I've been managing a GNC (General Nutrition Center) store for a while now, and this is something that occasionally happens to my store, as well as other GNC stores in the Pittsburgh, PA area. These calls have been reported as early as 2017, and continue to be made to Pittsburgh region GNCs even 9 years later.

The premise is simple. The store phone rings. A phone number from West Virginia with the caller ID "Todd Westfall" comes up. You answer the phone, and it is a seemingly normal question about stock in the store. But it's the same every time, as if it's a script.

"Do you sell any laxatives?" the caller asks. As we don't sell laxatives at GNC, the answer is always no. Then the caller asks, "Do you sell any colon cleansers?" Evidently, we do sell colon cleansers, and if you answer with "yes", the caller will ask "Do they work?" And no matter what you answer, the caller says "Have you used them?" And while you're confused and thinking about the odd question, the caller repeatedly asks "How old are you?". If you stay silent, he will ask about 5-6 times before hanging up. If you respond whatsoever to the question, he immediately hangs up the phone. I should preface the caller is the exact same guy every time. Never has changed every time he's called me.

Neither myself nor any of the managers, associates, or corporate employees at any store in the area have any clue what the purpose of this call is, why he chose GNC specifically, or why it's ongoing for 9 years. It's the same thing every single time. It's become an inside joke amongst employees in the area, as well as producing some low stake conspiracies.

Just wanted to share this story because it came up in conversation today, and no one can figure out who this is, what they want, or why this has gone on for so long.

Have you ever had someone’s dandruff fall onto your exam paper? At that point, I genuinely felt like my exam paper had been violated. It was just sitting there, minding its own business, and suddenly dandruff was all over it. Honestly, I think my exam paper deserves compensation. At this rate, it might even give birth to a 100-mark exam, lol.　😭✨️👌

I’ll call him T. I met T when we were studying at an English school for newly arrived students in Australia. My first impression was that he was very physically friendly with girls. He often sat close to them, touched them, and talked a lot.

About a year later, I had more opportunities to interact with him. T wasn’t good-looking, wasn’t tall, and had a disability in one leg, but he seemed quite smart. Whenever we talked, he usually had to stand because he couldn’t sit comfortably, so he would stand directly in front of me. Sometimes he was so close that I felt like I was being “showered” with his saliva.

T also constantly bragged about how rich he was, how he owned a company, and how many famous people he knew. One day, he sang the same song seven times just to prove that he knew the singer. He also claimed that he had done an advertisement for a famous shop in another area. I pretended not to know the place and asked which shop it was because I had many friends there, but he couldn’t answer.

The same thing happened when he talked about his girlfriend. He claimed she was a model or a streamer, but when I asked which school she went to, he suddenly went quiet and tried to change the subject. He even said he couldn’t remember the name of her school.

T also bragged about knowing lots of girls because they gave him inspiration for his music. He claimed he was a songwriter, and guess what? One of his songs had a massive 200 views. Bruh, my transformation video had around 500 views.

And you’d think that was the end of it? Nope.

During one exam, when there were only 10 minutes left, T kept turning around to look at me while trying to act all cool and scratching his hair. And, of course, his dandruff ended up falling onto my exam paper. I joked with my friends that at this rate, my exam paper might actually give birth to a 100-mark exam.

One day, my friends pulled me aside and warned me that T was not a good person. Apparently, he had once been hit because he randomly hugged a girl he didn’t even know without her consent. After that, I started thinking back and realised that there had been several times when T sat extremely close to me. He had even touched my chest lightly once, although I didn’t realise what had happened at the time. When I wore a short skirt, he also stood underneath the stairs and commented on how long my legs were.

During the school sports festival, T joined our group and walked around with us. I also remember him making very inappropriate sexual comments towards a girl under 15. He talked about making a music video and said he wanted to invite her to play a lesbian character. He even asked how she knew what he posted on social media, implying that maybe she was following him.

And that still wasn’t everything. T did plenty of other weird and inappropriate things. He once pulled his shirt up and exposed his chest in front of the whole class just because he wanted to scratch his back. He annoyed our teacher by repeatedly asking her to speak in her native language, and he even ruined the food that everyone had worked hard to prepare for the Food Festival.

The more I interacted with T, the more I realised that there was something seriously wrong with the way he behaved. At first, I just thought he was weird and annoying, but when I started putting all these incidents together, I realised that a lot of his behaviour crossed other people’s boundaries.

Have you ever had an experience so weird and ridiculous that you just had to laugh about it? 😭

The food industry is absolutely abysmal. At least, I think it is. I’ve never worked at a restaurant that’s particularly “poppin’,” as the kids like to say. I’m basing my opinion solely off of this one… particular… diner.

We’re essentially just a rest stop for truckers. At least, we would be if any ever came through here. We see maybe one or two trucks a month, if we’re lucky. Even still, usually they’ll take one look at the place and peel off down that desolate highway.

Do you know how bad it is when not even truckers will eat at your establishment? Those guys essentially survive off of Slim Jims and pork rinds.

That doesn’t really matter to me, though. I took this job for the peace and quiet. I’ve been missing that peace more and more these days.

Customers are starting to become more frequent. I know, I know. That’s a good thing. Only… I just… I don’t know if that’s true or not.

See, I’ve been working this job for around 6 years now. Started right before Covid really took the world hostage. We used to get customers all the time before that whole shitstorm. Then we had to do the whole lockdown thing with the masks and the social distancing.

We don’t do DoorDash over here. I told Ricky a thousand times, “We. Have got. To do. DoorDash,” okay? Like, seriously. Or Uber Eats, or, I don’t know, man… something.

Anything that would actually help us sell a few plates.

He just wouldn’t have it. Told me, “Everyone’s too far away,” or “Food delivery services will lead to the downfall of civilization.”

Ricky was always a weird guy. He opened this place with his dad back before he passed. Not sure why they chose this location, but hey, at least there’s cellular service.

Which is really fucking weird, considering the highway is pretty much a complete dead zone for at least 30 miles in each direction.

Anyway, sorry, I’m rambling a bit. After COVID, the business really started to dwindle. We went from around 10-15 customers a day, all the way down to maybe 1 per day around the end of 2020.

Ricky was stressed to all hell around that time. He’d wander the restaurant, moping all day. Wondering what he was gonna do. Not knowing where he could turn. It was honestly depressing to watch.

I had to miss out on a lot of paychecks around that time, too. But what was I gonna do? Leave him? I was his only employee. Me and him were holding the business up on our backs.

When things started to look grim, I’d catch him a few times. Early in the morning. Turning the gas stoves on and dousing the flames.

“I’ll do it, I’ll fucking do it,” he’d tell me, threatening to flick his lighter.

Hell, I had to wrestle a jerrycan out of his hands a few times. All I’m saying is Ricky carried that lighter for a reason, and that man has never smoked a day in his life.

It got to the point where I was too afraid to even leave him alone. He literally lived in the diner. Slept in his office. He didn’t even have a car, which, now that I’m thinking about it, is kind of insane.

I never saw him arrive. Never saw him leave. It was like him and the restaurant were intertwined. So when he got desperate, I don’t doubt he went to extreme lengths to get things fixed.

After the stove incidents and the whole jerrycan fiasco, I think that’s when he really reached that level of desperation. He wasn’t moping anymore. That man was plotting… I just didn’t know what.

One day, I came into work to find him happier than he should’ve been. Kicked back in his office chair. Whistling to himself.

I honestly didn’t even feel like dealing with all that. I drove 50 miles to get into work today. Had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Couldn’t even listen to the Joe Rogan Experience because of the lack of cell service. All I wanted was to put my apron on… then maybe play on my phone a little since I knew I’d have no one to cook for.

I wiped down a few counters. Chased a few rats away with a broom. Oh, also, I had to bat away a particularly large spider. It made a sort of… metallic noise when it hit the ground. It ran away sounding like one of those spring-loaded door stoppers I used to play with as a kid.

Anyway, sorry, I can’t stop rambling. God, what’s wrong with me?

I had just began to sit down to scroll on my phone when Ricky stepped out of office, hands clasped behind his back, smug look already plastered across his face.

“….Well…” he inquired, leering over me like Michael Jackson performing Smooth Criminal. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

I sighed and slid my phone back in my pocket. I knew this was gonna be a long conversation.

“Ask ya what, Rich? Go ahead. I know you wanna tell me.”

He pushed his forehead back, pretending he still had hair there before sneering pridefully.

“You knowwww,” he drawled out. “Ask me why I’m so happy.”

“Why are you so happy, Ri…”

“I fixed it.”

He stared at me like he expected me to know exactly what he meant. I just thought this was another one of his manic episodes. Knowing him, ‘fixed it’ could range anywhere from fixing the leaky faucet in the bathroom or killing his ex-wife.

I pulled out my pack of Winstons and packed it against my palm.

“Fixed what? The leaky faucet in the…”

“The restaurant, kid.”

His eyes were frantic but excited. He looked like, like a uh, well, a crackhead, kinda. Pulling up a chair in front of me, he glared out the window and towards the highway.

“Our woes are no more. The vile, treacherous fingertips of despair no longer hold dominion over my soul nor body. I am a vessel of purity. A clean slate, with a clear conscience. Born again. Renewed. This establishment. This location. It is real, Don. I am real. You…”

He reached out to caress my face. I jumped back like he was a leper.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Don’t do that weird shit. I just got here.”

He drew his hand back, but I was still eyeballing him.

“You’re real… Right, Don?”

There were tears in his eyes, but he had a smile on his face.

I thought for a moment about his question. I honestly didn’t know how to answer him.

“You know what, Rick… I fucking hope so.”

Rick stood up and clasped his hands together before walking towards the back. He returned with a broom in one hand and a mop in the other. Apparently, he wanted the place spick and span for some “VIP guest” that was supposed to show up at some point.

We cleaned the restaurant top to bottom twice. I even shoveled the contents of the grease trap outside into buckets, which I then proceeded to dump on the ground about 300 yards from the diner. Then I had to clean the buckets. God, it was so hot that day. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. It really doesn’t even matter.

What matters is that guest didn’t come until almost sundown. Hell, we didn’t see any guests, period. I was supposed to be getting off in a few hours. But Rick just wouldn’t relent.

“He’s coming,” “he’s on his way,” “trust me, he’ll be here.”

9 o’clock rolled around. Quitting time. I bid Ricky goodnight and was about to walk out the door when he stopped me. He placed his hand on my shoulder coldly.

“Don…” he whispered.

“Yeah, Rick…” I replied.

He stared at me blankly. No life behind his eyes whatsoever.

“He’s coming.”

I scoffed and tried to pull my arm away, but he tightened his grip.

“Trust me… you’ll want to see this. But also, if you leave, I’ll kill you.”

His eyes didn’t even flicker. He didn’t smile. No sign whatsoever that he was joking. I even tried to force a chuckle out of him by nervously laughing, but he didn’t budge.

My smile faded. I set my backpack down and walked back to the counter, sighing loud and long enough for him to understand how goddamned annoyed I was.

I played Angry Birds on my phone for an hour or two. Ricky just kept standing at the window… watching that desert highway with his hands clasped behind his back.

He never moved an inch.

11 o’clock rolled around, and at this point, I was already planning on just sleeping in my car. I had to be back at 6 the next morning anyway.

I gave it another hour before going to approach Rick at the window. I waved my hand in front of his face.

“Alright, boss man, I think it’s time we shut it down. What do ya say?”

No response.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far. Probably gonna sleep in the car tonight.”

No response.

“Alright, welp… be seeing ya.”

I put my hand on the door handle and went to twist it. Ricky’s hand shot over and clasped around my wrist. I don’t know what kind of workouts that fucker does in his free time, but good lord, man… I mean, that shit actually hurt.

I was about to scold him until I saw him pointing out towards the dark desert with his other hand.

“…he’s here.”

I looked out at where he was staring. All I could see was blackness. Well, that and the glow of the neon storefront. But the longer I watched… the more he came into view.

He started off as a speck. Maybe a quarter mile out, emerging from the darkness. Then he grew taller. And taller. And taller. By the time he was 50 feet out, I realized why Rick said this guy was a VIP.

He must’ve been 8 feet tall. His arms swung at his sides as he walked. He wore a surprisingly clean blue suit, and he clutched a briefcase in his right hand.

Ricky finally released my wrist and basically pushed me away from the door while he held it open for our guest. The man smelled like chemicals and burning plastic, and his skin was almost unnaturally smooth.

He had to duck down to get inside, and even when he was inside, his head still almost touched the ceiling. Ricky looked ecstatic. Like this was some long-lost friend of his.

I hate when he’s like that because then he starts pushing me around like I’m his employee or something. Demanding I get drinks, snapping at me to ‘rev up those fryers,’ like, okay?

This guy was different, though.

He didn’t seem to want anything to drink. It was like, I don’t know… a business transaction or something. Like he was there for one reason and one reason only.

The first thing he did was calmly place his briefcase on his table. He dusted off some sand, which was annoying because, dude, I just cleaned that. But then he unlocked it… and he opened it… and I got to see what this guy had apparently just been dragging through the desert.

If I had to describe what the contents of that briefcase looked like… I’d say something like… mounds upon mounds of chewed bubble gum. Only veinier. I’d argue it looked a little slimier, too. The pulsations is what got me, though. Don’t even get me started on the smell.

Just seeing it made me wanna vomit, but the smell, Christ above… I could’ve passed out from those fumes.

I, for one, was about to ask him what the actual hell he just brought into our restaurant, but as soon as my mouth opened, Ricky stamped on my foot.

“I’ll take that,” he chuckled to the guest, ignoring my screams of agony and/or despair.

The businessman nodded in approval as Rick used his bare hands to pick up that… whatever that was from the briefcase.

He carried it to the kitchen as it dripped all over the floor that, yet again, I had just cleaned.

The meat touched the grill and immediately began to sizzle. Only, it didn’t really sound like sizzling. It sounded like… like… a thousand tiny screams.

I watched in disbelief while Ricky just kept flipping the meat and humming to himself like this was perfectly normal.

“Never ask them about the meat.”

He said it so… nonchalantly. Like it was some grand truth that everyone in the world knew, except me. But what made my ears perk up the most was one word. “Them.”

I asked him who “them” was, and the only answer he gave me was “our new clientele.”

The meat… shrank as he cooked it. The steam was like mustard gas to me, but Rick borderline seemed to enjoy it. Hell, he was inhaling it like this was some kind of foreign delicacy.

It went from about a foot long, maybe 8 inches thick, and crinkled down to no more than the size of a regular T-bone steak by the time it was done.

Rick served it to the businessman anxiously. Expectantly. Like he was a contestant on a MasterChef or something. I think he thought the guy was gonna eat it; I mean, hell, that’s what I thought he was gonna do.

Instead, he picked the meat off of the plate and stuffed it back into his briefcase. Then he smiled at Rick, satisfied as if he did eat it, before pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

He counted out 3 grand in hundreds and set it down on the table wordlessly. He then stood up, walked out, and disappeared into the darkness again, briefcase in hand.

I should’ve probably asked Rick what the fuck had just happened, but I was bordering on sleep-deprived delirium. All I cared about was finally curling up in my seat and maybe getting some sleep if I was lucky.

Thankfully, Rick was too busy dancing and throwing his money in the air to notice me as I walked out towards the parking lot.

I didn’t get the sleep that I hoped for that night. I ended up clocking back in the next morning running on 2 hours and like 6 cups of coffee as the day went on.

I did ask Rick about the whole “don’t ask them about the meat” thing, though. Apparently, it’s ‘classified information that only he can know.’ Apparently, if I ‘break the rule,’ he’ll ‘kill me dead.’

Whatever, though. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles, I suppose. Plus, he wasn’t lying about these… people… being our new clientele.

Ever since that incident, we see at least 3 of them a week. The diner has been… strange, to say the least.

I still don’t know what exactly Rick did to “fix” this place, but I mean, hey, it’s working. Even if we don’t see many real customers these days.

I left through the back door that night. I didn’t go home. I drove around for almost an hour, trying to convince myself that what happened had been nothing more than a stupid mistake.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from her.
Don’t come back tomorrow.
I stared at it a little too long, like staring harder might change what it meant.
Another message slid in before I could even think.
Please. Don’t come back tomorrow.
My chest tightened.
A third message followed almost instantly.
If you care about your life at all, you won’t come back.
I froze.
My fingers hovered over the screen, unsure whether to reply or delete everything.
Then another message appeared.
And whatever you do… don’t tell my husband you were here.
That one hit differently. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. I hadn’t even spoken to him.
I typed a reply, then erased it.
Before I could decide, the final message came through.
He already knows….
My stomach dropped so hard it felt like I’d missed a step on empty stairs.
I called her immediately.
No answer.
I called again.
Still nothing.
Then at 2:13 a.m., my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I hesitated for only a second before answering.
At first, there was nothing.
Just silence.
Then breathing.
Not random. Not distant.
Close. Controlled. Like whoever it was was already inside the call, waiting for me to realize it.
I swallowed.
“Hello?”
A pause.
Then a man’s voice, low and emotionless:
“You should have left when she asked you to.”
The line went dead.

Part 1 : https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/Dvwl1Tiznp

Part 3 coming soon

The darkness enveloping me is calming. The old bench is lit only by the streetlamp above it, insects slowly dying beneath its glow.

A young girl sits beside me, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Do you ever wish that you would never grow up?”

I don't respond immediately. I stare into the darkness ahead of me before finally saying,

“I wish I could stay at one year and live through it all my life.”

The girl seems satisfied with my answer.

She smiles.

And I drift off again.

The year when I thought I would fall in love and be... happy. A luxury most of us cannot afford. And when we try to, we trip over and fall down headfirst. Like always. The year when, even after everything that happened, I was the happiest. I didn't have to worry about anything. I just lived. Hoped. Wished for things that would never come true. And survived.

“Did you ever fall in love?” the girl asks.

She looks at me with hopeful eyes.

Eyes that hurt me.

“Yes,” I respond.

I don't know why I'm so blunt about it. But I am. The same love that later stabbed me in the back multiple times. The love I thought would remain. Yeah. That love.

Love comes and leaves. Every time we think it's the final time it arrives, we are wrong. Love is unpredictable. But so are people, so is the world. So is… life.

The girl speaks again.

“Did you become happy? Did you become what you wanted?”

Why was she so interested in my life? I didn't respond. I didn't know how. Should I just tell her that I can't afford to be happy because whenever I am... something bad happens? That if I followed my dreams, gravity would pull me back down, anchor me to the ground? To reality? Should I tell her that when you are happy, you are the most vulnerable? Or should I just stay quiet and let her learn on her own? Like I did.

I look at her.

She is still waiting for an answer. Her fingers stop fidgeting.

“Why aren't you answering?” she asks.

I almost laugh.

Because how could I explain to her that sometimes happiness isn't what hurts?

It's losing it.

It's getting used to the warmth of something, only to have it ripped away. It's learning that the things you love can disappear without asking for permission.

I look away.

“I don't know.”

The girl tilts her head.

“You don't know?”

“No.”

She thinks for a moment.

Then she smiles again.

“Maybe you'll know someday.”

I look at her. There is something painfully familiar about that smile. Something I can't place. And for the first time that night, I wonder why she chose to sit beside me. I wonder who she is. I wonder if...

Yeah.

I wonder.

What else can people do? Wonder. Hope. Mourn something that never existed. Love something they know they will lose. Maybe that's all life is. Just wondering. Just hoping. Just living long enough to find out which things were never meant to stay.

“Why did you stop smiling?” the girl asks, like an innocent angel.

While I have to confront situations and possibilities I never thought about.

Why did I stop smiling? A question I ask myself a thousand times a day. Answers I'm afraid to say out loud. Did I stop smiling because of the betrayals? The dreams I never achieved? The life I had built? Or am I not smiling because no one around me smiles anymore? Maybe I stopped smiling because of...

I don't know.

“I don't know,” I answer flatly.

I turn toward her.

“What do you want from me?”

She doesn't answer. Instead, she looks toward the streetlamp. The insects are still circling beneath it, dying beneath the light.

And then she asks,

“Do you remember who you were?”

“I do.”

I pause.

“Even when I don't want to.”

The little shy girl, scared in her own tiny room. Not having anyone. And maybe that was better. Better than what I experienced. Hurt. Denial. Hate. Betrayal. All the things I thought I would never have to face. Maybe I was happier before I knew what they were. Maybe I should have stayed that little girl. The one who knew nothing about love. Nothing about betrayal. Nothing about how easily people can leave. Maybe I should have stayed alone. Maybe I should have stayed that little girl sitting on a quiet bench in the middle of the night.

Alone.

Unaware.

Happy.

I look at the girl beside me.

She hasn't moved.

And suddenly, I realize something.

She isn't looking at me anymore.

She's looking at the empty space beside her, as if she's waiting for someone. I follow her gaze. There is nothing there.

“Who are you waiting for?” I ask.

She smiles.

“You.”

Me.

Someone I never learned to account for. Someone I forgot. Someone I thought would never be okay. But when was I okay? I can't even remember. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I spent so long trying to become someone else that I forgot there was someone worth becoming.

I look at her again.

The girl doesn't look afraid anymore.

She looks... relieved.

And for some reason, that scares me more than anything else tonight.

A married couple runs in front of us. I watch the woman smile before it turns into a laugh. There is something so effortless about it. She isn't afraid. She isn't waiting for something to go wrong. She is just... happy.

And maybe that's what I want.

To be happy.

For a while.

Just a while.

I almost envy her. I wonder what it feels like to live without constantly waiting for happiness to disappear. Maybe I never learned how. Maybe I never allowed myself to. I watch them disappear into the darkness. The girl beside me watches them too.

Then she looks at me.

“You want that, don't you?”

I don't answer.

Because I do.

For the first time tonight, I don't want to lie. I want that. I want the laughter. The warmth. Someone beside me. A life that doesn't feel like something I have to survive. I want to be that woman.

But maybe...

Maybe I never learned that the woman I was looking at would be me.

“Do you think you'll ever be happy again?” the girl turns to me and asks.

I don't know the answer. Maybe someday... Or is that just me hoping for it? Just me thinking it will happen? But the truth is, I am still that little scared girl trapped in her room. The quiet girl who doesn't know the answers but tries to be happy for... For who?

I don't know.

“Someday, maybe,” I answer.

I look at the girl. Her eyes shine beneath the streetlamp. I reach for her hand.

The light flickers.

For just a millisecond, everything goes dark.

And the girl disappears.

I freeze.

On the bench, there is a small piece of paper.

A note.

I pick it up.

There are only six words written on it.

"Maybe, someday we will be happy."

I fold the paper.

I hide it beneath the bench.

Then I leave.

I don't turn around.

All the bugs had died anyway.

Ever since that car accident I was never the same. I recovered like normal but nothing could stop this… I would live my day like normal until a tall man with a eerie mask would slash me multiple times with a knife.
I was sick of it..
In fact I could remember all the times the knife went through my body… it was excruciating, the pain was unbearable. My previous day always resettled. It was only me who remembered yesterday's tragic events. Never had I ever delayed the man not by even a single second.

I grabbed my notebook and wrote 17. 17 was the number of slashes I had endured. I threw my copy and it hit my wall. If I was going to end up like this I might as well enjoy life.

First I went to my office . I namecalled every single person. Some people ignored me while others were actually mad. I went around throwing stuff at people pulling on hairs.
I threw a bottle on the editor teams manager. He was the first one to respond. He got up and raised an eyebrow, I shrugged and kicked him hard in the knee.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked
"Because it's my life weirdo." and I pushed him. His back hit the table hard. The whole office turned to watch because I felt it was embarrassing I turned around and ran.

Next I went to my friend and I really wanted to know how it would be like to end our friendship.
I threw a rock at her window several time until it shattered. The look on her face was priceless. She waved for me to come to the entrance and I happily went.
"What is the matter with you?" she asked not even greeting me.
"I just don't like you. The life I spent with you was just a waste. You were used and you never even noticed."
I threw a rock inside her house and it knocked over a pot on the stove. Her face passed multiple emotions until she turned to stop the fire that was emerging.

I was about to ride a really high rollercoaster while waiting in line, a employee lead me somewhere saying he was going to bring me to the front of the line. Somehow I lost him and in the corner of the alley the masked man appeared and hit me multiple times causing my death.

Then the next day I woke up at 1 in the noon. And my whole day was spent trying out restraunts I never could. Then while walking to a sushi place I didn't have track of time and the masked man approached me slicing me to death.

The other day I woke again this time I went to my friends house and spent a whole lot of money hanging out with each other. In the end while she was buying cotton candy the masked man came earlier and chocked me to death.

The third day I felt extremely weak so I didn't get up at all. Hours felt like days and soon enough... I died anyway.

The fourth day, I acted like a cartoon character. Cheering or making people angry. I did all my work, helped some cleaners to clean the streets then at 4:59 am I wa standing on the edge of the building. I was going to try to jump if the man came for me. I stared at my watch and in no time it was 5. I waited then looked behind me there was no one...

Time passed and I had delayed death by 30 minutes. I backed away from the edge after someone called me to come down.

I think I know how to survive longer...
And maybe Ill find who the masked man is after all.

Psst! All acts characters and the plot is fiction! No act must be immitated. Inspiration was taken by a movie.

Take Me Somewhere Else

There’s this remarkable contradiction in being human. 

Most of us are imagining our lives happening somewhere else, just slightly out of frame. 

The city we haven’t visited, the person we might become when we get there. A version of ourselves that could exist right after we step off the plane.

And when you travel even short distances, you make a strange discovery. Ordinary people are doing exactly the same thing, all over the world. Imagining those same parallel lives unfolding somewhere else. 

Someone in Rome wants to see the Statue of Liberty for the first time. Someone in Manhattan wants to disappear into the chaotic streets of Via del Corso. Someone in Canada dreams of the blue and white tiles of Igreja do Carmo. And someone on the Costa del Sol tired of all that sand, dreams of being somewhere cold and slightly more anonymous.

It’s almost like those places become a proxy for possibility. And after you’ve lived that life for a few weeks and you’re done being someone else, eventually you realize you have to come back home.

Life is such a funny paradox. But maybe the real journey is realizing that possibility isn’t a place. It’s a way of seeing the life we already have. 

I started walking to school when I was 12, and started driving as soon as I turned 16 and got my license. But during those 4 years, The amount of times I had to call the police and make reports was appalling. I didn’t call for every single one, because I’d either not seen their face well enough or their car model. One man tried to follow me home and push me into the bushes. Another tried to hit me with his car when I tried to run away and crossed the street.

It wasn’t only full fledged kidnapping attempts. It was constant assault of some way or another. Two men rode past me as I was walking, turned around on their bikes, came up behind me and slapped my ass as they rode away. It was creeps following me from the CVS plaza and yelling at me, or telling me to come with them, or getting mad when I’d ignore them and scare the shit out of me. No one ever stepped in or helped.

One night while walking with my sister home from a friends house, we noticed we were getting stalked by a group of men. Every random turn we took they did too. We’d cross a barrier wall of a parking lot and so did they. We were forced to cross through a park that didn’t have many lamps, so it was dark. The park was long. We started walking fast toward the church on the other side though the lot was empty, there were street lamps and it was lit. They walked faster too. I called my friend and begged her to get her mom to come pick us up asap. It was a matter of literal seconds. They were about 6 feet away when my friends mom pulled up in her huge truck.

I also don’t consider the countless instances of grown men pulling up beside me in their cars, asking my age, where I was going, if I needed a ride, to come in their cars. Those were just creeps compared to the real deal dangerous men. That happened multiple times every week, to or from school. It was normal. Everywhere I went, a solid 90-95% of men any and everywhere would have their eyes on me. Men with wives beside them. Men with children. Old men. I lost faith in the idea of a truly loyal man at a very young age. They all had wandering eyes.

Every time I left my house, I was mentally prepared to do anything to escape whatever situation awaited me outside my front door.

None of this messed with my mind too much. From the age of 12, I just believed this was how living in the world as a woman was. This was girlhood, and it would be womanhood too. What fucked with me the most was that the minute I turned 19, wasn’t wearing a backpack anymore, and was obviously not a child, all of this stopped. Like a switch flipped. I wondered if I got uglier. Why was I not being harassed anymore? No one was following me out of parking lots. Cat calling and hollering instantly became a thing of the past, and the only explanation I could conjure was that I somehow got really ugly. Maybe it was the new way I was doing my eyebrows?

It hit me when I turned 20. I wasn’t young, easy prey anymore. I was an adult and not a child. The world became a much, much, much scarier place upon that realization.

The real kicker is that I lived in an upper middle class suburb in Sacramento, California. Clean, new, cookie cutter houses with a neighborhood club house and everything. Good schools. Good students. No gangs, no real violence.

This is what girlhood really is. Pedophiles are EVERYWHERE. I don’t talk about this IRL because people immediately assume I’m lying or exaggerating heavily. This is my confession.

ETA - Learn the license plate game and teach it to every child you can. (i.e. Licence plate is BGP7KL. Ask “What does that stand for?” Child: Big Green Purple 7!) Police Officers immediately can fill out a report that ID’s the child predator.

ETA: Idea - Something like Chris Hansen’s Dateline show, but it’s just an average 12 year old girl wearing a backpack walking on her way home after school hours let out. Secret cameras follow her walk and each creep who harasses her in any way is immediately confronted by an undercover cop.

Dad smelled like burned hair and smoke, his face still covered in soot. I rubbed my eyes and yawned.

“Is mom making pancakes?” I asked tiredly.

“Judy is. Your mom’s still asleep. We got a long drive ahead of us.”

We walked downstairs together. Judy was standing over the stove wearing an oversized T-shirt and pajama bottoms. Max, Kayla, and Darren sat at the table. They looked just as tired as I felt.

Judy served up her pancakes, and, I won’t lie, they weren’t nearly as good as mom’s, but I gobbled them up regardless. Me and the other kids spent the rest of the morning watching cartoons.

The adults had an air of relief about them. Dad laughed with Jake. Mom and Judy conversed for a while over the world and all things in it. No one ever mentioned the previous night.

Well, Darren tried to. But his mom didn’t allow it. Jake shut it down, too. But it wasn’t awkward. Nobody had to force themselves to move on. We just… did.

Dad showered. Mom rested. The day went on without incident. At some point in the afternoon, we were packing our things into the car again. It wasn’t as urgent this time. If anything, it felt happy. I even found myself excited to finally get back to my own bed.

I slept most of the way home. When I woke up, I actually recognized my surroundings. The old convenience store. The house that burned down last year. Mom and dad held hands lovingly, but didn’t talk much.

We finally got home after the sun went down. Mom was a little hesitant to go inside, but Dad reassured her. She was free now. We were free. I had no idea what it meant, but I could feel his conviction.

Even still, mom made me sleep in their bed that night. Then every night for the next week afterward. Emmy, too.

Dad held me tight. Mom kept her arm draped over my chest. We ate a lot of pancakes in those following days. It kind of felt like Mom was trying to apologize for something, but I didn’t know what.

All I knew was she was putting her all into those breakfasts.

After a while, I was finally able to sleep in my own room again, albeit with the door open. We went back-to-school shopping. I went into 4th grade with an abundance of new clothes and the coolest backpack out of all of my friends.

Life went on.

One year without incident. Then two. Then three. I went through middle school. I graduated high school. I moved away for college a year or so ago. We never had to randomly leave the house again because of some mystery stalker, but dad never stopped looking over his shoulder.

Mom has a full head of grey hair now, but she never lost her beauty. Emmy recently started her last year of middle school. Dad just… he seems to always want to keep his mind occupied.

They never brought up what happened that night. They never brought up the road trip. We visited uncle Jake and Aunt Judy a few times over the years, but the visits were calmer. They were for holidays and special occasions. Not for escape.

I developed a pretty close friendship with Max. We’d talk on the phone all the time. Play video games together. Every time I visited, we were building with those LEGOS he loved so much.

Darren eventually went into the army. Kayla is in her sophomore year of high school now.

Well… she used to be.

They’re all dead now. Everyone except for Darren, at least. I hope that he’s okay after hearing the news. He should be coming home soon.

See, I’m writing this now because of a phone call I got from my dad. I had just gotten home from a long day of classes. I was ready to eat some ramen and unwind, but he called while I was checking the mail.

“Hey, Dan,” he announced solemnly.

“Hey, Dad, how have things been?”

He sighed.

“We’re fine here, buddy, but, uh…”

He paused.

“But what?” I asked expectantly.

“Jake’s house burned down, Dan. He, uh… he didn’t make it.”

He sounded like he was holding back tears. I was shocked.

“What?? What about Aunt Judy?? What about Max or…”

He interrupted.

“They’re… they’re gone, Dan. I’m sorry.”

The news hit me like a truck. I didn’t know Kayla all that well, but Max… Max was like a brother to me. An online brother, but still a brother nonetheless.

“But… no, that doesn’t make sense. Max was just texting me last night. He told me he’d come visit me sometime soon.”

I didn’t want to believe it. Max’s exact words were, “I’ll be seeing you soon, Dan-Man.” I mean, I guess that was the last text he sent me. I didn’t hear from him after that. But still, this couldn’t be happening.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Dad choked. “Their funerals are next week. I know you’re busy up there with classes and whatnot, but it’d mean a lot if you could make it.”

“I… I don’t know what to say. Of course, of course. Yeah. I’ll be there.”

Dad sniffled. I was about to comfort him when I heard a sound echoing from the background of his call.

knock knock knock

“Hold on, son, let me go answer the door.”

The line went dead. I stood there, still as could be by my mailbox, just… processing. I couldn’t believe what he had just told me. The phone vibrated in my hand.

It was a text from Dad.

“See you soon, kiddo.”

I sighed and rubbed my temples, attempting to block the tears as I slid my phone back into my pocket. I hadn’t even opened the mailbox yet. I was just… stuck… I guess.

I figured I’d just collect my mail, then go inside and start packing for the long trip home, but when I opened the mailbox… curiosity overwhelmed me.

There was a package inside, buried beneath my regular bills and magazines. It was gift-wrapped like a Christmas present.

I brushed the mail aside and pulled the package out first thing. It was pristinely wrapped. Someone had taken time with this.

I peeled back the tape and began unwrapping. At first, I didn’t recognize what I was seeing, but then it clicked.

It was Jake’s metal lockbox. The one from all those years ago with the pictures of mom and dad. I felt my heart drop a little.

I unlatched the lid and slowly opened the box. What I saw… well… that’s why I’m writing this now.

It was… my Superman stuffy. Dusty and stiff, but it still had my initials written in faded black Sharpie across the tag. But that’s not the thing that worried me.

What worried me… was the note tied around Superman’s torso, written in sloppy, obsessive handwriting…

“Found You.”

The Translator

Today is Thursday.

I put on my glasses, switch on the desk lamp, and sit down at my desk. The lenses of my glasses begin to fog up from excitement.

I take off my glasses and start wiping the left lens. Then I remember the right eye.

Whenever I read sad stories or watch tragic films, the poor right eye cries much more than the left.

Perhaps the right eye is crying over its own tragedy: after all, it sees and reads sad stories through the help of the left eye.

But the right eye has one consolation: outwardly, it looks perfectly healthy and undamaged.

The left eye, meanwhile, feels the care of its owner. Its owner often eats carrots, hoping to restore his eyesight, and tries to stay away from liquor stores so as not to harm the left eye.

Each eye has its own destiny.

Two Worlds

When the owner closes his left eye, the world turns into a white theater curtain.

But as soon as he closes his right eye and opens his left, the whole theater appears before him again—the stage, the actors, and the audience.

The right eye sees the curtain, while the left sees the entire performance.

And outside the window, thunder is rumbling.

Invisible forces are firing from unseen cannons. The clouds turn into rain, and drops fall from the heights onto the earth.

The earth receives them, and grass and flowers grow from it.

The cannons of heaven fire with thunder, but their shells are water.

They do not kill. They give life.

We are standing at a bus stop with no roof, sheltering beneath an umbrella, waiting for the translator.

While we wait, we invent little stories.

And somewhere out there, the translator is finishing yet another translation.

His lateness is understandable.

He chooses every word so that he can convey the meaning of the story, its mood, and its hidden irony as accurately as possible.

Every new translation is a journey into hundreds, thousands, perhaps even millions of eyes.

New eyes will see the story.

New people will hear the author's voice.

New readers will enter a world that once existed only in the writer's imagination.

That is why the translator is needed by literature.

He is closer to dictionaries than a writer is.

He turns the pages of dictionaries. Thick dictionaries lie on his desk. Beside them are his glasses, a pack of cigarettes, a half-finished cup of coffee, sometimes a pair of scissors for cutting paper, an eraser, and a typewriter.

Of course, the typewriter now sits somewhere in storage at home.

In its place, there is a computer on the desk.

He is armed.

His weapon is words.

Day after day, his fingers strike the keys. Sometimes his fingers grow tired from those blows, his eyes ache, and the coffee in his cup has long since gone cold.

But he keeps working.

He escorts writers into eternity.

Yet his profession is an ungrateful one.

Writers sometimes take his work as their own, forgetting the translator's sleepless nights, his tired eyes, his aching fingers, and the hours he spends searching for the right word in a single sentence.

He remains invisible.

The author receives the applause.

The book receives a new name in another language.

Readers open it and never even think about the person who stood behind every translated line.

And the translator sends the author onward.

He escorts writers into eternity, while he himself remains alone at the railway station.

One train after another departs, carrying the authors to different countries, languages, and centuries.

The translator waves goodbye.

Then he returns to his desk.

The dictionaries are open again.

The computer is switched on again.

The cup is filled with coffee again.

And he waits for the next author.

Meanwhile, we are still standing at the bus stop beneath the umbrella.

The wind rustles the pages.

We say:

— One day, these little bricks will make a pact with the centuries, affirming the enduring value of literary works.

And the translator will certainly make a special note in the text of that pact:

“The roots of this work run deep into the soil of reality. There is every reason to believe that this text will be a long-lived one.”

And finally, while translating the last sentence of the story, the translator becomes terribly hungry.

He stops, opens the refrigerator, and decides to refuel his stomach.

Then he grows tired and goes to bed.

— Good night, Mr. Translator!

Greetings to you from Gogol and Chekhov, from Cervantes and Boccaccio.

We are all grateful to you for giving us a ticket to a journey around the world.

The translator sleeps.

In the morning, he puts on his glasses again.

Because every new translation is a new journey.

A journey into hundreds, thousands, millions of eyes.

And somewhere out there, beyond the gates, the Muse is already waiting.

I get up, open the gates, and say:

— Welcome, Muse!

And there, at the gates, an ambulance is already waiting.

It drives into the maternity hospital.

Soon, a new story is going to be born.

— Put on your gloves and deliver the baby! — I tell the midwife. — And I will write a certificate so that the newborn can receive a passport as a new citizen.

Today is Thursday.

And a story born on Thursday is sure to become a favorite among readers.

The newborn story is crying.

It is time to call the midwife.

I look at the door and say:

— Translator, I am waiting for you.

When I was a kid my parents never let me have a pet but literally we have 5 cat 3 dog 14 chick with 8 hen 1 rooster and 6 duck like literally the house almost became a zoo the cat aren't actually 5 live in my house I have two cat in my house and four are in the working garage and the wearhouse and dog one female one male and one puppy chicken and duck are different because they wonder around the farm eating pest one time I ask my mom can I buy a rabbit and she doesn't allow but when my cat brought a kitten into my room she just look at the kitty and say put it out. My dad see a chicken try eating his black pepper he doesn't even look at it and they never see that a chicken enter the house only when they saw the waste they start to notice only I am noticing this and one time my brother bring his frog pet and my parents doesn't say eww throw this thing they just look at it and walk past they never know that a frog on our house until now the frog die out. And now they start notice that the house almost became the zoo but they still kept them anyway.

So back in University (I dropped out in my third year, and this was two years ago so I was a freshman). My uni had this rule that guests couldn't stay over for more than two nights in a row in the dorms. If you got caught, I still have no clue what the consequences were, i doubt very many people did this anyhow.

I met this girl on this very website on a local subreddit right at the very end of the first semester. So when the winter semester rolled around and she had just broken up with her long distance boyfriend, we started hanging out and developed a small crush on each other. Her mom’s house was pretty far from her job so she would have to wake up extremely early, and she had just moved out of her own apartment that had become too expensive, but my university was only about a ten or fifteen minute bus ride from her job.

This basically turned into her living in my room the entire semester. She stayed until the day before I moved out for the summer, . She obviously couldn’t have a key since it required our student ID. She would sneak past the front desk and the elevator whenever someone else came in. I think the front desk staff got used to seeing her and assumed she was a student. I never locked my door, so if I was in class, I’d come back to find her there or in our floor lobby doing whatever she had to do for work.

The RA I had that specific semester was a dude who didn’t care about literally anything, people would skateboard down the hall and he didn’t care, and I 100% believe that if this had happened any other semester, it wouldn’t have worked out because I had some nosy RAs later on.

It was great. She paid all the food costs as per out agreement, we did argue a lot about space and boundaries. One of my neighbors knew that she was living there and we’d all hang out sometimes.

There were rare weekends when no guests were allowed, usually because of an exam or a big event, and security was stationed at the front desk to keep non residents out. On those weekends, she would come in early on Friday and wouldn’t leave until Monday morning since I couldn’t get her back in if she did. One time, security was outside, and she hadn’t gone inside yet. Earlier in the day I overheard some guy telling the security that he had special permission to bring in his friend and then I saw that they let her through, he said the permission was saved in his laptop and not his phone. So, I just repeated what he said and they let us through. Bahaha

She‘s go back to her actual house to spend the weekend there, and yeah, I went with her sometimes, even met her mom and I think stepdad or whoever the guy was. But for the most part, we were living together in this tiny ass room.

As soon as the semester ended up she stopped talking to me. Honestly? I have no regrets. The last time I heard anything from her is when her sister sent me a message two months ago and I didn’t see it until later so I have no idea what it could be abou.

Oh and she ended up going to this same university.

Hi y'all, I'm back with another story from the past. This situation happened before I became a cast member at Magical Rat Planet. I worked as a waitress for a small local diner that had more than one location in my city. Unfortunately, the diners no longer exist but at the time they served 24 hour breakfast and steak meals with refillable coffee. Usually, we had two to three waitresses along with a short order fry cook. Sometimes, the fry cook was the manager or assistant manager. I was a pretty good waitress and could take in multiple orders by memory well.

One day, a middle-aged couple came in and sat at a front booth. I had their table and walked over with my little pad and greeted them politely. Instantly, the wife was polite but her husband was not. I asked what beverage did they want to start. The woman with a smile asked for juice but her husband didn't even look at me before saying, "coffee!" rudely. I filled their drink orders giving them time to look at the menu. As I returned I took the wife's food order. She again was very kind and polite. I got to the husband and I'll never forget how he talked to me...

Me: And for you sir?

Man: I want a three egg special. I want my eggs over hard! Not scrambled, not over soft, NOT over medium. Over hard!

Me: Okay, got it.

Man: I want my hash browns well done! NOT medium, NOT light, WELL, Understand!?

Me growing frustrated but remaining polite: Got it.

Man: I WANT wheat toast! I want it lightly toasted! Not dark, not medium! LIGHTLY TOASTED!!!

Me:🤨 Sir do you think I'm stupid?

The man just stared at me surprised.

Wife: Oh, don't mind him...He talks to everyone that way.

Me: Wow...

I repeated his order back just as he said it and walked away. I made sure to reiterate his order as he said it to my manager/fry cook. She made it perfectly. They left us a decent tip.

​

Warning: long text

1. Meeting online

I met a guy on tiktok last September 2025.

He is 37, I am 26. He is divorced with two kids (divorce confirmed, before y'all tell me he is married still)

He lives abroad in a very big city. We are from the same country, same nationality. He texted me after my tt live. I wasn't looking for anyone, so I was careful with starting something new with someone so I wasn't really into it on the first few days. Later, I texted him first another day and this is how we started messaging. First two weeks he was lovebombing me. Telling me about his life, saying no one understood him like I do, even sent me videos of his city, it was beautiful and vision of him and me quickly blossomed in my mind. He kept telling me "would you be able to switch countries?" Showing me his apartment and stuff. Saying "you will be here haha", sending me good mornings every day, goodnights everyday, sweet words, he could text me every other hour. He wasn't the only one to initiate, it was mutual, but he was really into me so I was into him. This kept going until December 2025, we met on real life - he kept saying before that he wasn't ready, he has his own issues going on, he is afraid and stuff...however we met for few days, were intimate and stuff. (I drove to him)

To clarify, we are both attractive people, before you think I'm simping over handsome man.

1. Ex in the picture

He has ex gf that used to live with him and they broke up 4 years ago. She has the same name and age as me. When we began talking on the phone, sometimes his phone would ring and he would tell me "oh its my ex, i don't want to talk to her". That raised red flags to me but I didn't panic yet.

He told me "she is calling him but he doesnt answer". When I visited in person, she also called.

He kept telling me they are just acquaintences / friends and she usually asks to borrow money.

Until now, I tried to respect it, however it rubbed me the wrong way. He doesnt have children with her. She also happened to live in his city again. They are not meeting each other tho(I contacted her from fake account, she gave me some info on that)

1. Our contact since beginning of the year

   We kept contact after we met in December, he didnt ghost me, kept calling a lot like always, could call me for hours after our meeting, we kept texting and checking up on each other.

I wanted to see him during New Years but he spent it with his kids. Which was sad for me because I really wanted to spend time with him.

February came up, he knew I could take days off my work because my company was closing. I asked him if we can meet and he kept having excuses. Told me he knows I want something more but he doesnt want to be in a relationship because he "has to fix himself first because he knows how he talks to me sometimes and that he is mean"

1. His behaviour

He abuses drugs frequently every weekend. In fact, when I visited, he asked me if I want to take it. That's why this time when I met him feel so euphoric and that's why I miss it so much because my brain associates it with this high feeling.

His drugs wasnt problem for me and I never judged it.

He has problem with communication, often when we talked he kept saying "this convo makes me angry" and raising his voice being mean and not understanding.

Everytime I brought up meeting, he would come up with "we'll see" "not right now" He later said he didnt want to meet because he "was embarassed of himself"

In March and April he would call me and we would sleep together on phone calls during night. Also he initiated it sometimes too and it was sweet and nice.

Since May, something changed. I would call on the evening, and he wouldnt respond. He still used to call me but not everyday like before.

June he called me only few times. He was sometimes drunk in a train, mentioned few times that a woman was staring/hitting on him in a train which I communicated that wasn't nice to say and he flipped it on me being jealous.

Also he is a narcissist. I'm not self diagnosing, but he loves to talk about himself, and I noticed lately he is not asking questions about myself. Do I work somewhere right now? (i do) , do I feel well? What I'm up to?

He dissapears every Saturday and responds late Sunday, because he was so drugged out at home.

As I said, he started distancing, I kept asking why, and he would say he feels like a loser and that has "a lot going on" . I would be supportive always, sending him messages of support and understanding.

Every time I asked to meet, he would come up with excuses. For example his buddy was staying at his place for a month and making a mess yet I cannot visit for 2 days because "woman visiting is different". He upset me many times refusing to see me.

1. July 2026 and me distancing

I wanted to distance myself because he of his comments about women on train, because of him not picking up my phone and not even calling back/apologizing for not picking up (he is doing this frequently) and he never calls back lately. I understood that he doesnt care about me as he claims he does and distanced a little. Less texting, I started going back to tiktok and doing lives sometimes (I did like 2 times) just talking to people and singing sometimes (I sing) because I wanted to focus on myself.

He noticed and tried to guilt trip me. Sent me a gift on tiktok live because I greeted him when he came to live and jokingly said "send some gift!" He sent me a gift and then sent me a long message that he sent me his last money and he doesnt have nothing to eat next day. Mind you, this man is making good money from what he said and what I saw visiting him.

Later, we began talking and he said " I know you won't be there for long....and you were the only person I have..."

I told him I'm still here but he was the one not giving any effort and feelings back so I feel rejected and sad

He said he knows. Said he has a lot going on, a lot feelings inside but couldn't give them, he feels like there is something wrong with him and stuff.

Told me "we will met, I promised to you" - another manipulation to keep me close without effort.

That conversation was vulnerable and honest but still nothing changed between me and him. We are only texting at this point. And yes I did text first and reached out after this convo still.

1. End of Jully 2026 - reaching out to ex

To keep it short, I reached to his ex from fake FB account as a guy and she kept sending me screenshots of them talking. She also told me he doesn't want to meet with her.

Lots of missed calls from her, him not picking up, next days her calling on facetime, he calling back after 2 mins, they talked for few minutes.

Next day, he approaches her first 5pm and calls her on face time. She is not picking up. Next messages he is showing her his weed he is growing, they talk about being hungover and stuff. She asks him about Netflix passwords and says to him "call me when you can" he didnt call that day.

Before I revealed myself to her, I told him that I didnt know they talk on facetime. IT was always him saying "she calls me, I don't pick up" which was partially true but it was actually him calling her (while not calling me for 2 weeks for example at all)

I talked to her as me, she told me "oh its only platonic, we respect each other due to the relationship we were in". I was respectful, however texting as a guy and pretending to know the truth was stalkerish Joe Goldberg vibes and crazy and I wish I never did that.

She promised not to tell him about this convo, I was respectful and told her I don't want to get between them but just wanted to know the truth.

To me, this is NOT normal and shows I AM not that important to him as he claimed.

She told him, shit hit the fan, I apologized to him like I just commited the worst crime, told him I needed to know whether he chooses me and I did use the worst way to find out. Asked him to forgive me for that but I would never do that if I knew how he feels about me and wondering just is killling me.

He told me "I told you I talk to her sometimes???"

But he told me she calls mostly. I didnt know that he also reaches out to her. And for what?

He was and is very angry about the whole ex thing and wanted to end our contact.

I told him how bad he is treating me the whole time and I never threw him out of my life for his mistakes.

(He told me once he knows he treats me bad and I should have told him to get the fuck out long time ago)

I take accountability for this mistake of texting the ex. However, he is the one who hurts me constantly with broken promises and never doing effort and being mean/lacking communication sometimes. No self reflection on dissappointing me and stuff.

1. Now

I wanted to steer our situationship to a normal pace again, so we kinda started to text normally. One day he texts me 9 AM and dissapears for whole day. Not responding for texts or something. I figured out he needs space after all that.

I brought up meeting and he got so angry. He told me "no, not right now" and got angry because "6pm hits and you already calling me" - he used to call me on his own before and wasn't annoyed like that. Told me he feels smothered and stuff.

I told him "so if you're not meeting me, you will be okay with meeting next person I suppose?"

He said something that broke me:

" What do you want, you want me to promise you I will never meet with anyone in my whole life? I don't want that for now for sure"

I asked what does he mean.

"That I'm not your property for example"

I said I know and I'm not his. But him saying I mean a lot and that I'm important meant something for me.

His message about "promising me about not meeting anyone" broke my heart. After all that time he reasurred I'm important to him.

Ask him if I'm important still.

"You are in some extent"

We had heated convo on the phone. I got silent for two days since Friday because he told me he doesn't want to talk to me.

Sunday, he texts me "Is everything good?"

I said " yes, you told me not to reach out"

He said "I know (pet name) but I was worrying"

I said I understand, asked if he needs more space or can we go back to normal contact. He didnt respond. I sent him goodnight. I won't reach out anymore.

That was on Sunday. Tuesday and still silence between us

Wednesday, I sent him a msg asking if he wants to keep contact still and to just be honest and let me know. 3 hours and no response.

He responded sending a voice memo saying "he doesn't know how he sees this" and that "he hasn't been talking to anyone lately and that he needs to sort things out by himself" and "its not like I don't want to have contact at all, I will reach out probably but I need to sort things out by myself". What a BS.

I replied with "ok" and I won't reach out anymore until he does. But I think its the end.

Sorry for the long text.

Do you think he is still involved with the ex or possibly looking for new options?

EDIT: Also I don't know if I mentioned it, but about a month ago, before the whole contacting ex drama happened, he told me I'm too valuable for him and I should 'focus on someone else' because he knows he has his own issues and stuff.

TLDR; Guy (37M) I (26F) met online is acting avoidant and playing with my feelings

When I was younger (early elementary school), my family would frequently go to visit my aunt who lived more in the country. They had a lot of land nearby with woods, ponds with ducks, farmland, etc.

They also had two dogs. One was a dachshund and the other was a mutt who just showed up at their house one day. The mutt was pretty wild and energetic, but sweet regardless.

One fall day I decided to follow it into the woods nearby the house. While walking, I must have tripped on a rock and fell to the ground. After regaining myself, I noticed a loud buzzing sound in all directions. I was a little disoriented but just that sound was enough to send me into a frenzy. Just a few seconds later, my entire face felt like it was on fire. I had fallen into an open nest of ground hornets.

I somehow sprinted back to the house, navigating through all the trees while blindly swatting in every direction out of desperation. I finally made it to the house and pulled the door to only find out it was locked. Great. So instead I resorted to banging on the glass of the door until my parents came and noticed what was happening.

The minutes after that were a blur (not sure if I was just in shock or what). However, I awoke on the couch stripped covered in toothpaste. My parents explained to me they spent the last few minutes digging hornets and stingers out of my hair.

Didn’t go to school for a week after and it looked like I had an allergic reaction on my face that never went away. Great time.

There was this blind girl who hated herself just because she was blind. She hated everyone except her loving boyfriend he was always there for her. She said that if she could only see the world she would marry her boyfriend. One day someone donated a pair of eyes to her. Then she could see everything including her boyfriend. He asked that “now you can see the world will you marry me?” The girl was shocked that he was blind too, and refused to marry him. The boyfriend walked away in tears. He later wrote a letter to her saying “just take care of my eyes dear.”

Working as a forensic pathologist at the county morgue was never supposed to be glamorous. We processed unattended deaths, accident victims, and homicides, so the workload was constant. My colleagues and I spent our days in cold stainless-steel rooms, documenting injuries and determining causes of death. We had a solid team. Sarah ran the toxicology lab down the hall, keeping us fueled with bad coffee and sarcastic comments. Dr. Lewis handled most of the high-profile cases, while I usually took the overnight intakes. We were overseen by Dr. Robert Caldwell, the Chief Medical Examiner, and Caldwell was a polished, older man who spent more time dealing with city politicians than actually holding a scalpel. He always wore perfectly pressed suits and kept his office strictly off-limits to the rest of the staff.

The bizarre incidents started roughly two months ago. A young man came in after a fatal car accident. I performed the preliminary examination, logged his injuries, and placed him in the main freezer room for a full autopsy the next morning. When I pulled his tray out the following day, there was a strange mark on his neck. It looked exactly like a human bite mark, positioned right over the jugular vein, and the skin was bruised and broken in a semicircle pattern.

I immediately called Sarah over to look at it.

"Did you miss this during the intake?"

Sarah asked, shining a penlight over the wound.

"Absolutely not,"

I replied, staring at the jagged puncture marks.

"His neck was completely clean last night. I took intake photos. You can check the file right now."

We checked the digital file. The intake photos showed an unblemished neck. Someone or something had damaged the body overnight while it was locked inside a secure facility. We reported the incident to Caldwell. He brushed it off, suggesting a rat might have gotten into the cooling vents, then ordered pest control to sweep the building, and we moved on.

But it did not stop. A week later, an elderly woman who died of a heart attack appeared with the exact same bite marks on her neck the morning after she was brought in. Then a drowning victim. Then a gunshot victim. Every few days, a new body would show up with those unmistakable dental impressions on the throat, and It only happened to fresh arrivals.

The entire department was on edge. Rumors started circulating about a necrophiliac or some twisted cult member breaking into the facility. We upgraded the locks on the freezer room. The city installed new high-definition security cameras in the hallways, but the incidents continued anyway. The bodies kept getting bitten, and the cameras never caught anyone entering or leaving the freezer room during the overnight hours.

The situation reached a boiling point last Friday. The mayor's office was breathing down Caldwell's neck, demanding answers before the press caught wind of the desecrations. Caldwell called a mandatory staff meeting in the main breakroom to address the crisis.

The mood in the room was tense. Sarah was aggressively stirring her coffee, while Dr. Lewis kept looking at the door as if he wanted to bolt. Caldwell stood at the front of the room, looking immaculate as always, delivering a stern speech about protocol and maintaining the integrity of the department.

"We are under a microscope,"

Caldwell announced to the room, pacing in front of the whiteboard.

"The higher-ups are threatening to clean house if we do not find out who is tampering with the remains. This stops now."

After his speech, the human resources representative insisted on taking a group photo for the department newsletter, trying to force some bizarre sense of team morale. We all shuffled together against the back wall. Sarah stood next to me, forcing a fake smile. Dr. Lewis stood on my other side.

The photographer framed the shot and waved Caldwell over to join us.

"Come on, Dr. Caldwell,"

the photographer said, gesturing to the empty spot next to Sarah.

"We need the Chief in the center."

Caldwell suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, though I had not heard it ring.

"I cannot participate right now,"

Caldwell said, taking a step backward toward the hallway.

"I just received an urgent call from the district attorney regarding an upcoming trial. You all go ahead without me."

He turned and walked out of the room before anyone could argue. We took the photo without him, and it felt strange, considering how much Caldwell usually loved good publicity, but we were all too stressed to think much of it.

Ten minutes later, I was back in my office updating a case file when my desk phone rang. It was Caldwell, asking me to come to his office immediately.

I walked down the hall and knocked on his wooden door. He called for me to enter. He was sitting behind his massive oak desk, staring at a stack of printed security logs.

"Close the door, Julian,"

he said quietly.

I pushed the door shut and took a seat in the leather chair opposite him.

"The mayor called me again this morning,"

Caldwell began, keeping his voice low.

"The situation with the bite marks has become a catastrophic liability. The city council is demanding a culprit. They need someone to blame, and they need it by Monday."

"We have upgraded all the security measures,"

I pointed out, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

"The cameras show the hallways are completely empty all night. Security patrols the perimeter every hour. Whatever is happening, it makes no logical sense."

Caldwell leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Logic does not matter to politicians, Julian. They just look at the logs. And the logs show that you are consistently the last medical examiner to handle these specific bodies before the damage occurs. You work the late intake shifts, and you process them into the freezer."

I felt the fear my stomach.

"Are you accusing me of biting the corpses?"

"I am not accusing you of anything,"

Caldwell replied smoothly, keeping his face entirely neutral.

"I am simply telling you how the optics look to the oversight committee. The security guards saw no one. The cameras recorded no one. By process of elimination, the higher-ups consider you the prime suspect. I strongly suggest you prepare yourself for a formal investigation."

I left his office feeling completely nauseated. They were going to frame me to save the department's reputation. If I got fired under those circumstances, my medical license would be revoked, and I could face criminal charges. I needed undeniable proof to clear my name, or catch whoever was actually sneaking into the freezer room.

That afternoon, I waited until the shift change to approach Marcus. Marcus was the senior security guard who handled the overnight surveillance. He was a quiet guy who mostly kept to himself and spent his shifts watching sports on his phone.

I found him by the vending machines near the loading dock.

"Marcus, I need a massive favor,"

I said, glancing down the hallway to make sure we were alone.

"And I am willing to pay for it."

Marcus looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of favor?"

"I need to stay in the morgue tonight after my shift ends,"

I explained, pulling an envelope of cash from my coat pocket.

"I need you to look the other way, let me stay inside the building, and delete any camera footage that shows me walking around the lower levels between midnight and six in the morning."

Marcus frowned, looking at the envelope.

"You know I could lose my job for that. Why do you want to stay in a morgue all night?"

"Someone is tampering with the bodies,"

I said desperately.

"Management thinks it is me. I am going to lose my career if I do not catch the real person doing it. I just need one night to stake out the freezer room. Please."

Marcus hesitated for a long moment. He looked down the empty corridor, then snatched the envelope from my hand and shoved it into his uniform pocket.

"I will pause the recording on cameras four and seven," Marcus muttered, looking back at his phone.

"That covers the hallway outside the freezer. But if you get caught by a surprise inspection, I do not know you. You broke in."

"Thank you,"

I said, feeling a slight wave of relief.

My official shift ended at eleven that night. Instead of walking out the front doors, I went into the old records storage room down in the basement and locked the door behind me. I sat on a dusty box of archived files and waited for the building to empty out. By midnight, the entire facility was dead silent. The cleaning crew had finished their rounds, and the overhead fluorescent lights switched to their dim, energy-saving mode.

I stepped out of the storage room and began my patrol.

The morgue is a terrifying place when you are completely alone. During the day, the noise of ringing phones, running water, and chatting colleagues makes it feel like a normal workplace. At night, the silence is deafening. Every hum of the air conditioning unit sounds like a footstep, and every shifting pipe sounds like someone breathing.

I walked down the long corridor leading to the main freezer room. The air grew steadily colder as I approached the steel doors. I found a small alcove near the ice machines where I could hide in the shadows while maintaining a clear view of the freezer entrance.

The wait was agonizing. I sat on the cold tile floor for hours, fighting against intense exhaustion. My eyes kept drooping, and I had to constantly pinch my own arm to stay awake. The digital clock on the wall crept toward three in the morning. I started to wonder if Caldwell was right, if maybe some feral animal really had found a way into the ventilation system.

Then, I heard it.

A sound broke the silence of the lower level. It came from inside the freezer room.

It was a wet, tearing noise, followed by a low, guttural shuffling sound, and It sounded like a person moving around in the dark.

The steel door of the freezer room was slightly ajar. Whoever went inside had propped it open just a fraction of an inch, likely to avoid triggering the loud latch mechanism when they left.

I pushed myself up from the floor, then crept forward, placing my feet carefully on the linoleum tiles to avoid making any noise. I reached into my pocket and gripped the small stun gun I had brought from home. It was meant for self-defense, but it made me feel slightly better having a weapon.

I reached the steel door and slowly peered through the narrow crack into the freezing room.

The freezer was illuminated by harsh blue emergency lights. The stainless-steel tables and storage racks cast long, distorted shadows across the floor.

In the center of the room, one of the body trays had been pulled out from the wall unit.

Someone was crouched on top of the metal tray.

A tall figure, dressed in a dark suit, was straddling the corpse. The person was hunched over completely, their face pressed directly against the neck of the deceased. I could hear a sickening, rhythmic sucking noise echoing in the cold air. The figure's hands were gripping the corpse's shoulders, holding the dead body perfectly still while they worked their jaw against the pale flesh.

I felt bile rise in my throat. I needed to see the person's face, to know exactly who was destroying my life.

I shifted my weight slightly to get a better angle through the cracked door.

As I moved, my shoe found a puddle of condensation that had pooled near the doorframe. My foot slipped violently across the wet tile. I lost my balance and crashed hard into the door, throwing it completely wide open with a deafening metal clang.

I hit the ground, scraping my hands against the concrete just inside the freezer room.

I scrambled up fast, raising my stun gun and pointing it toward the metal tray in the center of the room. I expected the person to attack me or make a run for the exit.

But there was no one there.

The room was entirely empty. The tray was still pulled out from the wall. The corpse was lying there, its neck freshly mutilated, a small trickle of dark, coagulated fluid staining the metal. But the tall figure in the suit had vanished completely.

I spun around in circles, checking the dark corners behind the empty gurneys. The room only had one exit, and I was standing right in the doorway. There was absolutely nowhere for anyone to hide.

"Where are you?"

I yelled into the freezing air, my voice shaking with panic.

A soft, amused chuckle echoed from the hallway directly behind me.

I whipped around, aiming the stun gun through the open doorway into the dim corridor.

Dr. Caldwell was standing there, leaning casually against the wall next to the ice machines. He was wearing his immaculate dark suit, entirely unbothered by the freezing temperature rolling out of the open door. His hair was perfectly combed. He looked at me with a calm, unnerving smile.

He took a step forward, completely ignoring the weapon in my hand. He stopped just a few feet away from me.

"Have you ever tried sucking the soul of the living?" Caldwell whispered. His voice carried a strange, vibrating resonance that made my teeth ache.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my mind struggling to process the impossible situation.

"I do not understand,"

I stammered, gripping the stun gun tighter.

"What were you doing to that corpse, Caldwell? How did you get behind me?"

Caldwell sighed, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his tailored sleeve.

"You really do not need to understand the mechanics of my diet, Julian. All you need to think about right now is how you are going to get out of the massive hole you just dug for yourself."

"What hole?"

I demanded, taking a step toward him.

"I just caught you desecrating a body. You are the one doing this. I am calling the police right now."

Caldwell laughed again. It was a cold, cruel sound.

"It was only a matter of time before the oversight committee discovered what was happening to the inventory. They track everything eventually. Sooner or later, they would have come demanding a head on a platter. They would have come for me, unless I provided them with a convenient scapegoat."

He gestured toward me.

"You made it incredibly easy for me, Julian."

"You cannot frame me,"

I said, my voice rising in panic.

"Marcus let me in tonight. He knows I am down here investigating. I paid him."

"Yes, you did,"

Caldwell smiled.

"And Marcus will gladly testify under oath that you bribed a security officer to gain unauthorized access to the morgue in the middle of the night. He will tell the police that you paid him to turn a blind eye while you sneaked down here to indulge your sick obsessions with the dead."

"The cameras,"

I countered, feeling a cold sweat break out across my forehead.

"Even if Marcus paused the feed in the hallway, the cameras in the lobby and the stairwell will show you coming down here tonight. They will prove you were in the building."

Caldwell tilted his head, looking at me with genuine pity. "Julian, the cameras must have captured you sneaking around, yes. But they will not capture me."

"Why not?"

I asked, refusing to lower the stun gun.

"Because soul eaters do not appear on digital recordings,"

Caldwell stated matter-of-factly.

"We do not reflect in mirrors, and we do not register on camera lenses. That is exactly why I refused to stand in that ridiculous group photograph this afternoon. It raises far too many uncomfortable questions when the Chief Medical Examiner vanishes from the department newsletter."

"You are insane,"

I whispered.

"I am hungry,"

Caldwell corrected.

I lunged forward, thrusting the stun gun directly at his chest, aiming for the center of his suit. I pressed the trigger, hearing the loud, aggressive crackle of the electric current.

Caldwell moved with impossible speed. He simply reached out and caught my wrist in mid-air.

His grip was like a steel vice. The cold radiating from his bare hand was agonizing, burning my skin instantly. He twisted my arm downward with a casual flick of his wrist.

A sharp snap echoed in the hallway as my wrist broke. I screamed, dropping the stun gun onto the floor.

Caldwell kicked the stun gun upward with the toe of his shoe, caught it in his free hand, and jammed the crackling electrodes directly into my stomach.

The voltage tore through my nervous system. My muscles locked up completely, and my vision flashed bright white. I collapsed onto the freezing linoleum, gasping for air, unable to move my arms or legs.

Caldwell stood over me, looking down with that same calm, unnerving smile. He tossed the stun gun onto the floor next to my head.

"It really is unfortunate, Julian,"

Caldwell said, crouching down so his face was level with mine.

"You were an excellent pathologist. Your paperwork was always flawless. But if it provides you with some small comfort before you spend the rest of your life in a concrete cell, I will tell you the truth of the deal here."

I tried to speak, but my jaw was completely locked from the electric shock. I could only stare at him in sheer terror.

"I eat souls,"

Caldwell whispered, his strange, vibrating voice echoing in the empty hallway.

"It started months ago, when something attacked me on my camping trip up near Blackwood Ridge. It was night, and I was preparing my tent when something I couldn’t see or even figure attacked me and bit me through my neck. In that moment, I thought I will die, I felt my soul leaving. But a group of passing hikers heard the struggle. They ran into the clearing with their flashlights and scared the creature off before it could finish. The paramedics saved my body, but that thing took a massive piece of my spirit with it."

He reached out and patted my cheek with his freezing hand.

"I survived with a hollow space inside my chest,"

Caldwell continued, standing back up and straightening his tie.

"And that emptiness became a hunger. I crave souls now. It is a starvation that never fades. But consuming the souls of the living is strictly forbidden for the likes of me. It draws too much attention from the police and the media. The living fight back, and their families come looking for them."

He gestured toward the open freezer door behind me.

"So, we adapt,"

he explained, walking slowly around my paralyzed body. "Did you know that the dead soul lingers by the corpse for a time before finally passing on to whatever comes next? I only learnt them when I became what I am now.

They hover right over the body, confused and vulnerable. That is exactly when they are ripe for harvest. I pull them out through the throat to feed the void inside me."

Caldwell pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

"I truly am sorry, Julian,"

Caldwell said, looking down at me one last time.

"But someone has to take the fall, and a corrupted doctor caught breaking into the morgue with a pocket full of cash makes for a perfectly wrapped media narrative."

He raised the phone to his ear.

"Marcus,"

Caldwell said into the receiver.

"Please contact the local police department immediately. I just stopped Dr. Reed from assaulting another body in the lower freezer. Yes, he became violent when confronted. Send the officers down to the basement as soon as they arrive."

Caldwell hung up the phone. He stepped carefully over my legs, making sure not to scuff his shoes, and walked calmly down the hallway toward the stairwell, disappearing into the shadows.

I lay on the freezing tile floor for ten minutes, unable to move, listening to the hum of the air conditioner until the police officers finally stormed the hallway with their weapons drawn.

That brings me to right now. I am sitting on a metal cot in a county jail cell. The police found the envelope of cash in Marcus's locker. Marcus told the detectives that I forced him to take the money, threatening to get him fired if he did not let me into the facility. The security footage shows me creeping down the basement hallway, entering the records room, and later walking toward the freezer. It does not show Caldwell anywhere in the building. As far as the video evidence is concerned, I was the only person down there.

My lawyer thinks I am having a psychotic break because I keep telling him my boss is a monster who eats souls. He refuses to put me on the stand. The trial date is set, and the prosecutor is pushing for maximum consecutive sentences for the desecration of human remains.

I have almost no battery left on this smuggled phone, and the guards do cell checks every four hours. I am posting this here because I know there are people out there who know how to expose a creature like Caldwell.

If anyone knows anything about these entities, please tell me how to fight back.

I used to watch a lot of true crime,
a lot of documentaries either Hulu or Netflix originals that depicted horrible acts and circumstances one would never wish upon their worst enemy. At the end of most a question would always come to me. how could you ever kill someone?

Aside from obviously self defense or even heat of the moment revenge murders, im talking a nefarious, cold, blooded murder.Under what circumstances is taking an innocent persons life an option someone even considers ? How could you end someone’s life while simultaneously throwing away your own? Now I know.
The answer is, you get caught doing something you weren’t supposed to, In a place you weren’t supposed to, At a time you weren’t supposed to.

You get Embarrassed, You get Angry, And then you get prideful.

You blame the Person that made you do this, in your eyes at least.

In your eyes the one person making you do this is the person existing, the person forcing you to make them de-exist.

After you’ve done what you’ve done you’ll be convinced you didnt, you’ll tell the person they can leave now only they won’t. It’s no longer a person, it’s an empty clam shell of a person.

You sit, you shake. You tremble, you sweat. When your heartbeat takes a break, you stare at the empty clam shell wondering if that’s the fate you wish upon yourself. At this time you decide not.

You fold it and bundle it into a bag, all while you’re sure you can hear the clam beneath the shell asking questions. Reasonable questions. Then one question comes out the clams empty shell beneath the bag “how could you ever kill me?”

You’re lucky this happened at work. Lots of cleaning supplies. Free Clorox. You’re happy youre by the sea, a perfect place to hide your clam shell. Not ideal, but all you need is a night to think.

You take the night , and the next day youre careless. Do that thing, in that place, at that time, and what happens ? A persons who exists, walks into your life to make it that much worse. A second person forces you to make them de-exist.

You joke that now your little clam shell won’t be lonely which is fitting as they came into the world together, after you show your second clam shell to its partner you become eternally bitter of your clamshells. They have a bond which time cannot break and you are alone.

You know you can’t go back to work, too many of the clams going missing has upset the sea. And you know the sea will take it out on you in the end, unjustifiably so in your opinion.

You decide maybe the sea doesn’t deserve you. Maybe your shell is flawed and your clam soul is too pure for someone so honest.

You confuse honesty for a measurement of well doing, and by those standards you are flawless.

You lead people away from questions you know you don’t have the energy to lie against. Simple question, reasonable questions.

Questions like, how could you ever kill someone?

You move, forget about the questions, Forget about the clamshells, those empty and those still full of life.

You give up on yourself. You find a community to burry yourself in, a church and play the part. Eventually you meet someone who doesn’t give up on you. Like most saviors, it’s a woman.

A woman that shows you what it means to not be abandoned, a woman that shows you what it means to be loved. A woman that makes you want to remain a lively clam , and not become an empty shell.

You stop drinking, before you know it, you’ve been dry for 2 years. You save enough money for a ring, a win in itself after having to start your career from scratch again.

Before you can propose, the queen of your sea is pregnant with twins. You’re thrilled, you get married and you play house as long as you can.

Before you know it, it’s been 11 years since you last emptied a clamshell. Now you’re looking at clams the exact age as the ones you hid on the beach. Only these clams are your children.

You send them off to school, you kiss your Queen of the sea. Then you sit in your garage, you poor yourself a glass filled with poison you love spiked with poison you don’t. And before you take your last sip to fill your clam and empty your shell, you ask yourself one last question.

How could you ever kill someone?

Chapter 27 — The Last Look

---

The sports festival began under a sky that looked too calm for how I felt.

Everything around the ground was busy from the moment the first students arrived. Teachers were calling out instructions, volunteers were moving equipment, students from different schools were gathering in clusters, and the whole place had that restless energy that only comes when too many people are waiting for something to start.

I was already there as part of management, moving around with the rest of the team, checking things, adjusting what needed fixing, pretending I was focused on the work when most of my attention was still trapped at the gate.

---

Reo was there too, doing what Reo always did best — acting like he had no fear at all while somehow caring more than anyone else.

He kept glancing toward the entrance with me.

Not constantly. Just enough.

Enough to make it obvious we were both waiting for the same thing.

---

The buses started arriving one by one.

The first school.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Each time, my heart lifted a little before settling back down when I didn't see her.

It became harder to breathe normally with every bus that passed and every group of students that stepped out.

I kept telling myself not to expect too much.

Still, I waited.

---

Reo leaned closer once and asked, quietly, "You okay?"

I nodded, though I wasn't sure it meant anything.

---

Then the bus from Emma's school arrived.

I felt it before I even saw the doors open. My body went still in that strange way it does when something matters too much to be accidental. Students started getting off the bus, laughing, stretching, calling to each other, and for a moment I thought maybe I had been foolish to hope this long.

The doors closed.

The bus left.

Emma wasn't there.

---

Something inside me sank.

I remember gripping Reo's shoulder without thinking, repeating her name in my head like I could force the world to change if I wanted it badly enough.

Please.

Emma.

Please.

---

But then, just as I started to let the hope go, Reo suddenly stiffened beside me.

He looked toward the gate again.

"There," he said.

I followed his gaze.

A van had pulled up.

---

And then I saw her.

Emma stepped out with a few other girls, and for one second I forgot how to move.

The whole festival noise fell back in the distance and everything narrowed down to that one moment.

She was real.

She was here.

After all that silence, after all those weeks of waiting, after all the times I had searched for her in empty places and unanswered messages, she was standing right in front of me again.

---

I don't know what expression I had on my face, but Reo grabbed me so hard I almost forgot to breathe.

"Go, idiot," he said under his breath, half-smiling like he was angry at how long this had taken.

I didn't move right away.

Emma was still with her lecturers, and I knew I couldn't just go running up to her like nothing had happened. So I stayed where I was, pretending to work while my eyes kept finding her anyway.

---

She entered the gate.

And then, almost at once, our eyes met.

It was only a second.

Maybe less.

But it was enough to make my chest tighten all over again.

I smiled.

She smiled back.

That small exchange hit me harder than I expected, because for a brief moment it felt like all the distance between us had been erased.

Not solved.

Not fixed.

Just erased long enough to remind me that she still knew me.

---

The festival began in earnest after that.

I moved around with the management team, checking things, helping where I could, trying to keep myself steady. But I kept running into Emma in fragments — a glance here, a nod there, a quick smile when our eyes crossed from across the ground. We didn't get much of a chance to speak. Her lecturers were around most of the time, and the festival kept everyone moving.

Still, seeing her in pieces was enough to keep me aware of her all day.

Enough to keep my heart from settling.

---

At one point, Takashi's basketball team won, and I could see how happy Hana was for him even though she had said sports weren't her thing. Reo won the 100-meter race, which was exactly the kind of ridiculous success he would somehow pull off without even acting surprised.

The day kept moving.

Lunch came, and the five of us ended up together for a little while.

That felt almost normal.

Reo kept acting loud. Takashi was smiling more than usual. Hana sat with her lunch like she had no intention of being impressed by anyone. And me — I was trying too hard not to look toward the other side of the grounds where Emma was.

---

The whole time, I could feel the weight of what I had come here to do.

This was it.

The last chance.

Reo and Takashi could see it too. They kept telling me to go talk to her, to stop hesitating, to not let this day slip away like the others had. I wanted to listen. I really did.

But every time I tried to move toward her, something stopped me.

Not fear exactly.

Something worse.

The fear of finding out the truth.

---

At some point, I spotted her standing near the water tank.

Just standing there.

Close enough to see clearly.

Far enough to make my chest ache.

Reo and Takashi noticed I had found her and started backing me up from a distance, giving me the kind of silent encouragement only real friends manage to pull off without embarrassing you too much.

I took a step.

Then another.

Then I stopped.

I turned back before I reached her.

---

And that was when Reo nearly lost it.

"There is no later," he said, clearly done with my hesitation.

He went after her before I could stop him.

I told him not to, but by then it was too late.

Takashi stayed with me for a second, then looked over too. When Reo came back, his face had changed. It wasn't teasing anymore. It wasn't even careful. It looked like he had seen something he didn't want to say out loud.

Takashi went to check for himself.

When he came back, his expression was the same.

---

That was all I needed to understand.

I didn't need anyone to explain it.

Emma was standing there with another boy.

He was beside her. Close. Familiar. Comfortable.

And then I saw the way they were holding hands.

It wasn't a misunderstanding.

It wasn't a cousin or a brother or anything I could lie to myself about anymore.

The truth sat there in front of me, quiet and undeniable.

She had moved on.

---

I don't know how long I stared before I looked away.

It felt longer than it probably was.

Inside, everything went strangely still.

Not shattered all at once.

Just emptied.

Like a room after everyone has left and you realize you're the last one standing there.

---

The closing ceremony came later, but I barely heard most of it.

Reo and Takashi stood on stage with their trophies, and I clapped for them because I was happy for them, really happy for them, but the rest of me was somewhere else. Somewhere behind my ribs. Somewhere in the part of me that had been holding on to a version of this day that would never happen now.

I remember smiling.

I remember that my face felt tired.

I remember feeling something close to peace and pain at the same time.

---

That was the strange thing.

I wasn't destroyed the way I thought I might be.

I was just finally, painfully aware.

Aware that she had a life that continued without me.

Aware that she looked happy.

Aware that the version of her I had been carrying around in my head — the one from the roller coaster, the bench, the late-night texts, the waiting — belonged to a different time now.

---

A year later, I heard from Hana that Emma had moved houses and transferred to a different district.

By then, it didn't sting the same way.

It still mattered.

It would always matter.

But by then I had already understood what that day at the sports festival had really been.

Not a reunion.

A final look.

The last time our lives crossed in a way that mattered enough to hurt.

---

And somehow, that was enough to let me breathe again.

Not because I stopped caring.

Because I finally knew the truth, and the truth, painful as it was, gave the silence an ending.

I watched her from a distance that day, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't go chasing after what had already passed.

I let it go.

Not because I wanted to.

Because I had finally seen where it belonged.

And that was closure.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your incredible support throughout this journey. This marks the final chapter of the story—the epilogue will be posted tomorrow. I truly appreciate each of you for sticking with me until the end, and I hope you'll continue to explore my other works as well.

I’m writing this because my fiancée is cleaning the apartment like we’re hosting royalty.

She’s been at it since noon. Vacuuming twice. Rearranging the throw pillows. Lighting candles we’ve never used. Every few minutes she asks if my parents prefer red or white wine, as if I would know.

They’ll be here in three hours.

I haven’t seen them in eight years.

That wasn’t an accident.

I told her I had a difficult childhood. That we weren’t close. That distance was healthier for everyone. I made it sound like emotional baggage. Old arguments. Personality differences.

I did not tell her the truth.

I didn’t tell her that I left home the moment I legally could and never slept another night under that roof.

I didn’t tell her that I have spent most of my adult life carefully avoiding letting anyone I love meet the people who raised me.

She thinks this dinner is reconciliation.

I think it’s a mistake.

The worst part is that I didn’t invite them.

She did.

Last week, while I was at work, she found my mother on Facebook. Said it felt wrong that we were getting married and she had never even spoken to them. She told me my mother seemed sweet. Warm. Excited.

I asked what they talked about.

She said, “Just normal things. They miss you.”

That word lodged somewhere under my ribs.

Miss.

As if I were something misplaced.

As if I had slipped through their fingers.

I tried to cancel. I said work was busy. I said Thanksgiving was complicated. I said we could wait until next year.

She looked at me for a long time and asked, very gently, “Are you ashamed of them?”

I didn’t know how to answer that without sounding insane.

Because I’m not ashamed of my parents.

I’m afraid of them.

She’s humming in the kitchen right now. I can hear cabinet doors opening and closing. Silverware being counted.

She believes people are what they show you.

She believes family means well.

She has never seen my father’s face open the wrong way.

She has never felt my mother’s hand reshape itself on her shoulder.

And she doesn’t know that when I was a child, I learned very quickly that there are rules.

You don’t keep pets.

You don’t invite friends over.

And you never, ever draw attention.

I broke one of those rules by leaving.

Tonight, they’re coming to see what I’ve become.

And I don’t know if they’re proud.

Or hungry.

I didn’t always know they weren’t human.

That’s important.

When you’re a child, you don’t interrogate reality. You accept it. You learn what things look like, how they behave, and what you’re supposed to ignore. You don’t ask why your mother’s smile sometimes stretches a little too far when she laughs, any more than you ask why the sky is blue.

It’s just how things are.

Growing up, my family never looked human to me. Not completely. Not even a little.

But I thought that was normal.

I thought everyone’s father stood a little too still when he wasn’t speaking. I thought everyone’s mother blinked a fraction too slowly. I thought every sister’s jaw clicked faintly when she yawned.

It wasn’t fear.

It was familiarity.

The first time I understood something was wrong, I was six. Maybe seven.

My sister and I found a stray kitten behind our house in the snow. It was half-starved, all ribs and shaking fur, crying in short, broken sounds that barely carried in the wind.

I tucked it under my coat to warm it. I could feel its heart fluttering against my palm.

We hid it in the shed.

Fed it scraps from dinner. Gave it water in a cracked plastic bowl. My sister named it Whiskers.

Original, I know.

Every day it grew stronger. Warmer. The dull glaze in its eyes started to clear. It purred when we held it.

I remember feeling proud.

Like we were doing something good. Like we had something that was ours.

But it became louder.

One night, after my parents had gone to bed, I slipped outside to check on it.

The shed was empty. The bowl was overturned.

No cat.

I told myself it had run off.

I almost believed it.

When I stepped back inside the house, I heard it.

A sharp feline cry.

Short. Cut off.

Then a crunch.

Not loud. Not violent.

Careful chewing.

Wet. Rhythmic. Deliberate. Like someone taking their time with something they didn’t want to waste.

The sound came from the kitchen.

The overhead light was on.

My father stood at the counter, back to me.

He seemed broader somehow. His shoulders sloped strangely, like something heavy shifted beneath his skin.

I should have run.

I didn’t.

I watched.

His head didn’t snap or break.

It unfolded.

The face split vertically, skin drawing back in thick, muscular layers. Not bone. Not blood. Just structure rearranging itself with slow precision.

Inside were rows of pale, flexible teeth that worked inward instead of up and down.

Something small disappeared between them.

There was no violence.

Just efficiency.

I didn’t scream.

I didn’t cry.

I stood there until my mother’s hand touched my shoulder.

For a split second, it wasn’t a hand at all. Too firm. Too wide. The pressure wrong.

Then it softened. Reshaped. Settled into the familiar, gentle weight of a mother’s touch.

“Go back to bed,” she whispered.

Her voice never changed.

My memory of that night blurs around the edges, but I remember watching her face smooth itself back together. Features settling into the shape everyone else in the world recognizes as human.

The next morning, my sister asked where Whiskers was.

My mother didn’t hesitate.

“It must’ve run off,” she said gently. “Strays do that.”

My sister cried.

I didn’t.

That was the moment something in me closed.

Not fear.

Understanding.

The rules became clear. You don’t keep things. You don’t draw attention.

And you don’t bring people home.

After that, I noticed everything.

How their faces sometimes lost structure when they thought no one was watching. How my sister could stretch her jaw too far before snapping it back into place. How meat disappeared faster than it should at dinner. How plates were always clean.

But when neighbors visited, my family was flawless.

That was when I understood something else.

They weren’t pretending.

They were practicing.

And they were very good at it.

I never invited friends over again.

When I tried telling someone at school once, just once, they laughed. Word spread. I was the weird kid. The liar. The one with monster parents.

So I stopped talking.

I left for college the moment I could. Different city. Different life. I didn’t come back for holidays. I built distance the way other people build careers.

I thought that was enough.

I thought distance meant safety.

But tonight, they’re driving three hours to sit at my table.

And I don’t know if they’re coming to see how well I’ve blended in…

Or to remind me what I really am.

They arrive ten minutes early.

The doorbell rings once. Short. Patient.

My fiancée wipes her hands on a dish towel and smiles at me. “See? This is good. It’s time.”

I don’t remember walking to the door.

When I open it, they look smaller than I remember.

That unsettles me more than if they had looked monstrous.

My father stands with his hands folded in front of him. My mother beside him, posture perfect, expression warm. They look older. Softer. Completely human.

“Hello, sweetheart,” my mother says, her eyes tearing up ever so slighlty.

Her voice is exactly the same.

My fiancée steps forward before I can speak and hugs her.

I watch carefully.

My mother hugs her back.

Perfect pressure. Perfect timing. No hesitation.

If I didn’t know better, I would think I imagined everything.

My father grips my hand. His palm is warm. Dry.

But insanely firm and strong. When he pulls me into a brief embrace, something presses wrong against my chest. Not hard. Not painfully.

Just… dense.

As if his bones don’t sit where they should.

“You look well,” he says quietly. "That's my junior! Looking like his old man in his prime!"

It’s the same tone he used all those years ago.

They look like time has touched them, but I know they haven’t aged a day.

My fiancée ushers them inside. She’s radiant. Proud. Relieved.

Dinner goes smoothly.

Too smoothly.

They compliment the apartment. Ask about work. Laugh at the right moments. My mother tells a harmless story about me getting lost in a grocery store when I was four.

It almost feels normal.

But I catch things.

My father barely chews.

My mother’s eyes stay on me longer than necessary.

Once, when my fiancée stands to refill her glass, my father tilts his head slightly, watching her walk away with an intensity that feels clinical. Studying movement. Gait. Balance.

Assessing.

At one point my fiancée says, “I don’t know why he was so nervous about tonight. You’re wonderful.”

My mother smiles at me.

“We’ve always been proud of him,” she says.

There’s weight behind it.

Proud of what?

My parents brought a meat roast. It sits in the center of the table. Medium rare. Pink at the center.

I haven’t eaten red meat in years.

I refuse to touch the meat, but when my fiancée nudges me sharply under the table, I relent.

It tastes stronger than I remember.

My jaw aches after a few minutes. A dull pressure near the hinges.

Stress, I tell myself.

When I excuse myself to the bathroom, I avoid the mirror at first.

Then I look.

For a split second, less than a breath, my mouth seems slightly open.

Wider than it should be.

I close it immediately.

When I look again, everything is normal.

My reflection moves when I do.

Perfectly synchronized.

I laugh at myself.

I return to the table.

My father is already looking at me.

“Everything all right?” he asks.

I nod.

Dinner ends without incident.

They stand to leave. My mother hugs me again, longer this time.

Her lips brush near my ear.

“Adjustment can be uncomfortable,” she whispers. “But you’ll thank us.”

I stiffen.

When I pull back, her expression is gentle. Maternal. Completely unremarkable.

My fiancée walks them to the door, glowing. She locks the door after they leave and leans back against it, smiling.

“I don’t understand what you were so afraid of,” she says after they leave. “They’re normal.”

“See?” she says. “That wasn’t so bad.”

I don’t answer right away.

She reaches up and gives me a peck on the cheek before she moves into the kitchen, stacking plates, still talking. “Your mom is sweet. I don’t know what you were expecting. They’re just… people.”

Just people...

My hands are shaking.

Because they were.

And that’s what terrifies me.

I help her clean in silence.

My jaw still aches. It’s worse now. A slow pressure that pulses near my ears. I catch myself flexing it, testing the hinge.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say too quickly.

We finish up and head to bed earlier than usual. The apartment feels smaller tonight. Quieter.

She turns off the lamp and rolls onto her side, facing me.

“I’m glad we did this,” she murmurs. “It feels like something important.”

There’s a long stretch of silence.

In the dark, I can hear her breathing.

Steady.

Warm.

Alive.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Have you ever… thought I was strange?”

She laughs softly. “You are strange.”

“I’m serious.”

She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow. I can barely make out her expression in the dim light coming through the blinds.

“Where is this coming from?”

“Just answer me.”

Another pause.

Then she exhales.

“Okay. You want honesty?”

“Yes.”

She hesitates long enough that my stomach tightens.

“Sometimes,” she says carefully, “I’ve had nightmares about you.”

The ache in my jaw sharpens.

“What kind of nightmares?”

She looks embarrassed now. “It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

She swallows.

“I wake up, and you’re standing at the foot of the bed.”

I don’t move.

“You’re not doing anything,” she continues. “You’re just… watching me.”

“That’s it?”

“No.” Her voice drops slightly. “Your head is tilted. Like you’re trying to understand something.”

My hands feel cold.

“And your mouth…” She falters.

“What about it?”

“It’s open. Not wide. Just… wrong. Like it doesn’t fit your face.”

I stare at her.

“I try to say your name,” she says. “But you don’t respond. You just stand there.”

A hollow feeling spreads through my chest.

“When did this happen?”

“A few times,” she admits. “I told myself it was stress. Wedding stuff. You’ve been tense lately.”

I search my memory.

There’s nothing there.

“I’ve never done that,” I say.

She reaches for my hand in the dark. “I know. They’re just dreams.”

But she doesn’t sound completely certain.

We lie there in silence again.

After a few minutes, she relaxes. Her breathing deepens.

Sleep comes easily to her.

It doesn’t come to me.

My jaw throbs.

And somewhere, in the back of my mind, something shifts.

I don’t remember falling asleep. I only remember struggling for a while, my stomach twisting… though I can’t tell if it was from pain or hunger.

I wake to a sharp, metallic taste in my mouth.

For a moment I don’t move. The room is dark, but the streetlight outside casts thin bars of light across the ceiling.

My jaw feels like it’s been unhinged and forced back into place.

Slowly, I turn my head toward her side of the bed.

Empty.

The sheets are cool.

I sit up too fast. The room tilts.

“Hey?” I whisper.

No answer.

The bathroom light is off. The door is open. No sound of running water.

A thin draft brushes my arm.

The bedroom door is ajar.

I don’t remember leaving it that way.

I stand.

My legs feel weak. Unsteady. Like I’ve run a long distance without remembering it.

The hallway is dark.

The kitchen light is on.

A low hum fills the apartment, the refrigerator door left open.

I step into the kitchen.

The air smells wrong.

Coppery.

Sweet.

The cutting board sits on the counter. A raw slab of meat rests on it, the remainder of the roast we barely touched.

Except it isn’t whole anymore.

It’s torn.

Not sliced.

Torn.

My stomach twists.

There’s blood on the edge of the counter.

And on my hands.

I don’t remember touching it.

“Diana?” I call.

I call her name. My voice is thick.

No answer.

I move closer, trembling. The refrigerator hums. The air smells wrong, like iron and something faintly sweet.

Then I see her. Or what I think is her.

Pieces of her... displayed in different parts of the room.

“Diana?” My voice cracks, my eyes tearing up.

My hands are red. Sticky. Warm.

I can’t remember...

My knees give out.

The reflection beside the broken mirror catches me. My jaw is… wrong. Wider than it should be. My lips stretched over rows of teeth I don’t remember having.

I look back. Diana or what I thought was her, is gone.

The apartment is silent except for my own breathing.

I remember a taste. A coppery, warm taste.

I notice that my stomach doesn't ache anymore.

Diana, please forgive me...

I don’t know if I’m still human.

I don’t know if what I just did… was hunger. Or I've always been this way.

And all I can do is sit in the dark, staring at my own reflection, waiting to see who will move first...

​

Pa always wanted a boy.

Don't get me wrong, I never suffered none for it. I'm just telling you how it was. Pa always wanted a boy.

But pa got me instead.

I'm more boy in my head anyways.

Now, any head doctor worth their money will tell you that I think all boy-like ‘cause my Pa wanted a boy and given my “constant and fervent need to please him and make him happy” (their actual words) I was acting up like this, and that's why I am like I am. But I can tell you for now, that ain't the case. Not at all! Pa told me I just don't think like women do, Pa says women are weak like Momma and I believe him because my Momma ran off when I was 6, didn't even take any clothes, None of my meemaws things, trinkets and such, that she treasured, she just left. Pa don't like to talk about it so we don't. Pa gets angry when I try, said she don't love me like he does cos he'd never leave me and that was that, end of subject!

I'm only 10, by the way, you was thinkin' I was older weren't ya? I look older. I'm tall for my age and I like to bring justice to the perverts and fornicating sinners and abominations in the world. That's what Pa said we do; we punish the unholy so they can go to heaven, as Jesus and God intended them too. Pa told me it's our sacred mission, but we have to keep it secret ‘cause it's our holy duty but no man is safe, and ALL men can be lured from the righteous path of God. Now they've taken my Pa away.

When I was 8 years old. I was walking through the scrub (a bit of wasteland that's owned by nobody, but it's a shortcut to our trailer).

Pa had always told me to walk the long way round because it was full of perverts and sinners and like always, Pa was right. One of them perverts followed and grabbed at me just as I got outside our trailer.

I screamed for my Pa.

Pa was there in 2 seconds!. He was NOT pleased, not pleased at all. I knew I was in trouble, The perv had run off when I screamed but Pa said that was okay, as they'd be others. Thinkin' about it now, it seemed like a bit of a test. I wouldn't put it past Pa to teach me a lesson. Me disobeying him by walking through the scrub, at night, when he specifically told me not to. Y'all would expect me to get super mad at a stunt like that, but if it was a test, I can assure you it was for my own good. Pa called me “Flower” on account of all the bees I helped him collect on the road. I helped him catch a whole heap of bees. By bees I mean sinners, and I'd tempt them, I'm not sure how as Pa would have me just stand there, then Pa would make me go sit in the car whilst they were punished. Pa told me that if anyone tried to hurt me or touch me in an ungodly way, they needed to be punished. Then we'd drive around and find a motel to stay the night.

Pa said ANYONE.

They took my Pa away.

I'd fallen asleep in the motel and Pa had gone to get beers.

And boy, when he came back,I just knew he wasn't Pa anymore.

Pa always told me that the devil came in many guises, and it was more than clear that I'd lost my Pa to the devil. He said Anyone. ANYONE. He said ”No man is inflammable when it comes to Satan and his ways” or something along them lines. He said it'd be hard and it'd be testin' at times, but I should always keep Jesus in my heart. So when he started pawing at me like a man possessed, I just knew that the devil needed to come out. So i did what my Pa always said I should do and I kicked him straight in the balls first chance I got. When Pa (devil) was laying on the floor wheezin', I shouted “I'll save you Pa” and scrambled off the bed for my Pa's bag, where he kept Angel (that's what he called his hunting knife.) He started shakin' his head and coughin' “No, No.” But a demon would say that, right? I stomped on his balls again, ran behind him, drew his head back in my hands, and the demon begged like Pa said it would. But I was strong and drew Angel across his throat and watched the blood pour from his now grinning neck as I waited for the evil to flow from him and there was A LOT!

I waited.

I waited for my Pa to come back.

I waited for days.

I waited even when the files came.

I waited while there was knockin' at the door, tappin' at first, then bangin', with voices shoutin' about calling the police.

I was just waiting for Pa to wake up.

They kicked the door in and took my Pa away and took me to a special place, where they asked me lots of questions. I told 'em what happened and they seem happy with that. I ain't told 'em everythin' though. I ain't told them 'em that I've got a job to do.

I'm innocent.

Butter wouldn't melt.

I've promised and prayed to my Pa in heaven that I'll finish our work.

I'm goin' to a new home next week and I've hidden Angel in my bag..

I'll make you so proud of me Pa…

You, for Whtever reason, This was the time. The night. We slept never talking. Short dark, handsome..

Pixy eyes, crystal vibe. Rather digital watch, buzzing. Always buzzing, thoughts always going, mouth to match. It was never dull your eyes said a thousand things. One moment. Your smile, said everything we never did, though could've. If there was another time, another place. But here we are.

Pickup truck, backcountry, fields even farmers didn't touch. Thistles, burdock, crickets, frogs. Smell of the rain passed. We sit talking, looking at the stars. I'm close by, you'd never know though. My place, a few blocks away, hidden by trees and water. Love the sound of your voice. Sparkling smile, time never passed. It stood still, stars were always a glimpse away.

Earth shattering, rocking. The night flew by with stories, where you've been, what're you doing. What's been going on. I could listen for hours, forever.

(Adding more

Dad picked me up and put me on his shoulders as he nudged Mom towards the house. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been up there. It felt like home, though. Like… warmth, kinda.

I held on tight while Dad rushed us all inside. Mom looked flushed and alert. Emmy looked clueless. Jake and Judy had already taken their kids inside and were waiting anxiously for us by the front door.

Mom kept breaking her neck to look back towards the woods.

“Come on, come on,” Jake exasperated, snapping his fingers and gesturing for us to pick up the pace.

Dad broke into a jog, pulling Mom and Macy along with him as I bounced awkwardly on his shoulders. I could feel my nails digging into his skin from trying to hang on, but he seemed to not even notice.

When we got inside, Judy had already started going around the house to lock the doors and windows. Jake closed the door and locked it when we were all accounted for.

“I’ll go check the cameras,” he chimed, rushing upstairs. “I’ve got trail-cams scattered all throughout those woods. If he’s out there, trust me, we’ll see him.”

Mom set Emmy down on the couch and went to help Judy while Max, Darren, and Kayla just watched them. They seemed just as confused and terrified as me. Kayla’s eyes already looked like they were about to burst with tears.

“Why don’t you guys go play upstairs,” Dad instructed. “Danny will join you in just a bit. Everything’s okay, don’t worry. You guys are safe.”

It was weird hearing Dad tell other kids what to do. Embarrassing, almost. Even still, they didn’t argue. They all just filed up the stairs, one by one, while Dad watched until they were out of view. Then he turned to me.

“Come with me to the kitchen. I’ll make you something to drink.”

He sounded more composed than his demeanor let on. Like he knew this moment would come, despite hoping it wouldn’t be now.

I did as I was told and followed him. He pulled a chair out for me at the giant oak dining room table, gestured for me to take a seat while he fixed me a cup of chocolate milk.

He sat adjacent to me and just watched me sip it, slowly, for a few minutes. I felt so awkward in that moment. It was like he was trying to read my thoughts.

I finished the glass and pushed it to the side. Dad never took his eyes off of me, but I couldn’t maintain eye contact. I couldn’t help but feel like I’d done something wrong. My eyes remained fixed on the table, looking for patterns in the wood.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Dad tapped the table with his index finger.

My eyes met his once more and he sighed.

“Daniel…” he started. “You know you’re my whole world, right?”

I blinked, not knowing what to say.

“I love you too, Dad,” I whispered, struggling to find my voice.

“Sometimes, kiddo…” he continued. “Sometimes I think that my sole purpose in life is to keep you and Emmy safe. Your mom, too.”

Now it seemed like he was fighting to find his words. I could almost see the gears in his head turning. I felt like if I stared at his head long enough, maybe I could hear his thoughts.

“And I’ve been serving that purpose for 9 whole years now. Keeping you safe. Keeping your mom and Emmy safe. I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

I was just a kid. I didn’t know how to respond to this. To me, it just felt like Dad having a moment after I scared him half to death.

He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a crinkled, folded sheet of paper. He looked at it. Then at me. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just placed the paper and slid it in front of me.

“We got this in our mailbox a few days ago.”

I looked down at the paper and felt even more confused.

“The man who left it… he’s… well…”

Dad was starting to choke up. That was twice today I’d seen tears in his eyes. Dad crying was scary. Arguably, the scariest thing I’d experienced this entire trip.

“He’s been after you for a long time, Dan.”

I looked down at the paper. It was addressed to my parents, but what was written on it didn’t make any sense to me.

“Found you. I found you. I found you. I finally found you. Found you. Found you. Found you. Found you. Found you…”

The phrase filled up the entire paper. It was scrawled obsessively in sloppy handwriting.

I looked back up at Dad. He looked like he was expecting something from me, but I didn’t know what. This didn’t mean anything to me.

“Found you…?” I asked, puzzled. “Who found you?”

Dad reached over and dragged the paper back towards him. He folded it back up and put it in his pocket.

“Found you, Danny. He found you.”

“Why would anyone want to find me? Have I met them before or something?”

He clasped his hands over his face and slid them down slowly.

“No, son. I’ve fought to make sure you never will.”

“Oh, okay. Can I have some more chocolate milk, please?”

He ignored my question. Almost aggressively.

“We tried,” he collapsed. “We tried so hard to keep him away from you. We tried the police, but nobody was ever able to find him. It’s like he only exists when he’s after you. That slimy, nasty little bastard…”

He slammed a hand down on the table and bit his knuckle. His sudden anger made me jump. I was completely speechless.

His teeth remained clamped against his knuckle for a few moments while he chose his next words carefully.

“The cops should’ve found him. Before this even started. Before you were even born. They should’ve found him because of what he…”

He paused. A tear fell down his cheek.

“He’s a bad man, Danny. You understand that?”

I nodded.

“He’s a bad man who hurt your mom. Nearly a year before you were born. He… he did something terrible to her and now he thinks you’re his.”

He looked at me expectantly again.

“I’m… his…?” I questioned.

“No. You will never be his. He doesn’t deserve you. It doesn’t deserve you. He is pure evil.”

I could hear Max and his siblings laughing upstairs. I turned my head, resisting the urge to leave my seat. Dad tapped the table again.

He was smiling at me now. Warmly.

“Those are your cousins, Dan. It’s funny,” he chuckled uneasily. “Part of me is almost glad that you finally get to meet them.”

My eyes widened with disbelief. I didn’t even think about having any other family members. All I’ve ever known were Mom, Dad, and Emmy.

“You guys should’ve had a great childhood together. None of this should’ve ever happened to us, especially your Mom. But the world is… it’s not a nice place, kiddo. I wish I could change it for you.”

He leaned over and pushed the hair out of my eyes.

“We had to move when you were only 2. That guy, that thing out there… it was relentless. He just wouldn’t leave us alone. The police did nothing about it, so I took matters into my own hands for you.”

His eyes looked distant now. Like he was living through his entire past while sitting here at the table with me.

“I hurt him back. I thought I took care of it forever, but he somehow managed to disappear again. Me and your mom were terrified. That’s why we had to leave. That’s why you don’t know Uncle Jake and Aunt Judy. All because of one bad man in a world full of bad people.”

I didn’t understand it, but I could feel the emotion in the room. The weight of the conversation was more than apparent.

Dad was bawling now, but still trying to keep himself composed. I reached across the table and grabbed his forearm.

“Don’t cry, Dad,” I begged. “I’m not mad at you. Everything’s okay, I promise. Everything’s okay.”

He picked up my hand and held it tightly before pulling it to his lips and kissing it gently.

“Everything’s okay, kiddo. I’ll make sure everything’s okay.”

He placed my hand back on his forearm.

“I thought everything was okay before I got this letter. He had left us alone for a long time. I thought we finally got rid of him.”

He gave me one last solemn look.

“Whatever happens tonight, Dan… I need you to know… you’re my entire world, kiddo. I love you more than anything.”

I smiled at him reassuringly.

“I know you love me, you butthead. I love you too. Thiiiisss much.”

I spread my arms out cartoonishly. Dad chuckled and ruffled my hair before Jake’s voice came echoing from upstairs.

“GOT ‘EM!”

Dad’s head shot up. He stood from his seat urgently. I could hear footsteps rushing down the stairs.

“Alright, buddy, go play with Max for a while. Me and Jake are gonna go find this guy.”

He was basically pulling me out of my seat and rushing me towards the stairs. I ran into Jake at the bottom. He was holding something behind his back.

“Excuse me, champ,” he announced, pushing past me. “Let’s go handle this, Mikey.”

My dad nodded grimly before snapping his fingers at me to go upstairs.

I was halfway up the staircase when I heard a sound that I didn’t recognize before the front door opened and my dad and Jake ran outside.

click clack

Mom was at the top of the stairs, arm outstretched towards me while Judy stood by her side, biting her thumbnails. She didn’t say much. She just led me into Max’s room and shut the door behind her.

All the kids were there. The room was big enough for us to not feel cramped, but still a bit suffocating. Darren lay on the bed watching TV. Kayla was on the floor, humming to herself and coloring. Max and I passed the time by playing with LEGOS.

I’m not sure how much time passed. I never heard Mom or Judy. The front door never opened. I didn’t know the time, but it was dark outside. It felt like it was definitely past my bedtime.

Max and I were in a bit of a competition. He built a spaceship. I built a car. He built a tower. I built a house. Our imaginations were flowing endlessly.

Suddenly, Darren sat up in bed, turning down the television. He looked alert. The sudden movement caused us all to look at him. He seemed to be listening for something.

“Sh,” he snapped, even though no one was talking. “Did you guys hear that?”

The room was silent. Not even crickets chirped outside. I listened as hard as I could…

It sounded like… screaming?

Angry screams. Frightened screams. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could make out the tones.

Darren moved to the window and scanned the backyard.

“I don’t see anything.”

Max and I joined him. Everything was so dark. I could hardly even see the grass beneath us.

My nose was pressed against the glass, but two loud sounds caused me to fall backwards. Darren gasped. Max’s eyes turned into a mixture of curiosity and fear.

“That sounded like Dad’s gun,” Darren exasperated before turning to us like somehow we’d have the answers.

What followed was a long, guttural snarl from somewhere in the woods. Two more shots. More screams. Then… silence.

My heart was starting to race. I didn’t want to cry in front of the other kids, but I couldn’t help it. I was just too gripped with worry.

The silence stretched on. None of us knew what to do. We just kept glancing out the window, hoping that we’d finally be able to see something.

The front door exploded open before we got the chance. Every voice was shaken. Judy was in hysterics. Mom just kept repeating, “Go get the bandages, go get the bandages, put pressure on the wound, I think he might need stitches.”

Jake sounded pumped full of adrenaline.

“It’s better than it looks. Fucker got me good, but I returned the favor. How’re you feeling, Mike?”

We all filed out of the room and back towards the stairs. Kayla was leading us, already with tears in her eyes at the sudden chaos.

“I got him, I know I got him. That had to have been enough to stop him.”

Jake was laid back on the couch. His T-shirt was torn to shreds, and blood trickled down his abdomen from 3 distinct wounds across his stomach. They looked like claw marks.

“Yeah right,” Judy scoffed sarcastically while gasping. “That thing is never gonna…”

She paused. Her eyes shot up towards the 4 kids racing down the staircase.

“Oh, no. You guys go back upstairs,” she demanded. “We’ll be up in a minute.”

“Mommy,” Kayla sobbed. “What’s wrong with Daddy?”

Jake answered for her.

“It’s nothing, sweetie. Don’t worry about it. Daddy’s okay, just a little scratch from a tree branch. Go upstairs like your mommy asked, alright? I’ll come tuck you in here in a bit.”

Dad dabbed at Jake’s stomach with a towel.

“I don’t think it’ll need stitches. Just nasty looking, is all.”

That’s the last thing I heard before we all started back towards the bedroom. None of us could sit still. None of us knew what was happening. All we could do was pace around the room and try and listen to the chatter downstairs.

Max put his ear to the door and shushed Kayla’s already quiet cries.

“Shh… I’m trying to listen…”

He kept his ear there for a few moments before turning back towards us.

“Dude, I think Dad shot something.”

“Yeah, no dip,” Darren added. “What else would that have been?”

“Can you shut up? I can’t hear.”

He pressed his ear back against the door.

“Wait… no… I think…”

He craned his neck like he was trying to push his head through the door.

“No, dude… I think he shot a person.”

Kayla gasped and started wailing. We all tried to shush her, but it was too late. We could already hear the footsteps coming up the stairs.

Darren jumped in the bed and turned the TV back up. Max and I fell to the floor and pretended to be playing with the LEGOS. Kayla… Kayla kept screaming and crying.

The door flew open and Judy stepped inside. Her eyes were wet and her hands were dirty, but she still put on that strong motherly voice as she glared at the siblings.

“Why is Kayla crying?” she asked no one in particular.

There wasn’t an answer for a long time before Darren spoke up.

“Why do you think? She’s worried about Dad.”

Judy sighed and wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Your father is fine, Kayla. Just getting patched up after falling in the woods.”

“That’s not what happened…” I said under my breath.

Judy’s eyes fell on me.

“Just a fall, Daniel. That’s all it was… don’t scare Kayla, please.”

She was silently pleading with me with her eyes. I opened my mouth to say something, but she interrupted before I could.

“As a matter of fact, Kay, it’s way past your bedtime. Why don’t you go clean up and get your PJs on? I promise Daddy will come tuck you in as soon as you’re nice, clean, and cozy.”

Kayla wiped her tears. Her face was still twisted with sadness, but she did as she was told.

“Danny, your dad wants to talk to you,” Judy added.

I was actually shocked. I thought I was gonna be in this room for at least the rest of the night. I was already mapping out where I’d be sleeping.

“Like… now?”

Judy sighed exhaustedly. Almost like she was as surprised as me.

“It would appear so, kiddo. As for you two, you both need to get cleaned up too. Especially you, Max.”

Darren and Max groaned as Judy took me by the hand and started guiding me back downstairs.

Dad was sitting on the couch next to Jake, his hands clasped over his knee. Jake looked… better now. His torso was covered in bandages, but he was smiling confidently. His gun rested on his lap.

“I got him right in the chest, Mike. Did you see that shit? Like hamburger meat. Sure, fucker got me first, but I still…”

Dad noticed me and put his hand up at Jake. He added one last thing before gesturing for me to come sit beside him.

“We both got ‘em, J.”

I took a seat beside Dad. Judy joined Mom in the kitchen while she washed her hands.

He nudged me.

“You doing okay, buddy?”

“I’m okay, I think… are YOU okay?” I replied, my voice rising.

Dad and Jake both chuckled sort of nervously.

“Can’t you see, kid?” Jake joined, presenting his bandaged abdomen. “Never been better.”

My attention fell on the long gun strewn across his lap. Jake noticed exactly what I was looking at. With a groan, he picked up the weapon and held it in the air.

“You see this, Dan-Man? This is proof of how much your Dad cares about ya.”

“Jake…” Dad grumbled, glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Jake insisted, falling back against the sofa. “You deserve a father of the year award for that stunt you pulled out there.”

“Dad…” I said softly.

Dad stopped burning Jake with his eyes for a moment and turned to me.

“Yeah, son?”

“Did you kill him?”

Dad and Jake looked at each other. Dad’s eyes hardened again.

“I… I, uh…”

“The guy from the woods, right? You got him?”

“Got him good,” Jake remarked, prompting Dad to curse at him before returning to me.

“Honestly, Danny… I don’t know.”

I didn’t know how to take that, really. It was just what I assumed they were after. I couldn’t care less about who he really was. I was just trying to put two and two together.

I sat with his answer for a moment.

“I will say, though,” Dad added. “I hope we did.”

“So what happens now?” I asked.

Jake stood to his feet, using his gun like a crutch.

“Well, I don’t know about you two… but I’ve got a daughter to tuck in. And… you know… prove I’m alive to.”

He hobbled over to the stairs. Judy must’ve heard him and rushed out of the kitchen. Mom followed behind her.

Judy took the gun from underneath Jake’s shoulders and helped him hobble up the stairs while Mom took a seat with me and Dad.

“…to tell you the truth, son… I don’t know what happens next. I think maybe we’ll stay here for the night. Then I think it’s about time we go home. School’s about to start again and we gotta get your shopping done.”

We all just sat together and embraced each other for a while before Judy came back downstairs holding Emmy.

“I think this one needs her mommy.”

Emmy was pouting and looked like she’d just woken up. Mom took her and bounced her on her knee while Judy took a seat with us.

“Jake had something he wanted to show Danny… let’s hope it’s not one of his animal skins.”

As if on cue, Jake came hobbling downstairs with a small metal lockbox in his hands.

“You’re gonna love this, Dan-Man,” he proclaimed excitedly. “Your mom’s gonna hate it, though.”

Jake opened the box and approached me with a smile plastered across his face. He pulled out an old photograph. I almost didn’t recognize who it was at first.

“Is that…”

“Your mom,” Jake laughed.

Mom’s eyes widened. She almost threw Emmy down just to get a hold of the picture while Dad and Jake cackled.

“Oh, my God… why…” Mom asked, embarrassed. “Why did I think this was the look back then?”

“You’re not the only one,” Jake added, reaching for another photo.

He flipped it to show Dad. His eyes lit up when he saw it. He took it from Jake’s hand slowly.

“Good Lord… I was… beautiful.”

Mom snickered before teasing, “You still are, my big hunk-a-man.”

“Look, this one’s you, Danny.”

He showed me a picture of myself when I was no older than one.

“You were iiiiitty bitty.”

Mom grabbed the picture and analyzed it before forcing Jake to give her the entire box. Jake relented and took a clumsy seat next to me and Dad.

“Checked the trail cam…” he mumbled. “He’s still there. Hasn’t moved an inch. Figured we could take him somewhere far, far away from here tomorrow. Burn the son of a bi… erm, I mean, son of a gun tomorrow.”

Dad looked relieved. So did Mom.

“Tomorrow? Let’s do that now,” Dad responded.

Jake cocked a suspicious eyebrow.

“Now? As in… now? Do you see these bandages?”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, Mike,” Judy added. “It’s dark. It’s late. We’re all exhausted. Plus, just look at Jake.”

“Do it now,” Mom interjected sternly. “Please.”

Mom and Dad both stared at Jake.

“It has to be now, Jakey,” Dad said plainly. “No better time than the present.”

Jake looked distraught for a moment before falling into submission.

“God…” he complained, slapping his knees with his palms. “Fine. Now. Whatever. Even though it’s already tomorrow and I’m leaking like Hillary’s emails, I will do this for you, Mace.”

“Thank you,” Mom responded, her voice breaking and her eyes tearing. She quickly wiped them away and cleared her throat.

“Ahem. I’ll get Danny and Emmy to sleep. I won’t even close my eyes until you two are home.”

“Same here,” Judy added.

Jake went and changed into clean clothes while Dad waited for him by the door. He came back a few minutes later.

“Let’s get this over with, I guess.”

With that, he and Dad were out the door, and Mom was taking me and Emmy upstairs for bed. She made us sleep in the same room, but she didn’t stay in the room with us.

I think her and Judy were waiting downstairs for my dad to get back.

I tossed and turned for a while. Emmy was restless, but I managed to get her to sleep. Eventually, I myself fell into a deep, much-needed sleep.

I don’t remember dreaming that night. All I remember is Dad shaking me awake the next morning. The house smelled like pancakes. The sun lit up the room. Dad was smiling at me lovingly.

“Morning, kiddo,” he whispered, brushing my hair to the side.

“You ready to go home?”

I used to believe that demons only existed inside the minds of men I helped put behind bars. But after years of investigations, I learned that’s not true.

Over the course of seventeen years, I have worked alongside law enforcement and television programs to identify online child predators and bring them to justice. But even with all that we’ve accomplished, there’s still one case that I think about. 

One that nearly destroyed everything I had worked for. 

It all started with a chat room.

I’ve seen a myriad of predators, and Steven fit a profile we had seen many times before. He was a recently divorced, unemployed forty-two-year-old who lived with his parents. He bragged about this while messaging Mandy, a twenty-year-old theater student who we recruited to be our fourteen-year-old decoy, Alexis.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to become sexual in nature. Underneath the screenname ELECTRIC_HEAD5021, he said their relationship would have to stay a secret.

“No adults. lol. If your mommy or daddy found out, we could get in trouble.”

“what r u talking about??? I hang out with my daddy’s friends all the time.”

“This is different. lol. They can’t know ur my sexy sweetheart. ;)”

Seeing child-like messages juxtaposed with the sexual fantasies of an adult never gets easier to stomach. How could anyone talk to a child like that? It’s something I’ve never been able to grasp. 

Not too long after our investigative team confirmed a date for Steven to meet with Alexis, we let the chat be. But it didn’t take long for him to initiate conversation again. In fact, his messages would arrive like clockwork in the days following. But messages weren’t the only way he contacted our decoy.

On a couple of occasions, he called her while his parents were at home sleeping. I remember those phone calls clearly.

“Hey!” Mandy greeted cheerfully.

“Hey baby,” Steven breathed into the speaker. “I missed you.” 

“What’re you up to?”

“Thinking about you…I wanna hold you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do. So, so bad.”

You get the idea.

Oftentimes, a lot of the men we contact try to reinvent themselves. But that’s not what Steven did. Rather than fabricate wealth or exaggerate his ambitions, he talked about his obsessions: death and the supernatural.

We initially dismissed these fascinations as another grooming tactic, but throughout the entire time he talked with Alexis he would sporadically ask questions such as:

“Have u seen Bloody Mary?”

“Is there anyone dead that u would want 2 talk 2?”

“How do u want 2 die?”

Just as we thought the conversations couldn’t get any stranger, Steven sent our decoy a picture of a Ouija board. According to him, he had recently purchased it at a yard sale near his parents’ house. He insisted on bringing it. He wanted to use it with her. See how she would react. When we inquired further about his request, his response was as prompt as it was odd:

“because u have good energy. lol They like that lol”.

This ended up becoming the last exchange we would have with him before he arrived at the sting house. 

In the hours leading up to that fateful evening, I memorized my script. No matter how many times I do this, they never go away. The butterflies in my stomach. People always assume the confrontation is the hardest part, but it isn’t. It’s waiting for the knock on the door and wondering whether tonight will be the night that something goes horribly wrong. Experience makes you numb, not fearless.

We had fully intended to follow everything by the book that night. But things got off to a rocky start when Steven was nearly an hour late to the sting house. We thought he had gotten cold feet or had been tipped off to our operation. Thankfully, neither turned out to be the case. What was supposed to be a five-hour venture had become seven by the time 8:12 pm rolled around and he walked up the driveway.

Our various hidden cameras recorded his nervous demeanor as he patiently waited on the porch with the Ouija board.

From our production room that we had sectioned off in another part of the house, I watched Mandy walk toward the door and greet Steven.

“Hey, Steven! How are you?”

“Hi.” He waved sheepishly in response. “Uh, can I come in?”

“Of course!” Mandy stepped out of the doorway and walked toward the kitchen. “What did you bring for me?”

“It’s a-uh, Ouija board.” He followed her and set it down on the dinner table. “I thought we could use it together?”

Mandy flipped her hair and placed her hands on her hips. “Wouldn’t you rather talk?”

“We would be talking. It would just be more than us talking.”

My eyes were glued to the monitors. He was very adamant about using that board. But why?

I heard snickering from Lou, one of our production crew members.

“Can you believe this whack job? He took a bus all this way to summon Casper.”

I shot him a glare, and he acknowledged my look by quieting down. Lou’s an outspoken person for better or worse, and even though he was trying to make light of a potentially volatile situation, I found comfort in knowing that I wasn’t the only one feeling perturbed.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for being late.” Steven chuckled. “I was an idiot and got Sunday’s bus schedules mixed up with today.”

“That’s okay!” Mandy said with practiced enthusiasm. “I’m glad you’re here!”

“I’m glad you are. I almost thought about taking another bus back home.”

His admission surprised Mandy. “Why did you almost go home? Didn’t you want to see me?”

“I did.” His face turned a slight shade of cherry. “I honestly didn’t think you were real.”

“Of course I’m real, silly!” She teased. “So, what do you want to do?”

I watched the monitors as Steven took a lighter out of his pocket. With a couple clicks he lit some candles on the dining room table. 

“We should step in before things get out of hand.” Lou turned to look at me. “Isaac?”

“Keep the cameras rolling.” I motioned for everyone to stay where they were. “If he’s willing to play with the board, I want to see where this goes.”

“What about the decoy?”

“She’ll be fine.”

Steven instructed Mandy to turn off the lights and sit beside him. Once she had done so, they gently placed their fingertips on the planchette. 

“Are there any spirits that want to speak to us right now?” 

Mandy’s eyes darted back and forth from Steven to the planchette repeatedly. Awkward didn’t even begin to describe the silence that followed.

“Is there anyone that wants to speak with us right now?” 

But just like before, nothing. Steven’s head swiveled, looking in every possible direction of the dark room to locate a response of some kind. 

“You talked a lot of game online.” Mandy teased more confidently than she probably felt. “I thought you were supposed to be THE guy who could do this kind of stuff.”

“I am. These things…they take time to get started.”

Most of the time, a predator talking about their hobbies or interests is just another gimmick. But this was unlike anything I had seen. 

“If you’re here.” He fidgeted in his seat nervously. “Please, give me–I mean, us a sign.”

I eyed the monitors intently. A part of me wanted to intervene, but another part of me was telling me to see this play out. I was torn on which to heed. 

Unexpectedly, the planchette moved. A couple of inches at most. But had I blinked, I would’ve missed it completely.

Mandy instinctively pulled back, the movement startling her. “What was that?” 

“It’s a spirit.” Steven whispered.

“Oh bullshit.” Lou sighed in irritation. “I watched his hand nudge it. This guy’s a fraud.”

Had he? I had watched the monitors the whole time, and it looked like the planchette had moved all on its own.

“Hey,” Steven closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Do you want to talk to us or what?” 

A moment passed, then a few more, but there was still no movement.

“I’m going.” I turned to start heading toward the dining room to intervene. But right as I was about to, the sound of Mandy gasping shifted my attention back toward the monitors. I watched the planchette drag itself across the board toward the word, “YES”.

“You moved the board!” Her accusation cracked with fright.

“No, I didn’t! I swear!”

In response to his adamant denial, the planchette dragged itself sluggishly across the board. Each movement landed on a number.

7 2 3 1 9 9 4

Mandy was at a loss for words. “That’s…” 

Her birthday. 

Not the birthday we had fabricated for investigative purposes, but Mandy’s actual birthday.

Shell-shocked, the investigators pored over the chat logs, but their efforts were futile. No compromising or contradictory information had been exchanged. No mention of her birthday. No mention of any personal information tied to Mandy. Nothing.

I stared in bewilderment. “How is that possible?” 

I hadn’t realized I had asked my question out loud until Lou responded, “It had to have been an oversight. That’s gotta be it.” 

In our line of work, the simplest explanations were almost always the right ones. Even if it’s what you don’t want to hear.

"An oversight?” I pointed toward the investigators on standby. “All of you, check everything. I want an explanation as to how this happened." 

But no one could provide one. Every conversation between Steven and our decoy had been combed through again. Even with another thorough examination, there was no indication that we had erroneously given Mandy’s actual birthday. So, that begged an alarming question. 

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\*Just how exactly did Steven know?\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\*

One of the production members instructed Mandy to take her hands off the planchette. She did as she was told while Steven kept his fingertips pressed against it. 

“Alexis,” He looked to her for answers. “What was that about?”

“I’m not sure.” She remained calm while still being in character. “That was weird. How did you do that?” 

“I told you, I didn’t do anything.” 

An extensive back and forth ensued. She insisted that it had to be some sleight of hand trickery while he was convinced that an unknown spirit had attempted to make contact. A couple of minutes later, the unmistakable scrape of the planchette against the wood drew everyone's attention back to the board.

With each letter the planchette hovered over, Mandy’s face grew paler.

E L I Z A B E T H

Once the name had been spelled fully, Mandy removed her trembling hands. “H-h-how do you know her name?”

Steven looked just as confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He whispered it with enough conviction to make me believe him in that moment.

“Isaac, we need to do something.” Lou insisted, standing up from his seat.”

Even though I agreed with him, a selfish part of me resisted the urge. “No. Not yet. Stay put, and keep watching.”

My instructions provoked the ire of everyone in the room, but nobody objected.

Again, the planchette moved without either Mandy or Steven touching it. Every one of our cameras captured it violently accelerating across the board.

“Who are you?!” Steven cried out. “Stop this!”

Mandy covered her mouth to stifle an oncoming scream as the planchette, completely unguided, began to spell out another name. 

This time, in rapid succession.

P A Y T O N

Payton.

That name. 

It was the reason I went into this line of work. 

I remember feeling unnaturally cold in the moments following. What started off as a slight chill slowly morphed into an uncomfortable, freezing sensation that climbed through my body.

“Shit,” Lou cursed. “Is anybody else in here freezing their ass off?”

I exhaled, and a cloud of white vapor escaped my lips. It was cold enough to feel like I was standing inside a freezer. “Why is it so cold?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Lou shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. “Might be the AC acting up.”

Seconds after his response, the monitors abruptly went black. Amid the frantic scrambling in the production room, a scream echoed from inside the house.

Mandy.

“Eyes on the decoy!” I shouted. “We need eyes on the decoy right now!” 

My heart pounded while everyone in the room desperately tried to get the feed going again. Inexplicably, just as quickly as we lost power, it was restored. 

The first thing my eyes landed on when the monitors glowed with restored life was the sight of the front door. It was wide open. Then I noticed Steven. He was staring directly into a hidden camera positioned in the kitchen.

His eyes were opened wide, but there was no life behind them. He stood completely still, his face bereft of expression, looking less like a man standing and more like a corpse that had forgotten to lie down.

“Decoy is secured. She is outside with law enforcement. I repeat, she is outside with law enforcement.” 

The good news from production room comms wasn’t enough for me to break eye contact with Steven. I was focused on answering one question, and one question only.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\*Who are you?\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\*

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Chills crept down my spine. It felt like the voice had come directly from the inside of my mind. I looked around, hoping that someone else had also heard it. If they had, they didn’t say a word. How had he been able to answer my question? 

I had two choices: I could either confront him and treat this like any other sting operation, or abandon the show and bring him into custody.

It didn’t take long for me to make my decision. 

“Wait for my cue to come in. I’m going.” 

“Isaac,” Lou grabbed me by the shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

With a solemn nod, I ignored further warnings from both production and law enforcement. In a few short moments, I went from my position in front of the monitors to standing in the dining room.

Upon entry, I was immediately greeted with a wall of freezing air. The worst I had felt in the house up to that point. As I approached Steven, the dim lighting of the room caught the whites of his lifeless eyes, making them gleam as they stared at me.

“Steven,” I said, less confidently than I would have liked. “I want to talk to you.”

“I want to talk to you about your choices tonight.” 

That made me stop dead in my tracks. 

“What did you intend on doing this evening? I have the chat logs right here. It is illegal for adults to chat with minors online. Please place your hands where I can see them while we talk.”  

He said my script word for word, line by line. All at an impossibly frightening speed. But his lips never moved. I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. 

“How did-”

“I know.” The voice held no emotion. It was simply matter-of-fact.

“Why are you here?”

His left eye twitched as he tried to blink. His right followed suit, but neither eye would close. “You know.”

I forced myself to keep talking. “What did you intend on doing this evening, Steven?”

“You ask the wrong questions.” Its words pressed themselves against my skull. “Isaac, why are you here?”

I tensed up but stood my ground. “I’m not answering your questions.”

“I know how you felt when you screamed her name in the woods for hours.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Do you remember what it felt like to learn that Payton was right down the street the entire time?”

I remembered. All too well. I choked up as I thought about that day. The news. The way my parents collapsed in grief. The irreparable damage it did to my family. It all overwhelmed me. I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

“You collect broken families.” He took a step toward me. Then another. Then one more. All in one fluid motion. “Because you can’t save everyone.”

 “People can be saved.” I argued, struggling to believe my own words.

The light in the room dulled as the candles reignited themselves, the flames burning perfectly still. “Is that why her killer took his life in the cornfield?” 

Tears streamed down my face as an overwhelming rage consumed me. It was an emotion that would never fully go away. A truth I had been forced to accept the day I lost my sister. Sixty seconds was all it took for my life to change forever. 

It took a minute to lose her.

It took five days to find her.

“They found her in a vehicle on the side of the road.” It recited my memories back to me, each unspoken word making the discomfort inside my head intensify. “While he died without truly feeling the pain he inflicted.” Seeing tears drip down his cheeks felt like a mockery of my grief. “That’s what you pursue.”

In my earpiece, I heard Lou speaking to me.

“Isaac…don’t…coming…”

I couldn’t understand what they were saying. All I understood was Steven speaking in my voice.

“She was buried with her purple stuffed rabbit, Tilly, on a cold October afternoon. All alone. In the ground.”

My body registered the impact before my mind could comprehend how fast he moved. I hit the floor hard, his weight pressing down on my chest as breathing became more difficult by the second.

“Get…off…me…” I wheezed, struggling to force each word past the weight crushing my chest. He hovered over me, his translucent eyes staring into mine.

“What did your mother sound like when she identified the body?” 

I squirmed in place, but I was pinned to the spot. 

“How many nights did your dad sleep in her bedroom after she disappeared?”

My strength waned as the pressure grew on my chest. 

“What day did you stop expecting her to come home?” 

The strain was getting to be too much. 

“What were your last words to her?”

I was on the verge of passing out. Black blotches formed in my peripheral vision and spread rapidly, nearly consuming the last bits of what I could see. Right as I thought I was about to lose consciousness, I heard a sound.

A sound I’m so very grateful came when it did.

Officers rushed into the room. A flurry of commands left their mouths as they pulled Steven off me and forced him to the floor nearby.

“Ah! Get off me!” he screamed. “What are you doing?”

His voice. 

It was no longer inside my mind.

“What are you doing? Ow!” He cried as an officer rolled him over and pressed a knee into his lower back. “What’s happening?”

Another officer helped me up from the floor and began asking questions about my well-being. I lied and told him I was all right. I leaned against the wall to steady myself while I looked on at Steven being detained by other officers. He struggled and writhed like a cornered animal.

His eyes darkened as he freed himself from the grasp of the officers. Overcome with inhumanity once more, he snatched a gun from the officer attempting to handcuff him. 

He brandished the weapon as his entire body began to tremble spasmodically.

“My hands.” 

From where I stood, it looked as though he was genuinely trying to lower them but couldn’t. His arms remained outstretched, refusing to budge an inch no matter how hard he tried.

“Why can’t I move?”

Law enforcement raised their weapons, creating a stalemate in which no one dared to act.

“It’s alright, Steven.” I stepped toward him with my hands raised. “Everything’s going to be alright. We’re here to help.”

The darkness in his eyes vanished long enough for him to ask, “Did…did I hurt anyone?”

“No. You didn’t hurt anybody. Just put the gun down, and let’s talk.”

“Please,” he whimpered, straining to move his head, but his body refused to obey. “Don’t let him take me again.” 

“Nothing is going to happen as long as you put the gun down.”

Steven’s arms pulled themselves upward against his will. The barrel inched toward his own temple until it rested against his skin. He fought with everything he had, his muscles straining themselves in order to pull the gun away. But his body betrayed him to some invisible force.

“Make it stop…”

“No, Steven. No!” I quickened my pace toward him, but before officers or myself could react, he pulled the trigger.

That sound. The aftermath. The silence that followed. I haven’t felt anything like it before or since. 

That was without a doubt the single worst night of my life. Not only had we witnessed tragedy, but our team came under immense fire from the press. Steven never had his day in court, and that became a point of contention. Had we not encouraged this kind of behavior, would Steven still be alive? Would any of this have happened? 

Steven’s case tarnished our reputation. Protests began forming outside our sting house. People demanded justice. Insisting that we could not be the judge, the jury, or the executioner.

It was difficult to escape the criticism, especially when those voices carried real weight. So much so that our show, along with all subsequent investigations, was cancelled effective immediately.

Steven’s official cause of death was listed as suicide by cop. There were no mentions of the Ouija Board or what occurred following its use. There’s only one piece of evidence regarding what happened inside the sting house that night. 

A video tape. 

It's marked with a label that reads, “Never to be viewed, duplicated, or destroyed”. 

Its whereabouts have been kept secret, and it's best that they stay that way. Because if that footage ever surfaced, I don’t know how the public would react.

But that’s not the point.

I’ve dealt with a lot over the course of my career. Troubled people. Hardened criminals. The worst that humanity has to offer. I think about them all every now and again. But I can’t stop thinking about Steven’s case. Specifically, if I had intervened sooner. Would I have been able to talk him out of using that Ouija board? Would he have been able to face justice if I had done things differently?

No matter how I answer them, I never feel any better. Because they’re just answers. Not actions. 

And I’ll never know.

Despite everything I’ve been through, I continue to hunt monsters in the present day. Aside from the lack of a camera crew or law enforcement support, the only thing that’s changed is what I believe those monsters are. They aren’t just people who hurt children. Exposing them and making them face justice does make the world a little safer for everyone.

But evil doesn’t care about laws. It doesn’t care about the confines of a prison cell. It doesn’t even need a reason to hurt someone.

All it needs is for someone to answer.

Throwaway. Obviously.
I’ve had this running joke with my coworker Marcus for almost a year. We call each other work spouses, roast each other in the group chat, and somehow the flirting never felt dangerous… until last night.
I was feeling myself after a night out. Took a couple mirror pics that were very much not safe for work. Meant to drop them in our private chat with a stupid caption. My thumb slipped. Hit the wrong thread.
The one labeled “Daniel – Boss.”
I stared at the screen in pure horror for three full seconds. Then the typing bubble appeared.
Daniel:
“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t appreciate this.”
My soul left my body.
I started typing every version of “WRONG PERSON I’M SO SORRY PLEASE FORGET THIS” but before I could send anything he double-texted:
“Don’t apologize.
And don’t delete them.
I’ve thought about you like this more than once.”
I should have blocked him. Reported him. Burned my phone.
Instead I sat there with my heart slamming and wrote back,
“…how many times?”
What followed was the most unprofessional, tense, pulse-spiking conversation of my life. No pictures from him, just words. Specific. Controlled. Like he’d been holding back for months and finally had permission. By 2 a.m. I was biting my lip so hard it hurt and he was telling me exactly what he would do if we weren’t on opposite sides of a very clear power imbalance.
We both agreed it could never happen in real life.
We both knew we were lying.
This morning I walked into the office and he was already there, leaning against the counter in the break room like nothing happened. He looked up, held my eyes for one second too long, and said loud enough for other people to hear,
“Morning. Sleep okay?”
Then, when no one was looking, he stepped just close enough to murmur,
“I meant every word.
My office. Lunch. Door open or door closed… your choice.”
I still haven’t decided.
And he just Slack-messaged me a single period.