Disconnected

October 19, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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Ever since I was a young child, that automated recording that plays when you try to call someone, but can’t, has frightened me to the core. You know, the one that goes, “We’re sorry, but the number you have reached has been disconnected.” And it’s always preceded by that sound, those three tones, which just amplifies my paranoia. Any time I hear that message, I can feel my skin go pale, every hair on my body stand up, all while I’m paralyzed in fear. I don’t know why I react like that to a simply informative automated message. It just sets something off in my brain. But when it’s at night, nothing compares to that level, that degree of pure, unbridled horror. Surrounded in the black of night, accompanied only by that robotic, emotionless voice. There was nothing worse.
Or so I thought…

I’m a shy, withdrawn guy. I stay inside most of the day, usually by myself. I don’t tend to socialize. Not in public, that is. But behind that computer screen, I’m as social as can be. For quite sometime now, I’ve been thinking of changing that.
Me and my friend, Alan, had known each other since the third grade. We were basically inseperable. But there was a major difference between the two of us. Whereas I’m shy and withdrawn, he’s popular and outgoing. Always being invited to parties and scoring with the hottest girls. He’s always invited me to these parties, and I’ve always come up with some lame excuse not to go. But not tonight. Tonight is a Friday, and I know he’ll ask me to go, as per usual.

I waited, and waited, until finally, my cell phone rang. It was Alan, as expected. I went to hit the ‘Answer’ button, but hesitated. “Do I really want to do this?” I asked myself. I thought for a moment, and came to the conclusion that I did.
“Hey, Alan, what’s up?” I asked.
“What do you think is up, man? It’s party night! Are you in, for once?” he replied, rather enthusiastically.
I took a deep breath.
“You know what? Yeah, I’m in. Where at?”
“Holy shit, really? Alright, man! The party’s at 2736 Linwood, you know where that’s at?”
I vaguely remembered that street. I knew only that it was near my old elementary school.
“Sure, man, I’ll see you there.” I hung up the phone.

I threw on my hoody, and put on some worn-out Converses. Since I didn’t have a car, I’d be walking quite far. I grabbed my phone, put it in my pocket, and left for the party.
It was around nine ‘o clock when I left. Now, it’s ten thirty seven. No matter how much I tried to believe I wasn’t lost, it was to no avail. I knew I had to call Alan for a ride. I pulled out my phone, went to my contacts list, and called him. I put the phone to my ear as I paced up and down the sidewalk of a street I’d never been. But he didn’t answer. Instead, I was greeted with this:

“We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”

The moment I heard that, I stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes widened in fear. “No way…” I thought to myself. How could he be disconnected? We spoke just over an hour ago! I tried calling him again. Maybe it was just some weird glitch on my phone, I thought.

“We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”

I tighted the grip on my phone until my knuckles turned white. What the fuck is going on!? I decided I’d call 911. There’s no way they’d be disconnected, right?

“We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”

I froze in horror. I knew something was very wrong. At this point, I threw my phone on the ground as hard as I could, and stomped on it relentlessly. Something had to be wrong with the phone itself, I was sure of it. After the phone had been smashed to an unrecognizable mass of glass and plastic, I noticed a payphone down the street, visible only due to a dim, flickering street lamp that obviously hadn’t seen maintenance in years. I fished a quarter out of my pocket, and ran down to it, driven by fear and paranoia. I frantically jammed the quarter in, and dialed 911 once again.

“We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”

I dropped the phone, leaving it dangling by it’s metallic cord. There was something different, this time. That message, that emotionally detached voice. It didn’t come from the phone.

It was right behind me.

Credit To – Ryuzaki

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The Grimes Home

October 18, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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(The following was found in an envelope on a bus bound for Chicago)

My name is Jason Grimes and I am writing this so that when the room is eventually opened people will perhaps understand the things they find within it. And so that I will not be thought of as the madman that part of me already fears I am.

It all began with the reading of the will. My mother (My only living parent left) had passed away due to a heart attack in her New England home. Her body had been found by one of the women who came to clean every few days and the news had not come as a shock to any of the family. She’d had two previous heart attacks and with her smoking and drinking she wasn’t exactly in the best of health.

It had been a surprise that she wanted me to have the old family home though. I’d never exactly had much love for the place and had moved out the first chance I got. Honestly I hadn’t been expecting to get anything in the will, given how long it had been since we’d even spoken, I was surprised that she hadn’t written me out, the way she’d tried to write me out of the family’s history by removing any pictures of me from the house.

I certainly didn’t plan to keep that creepy, rundown old place. But at the same time I knew that there was a chance it could fetch a bit of cash on the market if someone put a little work into fixing it up and as I was currently between jobs it might be a worthwhile use of my time. I got my brother and our cousin to come over and help with fixing it up, which they happily agreed to do.

There actually wasn’t as much work to do as I had first thought as the house seemed to be in better repair than I remembered it being. I guessed that my mother, cheap as she was, had still finally been forced to actually get someone in to fix up some of the bigger problems the house had. There was still stuff that needed repair and a new coat of paint but it only ended up taking about a week or so in the end.

It was during this time that I first found it.

Now I didn’t have the best memories of the old place, given how long it had been since I had stayed there. But one of the first things I noticed while I was walking along the ground floor hallway was that there was a door that hadn’t been there before. I stared at it for a few moments, more out of confusion than anything else before trying to push it open. It wouldn’t budge an inch.

I asked my brother if he knew what might be down there and he shook his head, saying that he’d not even noticed it before now. My cousin said that she’d noticed a big, old fashioned looking key in the keyhole of the door the last time she’d come round to visit but she had no clue where it might be right now. I shrugged, not really thinking much of it at the time, just figuring that I’d had to get someone to bust the door down at some point before I got the house sold.

The room none of us WANTED to go in was Emerson’s. It was weird, seeing all his old toys and colouring books still there, as if our mother had been trying to bring her son back by clinging on to the past. Emerson had always been our mothers favourite, the one who she’d lavished all of her attention on and I saw that she had stuck his drawings up all over the place. Drawings of pirate ships and odd, comical looking figures with strange designs.

My brother told me that when he’d stayed for dinner, our mother would still set a place for Emerson as if she expected him to just show up out of the blue. Missing for all these years and she was still expecting him to come wandering through the door…

That first night I spent alone in the house I didn’t sleep very well. Crazy as it sounds I kept thinking that I heard noises in the house, people talking to each other. I must have checked each and every one of the rooms a good dozen times only to find each and every one of them empty. I even checked to see if I’d left the TV on but it was still unplugged.

I would go back to bed and then after a little while the noises would start up again. Sometimes I was sure that I could hear music as well. It was around four in the morning that a thought occurred to me and I went to the locked door in the hallway, pressing my ear against it and listening closely. I was sure I heard what sounded like a muffled tune coming from within.

The next day I went into town to buy some food and after the events of last night I also bought a hammer to knock that old door down. It was while chatting with the cashier that I learned something unsettling about the neighbourhood that I had temporarily moved into.

I had casually brought up where I was staying after he commented on me being new around here and told him that I was planning to try and sell up. He’d let out a short burst of laughter before looking embarrassed about it and when I’d asked him to explain had said the following:

“No one with sense is gonna buy that dump. No one with half a brain would buy ANY house within ten miles of that place” he said, not looking up from the groceries he was packing away.

“Why not? It seems like a nice enough neighbourhood” I had replied.

“Because of all them kids going missing, of course”

He’d gone on to explain that for the past few years there had been a sudden and disturbing rise in the number of children vanishing from their homes in the area. There had been search parties formed, the police and the FBI had gotten involved but nothing had turned up. The kids had vanished from their homes with no signs of forced entry or struggle and no evidence left behind as to who might have been responsible.

People were trying to move away as fast as possible but there were few who would buy a house in the area once they heard about what was going on. No one wanted to move to a place where a child kidnapper/killer was active.

I have to admit the story kind of creeped me out. Knowing that something so strange was going on near where I was staying made the odd goings on of the previous night seem even more unsettling to me and so as soon as I got home I decided to bust that door down. My neighbour, a fairly nice young woman named
Charley who I’d gotten to know, was working on her homes front lawn when I got back and noticed the hammer in my hand as I headed towards the front door of my home. Not really wanting to be alone when I broke the door down I gave her an abridged version of events (Leaving out the odd noises of last night) and asked if she’d like to join me in finding out what was in the room.

“Mysterious locked door? Very Scooby Doo” she said as I grinned.

“Sure. I’ll be Fred, you be Daphne” I replied, happy to have someone with me, her presence making the nervousness I had felt while listening to the cashiers story start to fade a little.

“Trust me; I’m more Velma than Daphne”

Once inside the house I packed away the various groceries, pouring drinks for myself and Charley before we went to the white door. It only took a few swings from the hammer to smash it open, the lock breaking beneath the assault and the door swinging open. Behind it was a staircase, leading down into a darkened basement below. I stared in confusion at the stairs, not believing what I was seeing. Our house didn’t have a basement, I was sure of that.

And yet suddenly I seemed to recall seeing this before. I could remember playing with Emerson one day, daring each other. Emerson had always been afraid of pretty much everything and I, in the way of older brothers everywhere, had taken far too much pleasure in tormenting him. I seemed to remember the two of us stood at the top of this staircase, me daring him to go down into the dark while calling him a chicken.

‘C’mon Emerson’ I had been saying to him. ‘You have to go inside…’

Charley and I began to descend the old, creaking steps towards the basement, the hammer still clutched tight in my hands. I didn’t know what we would find but I knew that I felt better being armed with something that could do some damage. As we reached the bottom of the stairs Charley began feeling around for a light switch, finding one after a few moments and flicking it on. The room was instantly illuminated, revealing what was within.

“Oh my god! LOOK at all this cool stuff!” Charley cried out.

The basement was full of puppets.

There was dozens of them, all lined up on various shelves all in very good repair as if they were brand new. There were puppets of all shapes and sizes, some of them being very human looking while others were Muppet-like animal creatures and others were more monstrous. There were props from what looked like the set of a kids show I guess. None of it had any dust on it, as if someone had been down to tidy up just moments before.

I could guess what all of this was from but what it was doing down here I had no idea.

“What IS all of this?” Charley asked as she picked up one of the puppets, a guy with a massive moustache and a monocle over one eye. She grinned, playing around with him, moving his limbs up and down.

“My brother used to work on a kids show, years ago. ‘Pirate Place’ I think it was called. Only ran for a couple of years before it got cancelled. I guess this stuff is all the old puppets and sets from the show” I said as we looked around at the room. My eyes fell on a creepy looking skeleton puppet with a really weird mouth and a top hat upon its head. Ugly looking thing, I thought to myself at that moment.

“No way! Do you have any idea how much some of this stuff might be worth? Collectors pay a FORTUNE for things like this on eBay” Charley said, setting the puppet down gently on one of the shelves.

I glanced around at the rest of the contents of the room. Apart from the puppets and the set pieces there was an old sewing machine set on a desk that was otherwise completely bare. There was no sign of anything that could have been the source of the tune that I’d heard before. Deciding that I must have imagined it, probably due to lack of sleep and being back in the old place, I did my best to forget about my fears and concentrate on the opportunity before me now.

There was just one thing that troubled me as I looked around. On the desk the sewing machine was set on there were several odd red stains spattered over it. As I stared at them I was sure, out of the corner of my eye that the odd looking skeleton puppets head had twitched in my direction.

The next few days went by without anything odd happening really. I put the puppets up on eBay and had a few people come to view the house. The only thing that was strange was when one couple viewed the basement. All of the colour drained out of the husbands face when his eyes fell on the skeleton puppet and he just turned, left the basement and then the house. He went to the car, started it up and sat there until his wife joined him (After apologising for his rudeness) and the two drove away.

Later that night I was sure I heard the old sewing machine in the basement. I wanted to go down and check and yet at the same time looking at that darkened doorway I suddenly felt very frightened. And when there was a knock at the door the sudden noise almost made me jump out of my skin, my head jerking to the side towards the source of the noise. Taking a moment to steady my nerves I walked to the door, opening it cautiously to see Charley standing there.

“We need to talk” she said.

She explained that she’d mentioned to a friend of hers about the find in the basement a few days ago. When she’d brought up the name ‘Pirate Place’ he’d gone quiet and asked for her to describe the puppets. He looked afraid, she said, as if he’d just seen a ghost. He had told her to move house, to get away from me and from those ‘Damn things’ as he referred to the puppets, growing increasingly hysterical as the conversation had gone on. He’d repeated over and over that it wasn’t safe to be around them that ‘They could see you through them’. He’d rambled at length about ‘Physical avatars’ and ‘The signal’ none of which had made any sense to her.

Apparently he’d used to work in television and had known my brother. He said that he’d sat down with Emerson in what he called ‘The Script Room’ and then started raving about ‘Knowing where the stories came from’. Charley said that she had never seen him like this before, that he seemed to be almost psychotic. His eyes bugging out of his head, his face glistening with sweat. She had been worried that he was about to have some kind of attack.

“Was your brother involved in anything…weird?” she asked me and I honestly didn’t know how to respond to that. Emerson had always been an odd kid, no doubt about that, but I couldn’t imagine him ever provoking such a frightened reaction in anyone let alone a grown man. I asked her if he’d said why the puppets were so awful and she shrugged.

“All the stuff he was saying wasn’t making much sense. He just said ‘It’s not the puppets. It’s what made them’ and then he just got up and said he couldn’t be in my house anymore. Just ran out to his car and drove off”

I decided that as she’d shared her weirdness with me, maybe I could open up about some of the weirdness in my life right now. I explained about the odd noises, the music and the sewing machine seeming to turn itself on. And against my better judgement we decided to descend into that pitch black basement once again.

I’m not sure what I expected to find but I was sure that something would be wrong. So when we saw that nothing seemed to have changed or been moved I felt an odd sense of almost disappointment. I kind of WANTED for there to be something strange down there, just to prove that I wasn’t imagining all of this, to prove to myself that I wasn’t going crazy.

And that’s when Charley spotted the door.

It was when she flicked off the light as we began to go up, casting one last look back into the darkness and noticed that there was light coming from somewhere. Not very bright but nonetheless a light source. Moving swiftly we shoved aside one of the shelves of puppets and felt along the ‘wall’ behind it, to confirm what Charley had believed to be the case: there was a door behind it.

“Told you this was all kinds of Scooby Doo” Charley said with a grin on her face, clearly enjoying herself. I smiled, which was something I definitely wouldn’t have been able to do if she wasn’t here. It was nice to have someone to share this insanity with.

We felt along the wall trying to find some way to open the door, some handle or switch to make it open. From behind it I was sure that I could hear SOMETHING. It sounded almost like music. Circus music, a cheerful, upbeat tune but also off somehow, as if there was something not quite right about it.

Out of the corner of my eye I was sure that the puppet with the ridiculous moustache and monocle had moved. And I realise how ridiculous that sounds but I was certain of it. It was just the tiniest movement, a twitch of its head toward the skeleton puppet. ‘As if waiting for orders’ I thought to myself, and then wondered why that had popped into my head.

With a bit of work we managed to strip away the wall paper that was covering most of the door, revealing that it was a bright red in colour, the paint chipped and flaking in places, with a small keyhole and no handle. I assumed that it just pushed inwards once unlocked or perhaps slid to the side as there was no place for a handle to have once been either.

It was then that I noticed that Charley had stopped smiling. In fact she was staring at the door with what looked like a mix of confusion and fear, taking a few steps back from it. When I asked her what was wrong she just shook her head and made excuses to leave. I asked her if she was alright and she just told me she was tired and promised to help me try and find the key to the door in the morning. It was getting late so it was plausible enough but I knew that something was wrong here.

For the rest of the evening I looked through Emerson’s old things in his room, looking for some clue perhaps as to what it was that had inspired such fear in Charley’s friend. For the most part it was old toys and childhood drawings, nothing of much use. There were a few things that were odd though.

It was a picture that I guess Emerson had done when he was little. There was a crude drawing of a boy sat in his bed that I think was meant to be Emerson himself. Around him were stood several figures. One was just a stick figure with a hat upon its head. Another was a portly man with a cartoonish moustache and teeth. And there was a third that was…very odd.

It was just a scribble in the outline of a person, a black, shadowy scribble. There was a circle drawn above the three figures and the boy and lines were shown coming down from it leading to the boys head. For some reason, looking at those lines, the word ‘Tendrils’ came into my head.

There was a picture of a red door. The words ‘WHERE THEY TAKE THEM’ were scrawled in large letters beneath it.

And the final picture was of the stick man and the man with the moustache leading several smaller figures towards a third. This one was a woman, a rather well drawn one in comparison to the crude, basic nature of the others except for the face. The face was just two dots for eyes and a line for a mouth.

The words ‘WHERE THEY TAKE THEM’ were written here as well.

There was a message on my answering machine from Charley the next day. She said that she’d gone to stay with her girlfriend for a few days ‘Just to clear her head’ and apologised for leaving so suddenly the previous night. Her voice sounded odd, kind of shaky really, and she said not to bother with the door. She tried to sound calm and casual when she said it but there was fear in her voice. She said it was probably best to forget all about the whole thing and just cover up the basement, not even mention it to potential buyers for the house. She said it would be a good idea to take the puppets off of eBay as well.

I should have just done as she asked.

Instead I spent the rest of the day ransacking the house, searching for the key to that door. I looked everywhere with little success until, almost on a whim, I decided to search Emerson’s room more thoroughly. And there, hidden in one of his old pillow cases, was a key.

I poured myself a drink to steady my nerves, sitting down to watch the TV. I remembered the old thing never picking up much when we were little, the channels always being full of static. It seemed to be working better now at least and the news came on, talking about another disappearance in the area. A girl of twelve this time, vanished from her home in the middle of the night. I flipped through the channels looking for something a little less grim while I finished my drink

Getting up, I headed down the steps into the basement, striding toward the door, ready to open it.

The skeleton puppet was sat at the sewing machine now. I knew I hadn’t moved it and neither had Charley. And the other puppets…their heads seemed to be turned towards it, as if they were waiting for it to do something, to say something. God it was a hideous thing, that awful misshapen mouth looking so awful. God knows why the prop designer had made it look that way.

At that moment, the words ‘To grind your skin’ popped into my head.

I put the key into the door and sure enough it unlocked it, the door pushing inward with ease, revealing the room that lay beyond it. It was illuminated by a single dirty bulb, making the contents of the room easy to see. Dear lord the smell…the only thing worse was the sight of what was littered around the room.

Children’s shoes and clothes, some spattered with old, dried blood were piled in a heap in one corner of the room. The floor was stained with large patches of red, one of which, as I stepped into it, I realised was still somewhat fresh, fresh and sticky like soda spilled on a movie theatre floor. The room smelt of spoiling meat and burnt hair and it took all I had not to throw up as I entered it, wondering how the smell hadn’t travelled from this room to the basement.

There was a pile of old video cassettes in one corner of the room, all labelled with things like ‘Emerson’s first bike ride’ and ‘Emerson’s first spelling bee’ all old home movies I guess. But mixed in with them were tapes labelled ‘Candle Cove episode four’ and ‘Season three pilot episode’. I picked up a few and noticed that there were bloody fingerprints on several.
There was a series of steps leading down further into the blackness at the rear of the room and I felt oddly compelled to go down there. How far down did this go? How was this even here, beneath my family home, without me ever knowing of it? And yet…and yet I felt like I DID know about it. Looking at those steps I felt like I remembered being in this room before. I was a child and it had been empty then and there I stood with Emerson, at the foot of these stairs.

“Emerson…you have…to go…inside” I had whispered to him, taking delight in how terrified he looked. He had gone down into the dark and…
And…

My head throbbed with pain. It actually physically hurt to try and remember, as if something was willing me not to. Had there been someone down there with us? I was sure I remembered there being someone in the room besides the two of us, the more I thought about it. Our mother? No not our mother but another woman. Why couldn’t I remember her face?

I began to take unsteady steps down the stairs; the more I walked the closer I got to another door, another red door. The key fit the lock of this one as well and it opened with ease. There was music coming from within now and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. I felt it pulling me towards it, calling to me like a siren song.

I had to go inside, I thought to myself. I HAD to go inside.

I wasn’t alone in this room.

I burned all the puppets later that night. Not that I imagine it matters.
They’ve been destroyed before and it hasn’t stopped them from coming back. They’re just wood and paint and cloth, nothing but a conduit. They allow them to come through, allow them to walk through the door and come here. Oh god the door…I know where they go now…I know where they go, oh Christ, oh Jesus please help me I know where they go…

I saw it. They took me there, the way they took my brother when he was a child. They need us. I don’t know why they need us but they need us, that’s what he said. Through that horrible, misshapen mouth, those eyes rolling in his sockets wildly. They needed my brother and they need me. My family is not safe. The signal needs us. The story needs us.

The ship came to that cave. Emerson was laughing and crying at the same time as he spoke the words I knew were coming. As he told me what I had to do.

It was waiting for me.

I saw the

(The following portion of the letter has been heavily crossed out, making it almost impossible to read. A word that may or may not be ‘Mannequin’ appears at one point in the letter and the words ‘skin’ is visible at several points in the following two paragraphs. What could be ‘Faker’ or ‘Taker’ can also be made out in the second paragraph and ‘ship’ in the final sentence. The letter resumes…)

I ran. You may think me a coward for not helping them, not even trying to save them. But I know where the ship is taking them now. I know where the voyage leads and I know who is waiting at the end. I would pray to god but know that will do no good. I know now. I know things that no one should ever know.

I know what Emerson learned, that day the signal found him. I know the things he learned in the dark places, where the music comes from. Music played on instruments crafted of bone and organs, wrapped in flesh. It’s always there now in my head, playing on an endless loop. The signal has found me like it found Emerson that day I made him go down those stairs. Like it found our mother. I know why she did what she did. I know what she knew and I know where Emerson is. I saw him on the ship.

My god the ship…

The laughing was the worst. I wish it would stop laughing.

I have sealed up the basement but know that one day someone will go down there again. I write this so that when they discover the things I know they will find down there they will know neither I nor my mother were responsible. And perhaps so they will have the courage to do what I do not and destroy this terrible place, burn it to the ground. The only thing that holds me back is the fear that perhaps this place is not merely the door to their cage but the cage itself. If the house were to be destroyed perhaps they would be able to spread.

I wish to apologise to my family. I hope they will forgive me for what I am about to do. I hope they will understand. My brother, if this reaches you please do not go into that house. And don’t sell it. Board it up and let it stand forgotten, a creepy old building for people to stare and wonder at. Maybe that will hold them back at least.

The sewing machine is going at all hours of the day now. I know that it’s him, sewing himself new additions to that terrible cape. She lets him keep the skin, you see. He gets to keep the skin.

I am so sorry Emerson. I don’t hate you for the things you did. I wish I could help you or at least put you out of your misery. I know they won’t let you rest. I know you cannot be free of them now.

I see them out of the corner of my eye sometimes. They’re going to take me to the ship. I won’t let them. I will die the way I choose. The sea will carry my body away, hopefully far from where they can ever find it.

(This letter was found lying beside a cassette tape. The tape proved to be nothing but static although those who watched it reportedly felt a sense of ‘unease’ and ‘nausea’ when they tried to view it.

The Grimes home was searched and the belongings of over twenty three children who had gone missing in the local area were discovered within. No trace of the children themselves was found within the house or near it however.
The basement and the secret room were both as the letter described them. However no stairs leading down to a further sub-basement were found anywhere on the property. The puppets all also appeared to be completely undamaged, despite the claim that they had been burnt. The tapes mentioned in the letter were missing however.

Two families have since lived in the Grimes home. Neither has stayed for more than a few months, reporting strange smells, odd noises around the house and things going missing. One reported sensing something ‘Terrible’ in the basement and her children spoke of horrible dreams about ‘The ship taking them away’ and ‘The bony man from the TV’ watching them at night.

The house is now abandoned, having been purchased and then left empty by one Adrian Grimes in early 2011.

The puppets and set pieces from ‘Candle Cove’ (Mistakenly named ‘Pirate Place’ by Grimes in the letter, an early working title for the show that Emerson Grimes later abandoned) supposedly vanished shortly before Adrian Grimes made the purchase.

The whereabouts of Jason Grimes remain unknown)

Credit To – Alice Thompson

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The Wind Whispered A Secret

October 18, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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I sat on my balcony, preparing to smoke the last cigarette of the night. It was late and my bones themselves were tired. As I snuffed out the cigarette and stood with a stretch, a noise caught my attention. It was so faint that I immediately brushed it off as the wind and continued on to bed, the noise already out of my mind.

The next morning, I returned to the balcony for more cigarettes and coffee. I watched the world wake up with me, the cars churning through the intersection like ants, the birds making their endless racket, the shadows growing steadily shorter. As I watched and listened, I heard the noise again. For a moment, I thought it was the wind, since I could see the palm fronds moving across the road. Squinting and looking down at nothing in particular, I tilted my head to try to hear it better. It wasn’t just the wind. There was a voice.

I tried to brush it off again, and continued about my day, returning to the balcony once in a while for another cigarette. I found myself squinting and tilting my head each time, the world around me forgotten in favour of this whispering wind. I couldn’t understand what it was saying. It was a like voice on the television in a room down the hall, stifled by three or four walls between us. No matter how much the noise around me died down, it was still so quiet.

I had another cup of coffee along with my lunch, another cigarette to smoke and that damned wind to keep my company as I sat on this damned balcony. I felt strange. I felt almost as though I weren’t myself, as if I were an actor in a screenplay of my life. I instinctively knew my lines and every move I had to make. I began to fear that voice in the wind.

Dinner. I still sat on the balcony as I ate. I didn’t want to eat, I just knew I should. I wasn’t even sure what I was eating, but I still ate it out of necessity. I lit my cigarette and listened intently. I would hear what this voice said. I must hear this voice. For an hour, I sat still, allowing my cigarette to burn down to my knuckles. I didn’t move as I felt it sear my flesh. I would hear this voice. I would hear this voice and it would tell me its secret.

I nodded off. I wasn’t aware how long I had slept, but the sky was dark and the streetlights lit. As I awoke, I had an idea. I would pretend to continue sleeping. I would lull it into the open. The crick in my neck bothered me only slightly as I waited for the wind to tell me what I so desperately wanted to know.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the moon rising high in the sky when I finally heard the voice again. It was clearer. No longer three or four rooms away, it was just on the other side of the wall.

I could hear it! I could hear the words!

My internal celebration was cut short, however when I finally heard the secret the wind had been keeping from me.

“The anti-psychotics appear to be working, doctor.”

Credit To – Jack Alltrade

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I’m Not Saying It Was Aliens…

October 15, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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This all began with a family trip to Las Vegas; the year was 2009 and we decided to go on a little vacation for my 20th birthday. Now that I think about it, why couldn’t my parents have just waited a year and made the Las Vegas trip at my 21st birthday? Going to Las Vegas as a 20 year old is like going to an amusement park when you’re too short to go on all the good roller coasters. I’m an only child so was just my mother, my father and myself. As residents of Southern California, we decided to make the drive out there in our minivan instead of paying for airfare. Not to mention avoiding the horrifying experience of the Los Angeles International Airport. Anyone who’s made that drive before knows there’s not much to look at; nothing but desert and hot asphalt. We stopped in the small town of Baker California for a little bit of food at a Del Taco that was rated “C” by the FDA, some ridiculously overpriced gasoline and a glance at the world’s largest thermometer (it happened to be 108° F that day) which is about average for early summer since the town is so close to Death Valley.

The conversations on the road trip consisted mainly of my dad and I making Simpsons’ jokes and references (none of which my mom understood); or my parents talking amongst themselves about family matters that I didn’t really care about. I had an old Game Boy with me at that time, so I wasn’t completely bored out of my mind while my parents were talking. The total drive time from our house Vegas was about 6 ½ hours. We got to the Strip and found our hotel – we were staying at Circus Circus. Not the most luxurious hotel on the trip, but I had no complaints. It was a nice little 4 day, 3 night vacation where we did all the usual Las Vegas kinds of things, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about.

It was the third day of our vacation and we didn’t really have anything planned out for that day. At first we were just going to wander around the strip and see if anything interesting caught our eye; but my mom had a migraine headache that day, so my dad and I decided to go out on our own and leave the city while she rested. We were both very fascinated by the whole UFO phenomenon and we knew that the legendary secret base known as area 51 was about 85 miles north of the city of Las Vegas. So we planned a little adventure: to go up that desolate Nevada Highway 375 otherwise known as “The Extraterrestrial Highway” and head north. We just planned to look around a little bit and get some pictures at the border line of the base.
(I find the concept of a “legendary secret” hilarious by the way)

We knew that there wasn’t really much to see other than signs telling you that this was government property and that they have the right to shoot on sight if you tried trespassing; but we felt that that alone would be a good photo opportunity and that it would just be cool to be able to say “hey, I’ve been the area 51.” So we drove for about an hour and a half seeing literally no traffic which honesty was a little unsettling, though not unexpected. We got as close to the base as we could, got out of the car and found that it was exactly as we expected: there was a dirt road that was blocked off with those aforementioned signs on a locked gate. The peculiar thing was, that there weren’t any fences or walls blocking entry to any of the forbidden areas; just these orange markers sticking out of the ground marking the territory. I guess they just feel that since no one has the balls to go in there- why build a fence? We could see all the equipment they have for spotting curious onlookers such as ourselves. There were strange devices sticking out of the ground that I’m sure are used for things such as detecting oncoming vehicles, thermal surveillance and all sorts of video cameras. Before we knew it, I noticed that there was a white truck sitting on top of the hill with two men equipped with binoculars inside watching us. I’m sure they were there just to make sure we didn’t do anything stupid and to show us that this was serious business. I bet they get people out there like us all the time. Needless to say, we didn’t do anything stupid. We just took pictures of ourselves in front of the “will shoot on sight” sign, looked around a little bit and decided to get heading back because it was starting to get dark.

The problem was that it shouldn’t have been getting dark; and it was getting dark fast, unnaturally fast. When we got to the border of the base it was about 3:00 PM; so we should’ve had at least 5 hours of light, but it felt like we’d only been there for about 45 minutes. My dad looked at his watch and saw that indeed the watch said it was 3:43 PM… The only thing wrong with that was that his watch had stopped ticking. We discussed this strange occurrence briefly, but then just decided to get in the car and get going. We got into the van, sat down fastened our seatbelts and my dad turned the key in the ignition. The engine started fine; however, every electronic component of the car was not functioning. We couldn’t get the lights on, the radio wasn’t working and the digital clock face was completely blank.

At this point we were starting to panic, the car was in perfect driving order, but we had no headlights and the sun was quickly dipping below the mountaintops. The decision we made was just to drive as fast as we possibly could for as long as we had visibility. If we got pulled over by the cops, that would be our best case scenario because then, we would at least have some help. Getting a speeding ticket, even a big one would be a small price to pay. We of course thought to try our cell phones, but just like all the electronics in the car: they were completely dead. Let me give you a little recap of our situation: my dad is now driving like a bat out of hell, going at least 110 MPH down a completely abandoned highway in a minivan trying to get back to civilization before the sun disappears below the horizon at what we think is around 3:55 PM. My dad is completely focused on the road at this point, but I’m starting to see things out the windows to the right side of the car. I don’t want to tell him because if he looked, he’d probably flip the van and kill us both.

Honestly, I can’t tell you what I was seeing. There were streaks of light of varying color, things that look like fireworks imploding instead of exploding in utter silence, some very large pulsating lights that were just kind of teetering back and forth in the sky and other things my vocabulary simply cannot convey. These were definitely “unidentified flying objects”, but not the types of things that I think would constitute any kind of alien spacecraft. It was at this point that another strange occurrence started –the sun that was so quickly disappearing behind the mountains seemed to stop just below the horizon. It was odd; the sun was completely obscured by the mountains, but we could still see its glow behind them. we were in some kind of endless twilight. As strange as it was, it was beneficial to us; because at least in this situation, we had the visibility to continue moving on and hopefully get back to the city so we could just put crazy clusterfuck behind us. Something else I found comforting was that those strange lights that I was seeing earlier had vanished.

Our newfound optimism was, however, short lived. We’d been driving twice the speed limit for over an hour now but we hadn’t seemed to have made any progress. At this rate, we should have at least seen some sort of buildings or other motorists… actually, when I think about it; at the rate we were going, we should’ve already reached Vegas. Instead, all we were seeing was the same abandoned highway in an eerie orange tint that we had been looking at this entire time with no recognizable landmarks for bearings. It’s not like we could’ve made a wrong turn or anything like that either; the entire trip was a straight line. Something was seriously wrong… And we both knew it.

We just keep continuing down this seemingly endless road with no real semblance of time; but then, we finally saw something that was different. Way off in the distance we could see something large blocking the road in both lanes. As we got closer, we identified the obstruction as several large vehicles parked sideways. It was an apparent military blockade. There were two large Humvees and a single canopy-topped troop carrier. As we approached, my dad began slowing down. When we started getting close, the men manning their peculiar post started shining their incredibly bright spotlights in our direction from the tops of the vehicles. We then heard a loud, deep voice over a loudspeaker,

“Shut your engine down and keep your hands were I can see them!“

We obliged of course, my dad turned the car off and both of us stuck our hands out of our respective windows. It was at that point that we started seeing the soldiers: they seemed to be wearing normal military uniforms, though with the bright lights it was hard to tell because they were heavily silhouetted. One thing I did find strange was that they were all wearing gas masks. Something about this just didn’t seem right.

Nothing about this entire situation made sense. Why would they be blocking off the road going away from the base? Why has the sun apparently been frozen just beyond the horizon? And what were those lights I had been seeing? I counted six soldiers of varying height and build. They all seem to be carrying standard M4 assault rifles as one would expect; but there was just something about them that seemed off, that point accentuated by the gas masks. We were approached by one soldier on each side of the car. Each of our windows was met with a soldier and the one on my father’s side asked in a stern, somewhat warped-sounding voice:

“What business do you have being here?”

My dad answered nervously: “We’re just trying to get back to our hotel.”

The soldier in an even deeper, more warped-sounding voice replied: “Hotel? I don’t know of any hotels ’round these parts.”

It was at this point that I started feeling strange, time and space seemed distorted. I looked at the soldier on my side of the car, and noticed that he had no skin exposed whatsoever. I looked him dead in the eye and all of a sudden I was having images appear in my mind’s eye –thousands of them, all at once and an accompanying cacophony of sound bombarding my ears from within. I had never experienced anything so intense and overpowering in my life and doubt that I ever will again. I used all my energy just to try and stay conscious, but I couldn’t hold out for long.

The next thing I knew, it was early morning the next day, the sun had apparently set and risen as it always does and my father and I regained consciousness together. We were still in our car, with a car in motion; however now, all the electronics were functioning properly. We were turning down the street that leads to our hotel. It seems as though my father had driven all the way back with no memory of it. He told me that he had a similar experience to what I did and also lost consciousness around the same time as me. The clock radio in the car said it was 6:18 AM, my dad checked his analog watch to confirm it, but it read out 1:15 as the time. It was off by over five and half hours but was it was ticking again. We didn’t know what to say to each other, neither of us could come close to comprehending what had happened that night.

We made it back up to the hotel room with my mom worried sick and us not knowing where to start to explain what the fuck had just happened to us. We ended up just telling her that our car broke down on the highway so we were stuck on the road all day waiting for help and had forgotten to charge our cell phones; so it wasn’t until early that morning that a generous trucker stopped and helped us get our car in working order again. She was incredibly pissed, as she had every right to be; but she believed our story. It didn’t feel right telling her what actually happened since we weren’t even sure ourselves. My father and I still don’t talk about that night with each other to this day.

I’m not going to try to speculate on what exactly happened; maybe we saw something we shouldn’t have, maybe the desert sun just does strange things with your mind. I will leave you with this small word of advice: if you pursue the mysterious, you’ve got no one but yourself to blame if you find it.

Credit To – Han MPH

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Color in Darkness

October 13, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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In the darkness we are strangers to ourselves, gray-skinned, white-eyed and black-haired demons rather than the usual familiar streaks of color that we see in a lighted mirror. Our grayscale faces are as blank as that of Slenderman’s, our hearts as black as a killer’s, and there’s not a thing that we can do to change this.

In the darkness, we are different.

Why? Say you’re holding a book. It’s red. You can spill blue things and black things and smear food on it, but, regardless, the book is red. Red as apples, blood, a heart. Red, and very much so. Switch off your bedroom light, though, or hide inside your closet with the door closed, all the while clutching onto the book, and it will become immediately apparent to you that the book is no longer scarlet but, in fact, gray. Black as night. Darkness moving at something akin to the speed of light turns all our external and internal colors to its own favorite colors the very moment we step into its spindly, bony held-out arms, whether we like it or not. Once it’s pulled our torsos close tight to its own we don’t have option of pulling on a yellow dress or slipping into a comfy pair of blue socks. It’s simply too late- we are a part of the darkness.

Once the darkness takes your hand it will never again grow red with sweat or purple with cold and bruises. It will forever be the one solitary shade that is gray…

In this way, nightly exposure to the darkness fixes our bodies and minds with a tendency towards black rather than white, poisoned apples rather than sweet ones. As we sleep soft dreams our inner selves are continually sliding further and further away from color and light.

If our waking selves could forget all of this we might be able to convince ourselves that we are alright, but shadows are everywhere, hiding inside our clothes and between our fingers and even just beneath our feet. They make us remember the darkness.

Trying to escape? There’s nothing you can do to get away from the hands of the gray world because, regardless of all effort, we all eventually close our eyes.

Credit To – ts-squid

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Star Light

October 12, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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I remember the first time I witnessed that gruesome sight, right in front of me. It had been all over the news for the past week but until that moment, I was still unable to take any of the stories seriously. I guess that’s what happens in a world where the media exaggerates every little story they encounter, to pull in more dull-minded viewers.

It first started in the icy wastelands of Russia, back in 2012, hikers passing through on their travels discovered bodies half-buried in the snow, their abdomens mutilated and the occasional limb removed, only to be found a few meters from the body. At first these finds were put down to wild animals desperately searching for food in the lifeless tundra, they barely even made news on Russian broadcasting networks, only the locals to the areas (of which there are few in such a desolate place) really heard the stories.

It’s strange, now that I think about it. The attacks had been happening all through late December and simply went unreported until February when things became more severe. Heck, maybe those Doomsday lunatics were onto something after all and no one noticed.

As the days went on, after the initial attacks, panic in the Russian wilderness began to spread as more bodies were found in the wild, remains scattered in the snow and yet an even larger amount of people became reported as ‘missing’. It wasn’t until mid-January that the first body was discovered in a public area. In a small rural town, sitting on the edge of the wastes, two disfigured bodies were discovered by a few poor citizens on their way to work, their limbs scattered all over the streets. This was the first case that managed to work its way into the mainstream media outlets. Everybody just dismissed it as a murder case, the sort that you hear about in foreign countries all the time. What kept my attention was something the autopsy reports discovered: The murder hadn’t even happened at night. It seemed to have happened only an hour before the first poor soul discovered the freshly broken body. I mentally gagged at the thought of finding a body strewn across the floor, still bleeding.

As the days went on, more and more reports came in of bodies being found in small villages across Russia, completely destroyed and with no clue as to the cause and just like the original, all of them had happened in broad daylight but with no witnesses to recall how it happened.

It was February when the first ‘big incident’ occurred. I remember it distinctly because it happened to be my birthday. Breaking News all over the world, insane stories coming from Russia, it seemed impossible to believe at first. The anchorman on TV spoke quickly in an urgent voice, of barricades being erected in Moscow as people from outside ran screaming to its walls, begging to be let in. What he said next made my heart jump.

People in cities and towns all over Moscow were being eviscerated in plain daylight.

The attacker? Nothing.

People were being cut to ribbons, in their homes, in the streets, all over Russia, in plain daylight but there was no visible attacker.

I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. It had to be a hoax, it didn’t make any sense. However, my curiosity overpowered me, I had to see it for myself. I loaded up my laptop and began my trawl of some of the ‘darker’ parts of the web, in search of videos of the insane claims. As it turned out, there were thousands of videos on the subject, so I clicked on a random one.

It was being filmed from a rooftop and involved frightened people of all ages, running through the streets in panic with nothing noticeable chasing them. I remember moving to click another link after thinking nothing would happen, when suddenly a random man in the group seemed to scream and then…

Explode.

It just happened. There was no warning, no sign of attack, the man wasn’t even at the back of the group. It seemed as though fate had picked a random person and just decided he would die, there and then.

I sat in shock as the video ended abruptly. Moving the mouse up again I clicked on another video, this one was being filmed from behind a barricade to hold back fleeing citizens. I guess that was their idea of ‘controlling’ the population. Various men in military uniforms lined the barricade with large rifles, looking on at the crying, begging people with little emotion. Then out of nowhere, one of the women at the front of the crowd was ripped apart by the air and thrown across the military’s front line. I gagged a little at the sight, despite having been reinforced against this sort of thing. In a panicked response, the soldiers sprayed their guns at the point of the attack as if trying to hit the invisible assailant but their bullets went through the space and took out the civilians behind the remains. People scattered as the soldiers unloaded their rounds into the crowd and then spontaneously, one of the soldiers burst apart. The cameraman seemed to panic at this point and the feed went dead.

My mind was struggling to get to grips with itself. I honestly didn’t know what to think. I always imagined myself in these situations before, acting like I was in a movie, analysing every mystery and saving the day by solving it but this… this just made no sense. I was scared.

The next day, Russia entered lockdown, as did many other countries, in hopes of keeping this ghostly threat out of their nations. News from Russia dropped as a result. It was completely cut off from the rest of the world and we could only hope they were okay. And then… life continued. Of course, people talked of it but everyone just seemed to stop fearing it. In reality it seems, we were just trying to put it behind us because of our fear. Humans fear what they don’t understand so it seems ‘not thinking about it’ was a suitable way of combatting that fear.

It wouldn’t last.

The year moved on and days became longer and then that day came… the one I wish I could forget…

It was a bright day in the middle of May and I was out with a group of friends, celebrating the completion of another year at University. We were walking and laughing to the in-jokes we had created over the last year, trying to remember them all before we retreated to our home towns. At one point we stopped while a few of our party went to buy food from a shop and I began talking to my closest friend, Ryan. We were midway into a conversation about what game to play online next and then…

It was so abrupt. Just like in the videos. He was halfway through a word and his body just… burst into pieces.

Blood and entrails splattered across my body. I stumbled back in horror as my mind processed what had just happened. Around me, people ran away from the area, screaming for help but I barely noticed. Where my best friend once stood was now just a bloody mess and my mind was never given a chance to prepare itself. I dropped to my knees and vomited on the floor, crying. It was at least fifteen minutes before I was able to take control of myself again and actually get up. By that point, the police had arrived and were telling me to remain still, as if they thought I had done this unspeakable act.

I remember sitting in that gloomy room, barely being able to answer any questions the investigators had for me, simply replying with a nod or shake of the head. They told me that this wasn’t the only place it had happened. In fact, it had become a worldwide pandemic. The brief period of peace had just been the calm before the storm. What we thought was sealed in Russia was now everywhere and it wasn’t even spreading from a single point as it had been at the start. It was a full scale attack… nowhere was safe.

We were evacuated to military bases and defense points in hopes of holding back this invisible invasion but we all knew it was no use. Me and my family were taken to a military installation in the countryside where we stayed for a month. No contact with the outside world was permitted, in fear of giving our location away to the creatures.

A single analog TV was our only view of the outside world, it seemed a few rogue pirate news stations had popped up to keep those locked away, up to date with current events. The quality was terrible but in a time like that, it was better than nothing. We heard reports of strange lights being sighted, not in the sky but closer to the ground. We were told of countries falling one by one, their entire populations being wiped out. There was also one report of scientists discovering ‘something’ in the sky. The report said that they couldn’t ‘see’ it but whatever it was, it was giving out a lot of energy and it was big, the size of a small moon, in fact. Images of Russia came in from aerial photographs. Moscow was ablaze, towering buildings reduced to rubble and in their remains, shook large shimmering waves of fire. A close up of the streets showed roads bathed in red with human remains dotted around in several areas.

The video feed switched to another aerial clip of a gigantic crater. The host went on to describe the location as a former Nuclear Power Plant that had entered a meltdown two months ago due to no one controlling it. At the end of the clip, the camera quickly moved upwards, to focus on a second helicopter that was now spinning out of control. Against the window, flashes of that all too familiar red colour could be seen as the video suddenly cut out.

The last broadcast on that channel was the most disturbing. We switched the TV on to find the man in tears with streaks of blood down his face. He looked extremely scared and spoke with a weak, trembling voice.

“Oh God, they’ve come! The angels have come for me, Lord! They’ve taken everyone here and now it’s my turn. Judgement Day is here, loyal viewers! There’s nothing left for me on this Earth anymore but… for those who might be left, I think I know how to survive against them.”

He let out a loud, sharp laugh.

“Just my luck, hey? To find out when it’s too late. All you have to do is stay out of the-”

His sentence was cut off by a scream as his body was ripped in two, right before our eyes. The channel didn’t shut off though. It’s still there, in fact but all you see now is the decaying corpse of an insane man, one of his eyes limply staring at you through the camera lense. Since then, there were no more accessible channels. Our last view of the outside world was gone.

It didn’t really matter anymore, to us. We were a small group of people left amongst what must have been less than a million humans on the Earth. The ‘what’ and ‘where’ was no longer our concern.

For a while, everything was quiet. The soldiers kept us in line, we fed off of what rations the base had, we stuck to strict curfews and attempted to socialise and keep ourselves entertained in our new little personal world. We were somehow quite content with our new lives, with no outside world to bother us, no responsibilities or concerns for anything but our little community. On top of that, the lack of news about outside events allowed us to almost forget what had been happening.

Until one night at the end of August, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a scream. I was on the floor of a large room containing hundreds of other sleeping evacuees, the realisation still startled me every time I woke up, even though I had been sleeping in these conditions for the past month. My vision was blurred somewhat as I attempted to focus on my surroundings and my body appeared to be mildly damp and slightly sticky. I didn’t think much of it, I had had many restless nights here and we were in a cramped humid bunker. On the far side of the room there were two dim lights creeping in through the doorways.

Someone must have left the light on in the corridor I thought to myself.

It was rather puzzling, the thoroughness of the soldiers here would have never allowed something like this. All lights had to be switched off at 8pm and they checked every night. Surely by now, a guard would have found this and switched it off again. Maybe it was one of them doing a midnight check on us all?

That’s when I noticed something odd. One of the lights was… moving. Not moving behind the doorway but it seemed as if the doorway itself was moving. It drifted silently across, closing in on the other door, at first I thought it must be a soldier with a torch. I winced and rubbed my eyes, attempting to focus on the object then, just as it merged with the light of the door, I managed to focus on what seemed impossible.

It had the shape of a tall, disturbingly thin humanoid but where the body should be, there was nothing. No abdomen, no limbs, no head. The outline of the mysterious being seemed to just drift across the wall in an area of light. The first thought that entered my mind was ‘inverted shadow’. I know it sounds crazy but it was as if, instead of creating a shadowy outline in a lit room, something was creating a bright outline in a dark room. Unfortunately, this was the best view I could get of the entity as it seemed to literally merge with the light from the doorway and disappear.

My body was frozen at the sight and out of fear, I chose to lay down and try to get to sleep again, hoping that whatever it was, it wouldn’t notice me. It was another long, restless night.

I woke up at 8am, light peered through the small slits in the top of the bunker and kept the room bright enough to see wall to wall in the giant reinforced mass of cement.

I wish I hadn’t seen it though.

Blood covered the walls. Where once had been sleeping bodies, now laid the remains of a silent massacre. What I thought had been my own sweat from the night before turned out to be the remains of my parents who had once slept beside me. I screamed. Not a single person was spared that night. Well, save for myself.

Walking through the base, it seemed these things had made short work of every human on site and yet, the gates still remained firmly shut, guards posted on the watch points had their destroyed bodies hanging over the rails.

It was quiet.

I sat in the middle of that compound, alone, sobbing to myself. I was alone in the world. These things had killed everyone I knew and loved and I was lost. I didn’t know what to do. I slept in that compound for 3 days until I saw him again. That man of light, eerily and slowly drifting through the darkness and merging with the light once again. This time, I could’ve sworn he noticed me. He stopped and turned, till he was head on with me and just stared at me. I couldn’t move, my body just refused to listen… and then the being left.

I don’t know why they keep sparing me. Is it for amusement? Because they pity me? Or something more? I just can’t get my head around any of it…

After that night, I took as many supplies from the base as I could and journeyed towards the nearest village which is where I now reside. I managed to find a house with a basement and locked myself in there with the supplies… but I never turn the light on anymore. For three weeks I have been living in total darkness. Not because I think they’ll find me but… I think I know what these things are now.

I once read a science fiction book that detailed a possible route a species may take in its evolutionary course. This species would evolve beyond the simple realm of the physical and became a being of pure energy. When a species would reach this point it would obtain near omniscient knowledge and have no care for life or death anymore. What the intentions of such a hyper-powerful species would be are impossible to predict since their minds are so much more advanced than ours.

It seems in our Universe, a species has gotten there before us. They ARE the Light. Where we always feared an alien species abducting us in the middle of the night, it turns out that darkness is our only safety from the real threat.

The Beings of Light.

Two days ago the Second Star appeared. A Red Giant that now sits opposite our Sun, bathing both halves of the Earth in light. And now there is no longer night on this world. There is no place to hide on the outside. I don’t know what they want with our planet or why they chose to kill us all but I know this:

They have killed everyone here.

If you’re out there, don’t go into the light. Stick to the shadows if you want any chance of living. Darkness doesn’t kill them but it sure slows them down.

There is a light coming from beneath the basement door. I have to go now.

Good luck.

– Thomas Everick | 18/10/2013

Credit To – Ben Cook

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