When Conner arrived at the gas station, he exited the car with a speed that surprised even him. He took a few quick steps, almost at a run, before turning back towards the car. Under the garish sodium lights of the service station, the little blue sedan looked a sickly greenish gray. It looked squat and malign in its stillness. The little throbbing headache at the base of his skull seemed to diminish with every step and he began to catch his breath. He took the phone from his pocket and raised it high into the night sky, waving it from side to side like a signal flag. Nothing. The signal meter defied him by remaining empty. Not even a flashing roaming message. Conner scowled at the little phone and thrust it back into his pocket. He glanced around at the station, two solitary pumps and a closed convenience market. An isolated island of pale yellow light in the dark of the North Carolina forest, the silhouettes of the trees bit sharply into the starry night sky, surrounding him like a ring of teeth. The grating hum of electricity mingled with the crackling of insects from the woods beyond, drifting in the warm summer night air. Jutting from the side of the shuttered market was a scraped and listing pay phone, its metal stalk visibly bent from some long ago impact. Conner approached it, digging a quarter from his pocket, and gripping the scarred plastic handset. For a moment, nothing happened, and the sense of isolation deepened, like the ground being pulled out from under him, and the panic returned. A series of quick clicks bit into his ear and the dial tone chimed. His fingers felt numb as he dialed. Even at a few hours past midnight, Reynolds answered on the first ring. “Yes?” Reynolds' rolling baritone was silky, and unmarred by the late hour. “Who is this?” “S’me. Conner.” He was unable to keep the quaver out of his voice, and he had a sudden urge to look back towards the car, suddenly afraid that it might have moved, or left him there all together. “This isn’t the phone I gave you.” Reynolds liquid voice darkened, almost imperceptibly. “It’s a payphone. Ain’t got signal out here. Middle of fucking nowhere. Listen Ren, I-” “Is something the matter, Conner?” Conner bristled at the mild, calculated condescension in the older man’s tone, and inhaled slowly, measuring his next words with caution. “Well... Shit. I don’t rightly know, Ren, but I got a real bad feeling about this.” “Where are you?” “Service station. Just got off the freeway. Bout to head south through Natahala.” “And what is the matter, Conner?” “Like I said, there’s something fucked up about this one. Didn’t like the guy I picked the car up from, don’t like whatever it is that’s in the fucking trunk. I know this sounds fucking stupid, but it’s giving me a headache. I feel like I can smell it, but I know I can’t. Something just feels rotten about it. I mean rotten, rotten.” There was a long silence on the other end, and Conner knew that Reynolds was unmoved. Even as Conner said the words, he knew how stupid it sounded. “Conner,” the old man said at last, “We’ve worked together for a long time. I like you. But you’ve never given a shit about what you deliver. What’s the strangest thing I’ve had you carry?” “The heart.” Conner answers without hesitation, seeing the white styrofoam cooler steaming with ice, strapped in the front seat like a babies car seat. “Yes. You also once delivered several pounds of heroin. Did you know that at the time?” “Not ‘till after the fact.” “Because it’s better that way, isn’t it, Conner.” Reynolds paused, the smooth rhythms of his voice already calming the younger man. “It’s better if you don’t know. The man you picked the car up, in his own way, is as trustworthy and reliable as you are. I understand why you might bristle at him, given his unfortunate looking visage, but he is like you. A trusted contractor, and discrete. I employ you both, for your discretion. Do you understand Conner?” “Yessir.” “Good. I think you understand why I’m offering so much more for this delivery, and why it has to be late at night, and on the backroads. Our client this time has specific instructions, and we’re not getting paid to wonder why. We’re not getting paid to pry.” “I understand.” It galled Conner, how stupid he’d sounded, how stupid he’d been, panicking, and calling Reynolds late in the night. “I know you do. And I know this one is odd, son. I do. I hope you believe me when I say that it makes me as uncomfortable as it makes you. I’d do it myself, but no one is as good as you. I’m smart enough to know when to trust the best.” “Thank you, Ren.” “No, Conner, thank you. Now, get back on the road. When you drop off the car, the client will have his own men to take care of the package. And then you can sleep, and you won’t have to work for a year. All for one nights drive.” “Okay. I gotcha.” “Conner. I trust you wouldn’t, and forgive me if this is insulting, but, don’t open the trunk okay? It wouldn’t help, the package is locked up anyway. And it needs to stay locked because the client wants it locked.” “Of course, Ren. Look I’m awful sorry for calling, I guess I just got spooked something fierce.” “Not at all. That’s what I’m here for. Now, get on the road Conner. And call me when it’s done.” Reynolds hung up before Conner could reply, and he returned the handset to the cradle. Keys in hand, Conner returned to the car, driving himself forward even as his newfound confidence waned as he approached. The phantom odor, more like a memory of a scent than an actual smell returned, something sweet and corrupt. As he turned the key to start the engine, the gentle pain in the back of his head returned, rising slowly. He gritted his teeth, and pulled out of the service station. The Natahala national forest closed around the two lane road, and the darkness swallowed the service station behind him. Conner tried to focus on the destination, the route laid out, the starry sky outside. Anything but the trunk. It worked, for a few minutes.

I know this road better than I know myself. I know each of Interstate 85’s 250 odd miles; I know that it takes me an average of 3 hours and 26 minutes to drive west, from Charlotte to Atlanta, and an average of 3 hours and 29 minutes to make the same trip going eastward. I know the price of gas at a dozen stands, and the closing hours of each fast food shack and greasy diner. I know the curves of each low hill and I know each stand of pine and oak trees. I know the stretching dark of the long winter nights and the wet heat of the summer breeze. I know these things well because they are the totality of my existence now. I know the names of each exit, westward and east. Batesville, Poplar Springs, Spartanburg. They tick through my head as I pass, but the Silver Creek Road exit is never among them. In three years of this endless loop, it has never appeared again. If I ever begin to doubt that it will, then I have nothing left. The Silver Creek Road exit doesn’t exist on any map, or at least, it no longer does. It may have once, but like the road itself, it has been razed from the earth and from all memory and record. At the beginning, I spent long anxious days poring over old surveying maps and neighborhood planning documents, searching in vain for any sign of the road, or the exit I know I had taken. When there was nothing left in the libraries and city halls to comb through, no meek county official left to interrogate, wide-eyed and frothing, then I began the drive. I’ve been through two cars, and have burned through my savings and now survive off a stack of rapidly vanishing credit cards. I have no address to receive bills, and no intention of paying, and have been filling my trunk with small plastic gallon jugs of gas, while the cards are still accepted. When this filthy and battered Oldsmobile gives up the ghost at last, I suppose I will have to learn to hitchhike. I first took the Silver Creek Road exit three summers ago, on that last night that I was with Bobbie. I have in my head just a few frozen frames of that ride left, her black curls bouncing like springs in the evening breeze, her gapped toothed and freckled smile, and the slow summer crossing into night. We’d made that drive together a dozen times, between our apartment in Atlanta and her brother in Charlotte. There was nothing remarkable that night. We simply ran low on gas and took the first exit we came across. I remember vividly passing beneath the green and sparkling white letters of the exit sign, and onto the sharp curve of the road. The street turned perpendicular from the light and noise of the highway into inky darkness of the pine trees. Nothing remarkable to separate it from a hundred other country roads, but as the lights of the car penetrated the darkness, a vague and trembling unease passed through me. The tall rustling pines seemed black even under the blue white of the headlamps, and the road began to rapidly degrade, becoming pocked and uneven just a few dozen yards in. All the roar and glare from the highway seemed swallowed up behind us, and there were no lights ahead of us for as far as we could see. My insides felt tight and knotted, and I turned to Bobbie. She had her skinny legs tucked to her chest and looked at me, quizzically, one eyebrow raised, with a small crooked smile. Her small bravery seemed to dissipate the chill that had been steadily rising in me. I looked forward to the road, I felt a sudden sharp pressure on my chest. Stretching out in front of the wan light of the headlamps, the road ended. There was a small field of shattered asphalt slabs, and then the forest swallowed up every trace under a blanket of rotting pine needles. Something twinkled brightly between the trees, and I strained to pick it out of the darkness. It was the smooth chrome of a bumper, attached to a pitted and rusting car, completely enclosed by the towering pines. A wave of panic and disorientation crawled down my scalp and my knuckles went white on the wheel. Bobbie placed her hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed once. “Cal,” she said, firm and evenly, “we need to turn around now, honey.”

Have you ever been taking a shower while alone in the house and felt like something was moving around behind the curtain? Or watching you? Did you look up? Did you catch the very vaguest hint of eyebrows or a tuft of matted, greasy hair...

I had a dream last night. It was the kind that seems real right up to the point where you wake up. Some things were strange about it…certain things were really strange about it, but it never occurred to me that it might not actually be happening. I’m still not prepared to say that it didn’t happen. I’m not spiritual and I don’t really understand stuff like that. I just feel like I’ve been somewhere and now I’m back, and I know something really happened when I woke up…and I think while I was asleep too. I went to bed last night with a strange feeling. We all remember times when we felt like we were being watched, but this was more than that. I felt like there was someone there with me, but still I couldn’t keep from falling asleep. I don’t exactly remember the beginning of the dream. The first thing I remember was starting at my house and walking. I was just walking down the road. All of my neighbors’ houses were gone. I was just on a long, empty road and there was no one around but me. I don’t remember what I had been doing at my house before, but I may have been there a while before I started walking. I just recall feeling a strong urge to walk. I felt okay walking down that road. It was cold and dark and I felt a little lost, but I wasn’t afraid–not like I had been in my room. I don’t know how long I was on that road. It felt like a long time. I mean like days long, but I never felt tired and I just wanted to keep walking. The road changed after a while. It had been straight and nondescript the whole time, but eventually I reached a bend and then a fork in the road. When I reached the fork, I wasn’t alone anymore. A familiar voice called out to me from the side of the road. “It’s good to see you,” the voice whispered. “I’m just sorry to see you here.”

During your day, there are probably a half a dozen moments where you can’t see, if only for a split second. Not like blinking, of course, that’s far too quick . Just that moment when you’re taking off your shirt, or wiping your face with...

The loud bang on her front door jolted Clara from her daydream. This was it. After all the careful planning and struggling to survive, the end would come now; 9 blocks up in room 934 of the now abandoned Marriott. She started to cry, not for herself, but for her little 3 year old son, Jeremy. He was the world to her, and she couldn't bare to think of his short life ended, not like this. "Open the door," she recognized the voice of her live in boyfriend of 4 years, Jerome. Quickly slipping off the guard chain, she opened the door and let him in. "I don't have much time. The boys are going to pick out what's left of the Pathmark and I want to be first in line," he suddenly stopped. "Damn baby, you smell good. What is that?" "It's called LOVELY, by Sarah Jessica Parker," she said simply. "I found it next to the mini bar. Only the best, right?" "Yeah," he said as he left two backpacks next to the door and turned to leave. "I'll be back soon. Keep the door locked, okay?" Jerome was a survivor. While everyone else was scrounging for supplies downtown, he had had the bright idea to take his little family to the local Marriot to wait it all out. 'No one is coming for us, they've given up on the major cities,' he had said simply. The plan was to just let everyone kill each other while they lived the high life, stories up in the now abandoned hotel. It had worked. Most of what was left of humanity and the creatures they became had pretty much wiped each other out. Not that it hadn't been a tough few months. The power was now out and they were down to canned goods. But they were still alive. Clara dragged the two bags to the kitchen area and pulled out the dented cans. From the bedroom, she heard Jeremy waking up. A few minutes later, he came into the main living area. "Mommy, mommy, look. I've got a gun shooter," his excited eyes locked onto hers and she sighed. He was holding some kind of plastic handle he had obviously broken off one of the cabinets. He pointed it at her. "Bang. Bang. Bang." It reminded her of the awful gang violence just a week prior. Both Jerome's crew and some Asian gang had had a disagreement over who owned what's left of a number of grocery stores. That had ended with a few of their good friends dead. She didn't show it. "Let me see, honey," she said, holding her hand out. He turned and ran into the bedroom. That was the annoying thing about the age, they never did what you asked. She quickly ran after him and pulled it out of his hand. She was now extremely careful not to let him have anything he could hurt himself with. It was safe enough. Other than the next two hours of constant noise, there was no harm in letting him run around with it. "Mommy can we play that gun game again. Mommy, look at me. Mommy. Mommy can we play that gun shooter game again. Mommy, I want to play the gun game. Mommy ..." "Yes, yes. We can play that game again," she hated that game. Every time she played it, it reminded her of the last couple of months. In the last hours of the city's death, both sides had come out of hiding and shot it out. It was unsettling enough to be on the outskirts of a war zone. What made it absolutely unbearable was knowing that one side of the conflict was composed of the walking dead.

A few years ago I was spending some time with friends exploring old, supposedly haunted, places. We were at the Edisto First Presbyterian Church, where a girl named Julia Legare was buried in her family mausoleum in 1852. People reported hearing unearthly screams time and...

You know those long, involved ritual creepypastas, the ones that involve a million different steps, the ones where if you breathe at the wrong second you die? Ever wonder who figured it out? It couldn't have been trial and error - you don't get a second...

Footsteps aren't an uncommon thing to hear when you're sitting in a basement, so I think nothing of it when I hear quiet thuds coming from my upstairs hallway. I just assume it's my brother, and continue doing whatever pointless little thing I was doing...

Necronymous Forum Private Message Subject: Okay... Sent: Thu Jan 08, 6:36 pm From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616 This is kind of random, but I notice your posts constantly mention this 'Thorvaldr' character. You always say it's watching something or waiting for something, but no one else has any idea who or what it is. I'm just curious... Who is Thorvaldr? :O Subject: Re: Okay... Sent: Fri Jan 09, 2:17 am From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior Thorvaldr? I'm almost glad you asked. He's just kind of there. A sort of presence, if you will. I can't really explain it properly without it sounding completely odd. By the way... he sees you. Subject: Re: Okay... Sent: Fri Jan 09, 12:01 pm From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616 Uh... could you explain that a bit better? Sorry, I don't understand. I mean, is he a person, a ghost, a pet, or what? D: Subject:Re: Okay... Sent: Fri Jan 09, 5:20 pm From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior Thorvaldr is a warrior king. He is waiting for the moon to rise as of now... Subject: Re: Okay... Sent: Sat Jan 10, 4:14 pm From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616 9_9 I'm sorry, that just raises more questions than it answers. Don't bother wasting my time by replying if you aren't going to say anything useful. I know I'm probably coming off a little bit harsh, but it doesn't seem like you're taking this seriously at all. I'd try to help you on the forum, seeing as everyone thinks you're a complete weirdo and I want to see if there's anything that could be explained to them so maybe you'll have an easier time. Subject: Re: Okay... Sent: Sun Jan 11, 8:43 pm From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior I almost considered just deleting that reply there and carrying on the way I have been, but I've a feeling you're not going to give up either way. If it's that important to you, I'll explain everything. To the best of my knowledge, Thorvaldr is something of an entity, and like I said before, he's just there. He doesn't even have a body, but somehow I'm able to know his every move and that he wants me to tell others about it. It's an impulse. If I don't tell everyone about Thorvaldr, he gets angry... He starts clouding my vision and everything gets dark and blurry, then I can't sleep at all because I'm just lying there shaking. I can almost hear his voice kind of, but he's not saying anything in particular, only these syllables and non-words that come out of nowhere right when I think everything's quiet. He's there, and he's always there. I can't get rid of him. I don't want to go to a shrink, because last time I did they just gave me these pills that only made everything worse. I started seeing Thorvaldr in my own reflection. Even though it was very vague and hard to make out, I could tell it was definitely him. I can't fight it. Can't fight a warrior king, especially when he's taken over my mind like this. I'm trying to remember what happened, but somehow my memory's been shot. Maybe Thorvaldr did it. I vaguely recall something about getting lost somewhere when I was in Norway, but that's it. I'd tell you more, but I fear he's trying to choke me as I type this... Subject: Re: Okay... Sent: Tues Jan 13, 11:00 am From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616 Wow... that's really weird... Anyway, the reason why it kind of took me an extra day to reply is because when I read that message, I had pretty much no idea what to say. That is really really weird. Maybe he's just mad cause he doesn't have a body? lol Subject: Re: Okay... Sent: Tues Jan 13, 1:10 pm From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior Thorvaldr thinks that's a great idea. Thank you. Subject: Re: Okay... Sent: Tues Jan 13, 7:19 pm From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616 What?

It wasn't a big deal at first, you know? It was just another story online, one you'd read in the comments of a YouTube video, designed to scaring you into posting it on eight other videos. You know the kind, where you die a...

"Did you take your protein pills? Good, now put your helmet on." Ground Control commanded and Major Tom obeyed. Ground Control droned on as Tom sat in his seat in his cramped capsule and waited. "Commencing countdown, engines are active." Tom counted down with the...

For such a turning point in my life, the night I acquired a certain item is cemented in my mind only because of how mundane it was. I didn’t chance upon a dusty tome buried amidst a pile of mouldering books in a university library...

Alec sat in the cold blue glow of the steel chamber, monitors projecting their indecision between camera views outside the small compound. Each switch depicting the bright white of the lunar sands under floodlight, and the unrelenting black of the empty space above. Life in...

Stop. No, don't look. It just encourages them. You know who I'm talking about. Them. More specifically, her. Keep those eyes focused here, don't look. Don't even glance. Use your peripherals, because I know you see her. Just at the very edge of your vision? Glance to the left...

Memories. They’re how we know what has happened. Everything you remember goes in to who you are, why you act the way you do. It's a shame that people are not afflicted by the things they cannot remember. Especially you. Memories are funny like that. Sometimes,...

Exorcisms are often the theme of horror movies. Most people shrug them off and think that they are fake. They're not. But they are also not the way Hollywood portrays them to be. Instead, when a mere mortal tries to perform an exorcism, the demon leaves its...

God, I need to get this down. I need this knowledge out of my head. I’m being, what’s the word to use? Haunted? By a being. A horrid aberration. I can only call it pale face. I remember the first time I saw it. I was twelve, taking a leak at the urinal of the hotel I was staying at with family. I noticed a flash of movement in the corner of my eye, though I dismissed it as nothing as it had been happening a lot lately. I went to wash my hands, and as I was about to turn on the tap, I saw it. Stood not more than a foot behind me, reflected in the mirror. A humanoid creature, roughly five and a half feet tall, completely naked, covered in oily skin. Its fingers were elongated, impossibly bony. The whole thing looked as if it had never eaten; its chest was a harsh relief of ribs, made to look all the sicklier by the fluorescent light. It wasn’t breathing, either. That is not what scared me though. Its face. A perfectly smooth oval shape, seemingly much too large and heavy for its scrawny neck, with two impossibly deep holes of blackness where one would expect to find eyes. It stared at me. It didn’t move; no single muscle twitched. It simply stood there, those jet pits boring into me for what felt like hours. After what felt like an eternity, I realised my legs had unlocked and I bolted for the door too terrified to scream. I ignored my room, running in a child-like panic to my parent’s room a few doors down. I brought my fist down again and again on the door, desperate to raise my family. As I finally heard the door unlock I risked a single glance down the corridor from which I came. It was there. It stood completely still, eyes fixed on me, oily feet staining a brown smudge onto the carpet. I barged past my father as he swung the door inwards, diving onto the sofa and throwing myself face down onto the cushion. My father turned from the door, asking me what I was doing as he let the door close behind him. I could only respond with wide-eyed terror as I saw it in the doorway, both of those pit-like eyes on me until the door obstructed it from my vision. Rest did not find me that night. After an hour or two of restless tossing and turning, I awoke to see it stood at the foot of the sofa. I stared back at it, too afraid to look away; its gaze was almost mesmerising, it made me feel empty, completely devoid of humanity, nothing but a consciousness stripped bare. I know not how long I kept this, as at some point my body had given up and lapsed back into sleep, and I was greeted by the warm sunlight of morning streaming through the room’s blinds. I was not sad to be leaving the hotel that morning.

Even as the sun vanishes behind the tall, impossibly green trees and the rainforest around me fades into darkness, the air feels unbearably hot. I can’t walk anymore tonight. I’ll have to find a place to sleep. The leather pouch that the mystic gave me...

FACILITY ARCHIVE RECORDS SEARCH - SEARCHING… SEARCHING… SEARCHING… COMPLETE - FOUND 19 RESULTS FOR SEARCH TERMS “Patient #0017983″ CHRONOLOGICAL LISTINGS FOLLOW: 1.) ADMISSION FORM, PATIENT #0017983 - 11/18/05 15:12 Involuntary admittance requested by patient’s relatives in response to apparent self-destructive behavior cycle. Self-harm evident in physical exam: signs of past abrasions on head and neck, apparently due to self-inflicted scratching, and both fresh and partially-closed surface lacerations on arms and legs. Signs of extreme fatigue also evident - in examination patient admitted insomnia for, as quoted, “longer than you’d believe.” Patient unable to give exact time for length of insomnia, likely due to extended period of insomnia itself. Confusion and moderate delerium evident. PRELIMINARY MEDICATION ISSUED: Triazolam 0.25mg for insomnia, topical Bacitracin for wound care. 2.) ADMISSION EVALUATION, PATIENT #0017983 - 11/18/05 16:56 PERFORMED BY: Dr. Emil Lafayette. Self-harm confirmed. Patient removed dressings from arm lacerations, reopened wound while waiting for interviewer. Definite evidence of somniphobia in patient justifications for harm; patient refers to sleep with anxiety, and consistently acts against self to cause pain in response to lengthy periods of silence or other lack of stimuli. Issue of insomnia needs immediate attention, given evidence of exceedingly prolonged duration. Likewise possible agoraphobia. Patient requests an isolated bed, becomes withdrawn/agitated when request is denied, refuses to cooperate further with interview. Offers vague suggestion of hostile “other” in justification, but will not elaborate, as quoted, “because you’re not going to believe she exists until she hurts someone anyway.” Evidence for likely paranoid schizophrenia. Recommend further interview with full psychological spectrum testing for exact diagnosis. FINAL RECOMMENDATION: ADMIT PATIENT. PRELIMINARY MEDICATION ISSUED: Cancel Triazolam, instead 5mg Diazepam twice daily for insomnia, anxiety, and probable sleep disorders. 3.) FINAL ADMITTANCE REPORT, PATIENT #0017983 - 11/18/05 17:13 Patient issued bed in Room 409. Current occupant(s): Patient #0017802, Patient #0017983. Clothes from admission remanded to family of patient, three sets of common dress issued for immediate needs. Further psych eval scheduled for 10:00 11/19/05, determining future length of stay. 4.) WARD EVENT REPORT - 11/18/05 17:30 During routine new patient room check, Patient #0017802 places request with staff for transfer to, as quoted, “some other room.” Appears agitated, claims Patient #0017983 has been disturbing him. Patient #0017983 likewise requests transfer, to isolated bed. Both requests denied. ORDERLY NOTE: Followup room check suggested to avoid possible intrapatient conflict. 5.) WARD EVENT REPORT - 11/18/05 19:00 Followup room check. Patient #0017983 claims Dr. Lafayette has ordered him moved to Isolation. Patient #0017802 backs claim. Administration records demonstrate no such order. Upon informing room occupants, Patient #0017983 attempts to assault staff and Patient #0017802 becomes uncontrollably agitated. Additional personnel required to contain incident. Both patients restrained, sedated, forced into early lights out. ORDERLY NOTE: Exercise caution in all future room checks for 409. 6.) WARD EVENT REPORT - 11/18/05 23:57 Staff on Hall 1, Floor 4 report loud sounds from room 409 after facility lights out, disturbing other rooms and patients. Patient #0017983 found awake, extremely agitated and struggling against restraints. Demands lights be turned back on, as quoted, “before she comes.” Self-sustained injuries to wrists and ankles at points of restraint. Patient attempts to struggle against staff during trade to more comprehensive restraint, requiring additional personnel to contain incident. Additional sedation required for Patient #0017983. Patient #0017802 does not respond during course of event, likely due to sedation from earlier incident. ORDERLY NOTE: Maintain restraints on Patient #0017983 until further notice. Sedate patient before removing restraints for any reason. Recommend anti-psychotic be considered in future psych eval. 7.) WARD EVENT REPORT - 11/19/05 00:20 Staff on Hall 1, Floor 4 again report loud sounds from room 409. Patient #0017983 found catatonic on floor, with severe self-inflicted scratches on head and neck. Restraints are severed at connection points, with severe bruising on limbs possibly indicating more severe injury at restraint points with patient. Patient #0017802 is found deceased. Severe disfiguring wounds to face, complete with destruction (ORDERLY NOTE: Ingestion?) of patient’s eyes. Moved to room 101, locker 2, awaiting autopsy. Patient #0017983 transfered to Isolation, room 626, given injected dose of 100mg Zuclopenthixol on attending physician’s orders to control acute psychosis. ORDERLY NOTE: Recommend video observation to allow better control of future outbursts. Stay at least an arm’s length away from patient upper body restraints at all times. Just in case.

[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vA_87zK3gQE[/embedyt] During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, humanlike creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were...