“I’m not sure about this,” Nyssa kept her eyes glued to the ground. She still couldn’t believe what her cousin had done and what she was now tempted to do.
“Come on! It really wasn’t bad at all! And now look at me!” Arlet pointed at her eyes.
Nyssa finally looked up. Arlet was born naturally pretty, but with brown eyes she described as the color of poop. And now, her eyes showed an unnaturally, yet beautiful, violet. A color that no surgeon had assured her was possible, much less without the possibility of losing some of her sight. There was no way Arlet would use glasses.
“How did you even find out about this guy?” Nyssa looked down once more, ashamed of herself for being jealous of her cousin.
“When you go to the appointment, he hands you a pink ticket and tells you to give it to someone who dreams to carve out their beauty. Josie gave me mine!” Arlet answered cheerfully.
“Odd choice of words,” Nyssa answered.
“Look,” Arlet grabbed Nyssa’s hand and placed the pink ticket on it,”He also said if you backed out, that was totally fine. But I know how much you have been wanting this. I think you are beautiful as you are, but a little glow up never hurt anyone!”
“And you say this is free?” Nyssa looked at the pink ticket with a single neon pink smiley face in the middle.
“Kind of. You don’t have to pay anything but he does make a weird request. Nothing sexual tho! Because ew! For me, he told me to not brush my hair for a week, which was horrible but I just pretended I needed time to recover from carving and then-“ 
“That’s a weird request,” Nyssa interrupted.
”No. Yeah. Like for Josie, he asked her to not talk to her mother three days after the carving. Apparently something happens if you don’t do as he says.” Arlet smiled at Nyssa.
Once Arlet left, Nyssa went to change into her pajamas and headed off to bed. She wanted to argue with herself that she wouldn’t do something so ridiculous but she already knew she would be standing by that doctor’s door the next morning.
She took one glance at her phone, making sure that her blind date hadn’t cancelled. Norma assured her that Nyssa was exactly his type. Like that could be possible. 
All her life she was told she had to learn to love herself, but how could she if people mocked her all the time. The few dates she had gone to, all left her hanging, there never was a second date. No one gave her a second chance. 
Nyssa grabbed her phone and sent a message to Arlet before falling into restless sleep.
“I’m so excited for you!” Arlet hugged Nyssa before they got into the car.
Nyssa managed to give her cousin a small smile. No matter how jealous she was of Arlet’s natural beauty, she still loved her cousin and knew Arlet cared for her too.
“Thank you for taking me,” Nyssa said as she put on her seatbelt. She instantly looked outside when she accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the car’s mirror.
“Anything for you!” Arlet winked at her.
The drive was short and the place looked so normal. She had imagined a sketchy alley but instead she found herself knocking at a house in a cute little neighborhood. She took one glance at her cousin as she waited for the door to open. Arlet gave her a thumbs up trying to encourage her but she could bearily stop herself from trembling.
A man wearing an apron opened the door. His expression revealed nothing, but he extended his hand towards her.
“Oh right. Sorry doctor,” Nyssa mumbled.
The man took the ticket from her hand and without saying a word, motioned for her to go in. The house was neat, with only two small sofas and a coffee table in between. He once more motioned for her to sit down opposite him.
“I’m not a doctor by the way, but I understand the confusion. I’m more of an artist, you could say,” he stopped to look at her.
“Oh, sorry. What do I call you then?” Nyssa felt her cheeks redden from embarrassment.
“Hmm… I guess you could call me Carver if you need to. Yeah, that should work. I have to say, what I do here is carve your inner beauty. You tell me what you want to change and I will do it. But this is all voluntary, so if you change your mind, that’s allowed too,” he paused for a moment as if trying to remember something, “So what do you want me to carve today?”
“My nose,” Nyssa blurted out, feeling embarrassed if even asking for that one thing.
“That’s your choice but I do have to say, you only get one chance. If later on, you want more, I won’t do it. Even if you manage to get another pink ticket, the option will be gone. So if you just want your nose, then we do the nose,” Carver waited for Nyssa to speak.
”What else can you do?” Nyssa answered. The way Carver’s eyes lit up at her question made her involuntarily flinch.
“Great question!” his monotone voice gone for a second, “I can do anything you want. You want a new natural hair color, color eyes, body shape, it’s all fair game.”
“And if I ask you to change everything?” Nyssa tried to hold back her tears.
“Then I will make sure you find your inner beauty. Is this what you want? I need your consent,” Carver waited for her to respond, his voice once more monotone.
“Yes, I want you to take artistic freedom as long as I am beautiful, not pretty but beautiful by the end,” Nyssa continued to cry, unsure if he could make her dreams come true.
”Follow me,” he stood from the sofa and guided her into another room. Unlike the other room, this one was organized but filled with what she thought were painting brushes, and other artistic tools. Next to the single bed in the middle of the room was a large knife. The idea of the knife cutting through her flesh terrified her, but her cousin had done it and came out fine. There was no backing down now, not when she was so close to being beautiful.
She laid down on the bed, unsure of what was going to come next. She saw that Carver got several materials and placed them on the small table next to the bed.
“Before we start, I have to say that the service is not completely free. I will hand you a new pink ticket to hand to someone else. You can take your time with this, that’s no problem, it’s the second thing you have to abide by so my work doesn’t become undone,” Carver grabbed the large knife and began to sharpen it, “I can’t tell you what the second thing will be until I complete this project, are you still fine to continue?”
“Yes.” Nyssa tried to sound confident.
“Very well. Know this will be painful. I can’t do anything to ease the pain and you aren’t allowed to scream. Beauty comes with a price, and pain is just a small price to pay for what you will get. But you are allowed to cry, my advice is that you keep your eyes closed until it’s all over,” Carver placed the knife by her chest, “Let’s begin”.
It took all of Nyssa’s willpower to not flinch when the knife dug under her skin. It hurt, it hurt so bad as the knife went in deeper and deeper and then came the pulling. The screams of agony were stuck in her throat, begging to be let out.
She felt as Carver put his hands inside her and, did he move her bones? He put all his weight into her ribs until she heard a crack, and then another and another. This had been a mistake and she was about to die. She was sure of it. But he didn’t care about her pain, he kept going, breaking and rearranging her bones and skin. He ripped the hair off her head, pieces of her scalp still stuck to it. 
She dared not open her eyes, she wasn’t even sure how she was still conscious or how much time had passed. She felt a hand open her mouth and tasted metal as he used a tool to rip off one tooth at a time. She gagged as blood filled her mouth. She tried to fight him, but then realized her arms weren’t working. 
She managed to open her eyes to take a look at what was going on when she realized her arm was no longer there. And on the floor were discarded parts of her skin, bones, and she couldn’t tell what other bloodied things. Before she could scream, she passed out.
When she came to be, the room was organized and clean once more. Carver stood by the table and she quickly got off it. But then she realized, she had her arms back. Well, no, these weren’t her arms, they were different.
Carver smiled at her as she looked at the rest of her body. He then walked to a corner and uncovered a full body mirror. Nyssa followed and looked at herself.
“You are beautiful,” Carver stated. Not in a romantic way, but in the way an artist looks at their art.
And she really was. She was beautiful. For the first time in her life, she loved what she was looking at. 
“Thank you! Oh God, thank you so much!” Nyssa cried once more, but this time of happiness.
“I did a great job, but now come with me to the living room, we need to talk about the second requirement," Carver covered the mirror as he let her out.
She wanted to continue looking at herself. For once the reflection showed something she liked, but she reluctantly followed him out. 
“So here is the pink ticket. Again, you can take your time to give it to someone. Even if you end up losing it and never give it to anyone, you should be fine. I warn you that not following the second instructions will undo the carving. All you have to do, or well, not do, is go on the second date, understood?” Carver waited for Nyssa to respond but she started to laugh.
“I have never been on a second date. That’s fine,” she continued to laugh.
She once more thanked Carver and walked out of the house and into Arlet’s car. What had felt like an eternity had only taken one hour. 
“Oh my God!!!” Arlet looked at her cousin excitedly, “If I hadn’t brought you myself, I wouldn’t have known it was you! You are gorgeous! It’s not that you weren’t before but damn!”
“Thank you,” Nyssa gave her a genuine smile.
After Arlet dropped her off, she immediately went to see herself in the mirror. She really was beautiful, unimaginably so. For the first time in her life, she loved what she saw and therefore loved herself. 
This time she would walk in with confidence into her date, not looking down and hope her date took enough pity on her to ask her out. This time she would make the decision whether there was a second date or not. This time, people would look at her, not to mock her looks, but to be in awe. This time, everything would be different.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn a dress, nothing too elegant, after all, this was a coffee date. Even so, she put more effort than ever and was excited for the world and her blind date to see her.
When she arrived at the coffee shop, she saw a man wearing a t-shirt of her favorite show, he was average looking, and when he took a glance at her, he immediately looked down. Nyssa knew that look too well, that look of feeling you are not good enough. She unintentionally reached for the pink ticket in her purse. Maybe he could benefit from it. Maybe she could gift him the confidence she now felt.
“I’m Nyssa, Norma’s friend,” Nyssa introduced herself.
”I’m Milos, also Norma’s friend,” his face reddened as he looked at her, “I hope you are fine with continuing the date after seeing me.”
Nyssa felt bad for him, she knew exactly this feeling, so she moved her chair closer to him and grabbed his hand gently as she spoke, “Only if you are too.”
The date went great. They both loved the same shows, and played video games. As the date went on, Milos opened up more and shared how he was worried she would immediately reject him but was glad to see that besides being beautiful, she was a sweet and kind person. Nyssa couldn’t imagine rejecting him, he was funny, attentive, and just a really nice guy in general. And when he asked for a second date, her heart skipped a little faster and she said yes.
She had forgotten she was supposed to say no to a second date, or well, not go to it until the pink ticket fell out of her purse. She picked it up and made sure it was secure inside her wallet, Milos might need it after all. As for the second date, there was no way she would miss it. 
At home, she took another look in the mirror. Her smile was bigger than it had ever been. She had been right all along, beauty was the solution to all her problems.
By the time her second date approached, she had already changed most of her wardrobe. Her baggy clothes that covered all the right places were mostly gone. Her basic make up had now evolved with the help of Arlet. She was still not going to wear heels, but she did buy prettier shoes that no longer had holes in them. She was proud of herself, and now it was time to live life to the fullest.
When Milos arrived to pick her up, he didn’t bring her flowers, instead he brought her a book she had talked about on their date. She smiled at him and gave him a small peck on the cheek. He blushed as he took her hand and guided her to his car.
But as soon as Nyssa got in the car, her head started to pulse and she felt an odd itch on her feet. She wasn’t about to scratch her feet in front of her date, so she ignored it as best as possible.  She grabbed some pain killers from her bag and hoped that by the time they made it to the coffee shop, the headache would be gone.
Things only got worse, by the time Milos parked, her headache was worse and the itch had traveled all the way to her stomach.
“Are you ok? We can go back if you want to?” Milos looked concerned.
“No, it’s all right. I probably just need my coffee,” Nyssa tried to sound confident.
“Just know that if you need anything or need to go to the doctor, I can take you,” Milos looked at her.
”Don’t worry, I would tell you,” Nyssa lied. She wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of her second date.
Milos went to open the door and help her out. She took his hand but felt something strange. When she looked down, her nails were gone. She hoped Milos didn’t notice, she could hide her hand during the date and fix it later. A quick glance at her other hand confirmed she still had nails on that one. 
When they sat down, what had started as an itch was now a burning sensation starting at her feet and going all the way to her chest. She unintentionally started to scratch her leg but when she looked down, she saw  four rough lines where the skin had peeled off. The blood streaming down her leg increased when he got up and screamed. In a panic, her hand flew towards her head, but the instant touch made her hair fall to chucks to the floor.
Milos looked at her terrified, Nyssa cried, not wanting anyone to see the mess she was , but every tear caused a new crack on her face to painfully open and ooze blood. 
As her mind started to slip away, she felt Milos’ arms trying to keep her up, people around screamed at the horror show in process. Nyssa felt as Milos picked her up, but her torso couldn’t support her and so her body split into two.
She felt her body hit the ground once more, but just before death took her, she smiled. Milos knelt by her side trying to put all the pieces back together. This wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been carved to beauty. 

All my life, I hated my father. My mother made me believe that he hated me too. I was led to believe that he abandoned us. Found out my mom was pregnant and fled. Like a coward.

Growing up without him made life more difficult than it needed to be. I didn’t have any positive role models. Any male figures to teach me how to be a man. I had to teach myself. At least, I tried to teach myself.

My mom kind of insisted on me being a “momma’s boy.”

No matter how hard I tried to pry myself away from her and live freely, she’d pull me back in with guilt trips. She’d complain about how “lonely” she was. How I was the only man she needed. I tried to convince her that wasn’t true, but she was just so stuck in her ways.

“You look just like him.”

That’s what she’d always tell me. At dinner. On movie nights. On the car ride to school. She’d just slip it in randomly while looking at me admiringly.

By the time I reached 16, I just accepted it. I pitied her. I loved her. I wanted to be there for her because, clearly, she couldn’t help herself. It was obvious she didn’t love herself enough to make an effort.

As I grew in physical maturity, things started to feel uncomfortable. It was like I was an off-limits boyfriend to her. It made me sick, but I didn’t know what to do to stop it.

She never touched me. Never crossed any lines. I could just see that she was looking at me as a love interest rather than as her son.

It caused a lot of uncomfortable arguments and cold shoulders, but I could never abandon her like my dad did. I wanted to be by her side, especially considering how sick I could tell she was. She couldn’t be left alone.

On nights where she felt particularly nostalgic, she’d sit me down on the couch, and we’d go through my old baby clothes.

“I remember when this used to be too big on you. Can you believe how much you’ve grown?”

“Ah, I loved these shoes on you. They were so cute. You used to be my little munchkin.”

“You’re my big, strong man now, aren’t you, baby?”

She kept bibs, pacifiers, bottles, etc., but the thing she cherished the most was the blanket I was wrapped in when I was born.

This tiny little ocean blue blanket that she insisted on keeping in its own box. She kept it silky smooth. Fresh and as clean as the day she got it.

But now I’m realizing she never bought it at all. She wasn’t even at my birth. She’s not even my mom, at least according to my dad. I don’t know what to believe right now.

I turned 18 yesterday, but instead of being a milestone birthday, the day ended up being known as one thing to me: the day my dad finally called me.

Mom had woken me up with a breakfast of waffles, bacon, and eggs in bed before leaving me alone to go get dressed for the day she had planned for us.

As I enjoyed the meal, scrolling through TikToks and realizing that I was now legally an adult, my phone began to ring.

There was no caller ID.

I answered out of curiosity and got an urgent earful from the man on the other end.

“Donavin?? Is this Donavin?”

“Uh, yeah, this is him. Who’s this?”

“Oh, thank you, Jesus. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus. I’ve been trying to reach you for 18 years.”

The man sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Breathless and hysterical.

“Happy Birthday, son. Oh my God, happy birthday. Your mom and me have been trying to find you for so long.”

My ears perked up. My heart clicked, faintly.

“Is this a joke? Who is this? I think you may have the wrong number. I’ve lived with my mom my entire life.”

There was a silence that lingered for a long while.

“Okay, I think I’m gonna hang up now. Crazy coincidence, man.”

“Don’t hang up. I’m sending you pictures right now. That woman is not your mother.”

One by one, the messages began to come through.

They were from the day I was born. My dad held me in some. The woman in the hospital bed held me in others. In each one, I was wrapped in that same tiny little ocean blue blanket. Only, that wasn’t my mom.

They looked nothing alike. But when I looked at my dad, I saw myself.

“You need to get out of that house, son. She took you.”

My heart began to beat faster. I didn’t know how to respond.

“She stalked me. She was obsessed. When she found out I was getting married and that my wife was pregnant, it drove her over the edge.”

“What? No, that can’t be true. What are you saying right now?” I whimpered, holding back my own hysteria.

“God, why are you still not leaving that house? Get out now. We’re going to find you and pick you up. She took you from us, son. Right from under our noses. We never saw either of you again. Please, just please get out of that house.”

A tear fell down my face. I was silent. I thought for either a few seconds or an eternity before removing the phone from my ear and hanging up.

My mom walked into the room a few moments later. She was adjusting her earrings, her head cocked to the side as she smiled at me.

“You ready for our day, my sweet boy?”

I smiled back at her.

“Yes, mother,” I grinned. “I can’t wait.”

I used to laugh at stories about people seeing things in the woods. That changed the night I took the back road home.

It was just after midnight when my car suddenly died. No warning. No strange noises. The headlights stayed on, but the engine refused to turn over. My phone had no signal, so I grabbed a flashlight and started walking. The silence was so complete that even my own footsteps sounded wrong, like someone else's feet were landing a split second after mine.

A few minutes later, I heard breathing behind me.

I stopped.

The breathing stopped.

I started walking again, faster this time. So did it.

When I spun around, there was nothing there except the trees swaying in the darkness. I told myself it was an animal. I kept moving, trying to ignore the knot growing in my stomach.

Then my flashlight flickered.

For just a split second, I saw someone standing between the trees.

They weren't moving. They weren't hiding. They were just... watching me.

The light steadied, and they were gone.

I broke into a run. Branches snapped around me, but none of them matched my pace. Whatever was following me never rushed. It just stayed close enough that I could hear slow footsteps behind me.

Then I heard my own voice.

"Stephanie..."

It came from somewhere deep in the woods.

Soft.

Calm.

Exactly like me.

I froze. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. My grandmother always said that if something in the dark calls your name, never answer.

The voice came again.

Closer this time.

"Stephanie... turn around."

I don't know why, but every part of me wanted to listen. My body felt heavy, like I was being pulled backward.

Instead, I started running again without looking back.

Eventually I reached the road, where another driver stopped to help me. We drove back to my car.

It was gone.

Not broken down.

Gone.

The only thing left was my flashlight lying in the middle of the road.

When I picked it up, it turned on by itself.

The beam pointed toward the tree line.

Standing between the trees was the same figure.

Perfectly still.

Watching me.

Then it slowly lifted one hand and waved.

I never drove that road again.

But every now and then, just after midnight, my phone rings from an unknown number.

When I answer, all I hear is slow breathing...

...and my own voice whispering, "I'm still waiting for you to turn around."

Steven watched from his perch of guilt as Zachary shifted through gears of heightening rage. The two occupied the dining room, each holding strong in an unlockable gaze–one stronger than their tenuous relationship. 

Zach cursed and lipped off–something Steven expected, but nevertheless, the volatility of the language left him astonished. 

“Dad, you’re always doing this! You rush headfirst into something without knowing the consequences! What if you die?! How would I find your body if something happens? What about Mom! How would she feel if–”

Steven motioned with an open hand for the boy to halt his colossal cascade of worry. 

“I know,” Steven agreed.

Zach stopped, crossed his arms, and arched an eyebrow from his dark crevice within the dining room. The curious orbs narrowed upon the officer, prompting Steven to slowly pace around the space. He massaged his temples, concentrating for the right words to be said. The worst part of the painfully driven sentences to scatter from his lips was that it was the truth. 

“.....I try....I try at thinking I know what’s best, but I’ll be honest, I’m just trying to survive. I’m no less of an asshole than any other guy in this dying town. I’m sorry Zach–I’m sorry that I’m careless, and bullheaded, and put other things first than our family.”

He spouted the words as if on an innate cue–was it the hypothetical thought that both of them could die tonight that picked at his heart relentlessly. 

A rising flush of chemicals traveled among the middle-aged fathers neural pathways, and a pressing force of sadness instigated internally. These were the words he meant to get off his chest for a while now and now was a better time than any. 

“I’m sorry, Zachary. I failed you as a father. When your mother and I separated, I thought I had it all handled–that you and I would be fine. I see now…that I was wrong. I threw myself into my work because I thought that was the one area that was giving back something I could control. I’m just…so sorry Zach.”

Steven looked on at the seventeen-year-old, who shifted uncomfortably from the apologetic monologue. He breathed in and out slowly, but gradually the breathwork increased in speed to a point that Steven took a couple steps forward in concern. His son was having a panic attack. 

As ragged breaths expelled from the teenager’s lips, Steven swiftly went and wrapped his arms around the boy. 

Starting at the age of five, anxiety had been a cruel beast to Zach, so much so that Steven often would sleep in a rocking chair in the corner of his room, acting as a guardian angel to the fictitious scares. Here and there throughout the years, a panic attack would sneak up on his son, so he tried to always be there just in case. He guessed that pledge faded somewhat into the background, but the officer was here now, and he wasn’t going to stand around and let the boy suffer. 

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright…I’m here…”

The tempo of breaths slowed their pace, allowing for air to finally fill the boy’s lungs. Zach detached from his father's embrace, inhaling big bubbles of air and letting tears drip in a long, deserved release. 

“You still can’t go. This problem is…its…it's bigger than what you can handle.”

Steven slightly frowned. He let the statement sink into his skin like a needed moisturizer, and for a moment, the current cares of the world were set aside, and his level of self-confidence plummeted. The darkness swirled around him as he concentrated for a response, but what could he do to ignore the uncomfortable digestion of his son’s words. 

The truth was that Steven didn’t know how to handle the problem. His town went from quiet, yet unsteady into a total shitstorm, thanks to an ancient cult bent on inaugurating their spider goddess into the wildlands of earth. How can someone like him even remotely stop a plan like that? 

Gallagher willingly allowed Steven to escape the clutches of Mr. Nancy and in return, she was met with death. The only fair turnaround to sooth the crease that wrinkled his troubled heart was to jump into action–to flatten these obscenities before more destruction could follow in its wake. 

Steven sighed. Even in the darkness of the room, the words that barreled out of his lips shined on in a metaphorical light. 

“I know you may think the worst of me for this, Zachary, but I have to go. We need to find a way to stop this and I think Arthur is on the right track. Please…I promise I’ll be back.”

Zach’s face contorted slightly and as he looked about ready to object, a feminine voice cut into the conversation. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him, Zach. Your dad knows how to handle himself out there.”

Both Steven and Zach swerved their direction to the bushy-haired figure nervously tapping her foot at the foyer entryway. It was Simone. 

The anxious coroner pushed her glasses up the curve of her nose and flashed a tiny, genuine smile, but fear still lurked in the corners of her cheeks. She gravitated slowly towards the pair and set a gentle palm on Zach’s shoulder. 

“Zach, I’d think you’d know by now that your father is as stubborn as a mule. He’s foolish, uptight, and even a bit of a killjoy…but if there was anyone left to help us, to help those still out there left to run from those things…it would be your dad. Your father has more conviction to this job than anyone I’ve ever seen before–he will get it done, and I promise you he will make it back here.”

As the melodic tempo of her words exited into the cool darkness, brief realization seemed to hit the boy’s eyes. He slumped a bit and tried to feign a brave smile, even with his true emotions fighting through. 

“You’re right…Dad, I-...I’m…Sorry, I–”

Zach's words were snuffed out as the bear of an officer wrapped his arms around the teenager and squeezed tightly. 

“There’s no reason to apologize. I promise that I will make it back here. I don’t plan on dying today.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So that’s the plan. Clancy, Rebecca, Officer Beck, and I will head to the old Thunder Lake high school and find the gateway to the violet–that way I can shut it down with these.”

Arthur held the two oblong black stones for all to see, even Jasmine and Harvey squinted with quizzical looks–judging the end-to-be-all method to stopping the potential apocalypse. 

“For the rest of you,” Arthur stated and cleared his throat in-between words, “you will stay here. It’s the best protected place left in Porthcawl right now.”

Arthur watched through the incandescent glow of the lantern that Steven had brought in, revealing the array of mixed expressions countering the speaker. The children were quiet, with Simone–who Arthur met with briefly– consoling the two and whispering under hushed tones. Harvey slouched against the wall and slowly lumbered back into the kitchen and the last two audience members, Elle and Jasmine, whispered feverishly back and forth while shooting odd looks at Arthur. 

Arthur turned and sighed. 

“Are you guys ready to go?”

Rebecca smiled and nodded.

Clancy grunted in approval. 

Steven was busy refilling his cartridge of bullets for his handgun when he spoke up. 

“Wait a minute,” Steven barked and pointed a calloused finger at Arthur, “You don’t have a weapon, do you?” 

Arthur sheepishly drew back his cheekbones into a slight, awkward smile and opened two empty palms to the group. 

“Carrying a firearm is not part of my usual M.O.”

Steven scratched his stubble and reached for the pistol he had just holstered. He handed the butt of the gun to Arthur. 

“Here. Better for you to have something to protect yourself.”

Arthur stared longingly at the alien artifact and firmly grabbed it with careful movements. It was heavier than he expected. Arthur flashed an expression of concern towards the officer. 

“Wait! What about you?”

“Don’t worry. I got this.”

The tall cop turned and rummaged in the black duffel bag he had brought in from the van. What he brought out was a hefty shotgun. Steven swiveled around and Clancy let loose an animated whistle of surprise. 

“Well, ain’t that a pretty piece you got there. Wish I’d thought to bring mine,” Clancy commented. 

“Is that a bit of jealousy I hear, detective?” Steven remarked

“Ugh, men and their toys,” Rebecca murmured softly.

Arthur contributed to the banter with a smile, but it faded quickly when he tested the weight of the pistol he was given–it was heavier than he thought and added a bit of discomfort. Steven noticed his wavering reaction.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“Just don’t shoot one of us by mistake,” Clancy added with a chuckle. 

Arthur ignored the verbal jab, choosing to set his mind in preparation of the trip. 

“Okay, okay. Are we ready to go?” Rebecca asked.

The three men nodded, each showing their own distinct look of wariness for what was to come. Clancy went over to the front door and gave a peek out into the rainy despair of the night. 

“If we’re gonna leave, then let’s do it. We don’t know when those prowling spider hunters will come.”

They all nodded and began farewells. Steven’s son came rushing into the foyer and gave the tall officer a hug. The rest of the party that were staying behind in the Chesseley abode donned faces of gloominess as they watched the scouting team depart out the creaky door.

Through the dripping veil of the night, the four ran to the law enforcement van with Clancy and Steven taking the front and Rebecca and Arthur in the back. A sickening feeling writhed inside of Arthur as the van pulled out onto Bradbury Road–it was the overwhelming foresight into his death. 

Soon, he would be trekking the overpass into the violet, but there was no way of return. What would he see? Would he be able to make it to the main gateway in time before Arachne could find him? He would try, but death was going to be inevitable. 

That was the pregnable despair that was attached to the poor passenger–the fact that tonight he was going to die. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A call of ambitious clicking resounded from the treetops, crackling down to the forest floor where C.J laid in wait. 

Water droplets cascaded onto his backside, the sensation tickling his skin and prompting the stalker to inch through mud like a tireless worm to get comfortable. The spawn angrily called down with possible threats of poaching the manor, but C.J would have none of it–they responded to his authority now. It was what Mr. Nancy wanted. 

For close to ninety minutes, the newly labeled lieutenant to the children of the widow watched in wait, deciding the best way to breach the Chesseley estate’s boundaries. While he continued to supervise the situation, he could feel the tightened bind of the totem around his wrist given to him by Mr. Nancy–this was his protection from the supposed nightmarish bitch who haunted the ancient house, but would it be enough?

Brainstorming for a strategic plan for success had the killer grinding mental gears for answers–intelligence was not in his bag of tricks. Then finally, a flicker of movement from the front of the building snapped C.J to attention as four inky blobs carefully jogged from the porch to a black van sitting out near the dirt road. He recognized one of the individuals as Officer Beck. 

As if the spawn knew that anger was pulsating vigorously through his veins, the creatures clacked and harmonized–they were becoming antsy to eat. C.J looked up and hissed.

“Shut it! We will deal with them later!”

He focused on the house, knowing that there were more individuals stuffed inside and waiting on some news of hope. It would be too easy–they were prey for the picking. 

The van pulled out and revved up in speed down Bradbury Road, eventually extinguishing from view.

The new lieutenant smiled. It was time to act. 

Written by me, Feeling_Sail (ACMichael)

Project APEX-9 ("The Ascension Serum")

The serum wasn't designed to make people stronger. It was designed to remove the biological limits the brain places on the body.

Every human muscle is capable of far more force than we can normally exert. Our nervous system prevents it to protect our bones and tendons. APEX-9 temporarily disables those safety limits while rebuilding the body faster than it can tear itself apart.

Effects (Hour 1)

Reflexes become almost instantaneous.

Eyes can distinguish individual raindrops in motion.

Hearing becomes so acute the user can hear heartbeats through walls.

Strength increases enough to lift several times their body weight.

Pain becomes optional—the brain simply ignores it.

Effects (24 Hours)

Bones become denser than steel by incorporating exotic crystalline structures.

Muscles contract with incredible efficiency.

Healing occurs in minutes instead of weeks.

The brain begins processing information several hundred times faster than normal.

Then comes the twist.

The serum isn't enhancing the user.

It's replacing them.

Every dose awakens microscopic, intelligent cells hidden inside the compound. They don't obey the person—they obey the serum. With each injection, the body becomes more perfect... but memories disappear. The user forgets birthdays, faces, even their own name. Eventually, the body is superhuman, but the mind belongs to something else entirely.

The final line of the research notes simply reads:

"Subject 12 successfully achieved perfection. Human consciousness no longer detected."

The fibers of the carpet in my bedroom have grown two millimetres this month. It disgusts me to think of what they're made of.

I first knew something was off when I saw the carpet moving. From the corner of my eye. Well, I wouldn't call it moving. It… shifted. Just for a second. Then it lay still. Not the normal still of an object. But with the intentional stillness of a living being, realising it's being watched. It didn’t move again. But I know what I saw. I'm not crazy. I wish my roommate Jason was there to confirm it. He left a week ago to visit his parents but hadn't returned. I was all alone.

The thing that convinced me came four days later. It made that awful, gurgling sound. It sounded so weirdly close to a… burp. But deeper, and slower. I wasn't in the room, but when I heard it from downstairs… I knew where it had come from. I ran upstairs to my bedroom and I swear to you, it looked at me. It had no eyes— but I could feel its lingering gaze as I walked around my room. I couldn't take my eyes off it. I just… couldn't. I walked back out of the room, eyes still locked on the carpet. I didn't sleep in that room, of course. I slept in Jason's room. He still hadn't returned. I was all alone with this damn carpet.

The next day, I did something rash. I cut the carpet's hair. I shaved it all off. I had to see what was beneath it. I'm not ashamed to admit I expected eyes, but no. There were eggs. Thousands of tiny, white eggs, blending in with the carpet's skin. It was covered by them. Except for the occasional hint of left-behind footprints where the layer of eggs thinned. I didn't notice them at first, so I shaved the whole thing. I took a long shower and slept in Jason's room again. I locked the door just to be certain. But I barely slept at all.

The first thing I did when I woke up was check the carpet. As far as I could tell, the eggs were still there. I almost turned around, but then I noticed it. There was a tiny layer of hair on top. I was so sure I cut off all its hair the day before, that I grabbed my ruler and put it against the carpet. As I laid my head down to read the ruler, I smelled it. It was faint, but it was there. Through the cracks underneath the carpet came a sour smell. It was slightly rancid. For a moment, I backed away. I just stared at the carpet. Then, I did what I should've done a long time ago. I pinched the squishy carpet and lifted it up by a corner. I only remember the rest of it in flashes. There were bones. Lots of them. I remember colours of red and brown. The underside of the carpet was filled with tiny, deformed, white specs. They could've been teeth… I didn't look for long, as I was hit with the stench. It overwhelmed me so suddenly. The smell was strong now. Sour and fatty. It burned in my nose, and my eyes began to water. I dropped the carpet. The smell still lingered, so I ran. Its eyes drilled in the back of my neck as I left the room. I haven't been back since. I just stayed over at Jason's house. They kept asking when Jason would visit again. I didn't have the heart to tell them.

I still can't believe I'm writing this... but I need to get this off my chest before I completely lose my mind. Maybe this is just screaming into the void... but if you're reading or hearing my story, please... make sure you double-lock your doors. And never, ever trust the alerts that pop up on your phone in the middle of the night. It started three weeks ago in a quiet suburb in Oregon.

I was living alone in a single-story house I’d just bought with my life savings. I was enjoying the peace, away from the city chaos... until those messages started hitting my phone. At first, I thought it was just a technical glitch, or a prank by one of the neighbors.

I kept getting notifications from my "home security" app, telling me there was movement in the backyard at exactly 3:14 AM. The first night, I dragged myself out of bed to check the security cameras. The place was dead quiet. The camera monitor was in the living room. I didn't see anything but tree branches swaying in the breeze. I laughed at myself and went back to sleep.

But the second night, the same thing happened. And when I opened the app, I saw something that made my blood run cold. I saw someone wearing all dark clothes. They were standing near my living room window, staring directly into the lens. They weren't moving, and it didn't look like they were trying to break in. They were just standing by my window like they were waiting for something.

I called the cops immediately, but by the time they got there, there wasn't a trace of anyone. They checked the perimeter, and they confirmed the fence hadn't been touched, and there were no footprints in the mud... I started noticing little details I hadn't paid attention to before: faint, oily smudge marks on the outside glass, and faint sounds like fingernails tapping on the glass when I turned the lights off.

A few days later, I even found a stray cigarette butt left right on my porch step—as if he wanted me to know he was right there. There was a real, flesh-and-blood person studying my every move... someone who knew when I ate dinner, when I showered, and when I closed my eyes to sleep.

In the second week, the game started taking a darker turn. I couldn't sleep anymore. Every day, I sat in the living room with a kitchen knife in my hand, watching the camera screen that had become my only companion. Then, one night, the power suddenly cut out. Every light in the house went dark, and a suffocating silence took over, broken only by my own racing heartbeat.

In the middle of the pitch black, my phone screen lit up with a new notification from the security app: "Back door opened." I froze in place, and at the same time,

I couldn't bring myself to breathe. My brain was screaming at me to run, but my body was paralyzed by a terror I’d never known. I didn't know what would happen to me if I took one step out that door.

I heard a very faint sound—the noise of cautious footsteps on the kitchen floorboards. The sound of metal hitting metal. Someone was taking my kitchen knives out of the drawer. They weren't stealing anything, and they weren't looking for money. They were walking around my house like they owned the place, acting with a sickening, cold-blooded confidence.

I grabbed my phone with trembling hands to call the police, but there was no signal. I think they cut the internet and phone lines. They’d completely isolated me from the world. I started crawling toward the bedroom, trying to get to a handgun I’d hidden in the safe, but the footsteps stopped halfway through. A long silence followed, and then I heard a faint whistling—a very familiar tune that I always hummed when I was alone in the bathroom.

My heart nearly stopped. How did they know that? I started to realize that this person wasn't just some random intruder. This was someone who’d been watching me for a long time—maybe weeks or months before I even suspected they were there.

They were hiding in the shadows, studying my habits, memorizing my breathing. And now, the real game had begun. They didn't break in to rob me; they broke in to make me realize I wasn't safe anywhere. And that the walls of my home, which used to be my sanctuary, had become a gilded cage where I was trapped with this merciless monster.

I kept crawling toward the bedroom, moving as slowly as possible, trying not to make a sound, the knife still clutched in my left hand while my right hand felt along the floor for anything I could use. I finally reached the safe, opening it with fingers that were shaking so hard I nearly broke the key, and grabbed the gun hidden inside.

I felt a second of relief, but then that tune started again, only closer this time, like the person was standing in the hallway leading to the room. I got up slowly, holding the gun with shaking hands, my shirt soaked through with sweat. It was pitch black, and

I couldn't see anything but the silhouettes of the furniture. I heard steady, calm breathing, as if they were standing right behind the door.

I raised the gun, holding my breath, and took a step forward. Suddenly, something heavy fell to the floor in the living room. It was a loud crash that made me scream in terror. I fired twice toward the sound. The bullets tore through the wall, and silence returned.

I walked cautiously toward the living room, my heart on the verge of giving out. I found a chair tipped over, and the coffee mug I’d been drinking from hours earlier was smashed. There was no one there, but the smell of sweat and cheap cigarettes filled the room—the scent of someone who’d been way too close to me.

I ran back to the bedroom to barricade myself inside, slammed the door, and pushed a chair under the handle. I sat on the bed, trembling, listening for any movement. After a long, agonizing few minutes, I heard a sigh coming from inside the closet. I whipped the closet open, aiming the gun at it, but it was empty—except for the shirt I’d been wearing yesterday.

My shirt was folded neatly, and it had a small drop of blood on it. Underneath the shirt was a note: "I know where you hide the spare key to the safe." The next morning, the power and internet suddenly came back on. I called the police again, but as usual, they didn't find a thing. Since that day, I never feel like I'm alone. Sometimes I find my things arranged in slightly different ways, and sometimes I hear that tune coming from another room while I’m wide awake.

Now, I sleep in the guest room with the gun under my pillow, but I wake up every night trapped inside my main master bedroom with the door bolted from the outside, or sometimes locked in a way I can't explain.

I don't know if he’s locking me in while I sleep, or if my mind is breaking under the terror.

The only thing I know for sure now is that he doesn't need to break in anymore. He’s already inside everything. And every night at 3:14, that notification pops up. I just wonder: will there be a day where I never wake up? Or will I wake up and find that it’s me standing in front of the camera in the dark?

Hi, all. So, I'm working on a horror novel and wanted to post the prologue for some feedback. It's a slow burn and this is just a setup. I can post the first chapter at some point if anyone is interested. Not gonna go into too much detail about the plot, but just want to see if the opening is interesting enough for people to want to continue reading.

CONCEPTION (Prologue)

“I really don’t know how you eat that stuff.”

It was a rainy, uninteresting, fall Saturday afternoon. Everyone cursed with an itch to spend a dollar shivered down sidewalks, sheltering from the cold rain underneath umbrellas gripped tightly in the angry wind. Essence Carter and Tom Wheatley stood at the Hot Food counter in the sparsely crowded Compare Foods. A routine they normalised during the six months they’d been dating. The chilly store smelled like raw seafood, fruits, and spices, and was filled with babble from bilingual conversations and the sounds of shoes squeaking from children scurrying down aisles and adults dragging shopping carts across the damp floor.

Tom especially loved their Chicharrones en Salsa Verde over rice (a concoction they served at least twice a week). Essence couldn’t stand the sight or the smell of the stuff and let him know every time he ordered the spicy combination that she was gonna create a profile on one of the popular dating apps to find a regular human being.

They met in the self-check-out line while waiting for one of the kiosks to free up. Everyone near the registers was transfixed on a disheveled, belligerent, drunk Mexican man being shoved out of the store by the bald, Black, burly security guard standing watch near the automatic doors, after he’d been caught with an unscanned case of light beer at the bottom of his shopping cart. The peanut-sized keloid dangling from the guard's ear swung back and forth like a pendulum amidst the commotion.

“Who the hell drinks light beer anyway? Chug a glass of water and go to bed at that point,” Tom said.

“Did you see his eyes? He looks like he's in another world right now. You know how much those Mexicans love that white girl. And Black trans men too apparently.”

“What?” Tom asked, his eyes still glued on the two men.

“Stardust and fairies. Sounds like a punk rock album don’t ya think? I just hope he’s not driving,” she replied, losing interest in the drunk and turning her full attention to Tom.

“I don't think that's the right word, but okay. Sugar with your tea, I guess,” he replied absently, turning and surveying the short human staring up at him.

Getting a good look at her for the first time and drowning in her hazel eyes, Tom suggested they continue their conversation over dinner and Essence, needing the company of a man, swiftly accepted his offer.

Their infatuation for each other grew, moving into a tiny, one-bedroom apartment on the west side of Charlotte, North Carolina, after just two months. Two more strangers adding to the already overpopulated city. They owned a couch, a television, and a few pots and pans initially, but bought furniture and other expensive items they needed piece by piece while Tom worked construction through a temp agency and Essence worked uptown as a phlebotomist at Archdale Plasma Center.

Fall blurred into spring and with it, their infatuation blossomed into love. Eventually, they decided that they were meant for each other. Tom’s taste in food be damned.

“With hot sauce, a fork, and that big piece of tilapia I’m ‘bout to get her to throw on top of all that,” Tom said, pointing out the hard-fried whole tilapia behind the glass to the short, overweight, middle-aged Mexican woman piling rice into his styrofoam container. She was dressed in one of those all white t-shirt like gowns they give the workers handling food to wear (a combination of sweat and dried gravy decorated the front) and her thick, silky jetblack hair was tied in a bun underneath a hair net. Besides her ethnicity, she reminded him of the lunch ladies from his days in grade school; stubby with breasts that resembled ripe eggplants. She picked up a pair of tongs and laid the fish, still steaming from the hot grease, across the piece of wax paper she threw over the rice and chicharrones sauce in the already overstuffed container.

Watching the lady, Essence pursed her lips and made a face like she’d just swallowed a bug.

“You don’t have to eat every part of the pig, ya know. You're not a runaway. In case you missed the news, we’re in the future. Cars are going to drive themselves soon, Tom. Probably even fly. There’s plenty more stuff you could be eating,” she teased.

“Like what?”

“Not that,” she said pointing at his steaming pile of food just as the worker closed the lid.

“I’m not interested in your little woke diet. My great grandma ate every part of these filthy pigs and lived past a hundred. I'll be fine.”

“Oh, stop. That’s not true and you know it. I bet-”

“Okay. Okay. Alright, you win,” Tom cut her off, sensing he was about to be lectured. “Their food was homegrown. Most of it anyways.”

“Yeah. While these poor bastards are being raised on chemicals. I don’t plan on giving birth to Sloth just because you wanna eat pig vomit,” she said, pointing towards his food.

“You won’t have to,” Tom said, coolly.

“Maybe you’ll listen to me once you lose a foot then,” she retorted. “And don’t kiss me until after you brush your teeth.”

Tom smiled. He liked eating food she couldn’t stand. Years of having his food picked over by his ex-girlfriends taught him how to quietly make sure they kept their mouths, their hands, and their eyes on their own grub. And he was a master of the art.

Turning on her heel to escape the smell and the conversation, Essence was almost knocked over by two Mexican children chasing after one another. She smiled and regained her balance before wandering off to check the prices on chicken and ground beef while the attendant finished wrapping up Tom’s food. She had a taste for fried chicken wings and spaghetti the past two days and needed the ingredients for later.

I hope she left a couple ice cream sandwiches in the freezer.

The thought floated through Tom’s mind like a ghost in an empty house.

He watched her thumb through the individual packs of drumsticks with one leg bent at the knee in her red and white polka dot rain boots. Her matching umbrella at her side like a soldier commanded to order arms, she was searching for the freshest pack and the most reasonably priced.

Her appeal and her beauty was subtle. Her high forehead drew attention to her large hazel eyes. Tom joked often that she had anime eyes. Her smoky-quartz complected skin, unblemished and firm thanks to her early twenties, looked muted under the bright lights in the store. Her hair, fashioned in micro braids, hung down to her elbows and lay draped over her red raincoat like the stole of a bishop. She took her carefully manicured index finger and slid a few braids that were covering her eyes behind her ear. 

Tom, handsome in a non-photogenic way (he hated how his left eye looked lazy in pictures because it made him look drunk), was clever and ambitious and, just twenty-four, planned to become a freelance video editor. YouTube had been around for seven years and he saw potential in the budding platform. He was already studying different editing software and planned on buying a hard drive with money he was putting aside from work.

As it stood, he worked through a staffing agency, flip-flopping between general and skilled labor on whatever job site he could get on, mostly working fifty-hour workweeks trudging up and down multiple flights of stairs, scraping and sanding door frames, disassembling elevator shaft protectors, and sanding down handrails.

“Ya got two options to get by in this world, Tom. You either got something to sell or you need a job. That or you can try your luck in a life of crime. All it ever got me was a night in jail, but they say kids are supposed to be better than their parents.”

This was the best advice Tom’s dad had given him while deep in his whiskey-soaked thoughts. Before his mother eventually ran him off for good.

“I picked a man that lost his mind at the bottom of a bottle. And the harder he looks the more it vanishes.”

She’d say to herself while cooking or washing dishes in the evening. Her free time alone after work. He did hear her crying in her room in the middle of the night a few times. At least in the beginning before the love faded and turned to hate.

Other than his long week, Tom was trying to shake something else. A package arrived a few days ago unannounced. There was no return address and when he asked the delivery man where it came from all he did was shrug.

“I just get paid to bring stuff to your door,” the young man said before turning and walking off.

Tom took the package inside and fished the newspaper out of the 8x8x8 FedEx box and found a thumb drive wound in bubble wrap and scotch tape. There was a note with two words written on it at the bottom of the box: BLOODY WATER.

After some deliberation, he slid the thumb drive into the USB port on his laptop and prepared to be greeted by a Trojan horse. Instead he found fuzzy cellphone footage that reminded him of when he first stumbled onto skin flicks as a kid: scrambled and mostly indecipherable. Having no idea what he was looking at and not wanting to make a big deal of it, he hadn’t mentioned the drive or its contents to Essence. But the two words from the note in the anonymous package stuck with him: BLOODY WATER.

“Twelve-fifty, sir,” the stubby worker behind the counter said in her broken American accent. One of the younger workers behind the counter covered her mouth, tittering at the dumb look on Tom’s face while he stared into oblivion.

Snapping out of his daze, he handed her twenty dollars and looked over towards the poultry section. Essence was nowhere in sight. Grabbing his change and his food, he ambled over to where he’d last seen her.

He found her lying facedown between two seafood and beef-filled island refrigerated cases as stiff as the food; her micro-braids peacocked around her head, her umbrella lay limp by her side.

Tom rushed over, his heart beating out of his chest, almost dropping his food as he bumped into one of the island cases.

“Wake up, Essence,” he managed while catching his breath, sliding down beside her and turning her over.
A trickle of blood meandered down the center of her forehead.

“It’s coming,” Essence responded dryly.

Tom propped her head on his thighs, her eyes open and staring up at the ceiling like a child lying in the grass discerning familiar faces and animals in the clouds.

Epilepsy didn’t run in her family so no one could figure out how she developed the disease when she was just six months out of the womb. She explained this to Tom and he, deciding that he could handle her disorder, vowed to keep her safe. But because her episodes were sporadic, keeping her safe was a crapshoot. 

“Is it the big one?” He asked, imitating Redd Foxx (her favorite comedian).

She smiled weakly.

“I don’t think so. It just caught me off guard. Did I black out?” She asked, peering down at her feet.

Tom nodded.

“Let it happen. I’m here.”

The trickle of blood twisted snakelike around her right nostril and settled in her cupid's bow. The scene drew the attention of a few concerned customers who stopped to look at them, whispering amongst themselves. A sight Tom got used to when Essence had her attacks in public.

“Is she alright, amigo?” One of the Mexican men asked, cautiously stepping towards them, his eyes focused on the blood running down her face.

“She'll be fine, thanks,” Tom said, waving him back and turning his attention back to Essence.

“You haven’t eaten any of that nasty shit, have you?” She half-smiled.

“A whole, messy spoonful.”

“If that security guard comes back here, tell him it was the smell of that food that did this to me. Maybe this'll get them to stop serving that slop,” she joked.

Tears welling in his eyes, Tom laughed. He hated the feeling of being helpless.

“How about grabbing a bottle or two of wine? There's no need to let this ruin the rest of our day. I think I’ll have enough energy when we get home for a little practice,” she said.

“I thought you didn’t want to give birth to Sloth?” he replied, blinking away his tears.

Essence looked at Tom coyly. Staring down at her, Tom thought she resembled one of Dracula’s bride’s just then. All of a sudden he felt a twitch in his pants.

“Let’s get you off this damp floor first, thundercat.”

“Just make sure-”

She began, but the attack stole her words. As her body began to quake, he kissed her bloody forehead and held onto her shoulders.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered as she closed her eyes

.
Eight years later, he would do the same, but this time he was the one shaking, standing at the altar in the stuffy Pentecostal church overcrowded with family and friends mourning the loss of a woman once filled with life. Hunched over her casket, eyes red, tears dripping from his chin onto her cheeks, he kissed her forehead and wished she had another joke to tell. Wished they hadn’t argued the day she was killed. Wished…but it didn't matter. The dead are silent. And the grief left in their absence is devastating.

I have been having eye problems and I went to the eye doctor to check my eyes out. He checked out my eyes and he told me that I am starting to see through the eyes of some other person. The eye doctor could see someone being imprisoned in a prison, as he checked through my eyes. I told him yes I am seeing through the eyes of someone who is looking at someone who is imprisoned. I added further details that the prisoner inside this prison, is keeping someone else imprisoned inside another prison. A prison within a prison.

Then there is another prison inside the second prison. So a prison within a prison within a prison. It's a weird like prison and the eye doctor said that there is nothing he could do as the condition has progressed too far. I will be seeing through the eyes of this individual more and more, until I become him. I don't want to become this person and the more I see these prisons through this person's eyes, it's becoming more real. The first prison is the largest, then the second prison inside the large prison is smaller, and the third prison inside the second prison gets even smaller. Each prison has a person in it and why this has been made is nor clear to me.

Then as the visions started to become more extreme, I started to feel the body that I would one day take over. I started to see that I am also in a prison and the prison I am in is the largest one, and my prison has 3 smaller prisons inside of it which I must guard. I don't want to be in a prison and I begged the eye doctor to do something about it. He told me that I will soon become that person who I am seeing through their eyes. I don't want to be that guy.

Then came the time I fully became that person who I been seeing through his eyes. I realised I had become the eye doctor and he was inside this large prison, which housesmd 3 smaller prison. Then the doctor realised his prison was also inside another much larger prison. Never ending prisons within prisons.

Then the jail door opens and I walk out to be the eye doctor.

I'm 21 female. My boyfriend is 30 male.

He insists that there is nothing wrong with him hanging out with his female friends.

I normally would agree because I don't consider myself the jealous or controlling type.

The problem is that the hangouts look like dates. Going out to dinner with candles and flowers, staying the night at their houses, and even constantly talking about their good qualities.

We've argued about it several different times and he treats me like I'm crazy.

The weirdest part is that the girls disappear after a couple of dates. Sometimes after the first one.

I've had a sneaking suspicion that it's one night stands and casual fun.

I've tried everything I can to keep his attention. I wear sexy clothes, lace undergarments, being extra flirtatious, cooking his favorite meals, doing literally every single thing he likes.

I've even tried spicing things up in the bedroom. Nothing works.

He thanks me and then continues doing whatever he was doing before.

It hurts my feelings because we're never intimate and I feel like his desire for me went out the drain.

It all changed last night when I found his journal. He wrote about each girl in great detail.

He wrote about how he befriends them and acts charming. He then kills them after gaining trust.

They aren't innocent, though. They've all been in prision for various crimes.

I initially thought it was sickening until I started fantasizing. Vigilantes are hot. The fact that he isn't cheating on me and even wrote about how I'm the only one for him is so romantic.

He only acted strange because he didn't want his secret to be revealed.

I'll keep that dirty secret.

This is incredibly difficult for me to talk about. I feel, I don’t know, ashamed, I guess. Like I’ve somehow failed as a parent. When I was growing up, I thought my parents hated me.

I never wanted that for my daughter. I wanted her to know how much I loved her. That my love was unconditional.

I’ve never felt as proud as I did the day she came into this world. It was almost like looking into a mirror. She had my eyes. My ears. Our noses were practically identical. And her smile, God, it was like nothing else mattered in the entire world.

I wanted her to have that same pride in herself. I never wanted her to ever feel any self-hatred. That’s another thing my parents made me feel. I didn’t get their pride. I didn’t get their love. I got cold stares. I got nights where I couldn’t sleep because Mom’s cries were so loud.

I didn’t ask for my family. I didn’t ask to be assigned to them. They were supposed to accept me, and they failed, miserably.

I guess the universe has a strange sense of humor because now, it’s like my daughter can’t accept herself.

She doesn’t hunt with me anymore. She tries to suppress her urge. She doesn’t do the cute little growl she used to do as a baby. I bet it’s 10 times as impactful now, but I wouldn’t know because she just refuses to practice.

She won’t even climb trees anymore. She’d rather hide out at home. Curled up in the dark, pouting to herself.

Of course, I try and comfort her, try and make her realize she should be proud of who she is, but she just rejects me. It seems like that’s all life is for me. Rejection from the people who are supposed to love me.

She tells me I “wouldn’t get it,” whatever the hell that means.

She hates her skin, so she tries to cover it up. She hates her teeth, so she refuses to smile. She even wears beanies that she stole from humans to cover her pointy ears.

That’s something I guess I can respect. At least she’s causing harm to them, even if it’s just with something as simple as stealing. I just wish she’d steal something useful like meat rather than clothes and makeup.

That’s something I never quite understood. Makeup clearly makes shedding more difficult. Why would you want life to be harder than it already is? I mean, we already have to hide out in the woods.

I guess that’s not my place, though.

It’s starting to get more concerning, however. It was already hard to watch her cry because she felt different. Now I have to watch her quite literally alter herself to fit into “social norms,” as she calls it.

She’s already filed down her fangs. When she does hunt, all she has now are her claws, and those are much easier to get rid of than teeth.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not with the times. All I know is that I want her to be happy in the body she was given.

There are no female specimens left for her to look up to, and I’m just an old, out-of-touch Dad, apparently.

I hope this matter resolves itself. I’ll keep doing my best to get her to see that they’re the monsters, not us.

Until then, I’ll just keep reminiscing on the simpler times. I kept her shell, and these days, that seems to be the only thing that brings me peace.

Well, that and hunting humans.

I was on the couch nearly asleep when I felt something tap me on my arm. Something hard. Something physical. I opened my eyes expecting to see my pregnant wife, but no one was there. 

I looked around, and that’s when I barely caught a faint sound coming from the kitchen. A sound I almost missed and would have had I been asleep.

“Hon?” I instinctively yelled, expecting a response. 

However, nobody responded. I glanced at the screen on my phone. It was midnight.

Midnight already, I thought.

It was a quarter past ten the last time I checked. I could have sworn that I closed my eyes a minute ago.

“I must’ve passed out,” I said under my breath.

Below the time, a notification was glowing, a text from my wife, sent at 10:30 pm, read: Staying at Rebecca’s for the night, love you.

Rebecca’s her sister.

The house felt quiet. Too quiet. I jumped as soon as the heat shot on. The kick on my back through the sofa felt like something entered me.

I convinced myself that I must be tired, maybe even a little stressed and it had finally caught up. Mental fatigue. But as one thought passed to the next, I heard another noise.

Something slowly scraped the floor above me, like a dresser dragging, the noise either came from the nursery, or our bedroom, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Hon?” I shouted as loud as I could.

A door upstairs creaked open, almost how someone trying to peek through the space between it and the frame, without trying to be noticed. The sound came from the nursery, I was sure of it. The chimes on the door clanged lightly.

“Who’s there?” I hopped up and made my way upstairs. 

At the top step, I saw a shadow, it had a human-like outline, about the same size of a small boy. I flashed my phone at it. The shadow froze. The light on my phone took a take a breath, it went off and on. 

It was as if someone pressed their hand against my phone and smothered the light with their palm—It happened so fast, between inhaling and exhaling—that I didn’t have time to fully understand what just occurred.

I still assumed at the time, that someone was inside the house, either messing with me, or someone broke in. The last thing on my mind was something paranormal. I couldn’t really appreciate what had happened until a couple of nights later.

I stood there stuck between stomping forward and stumbling backward, when the light from my phone’s camera flicked off and on, it lit up the closet in the middle of the hallway after I shook the phone and pointed it back to a random spot, shining like a spotlight on an escaping prisoner, right where the figure paused when I caught it with the flashlight, almost as if something was trying to show me something.

I charged upstairs, banging down on each step as I stormed up, the sound was as loud as dribbling a bowling ball on a wooden, living room floor.

At the top, I slapped the light switch with my hand. But It didn’t turn on. Not right then at least. I used my phone to illuminate each end of the hall. First, brightening the wall at one end and then the doorways on the other, but nothing was there.

I pressed my back against the wall and cautiously slid down the hall. My heart was beating through my ears and eyes. It was pulsing inside my skull. My ears rose with each pump of blood feeding my heart, like someone pulling them towards the ceiling every second.

Without thinking, I blurted out the first thing in my head, “I got a weapon!” I shouted, warning the intruders.

I stared at the nursery, the door was cracked half-way open. We always kept that door closed. All the time. 

Jessica wouldn’t be born until May. This happened early January.

I couldn’t scratch the itch something was staring at me through the darkness, it felt like someone hovering over my shoulder while writing in a personal journal. The feeling was so intense my skin began pinching, and itching, like fresh cuts opening and instantly scabbing.

I scratched the back of my neck. I dug so hard without realizing that I had skin and speckles of blood trapped under my fingernails.

I looked down at my phone, hammered in the unlock pin and dialed my wife. But when I placed it to my ear, the phone died. 

And so did the flashlight, I had a hood of black, suffocating darkness thrown over me, like someone stuffed me in a potato sack and sealed it. It left me with a cold chill that made me shiver as if someone ran their fingertips down my spine, pinched and lightly blew on the back of my neck.

I started gagging, then choked on the air when it flowed into my lungs with the same weight of breathing in water—I felt trapped—it was the same feeling as being stuck under a thick sheet of ice after falling in.

Then, something happened, I have no idea what it was. Or what exactly occurred, but a black silhouette stepped in front of me. It clogged the darkness in a thick outline before the hall lights turned on.

Once the lights went on, the feeling of being watched left along with the stickiness coating my skin.

I've lost cartilage in both my knees and it really sucks. Cartilage acts like a cushion for the bone bit and sits in between the bones. Without the cartilage the two bones in the knee hit each other and it causes pain. I went to the doctor and he had a new cartilage operation which was on trial. I couldn't wait for it and he didn't tell me much more else about it. I went for the operation and afterwards both my knees felt amazing. I felt like a new man and I loved walking and running. We take these things for granted.

Then 6 months later at night time, as I went to the bathroom I could hear faint screaming. Then as I went to the bathroom the faint screaming continued and I could definitely hear it. I thought I was hearing things and then I noticed blood on my knees. I wasn't feeling pain but blood was clearly coming out of my knees. I wear shorts to bed and as I walked towards my bed, I could hear the faint screaming and I started to follow it. Then i swore the screaming was coming from my knees. Everytimes I walked the screaming continued and when I stopped walking or sat down somewhere, there was a great moan.

Then I went to the doctors and I told the doctors about the screaming in my knees. The doctor said that the cartilage he used was a miniaturised obese men in both my knees, everytimes I walk or run, the two obese men who were shrunk down to act as my cartilage take the shock of my knees hitting each other. I was shocked and i felt so bad that I was causing so much pain to someone else everytime I walked. The doctor told me that my knees would soon need new cartilages.

The new human cartilage only lasts about 6 months. The doctor told me that he has 2 muscular fat men that he had shrunken down, to be my new cartilage. These two should be able to take more shock and I should have more ease. The doctor said that it should last for 1.5 years. I went for it and after the operation I felt amazing again and I could run, walk and jog. I literally forgot that I have two muscular fat obese guys acting as my cartilage for my knees.

Then after 1.5 years, I could hear faint screaming and blood coming out of my knees. Here we go again..