuff to the nearest tent labeled ‘K’. Thankfully, I had nothing fragile in my luggage. I began my trek to the tent, a rogue gust of wind cutting me like a knife. It was already -3 C° making the gale an extremely unwelcome addition. As I walked to the tent I looked around at the living accommodations of the agents. They were set up with tents comfortably fitting four people each; the teams for the mission. Each one was installed with a futuristic looking heater that made them all oblivious to the subzero temperatures. They were all conversing with each other, playing games, and cracking jokes. I couldn’t stop a smile from forming. It brought me back to the days where I would do the same; where the world hadn’t yet lost its color. When I arrived at the tent, I tapped on the canvas next to the open doorway.
“Come in,” came a voice attempting to sound inviting but failing. It ineffectively covered a deep tiredness. Inside the tent were three figures: a large well-built man who was unsuccessfully concealing his weapon; a woman weathered with stress who was the voice’s source; a skinny man busily tapping away at the computer on the desk, not looking up to greet my presence. They were all surrounding the machine, absorbed in whatever was on its screen just moments before I arrived. The two men were standing to the woman’s left and right while she sat in a very comfy looking foldable chair. 

“Please, take a seat,” she said, her smile being yet another useless attempt at warmth. She motioned toward the chair facing the desk, identical to hers. I made my way over, competing with the large man to see who could stare holes through the other first. “I’m Dr. Judith. It’s so great to finally meet you Lieutenant Casamir.” I removed my beanie, no longer needing it due to the warmth that emanated from inside the tent.

“Likewise,” I stated, conceding the staring contest to the larger man and shifting my gaze to Dr. Judith.

“These are my colleagues, Mr. Nero,” she said gesturing to the larger man, “and Officer Geoffrey,” nodding toward the skinnier man. “Officer Geoffrey will debrief you on the situation and our expectations for this mission. Some new revelations about the case have been made since your last debriefing.” As she said this, Officer Geoffrey shifted uncomfortably like he did not wish to relay the information to me.
“Yes, we’ve made some interesting discoveries about the target. Could you let me know what you remember about it from the last debriefing?” he asked. I relayed what I knew, receiving nods from Dr. Judith and Officer Geoffrey throughout. Each horrific detail felt so outlandish it was like I was recounting a fairy tale.

“Did I get that right?”

“Yes, very good. Our new information comes from drones we sent in to survey the forest. We attempted to have three of our land drones, fitted with cameras to allow for both night and thermal vision, move into the forest to hopefully locate the target and identify any dangers. All entered at different openings in the treeline. I’ll now show you what we picked up from one of the cameras,” he turned the computer screen, an expression of great worry on his face.

The screen showed the same thick fog that hung in the air around camp. Only about ten meters in front of the drone was visible. It navigated through a scattering of thin trees that stretched above the drone’s line of sight. All of a sudden, a figure dashed from behind one of the trees moving with what seemed to be dozens of limbs. The feed stopped; the final frame an image of the figure’s face. Looking back at me was the visage of a woman whose features were too perfect. Not even pores interrupted the impossible smoothness of her skin. Her eyes were closed and she wore a soft smile, as if she was having a wonderful dream. She had long black hair that graced the forest floor, free of tangles or imperfections. Time broke, making it impossible to tell how long I was staring at the screen.

“There’s our target,” Dr. Judith stated coldly, her stone grey eyes pulled me back to reality.

“We also took thermal imaging,” Officer Geoffrey pushed his glasses up on his face and tapped a key that flooded the image with purple. “Whatever this thing is has the same temperature reading as a corpse. It doesn’t emit heat and doesn’t act like any cold-blooded animal we know. This thing is something completely new.” The three of them stared at me gauging my reaction. I’m not sure what to feel. The case did have some fantastical elements, but I reassured myself that it all had a logical explanation for it. This one frame changed all that. I must’ve been expressing the fact that my brain was struggling to put this thing into my framework of reality since Dr. Judith asked me if I was okay.

“Yeah, fine, just…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“I understand your confusion, I do. I’ve been a scientist dealing with the natural world all my life and this,” she chuckled, a crazy smile overtaking her fake one, “this is something else.”

“There’s one more thing we need to note,” Officer Geoffrey interjected. “These drones were spaced 54 kilometers away from each other when the first one went down. The second one went down about 16 minutes after the first. This means this entity, if we assume there’s only one of it, was traveling around 203 kilometers an hour, easily making it the fastest land animal on the planet. The third went down 15 minutes after the second.” My brain continued to wrap itself around this barrage of information that should not exist. They had to be joking, right? Maybe this is some crack pot way of getting all us veterans together. They said I wouldn't receive any punishment for what I did. This can't be about that, right? If that’s the case, why the hell would the UN spend millions of dollars and fabricate this whole story to bring me and Emilio here? Is everyone here being punished as well or are they in on it? Is Emilio in on it? It was at this point my mind broke. It refused to admit that any of this was real. I decided this was a play; an act. I had a job to do and this was the only way my mind would let me do it. It felt like I had flipped a switch: pushing everything aside and becoming the leader I needed to be.

“I understand. Who else knows about this information?” I asked, shocking the three of them with how quickly I accepted these revelations.

“Just us four for now, but I’ll give the same information to the agents in around an hour. I’m tasking you with being there as well to raise morale: give them a speech to help them execute their mission.” Officer Geoffrey stepped back after seeing my reaction do a complete 180.

“Understood. Thank you for this opportunity,” I said, standing up and turning to walk out. I needed to get out of there.

“Thank you,” said a quiet voice behind me, overcome with immense sadness and regret. I turned, meeting the gaze of Mr. Nero whose eyes had very subtly started to water. I now noticed a scar that lay just below his chin.

“Of course,” I exited the tent and braved the harsh winter air.

I made my way back through the line of tents, each filled with agents who now must’ve realized who I was. Boba must be quite sociable. They faced me, some of them standing to salute, others nodding in my direction, but all acknowledging my presence. I awkwardly gave them half smiles as I walked by. I reached the tent at the end of the line labeled ‘K’. Inside were three men: my team for the mission. I was relieved to see that I already knew two of them: Emilio and Boba. The third man looked up at me with a face of mild annoyance.

“Hello, sir. I’m glad to be a part of your team,” Boba said enthusiastically.

“Yeah, what are the chances,” I replied.

“About one in eleven,” Emilio said, brushing his long blonde hair out of his face as he looked up to greet me. “This is Corporal Luis,” he motioned to the last man. He seemed irritated at my being here.

“How are you doing, sir,” he asked, standing up to give me a handshake. His face was now painted with a fake but polite smile. His sharp features accentuated the unnaturalness of it.

“Doing well, yourself?” I met his hand with mine.

“Fine, thank you.” He released his grip and sat back down, his face returning to mild annoyance. Perhaps that was just what his face always looked like.

“Check this out,” said Emilio, motioning to his leg. In the spot that used to be a plastic prosthetic was now a metal leg that he moved as if he was born with it. “They really are hooking us up,” he said smiling.

“Wow, they spared no expenses,” I looked around at the well furnished tent. It was larger than any other four person tent I had been in. The heater in the corner hummed softly, creating a calming drone that drowned out the wind. A giant TV sat against the back wall, currently only showing our reflection in its black mirror. I looked old. There were two bunk beds on either side, complete with actual mattresses. They were a far cry from the usual cots I had grown accustomed to. “These beds look better than the one I got at home.”

“I call bunking with Casamir,” Emilio exclaimed suddenly, receiving a chuckle from Boba and me.

“You must’ve missed me,” I joked. It was nice to see him again. It made the weight of what I saw, what I had done during the war lighten. It was like we were sharing the burden, lifting it off each other.

“What’d you find out about the mission?” Boba probed.

“I found out a lot. I know y’all are skeptical about this ‘monster hunt’ we are going on, but from what they told me I believe that we’re up against something we don’t quite understand.” The three men looked at me with blank expressions.

“What was it?” asked Luis.

“Officer Geoffrey will fill you in on everything they told me, but I would recommend you all take this a lot more seriously. I was very apprehensive of this idea as well, all the talk of ‘runes of protection,’ in the briefings and such, but from what they told me all of it is very real.” They looked at me like I was crazy, but my face reassured them I was not.

“So… what do we do?” Emilio asked, hopelessness seeping into his voice.

“We listen to Dr. Judith and Officer Geoffrey. They understand a lot more than us, so I trust they’ll guide us in the right direction.” This statement alleviated some tension. We sat in this moment of relief; none of us wanted to bring back the cloud of dread that was just hanging over us.

“Oh, tent C said they were setting up Smash in their tent and invited us over. Would you like to come play?” Boba said, breaking the silence. I laughed at how childish he sounded.

“You go along. I’ve never been big into video games.” Boba, Luis, and Emilio nodded, heading out of the tent. Emilio was the last to leave and before he did he leaned over to me.

“Do you really trust these people? I don’t want another situation like Hawaii.” I shuddered, the memory that I had been trying to forget for the past half a year resurfacing like a bloated corpse floating up from the depths of the ocean.

“I don’t know, but we have to act like it. We need everyone on board for this.”

“Just be careful. That's the same mentality we had back then,” Emilio said before exiting.
I was tired and tried to take a nap using the remnants of the hour I was allowed. I could hear the agents cheering wildly at their game, making it impossible to get any rest. I didn’t sleep well last night. Or rather I hadn’t been able to sleep well for months. I grew frustrated, cursing my insomnia. Then I heard a tap on the canvas of my tent.

“Hey, we’re getting ready to debrief the troops. Will you be ready in five?” asked Officer Geoffrey.

“Yeah,” I replied curtly, realizing that I came across ruder than I had intended.

“We’re surprised at how well you seem to be dealing with the new information. We feel a lot more confident that this mission will be a success with you at the head.” I fixed my attitude, attempting to play the part of the confident leader I had cast myself in.

“Thank you for putting your trust in me. It's an honor,” I said through a smile.

“If you would follow me I’ll show you where we’re presenting.” I followed him outside to see a podium with a microphone. Next to it, one of the large TV’s was set up to play the video they had shown me. “We really need your help on this. We don’t expect they will take the information as well as you did, but we need everyone to understand the importance of their mission.” It was a near impossible task I was faced with; one needing me to convince more than just myself.

“I’ll do my best,” I replied, some of my nervousness slipping out. Officer Geoffrey nodded and gave me a smile.

“You’ll do great.” With that, he spoke into the microphone. “Our debriefing will now begin. All agents please make your way to view the presentation outside.” Many groans were heard as dozens of agents braced themselves for the cold, visibly shaken by the quick and drastic change in temperature. Most of them came from Tent C, where agents were laughing and conversing. I saw Boba, Luis, and Emilio exit along with a cheerful mass of people. Once the agents settled around the podium, Officer Geoffrey began to speak.
“Hello all. I first want to thank each and every one of you for accepting this mission. You are the few who answered the call to help protect our peace. Please give yourselves a round of applause.” He paused for the agents to clap for themselves, which they hesitantly did. “Now, we have some new information that we felt pertinent to supply you all with. If you would please turn your attention to the screen.” He then showed them exactly what he had shown me. I watched their faces slowly contort into mixtures of fear, regret, disgust, and a myriad of other emotions as they struggled with their sense of reality. It was a feeling I was all too familiar with. A feeling that I was tasked with dragging them back out of. “I will now turn the floor over to Lieutenant Casamir, after which I will give more details about the logistics of the mission.” He stepped away from the platform, allowing me to replace him. I slowly walked up to the microphone, the sensation of dozens of eyes looking to me for some kind of reassurance that this wasn’t real shot sharp pains throughout my body. I felt like throwing up, running away, anything to get myself out of this situation.; but, I knew that if I couldn’t take on the role that I had to, there was no hope they would.

“Hello all. Thank you for being here.” I paused as my mind grasped for the right words to say. The pressure mounted to an almost unbearable degree. I caught myself nervously playing with my gloves. I had to shape up because this was pathetic. Just like that, I flipped the same switch I had moments ago in that tent. I had to be a leader. “Your mission has not changed. You fought in the war to protect our homes, our people, our ways of life. Our fight must continue. Our peace is again being threatened, and we need to do exactly what we did not so long ago: eliminate the threat. Many of you have lost a lot these past few years. I’m sure many of you have lost loved ones to this battle. This is the time to honor them. To carry on their legacy. We must push forward as they would have for us. Our mission has not changed. Their mission has not changed. It is an ever present battle, but we dedicate our lives to fighting it. As long as we still stand, we push forward; for those before us and for those after. Our mission these next few days is to take care of one of the many dangers our world is facing in the pursuit of true peace. In the pursuit to protect and honor the people of this world. Do not let yourselves lose this fight now.” I paused for a moment, letting my words hang in the air. No one seemed to react, but I could tell my speech had reached them. Their faces, before wrought with hopelessness, were now overcome with determination. I stepped off the platform, allowing Geoffrey to take my place. He shot a proud smile at me as he did so. It felt surreal, knowing how those words impacted all these men and women in front of me, but they could not feel any more dishonest. I saw Emilio give me a nod of reassurance, letting me know I had done my job well.

“Thank you Lieutenant Casamir, now to go over some logistics about the mission.” My mind was still attempting to dissociate, the switch now flipped back off. I can’t believe how hard I was faking it, but they needed that right? Hope, and someone they can look up to. I tried my best to pay attention to Geoffrey’s presentation, but it was difficult to keep my mind present. “These are the suits you will all be wearing,” he said, motioning to what looked like a robot being wheeled up to the platform by Mr. Nero. It received scattered ooh’s and ahh’s from the crowd. “The suit comes in seven pieces and offers full body coverage. It is equipped with internal heaters to ensure you don’t get hypothermia. The head units are installed with both thermal and night vision, as well as a head lamp. These views can be toggled between via the button on the right side of the helmet. The units are also accoutred with microphones and speakers to communicate with your team. Each team leader will have access to a channel to communicate to the other team leaders. You will all be provided an HK419. We are not sure if the target is affected by any physical means, but it will prove useful even if just to divert its attention.” The crowd continued to murmur in awe, as the standard issue rifles during the war were HK418’s. As far as we knew, the HK419’s were still in its early stages of development. “You are also equipped with a G52 and a knife. On each team leader’s left wrist is a touch pad which displays the location of each member relative to them. If the target is spotted, the leader is to input the direction it is headed which will alert all other teams. The device will approximate, using the target’s known speed and the entered direction, where the target is, and all teams are to converge on the latest location. You will all be supplied with backpacks that have a week’s worth of food and water, as well as the basic supplies typically provided in similar missions. For the trek we expect your team to sleep in shifts. Your suits are installed with alarms to remind you all of when to switch, as well as eye trackers to ensure the one on patrol does not fall asleep. Now, allow me to introduce to you a rune of protection.” Mr. Nero arrived on stage again with a large item wrapped in cloth. He set it on the podium, allowing Geoffrey to gently unwrap it. Inside was a very ordinary looking stone about the size of a football with a strange carving. If I had to describe it, I would say it looked like a large upside down V with a smaller rightside up V between its arms. Below this was a circle with two dots placed like eyes on a face. “One member of your team will be designated as the keeper of the rune. Their backpack is fitted to include an extra secure compartment where the rune will sit. Do not leave their side. From our research, we found that the rune has an effective radius of about five meters. Step outside that radius, and the target will be able to harm you. Your suits can communicate with your team members’ and will alert you if a teammate is nearing the edge of that radius. Please protect these runes with your lives. It is the only thing saving yours. We have a very limited number of these, so losing or destroying one of them will create much trouble for us down the line. The other two members of the team are redundancies in case the team leader or rune keeper is unable to perform their job. If either of these members fall, it is your responsibility to swap your gear with theirs and take up their role if possible. We have eleven teams, labeled A through K. You will enter the forest 16 kilometers away from the nearest team, allowing you all to converge at a single point, determined using the last known locations of the missing people, in three days. We hypothesize this to be where the target resides. Once the target is found, you must encircle it with the runes, essentially trapping it in a net. You are then to keep this formation as you travel out of the forest back to base camp with the target in tow. That is your mission. Please feel free to check out the armory to familiarize yourselves with the gear. We will begin transportation of teams to their starting locations tomorrow at 07:30. Thank you all for coming. Please don’t hesitate to ask me questions if you have any. I will be in the main tent. Rest well. You all have a very important job tomorrow.” With that, Geoffrey began walking back to the head tent. The crowd dispersed, some walking back to their quarters, some going to check out the armory, and some returning back to Tent C to continue their game. I began heading back to my tent, wanting more than anything to sleep. I felt exhausted: the weight that I had to carry for this mission pushed down on my chest making it hard to breathe. Emilio joined me on my walk back.

“Great speech man, never knew such wise words could’ve come out of such a dumbass,” he said, slapping me on the back. I replied with a pitiful laugh.

“Even idiots can appear smart with enough confidence.”

“Wow, just when I thought you couldn’t sound any wiser,” he snickered. I laughed too,  this time a real one. I missed Emilio. I missed feeling like this. I searched my brain for some topics for small talk.

“How have things been since I last saw you?”

“Not great. Jasmine thought I was dead and already moved on. Came back to an empty house and a note saying she didn’t have the courage to face me anymore and that she was with someone new.”

“Damn. I mean, sorry. I’m sorry to hear that. You seem to be taking it well, you look… cheerful.”

“Yeah, I try not to think about it. Thanks for bringing it up, asshole,” he joked.

“Of course,” I smiled. I felt the tension that plagued my mind begin uplifting, allowing me to quip along with him. That’s when the grin on his face slowly receded, replaced by an expression of deep thought.

“You know, it was the strangest thing. Despite all the pain I thought I should feel at her leaving, I didn't. I couldn't cry, couldn’t get mad. Just felt numb. I felt guilty for not feeling anything, but at the same time, isn’t that better than being in pain? What I wouldn’t give to cry again. It was cathartic when I could.” He whispered the last few sentences to himself then looked to me for any type of reassurance.

“Yeah, I’ve felt numb after the war, too. Maybe it’s a symptom of PTSD or whatever,” I explained.

“Can’t be. A lot of my buddies back home told me the same thing and they weren’t part of the war. Hell, they weren’t even near it. Speaking of, how’s Jason?” He felt the silence and looked at my face. I was deep in painful deliberation, debating on whether this was a wound I wished to let bleed again. I could tell he was about to ask for elaboration, but he used his better judgement and decided not to. Emilio scrambled for another topic to speak on as we silently agreed to move on in our conversation. “How do you like our team?”

“Well, Boba is friendly,” I chuckled.

“I know. He could not be licking my boots any cleaner,” Emilio smirked. I winced at how wrong that sounded.

“I know that it comes from a place of genuine respect, though. He comes from a big military family, so pretty much all of the figures he looked up to in life passed down some military values. I like him.”

“Yeah, he’s a nice kid.” We reached the tent and Emilio sat down on his bed while I took the one across from him.

“He’s probably the most popular guy here. He’s beating everyone’s asses in that game over there. He’s either gonna have a lotta friends or make a lotta enemies,” Emilio said.

“I really doubt anyone could hate him. He doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. What do you think about Luis?” I asked.

“Quiet. Keeps to himself. He’s respectful, though. I think Boba is really wearing him down.”

“When I first got here I thought he was pissed at me. The more I see him the more I realize he just seems to be pissed at the world rather than any of us,” I explained.

“I’m sure he’s got his reasons, like we all do.”

“I’m sure he does. Don’t know what they are, you talk to him at all?”

“Briefly, he seemed to be hesitant to socialize over in the tent and would only speak when spoken to. Even then, his answers were very cold and to the point. I couldn’t pick up anything about where he’s from, why he’s here, what he likes, etcetera,” Emilio said seriously. I raised an eyebrow at his verbalization of etcetera.

“From what I can deduce, he likes being left alone. Although he does seem to be making an attempt at socializing,” I said, gesturing towards the shouts of joy and anger coming from Tent C. “Can’t leave him alone tomorrow, though.” Emilio looked down and smiled before chuckling to himself. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I just remembered the first time we met. It reminds me a lot of Boba and Luis. You wanted nothing to do with me but I wore you down, broke down that hard exterior of yours.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say it sounds like you’re coming on to me.”

“Maybe I am. I’m single now. Let’s make some mistakes,” he said, flirtatiously waggling his eyebrows.

“Knock it off, dumbass. I’m gonna try to get some sleep. This day has worn me down.”

“Sounds good, I’m gonna go check out the armory. See if they’ll let me shoot the guns.” 

“Don’t keep me up.”

“I heard the new models are quieter than the older ones. You’ll be fine.” With that, he made his way out the tent, pausing briefly. “It’s nice to see you again.” Emilio exited, leaving me alone. I climbed up to my bed and put on some headphones. I scrolled through to my sleep playlist on my phone, needing something to distract myself from all the ruminations ricocheting around my skull. Some thoughts broke through the buffer that the music provided, but surprisingly I found them to be quite pleasant. I was excited for tomorrow; excited to get back into the field. I thought about the interactions I had with Emilio: us picking up from where we left off months ago. I thought of the hope Boba had in his eyes and how much he admired me. I thought about the agents whose moods seemed to flip the opposite direction as soon as I finished my speech. They looked up to me, and I felt like I was someone who could be looked up to. Damn, I’m beginning to believe that this isn’t all an act anymore. That I am the right person to lead this mission. It was strange not having to constantly find ways to avoid the negative thoughts that plagued my mind as I tried to fall asleep. It lulled me into a sense of comfort I hadn’t felt in years, finally letting me rest.

Chapter 17

 

 

Surveying the spectral crowd, their four prisoners, the collapsed remains of Martha Drexel, a canine’s corpse, and she who floated above them all, imperial, Benjy Rothstein thought, Shit. Neither the living nor the dead were aware of his scrutiny. Instinctively, he’d made himself invisible, and entirely intangible, the very moment that the house’s lights went out. Silently, he’d watched the dead special agents make their entrance, followed by the villain who’d twisted the Oceanside of his childhood nightmarish. 

If that gruesome bitch becomes aware of me, she’ll make me her slave, too, he assumed. Come to think of it, my afterlife is tied to Emmett’s life. If he dies, will I ascend to the Phantom Cabinet…or will I become the entity’s property as part of some package deal? Best not to find out. But what should I do? 

His gaze settled on Martha’s body. Shallowly respiring, it looked so fragile, so vulnerable. A quick mercy killing would sever the porcelain-masked entity’s tether to Earth. 

Can I do it? Benjy wondered. Can I actually murder this lady, even in these circumstances? Will I hate myself if I do? What about if I don’t?  

The porcelain-masked entity was cackling. “Just a bit of blood, for starters,” she said. “No need to rush the process. We can stretch this out for quite a while.”

Damn it, thought Benjy. If I don’t do something now, then Carter and the Wilsons will get the Lemuel Forbush treatment. Blood and guts strewn to all corners. A terrible scene. 

Emmett was my best friend. Actually, he still is. Graham’s just nine years old. And Celine, well, just look at her. She’s the sort of babe I always dreamed about while alive. Looks damn great naked, too. As for Carter…he always seemed alright. Plus, I owe it to Douglas to try to save the guy’s life.

How will I do it? Can I grab some kind of weapon and carry it over to Martha, unnoticed? Unlikely. Think, Benjy, think.

Generating spontaneous symbology, the ghosts began to claw shallow, crimson-dribbling grooves into their captive’s faces. Graham shrieked and wept. Celine attempted to assure him that everything would be okay. “We’ll get through this…somehow,” she promised, hoping not to perish with a lie on her lips. 

Emmett was so furious, and simultaneously so ashamed by his own impotence, that he could only grind his teeth, mutely enduring his agony. Carter called Martha’s name over and over, as if that might awaken her and set the world right. 

Okay, Benjy thought. It’s now or never, isn’t it? Am I strong enough to strangulate Martha? It’s not like she can fight back. Maybe I can stick my fist in her throat and solidify it enough to asphyxiate her. 

He floated, insubstantial, to where the ravaged woman lay. Here goes nothing, he thought, feeling as if he should sob for his own soon-to-be-shed innocence. Martha’s mouth, yet uncannily agape, might as well have been voicing a plea: “End my suffering.” Benjy pressed his fingers together, thinning his hand as much as he could. Thrusting it forward, past palate, teeth and tongue, down the woman’s gullet, he felt nothing physically, yet recoiled at the process. She’s not going to vomit, is she? he wondered.

Sorry, ma’am, he thought, preparing to manifest. Before he could do so, however, the unexpected occurred. 

An implacable suction seized Benjy by the essence. Into and through Martha he was drawn, unable to shriek in protest or slow himself one iota. 

All around him, impressionistic, pink became crimson, became burnt umber, became black. Subjective eternities passed, with Benjy mired in utter darkness. Are Emmett and the rest of ’em still alive? he wondered. Am I trapped here forever? 

In Martha’s inner realm—simultaneously within and beyond her biology—there existed no guideposts to assist him, no friendly face to spew comfort. This must be where the porcelain-masked entity keeps her specters when they’re not haunting the living, Benjy realized. Did she build this place herself, hollowing Martha out, or can every living human carry more than one soul inside them?  

Is Martha even still here? he next wondered. Or did that demonic bitch exile her from her own body? How can I find her spirit, if it remains?

As she’d been committed to the asylum when he’d been but an infant, Benjy had never met Martha Drexel. If she was hiding deep within herself, it was unlikely that he, a stranger, would be viewed favorably enough to draw her from concealment. Still, he had to try something. 

Okay, the first order of business is to make myself visible, he thought. Shaping the idea of a skull around his thoughts, he dressed it in translucent musculature and fat, and layered skin atop that. Imagining a hand in front of his recreated eyes, he soon flexed pudgy fingers. Glancing down, he saw his entire see-through body returned to him.

When he tore his gaze away from his returned self, Benjy realized something astonishing. The darkness had abated. By fabricating himself a body from the void, he’d attained the ability to perceive another scene entirely. 

As a matter of fact, the site’s furnishings and miscellanea identified it as a little girl’s bedroom. Garish flowers—eye-assaulting shades of yellow, orange and red—practically burst from the wallpaper. Elaborating on that theme, the room’s green shag carpeting evoked a well-tended lawn. Upon it, saucer-eyed dolls sat in diminutive chairs around a tiny tea table at the foot of a canopy bed. In that bed, beneath pristine pink covers, there existed a small, shuddering form. 

“Uh, hello,” Benjy said, addressing it. “Can you hear me in there? My name’s Benjy. Where am I?”

His words went ignored. Feeling self-consciously awkward, Benjy glanced to the closed door, wondering if he should make an exit so as to explore the rest of the house. Before he could so much as make an attempt to do so, the door swung inward. 

In blundered a mid-thirties fellow clad in rumpled business attire. Beneath the man’s greying, receding hairline, his eyes had acquired a pink sheen. His tie was nearly unknotted. Toes protruded from his sock holes. His voice was half-snarl and half-wheedling as he asked, “You awake, honey?”

No answer arrived from the beneath-the-covers bulge, which had fallen perfectly still. 

“No goodnight kiss for Daddy? It’s been a long, awful day. I deserve one.”

The faintest of whimpers sounded.

Off came the man’s tie, followed by his jacket. “Don’t be like that, Martha,” he said. “Your mama’s already in dreamland and I could sure use some company.”

The figure beneath the covers contracted, as if it was attempting to squeeze itself inside itself, so as to disappear entirely. 

An unbuttoned shirt struck the carpet, unveiling a flabby, hirsute chest and stomach, both strangers to sunlight. 

“Just a little cuddle, darlin’. That’s all I’m asking for.”

The man unzipped his pants, freeing his tumescence.

“Hey, stop that,” Benjy protested, now alarmed, but no one seemed to hear him. 

Off came tighty-whities. Only shabby socks remained on the man as he climbed into the bed. 

“Ah, there you are,” he declared, slipping beneath the covers. “I was afraid you’d gone missing. Now give Daddy a kiss.”

In response came a protest, too faint to discern. 

“Listen to what I say, Martha. You don’t want a spanking, do you?”

I’m in Martha’s memory, Benjy realized. This actually happened to her, back when she was just a little girl. No wonder the porcelain-masked entity was able to sink her hooks into her so easily. That horrible cunt feeds on fear and pain, and Martha’s got ’em in spades. 

Beneath the covers, a struggle: unwanted caresses. Then the large form maneuvered itself atop the small form and the bed began rocking. Grunting and quiet sobbing sounded to nauseate Benjy. How can I stop what already happened? he wondered.  

It was over in minutes. “Put your pajamas back on,” Mr. Drexel demanded. “Not one word to your mother.”

Without another uttered syllable, he climbed out of the bed and redonned his business clothes. Only after he’d exited the room and closed the door behind him did a young Martha peek her mousy little head out to confirm that her boogeyman was truly gone. 

Tears streamed from her eyes as she tore hair from her head. Her pineapple print nightclothes seemed a hideous joke. Not knowing what else to do, Benjy sat down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  

A feminine voice then arrived, startling him with its adultness. “I was just eight years old,” Martha said. “Then nine years old, then ten. It went on for years, until I started dating Carter in middle school. The way that she looked at me sometimes, my mom must’ve known all about it and hated me for it. My own father…every time he got wasted enough to give in to his sick impulses…made me his little whore. I relive every rape now, again and again. This must be hell. Does that make you Satan? A demon, maybe?”

“The devil?” said Benjy. “Not me, ma’am. Never. As a matter of fact, I don’t think Satan ever existed. People just made him up to excuse their own evil actions. Wait a second…you can perceive me?”

The child with a grown-up voice—two Martha selves merged—turned and met his gaze. “Sure, I can see you. You’re a bit transparent, though. No offense.”

The bedroom door flew open. The ogreish Mr. Drexel returned, now dressed in weekend wear: green slacks and a yellow polo shirt. “Wake up, girl!” he bellowed. “I’ve got a present for ya!” Bone-chillingly, he chortled.

Returned to that moment in time, Martha was back under the covers, trembling convulsively. 

“Now wait a minute,” Benjy protested, leaping to his spectral feet. Attempting to push the incestuous child rapist back, he glided clear through him. Clothes hit the floor and an atrocity repeated.

As the girl wept and her dad grunted dirty talk, Benjy shouted over them. “Martha, I hope you can hear me! This isn’t hell! You’re trapped inside of yourself! A monstrous bitch of an entity put you here, locked you in your own past so that she can use your body on Earth! She’s outside of it now! You can seize control of yourself back, but there isn’t much time!”   

Satiated for the moment, Mr. Drexel climbed out of bed. With well-honed efficiency, he dressed and made a sly exit.

Blood trickled from her nostril when Martha’s young head resurfaced. “I’m not dead?” she asked. “I can escape from this nightmare?”

“Yes, girl, you’re alive, but Carter won’t be for much longer if you stay here.” It might already be too late, he almost added, but thought better of it.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Benjy Rothstein. I was friends with your son. We went to school together, hung out quite a bit.”

“Douglas,” she sighed. “He’s lived years without me, huh? When he was just a newborn, I had a nightmare that I strangled him. Please tell me he turned out okay.”

That was no nightmare, Benjy might’ve corrected her. You killed him back then and then he died again, years later, horribly. Instead, detesting himself for it, he lied: “Douglas is fine, Martha. You’ll see him again if we hurry.”

Mr. Drexel returned, dressed in naught but stained underpants, fondling himself. Wordlessly, he slid into bed with his daughter. 

When it was over and the brute had departed, Martha, aware that another rape would soon arrive, said, “How can I escape this? I’ve been through it all so many, many times. It’s all that I know now.”

“Hmm…actually, I’m not really sure. Do you have any memories of your father from when you were an adult?”

“Only of his funeral. It was open-casket, you know. When no one was looking, I slapped him right in the face.”  

“Well, how did you feel when you did that?”

Martha grinned, beatific. “I felt powerful that day, like I could do anything. The liver cancer had stolen so much weight from him…I probably could’ve hefted him up over my head if I’d wanted to. You know, I asked Carter to marry me just as soon as we got home. He couldn’t believe it, but said yes pretty quickly.” 

“Remember that powerful feeling. Climb into it like armor and fight your father this time. You did nothing wrong. You never deserved such sick treatment. Stand up for yourself. I’ll be here, cheering you on.”

Profoundly, she sighed. “But how can I fight my own memories? They made me feel so ashamed all my life, I never mentioned them to anyone…even Carter.”

“Figure something out.”

Again, the door opened. The recollected villain returned, smirking, secure in the knowledge that no earthly punishment would ever find him. Soon, he’d be feeling lighter on his feet, having extinguished his inner tension for a time and reconfirmed in his mind his own masculinity. 

Mr. Drexel, exhibiting a suburban sort of homeliness, propelled by bestial guile, again shed the illusion of business-suited normalcy. Licking his lips, lascivious, he began to undress—slowly this time, actually attempting seduction. Humming a spontaneous sort of tune, he blinked his eyes again and again as if attempting to stay awake. His muscles were spasming, as if too much adrenaline flowed through them.

“This was the worst of them,” said Martha. “Yes, absolutely. Mom was visiting my uncle that weekend; she drove to San Francisco without us. Dad just kept going and going…stayed in my room all that time. He wouldn’t even let me eat…wouldn’t let me out of his sight.”

Taking his time, clearly enjoying the mental torment he inspired, her father was now nude and advancing. Benjy expected her then, as before, to disappear under the covers.

To his surprise, however, he found himself staring into the eyes of Martha’s fully grown self, who’d reclaimed a body she’d surely inhabited in her prime, pre-pregnancy. Lissome it was, radiating a healthy glow. She wore natural makeup, emphasizing her innate beauty. As she climbed out of bed, her dark hair, so lustrous, flowed to her midback. Barefoot, she sported a retro swing dress; its not-quite-glaring shade of yellow was interspersed with tiny red roses. 

Defiantly folding her arms across her chest, she glowered at her father and shrieked, “Never again!” 

The man seemed not to hear her. Naked and slavering, he stumbled right through Martha—indeed, the lady had become as insubstantial as Benjy—and disappeared into bedclothes that enshrouded, then swallowed him.

Bemused, nearly disappointed, Martha turned back to Benjy and said, “It was as simple as that, huh? Kind of anticlimactic. All that suffering, all those rapes…over and over again…and I just had to stand up to those memories to banish them away?”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” Benjy answered. “It might not have been possible with the porcelain-masked entity in here with us. We need to get back to the real world before she returns. If only I knew how to do that.”

Martha furrowed her forehead and asked, “Well, how did you get here in the first place?” 

“Uh…your body kind of inhaled me.”

“Hmm, I guess that the first thing I should do then is return to myself. Maybe I can, I don’t know, spit you out? Whatever the case, goodbye, childhood bedroom. I don’t think that I’ll miss you much.”

Martha squinted and pressed her lips together, concentrating for all she was worth. Responsively, the bright shades of their surroundings bleached into an immaculate whiteness, which absorbed the walls, toys and furniture, leaving Benjy and her floating untethered.

 “Sometimes, as a kid, I’d realize I was dreaming,” said Martha. “Whenever that happened, I’d have maybe a few seconds before the dream unraveled and I opened my eyes in the real world.”

She began to fade from the scene, bleaching as her old bedroom had. “My God, it’s happening, Benjy. My actual eyelids, outside, are gummy, but parting. I can feel my body now. It’s freezing…and aches everywhere. What the hell happened to—”

Then she was gone, leaving Benjy alone in the pale void.

 

Chapter 18

 

 

“The Chinese abolished slow slicing in 1905,” the porcelain-masked entity said, peering down from the ceiling. “Their process was astounding: slices segueing to amputations, execution by 3,600 cuts.” She paused for dramatic effect, and then added, “Perhaps one of you might exceed that total.”

Pinned to the floor as specters took turns nicking them with translucent fingernails, already Carter and the Wilsons bore dozens of shallow wounds apiece. Woozy with blood loss, no longer pleading or sobbing, they stoically endured their slow suffering.

A request poured through the clenched teeth of Oliver Milligan’s skeleton mask: “Let me cut off that bitch’s nipples. I’ll force her brat to eat ’em. A parody of breastfeeding it’ll be. Entertainment for all.”

The porcelain-masked entity nodded. “Later,” she said, “once we’ve neared our crescendo. This bloodletting might span days; there is no reason to rush things.” Addressing the refrigerator-adjacent specters, she declared, “Your moment has arrived, Baxters. Each of you grab a knife and select a victim. Resist the urge to cut deeply. Avoid major veins and arteries.”

Naturally, nude, insane Tabitha bounded forward and seized a blade from the kitchen’s wall-mounted magnetic strip: a serrated carving knife, nine inches in length. “Dibs on the little boy,” she giggled. “I’ll carve my name into his dingdong.”

Her parents and sister, disinclined, remained where they were, staring floorward with nauseated expressions.

The porcelain-masked entity, of course, would not be ignored. “Do as I demand,” she said, “or relive your own murders.” A bit of her intestine gesticulated toward Farrah, who then began shrieking. 

Shed like opera gloves at the end of the night, her translucent skin peeled away from her arms. Blood flowed from exposed musculature and evaporated before striking floor. Every spectral tooth escaped from her gums. Her hood rolled backward and her beanie left her head, permitting pink-and-purple hair clumps to yank themselves from her skull, trailing scalp bits. 

“Stop this!” Olivia Baxter hollered. “Please…leave her alone!”

“We’ll do whatever you want!” added Ren. “Just stop hurting our daughter!”

“Naturally,” the entity responded, and then Farrah was as before, her spectral flesh, teeth, and hair back in place.  

“How can I, a dead chick, still suffer so much?” the girl wondered aloud. 

“Grab your knives, Mom and Dad,” Tabitha urged, tracing her empty eye socket with the tip of her blade. “You, too, Little Sister. It’s been years since we’ve had a family game night.”

“The sun’s out, you moron,” Farrah groused.

“Sometimes night’s a state of mind,” said Tabitha. 

Ren made his way to the knife strip. Dolefully, he evaluated the selection: “Well, the cleaver won’t work well for slicing. Ditto this boning knife over here. This bread knife should work for me. Oh, here’re some steak knives for my ladies.”  

With that, they each had a blade. 

“Hurry up, you guys,” Tabitha whined. “Let’s start cutting already. A real bonding experience.”

Her parents and sister scanned Carter, Emmett, and Celine in turn, seeking an indication of evil, any sign whatsoever that their punishments were warranted. Finding naught but stunned agony, detesting themselves for their compliance, they debated.

“I can’t do the woman,” said Farrah. “I just…can’t.”

“Me neither,” said Olivia. “Ladies have to stick together.”

“Okay, I’ll slice the poor thing,” said Ren, shaking his silver-capped head. “I’d ask God to forgive me but, you know…there doesn’t seem to be one.”

“Well, that leaves the old guy and the black man,” said Farrah. “I can’t hurt a person of color. That’s racist.”

“I don’t want to cut him either,” said Olivia. “I donated to the NAACP once.”

“Sure, you did.”

“Tell her, Ren.”

Ren, wise to the nuances of female argumentation, well aware that choosing any side would earn him a cold shoulder, kept his mouth shut. 

“Fine, I’ll cut the black man,” Olivia conceded. “The things parents do for their children…there should be medals awarded.”

Unbeknownst to all present, Martha Drexel had awakened. Dehydrated, starving, she attempted to moan, but her bleeding lips could only unleash an impotent hiss. Her muscles had wasted away. Her entire body ached. She was feverish and hardly seemed to be breathing. Attempting to rise from the floor, immediately overwhelmed by dizziness, she returned to her sprawl. 

My skin is so shriveled, she noticed. My God, I’ve gone cronish.

Her gaze found the specters, and then the quartet of sufferers that could scarcely be glimpsed through them. They’re being tortured, aren’t they? she thought. Look, that one there’s just a child. And that guy beside him…could it be? So fat now…so bald. It’s him. It must be.

Summoning a scintilla of speech, she managed to rasp, “Carter.” If anybody present heard her, they showed no sign of it. 

Tabitha, crouched above the pinned Graham Wilson, cooed, “There, there, little boy. It’s okay, your favorite auntie is here now.” She planted a kiss on his bloody forehead, then moved her lips closer to his ear to whisper, “You know, you really should thank me. I’m going to carve your pecker up real nice before it can get you into trouble.”

Softly, Graham moaned. Tears flowed from his eyes, into shallow wounds.

Positioning himself astride Celine, Ren said, “You know, I’m really sorry about all this. If there was any other way…I mean, I’m not into hurting women.”

Though agony had left her shell-shocked, Celine recovered enough of her personality to hiss, “Burn in hell.”

 Leaning over Carter, Farrah kept mute. By the expression on her face, it was clear that, had she been alive, she’d have been vomiting. Her soon-to-be victim, too, remained silent, gazing past his current circumstances, into a tranquil, hypothetical realm that could never be. 

“Why can’t you leave him alone?” asked Elaina, crouched at Carter’s opposite side, gushing evaporating tears. She’d maintained that position throughout all of his tortures, whispering that she loved him, unable to assist him. 

“Wish that I could, ma’am,” said Farrah.

Easing herself down until she sat, weightlessly, upon Emmett’s broad chest, Olivia felt compelled to assure him, “This isn’t race-related, you know. I’d just as soon be cutting up a white man. Better yet, nobody.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Emmett replied through gritted teeth. “Clearly, you’re a wonderful person.”

“Mommy, Daddy, Little Sis, let’s start the fun already,” giggled Tabitha. “Are you ready? One, two, three!” Seizing Graham’s oversized Chargers shirt and yanking it up, she unveiled the boy’s Superman boxer shorts.

Realizing that penile disfigurement would be arriving in seconds, Graham grew animate. “No!” he shrieked, thrashing in the grips of his spectral restrainers. “No, no, no, no, no, no!”

“Yes, yes, I’m going to cut up your no no place. Be a good boy and lie still for your auntie.”

“Seriously, Tabitha,” Farrah groaned, resting the tip of her blade on Carter’s forehead, “keep it above the belt, will you? This sucks hard enough as it is.”

“Quiet, Little Sister. Don’t spoil my fun.”

“Come on. He’s just a kid.”

“Boys become men, become stalkers, become rapists, become demons. They secretly film you, then masturbate to that footage with their friends.”

Farrah sighed to herself, then muttered, “Crazy bitch.” To Carter, she said, “My apologies, dude. Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere else at this moment.” Gently, she took his hand and sliced a new line into his palm. Fascinated despite her qualms, she watched blood well up from it. How much can this guy lose before he becomes a ghost like the rest of us? she wondered. 

After some hesitation, Ren said, “Listen, lady. I know that you’re hurting. Believe me, I’d help ya if I could. But, seeing that I’m choosing between my family’s suffering and yours, and you’re getting tortured today anyway, my hands are kinda tied here. I’ll tell you what, though. I’ll cut you above your hairline…spare that pretty face of yours for the moment.” Pushing his bread knife between her dark locks, he began to saw lightly, wettening his blade. Raising his voice to address the porcelain-masked entity, he asked, “Is this good enough for you? I don’t have to cut deeper, do I?”

“All is fine for the moment,” the demoness answered. 

Olivia Baxter, with her family’s focuses elsewhere, underwent a change of demeanor. A lecherous glint met her eyes; her lips became pouty. Reaching beneath her church fundraiser sweatshirt, she fondled her right breast. “Such a sweet, sweet man,” she whispered, grinding her buttocks on Emmett’s chest. She traced his jawline with her blade, hardly cutting at all.

“I’m married, you crazy bitch!” Emmett shouted, loud enough to draw Ren’s attention.

“Oh, darling…darling,” Ren said, abandoning Celine to seize his wife by the shoulders. “You’re supposed to be torturing this guy, not getting yourself off.”

“Marriage vows end in death, asshole,” Olivia spat. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re both single again.”

Ren met her blazing gaze. Realizing that she meant what she’d said, profoundly saddened, he returned to his victim.

Simultaneously, Tabitha, relishing the terror she inspired—in no real hurry to begin cutting, now that the opportunity had arrived—tugged Graham’s boxers down an inch. “Maybe I’ll chop the whole thing off,” she giggled, “along with that pair of prunes down below it. I’ll make you my pretty, pretty princess. You’d be into that, wouldn’t you?”

Violently, Graham shook his head negative. 

“Well, too bad,” remarked Tabitha, sliding the boy’s boxers down another inch. 

Just then, with hairless genitals on the verge of exposure, a grating, long-unused voice arrived. “Leave my husband alone,” Martha demanded, now standing. Swaying on her feet, she kept her arms splayed for balance. Pain and fever squinched her face. Still, her eyes were determined. 

The ghostly torturers paused their efforts. Farrah dropped her blade. Even the porcelain-masked entity was taken aback. Swiveling her ruined face, and the dispassionate oval that adorned it, she asked Martha, “How have you returned to yourself?”

“Would you believe that I made a friend?”

Drifting down from the ceiling, propelled by undulous shadows, the entity positioned herself so that the eye hollows of her mask were mere millimeters from Martha’s bleary gaze. “What has climbed inside of you?” she asked. “Another specter, it seems. Not one of mine. How curious.”

Lightning-fast, a tendril of shadow slid between Martha’s lips and made its way down her gullet, freezing the woman statue-still. It withdrew moments later, enwrapping a familiar figure. 

Immediately, Benjy’s eyes swept the scene and landed on the sufferers. “Oh, Emmett,” he said, “what have they done to you?” He turned to the porcelain-masked entity and added, “Gah!”

“You are linked with this man’s life,” said the demoness. “Never far from his side, never truly independent. After I kill him, you shall become my pet, too.”

At that, Benjy smirked. “Oh, fuck off already, you refried bitch.”

“I remember you, child. Young Benjamin Rothstein, dead many years now. I was there, unseen, the night that Douglas Stanton’s feet cratered your skull. The taste of his guilt and sorrow was sublime.”

“My son…killed you?” asked Martha.

“Not on purpose,” said Benjy. “It was one of those swing set accidents that probably happy all the time. My fault entirely. I should’ve watched where I was walking.” 

“O…kay.”

Irate at being ignored for even a mere moment, the porcelain-masked entity proclaimed, “Enough of this intermission. Martha, remain where you are. I shall repossess you soon enough. I’ll wring out every bit of life left within you, then locate another traumatized human to inhabit.” To the Baxters, she said, “Resume your cutting.”

“With pleasure,” said Tabitha, her intent quite predacious.

“Where’d my knife go?” asked Farrah. 

Her question was answered most dramatically when Martha again collapsed, this time with a steak knife’s wooden handle protruding from her chest. Blood surged forth around it. So too did a vitiated blood vessel spill crimson into her injured airway, gore which the woman coughed up.  

Above her stood Elaina, her hand yet outthrust. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, “but I couldn’t let Carter die.”

Elbowing his partner, Special Agent Sharpe chuckled. “Someone should have been watching that gal,” he said. “You can never predict a wife’s behavior.”

“Eh, you can’t win ’em all,” Special Agent Stevens replied. 

As the light faded from her eyes, as her pained countenance grew relaxed, Martha voiced her last words, “I cherish you, Carter,” she said. “Thank you for being my husband. Tell Douglas that I love him, and that he should always be…good to people.” 

Before the porcelain-masked entity could disabuse Martha of her notions—inform her that Carter had divorced her and her son was long dead—the woman drifted out from her body. Summoned by the afterlife that exists, unseen by the living, within the starfield above us, she ascended into a realm where her every sin and ingrained trauma would be shed. 

“Goodbye, Carter,” said Elaina, no longer earthbound. Enraptured, she followed Martha into the firmament.

Next went the Baxters, Tabitha shrieking all the while, her depraved ambitions thwarted. Then went the special agents, along with an assortment of dead vagrants, and all the rest of those who’d perished in Milford Asylum. 

“Are you ready to move on?” Bexley Adams asked Lemuel Forbush. The boy nodded his head and then they, too, were ascending. 

“Wait for me,” said Wayne Jefferson, never one to linger. 

Behind his Day-Glo orange skull mask, Oliver Milligan cackled. “To the dead realm I go! What past victims there await me?”

Soon, the only presences that remained were Benjy, the porcelain-masked entity, and her latest four victims, who carefully maneuvered themselves into sitting positions, moaning all the while. 

“Know that I shall return,” rasped the demoness. “Extreme suffering summons me. On this planet, with humans ever acting in accordance with their natures, there will never be a shortage of it.”

“We know,” said Benjy. “Now get the fuck outta here.”

The entity’s welt-covered, contused limbs were swallowed by the shadows, as were her pallid mask and the acrimonious face beneath it. A torrent of curses sounded and faded, and then the shadows unraveled. 

The kitchen regained its cheerful aspect, as did its sole remaining specter. Surveying those who yet lived, he remarked, “Well, you’re all sliced up pretty badly, but the cuts are shallow enough. You shouldn’t be scarred up too much once they’ve all healed.”

“That’s…good to know,” said Carter, unable to wrench his gaze away from his ex-wife’s corpse.  

Emmett threw an arm around Celine and an arm around Graham. As his blood intermingled with theirs, as sudden optimism overwhelmed him, he unleashed a chuckle hardly discernable from a croak, then said, “Well, what are you waiting for, you phantom asshole? Dial us up an ambulance already.”

Hey everyone 👻

I’ve just started my own horror narration channel, I’m a huge horror and paranormal lover — and every story you’ll hear is written and narrated by me.

This has been a dream of mine for a long time, so if you enjoy eerie stories, creepy things, and original content, I’d really love your support. Even more than that, I’d appreciate any feedback to help me grow and improve 🖤

If you decide to check it out… thank you for being part of something so special to me.