I work as a night watchman. I operate in a building owned
by a government agency. They specialize in science and research
related to space exploration. I work the night shift. This profession and the location specific gig have been my main source of income
for two years. I have generally had nothing
but enthusiasm for my job. The reason I was a candidate is because
of my experience as a combat veteran. I had already proven
that I was trustworthy to keep secrets, things seen and heard that
most of the population is not exposed to. Was far from new for me. In the first six months,
I received training on how to check every major part
of the headquarters. I could not believe the
freedom of mobility my superiors gave me. They issued my first master key
and my retinal scan was in their system. I patrolled the building,
divided into four sections. These were aeronautics, research, human exploration and operations,
science and space technology. The science sector was further split
into four more wings. They were astrophysics, earth, science, heliophysics, and planetary science. I entered areas
usually restricted from the public.
I signed non-disclosure agreements
wearing the utmost confidentiality. After these steps,
I could go anywhere on the property. A lifetime of being an avid fan of Carl
Sagan made me appreciate my access
to everything. Granted, I was always on camera whenever
I stepped into any of the main areas. So even if I did have an interest
in bringing anything home with me, there was little to no chance
that I would get away with it. There was one titanium door
I was not allowed to walk through, though. There was no label on its front, so I knew it was not an office
belonging to any executive. There was also no surveillance camera
in the vicinity focused on the door. I always wondered what was behind there. I can remember asking my trainer
and what the room held and he moved on to a different topic. I did not press the issue. I was too new. I always wanted to ask somebody else. But on the graveyard shift, there was
rarely anyone else there with me. I was the only security personnel. None of the top brass would be present
during the ridiculous hours I kept.
I came to form a semi-closed relationship with one of the surveillance
agents named Tom. He would usually clock in around 7 a.m. during brief morning moments. We established a rapport. I once asked him what was behind the door. I even had Starbucks
delivered in an attempt to bribe him. It was once used as an archive of various lifeforms found in the ocean,
he said with a shrug.
Not completely sure. It's used for discarded dumb parts
that engineering has no use for anymore. If I had to guess. One night I walked by the door. Everything was completely silent. I would break policy
and listen to a podcast through Bluetooth while doing my checks. On this particular night,
I was enjoying nothing more than the sound of my footsteps. As I pace the halls. That was when I heard a scream. I slammed my fists on the door. I announced myself as trained
if they needed any help. Everything became quiet again. I contemplated what I should do,
giving my director a call and asking for further guidance was a sure
fire way to irritate him. Still, my conscience did not tolerate
the notion of ignoring a cry for help. My mind
always went to the worst case scenario. I retrieved my cell phone
and called someone of higher rank. At first he listened to my recounting. Once I gave him the geographical location
of the entranceway. His tone changed. He became dismissive. Its creaky pipes. He said, put in order for the maintenance
team to take a look at it in the morning.
My curiosity would not go away. I wondered if detainees from foreign lands
were there or if it was something far more insidious
than even I could imagine. My paranoia only grew. One morning when Tom walked in,
I pulled him to the side. We spoke in a vestibule,
which led to a computer room. Part of my job consists of taking out the
trash from every office during my shift. I said. There's been many times when I've noticed
that your wastebasket is empty and I know it's
not for the lack of paperwork you do. I know you've been stealing some files. I usually look the other way
because I want to give you the benefit of the doubt,
and I respect you. He looked at me
with a dumbfounded expression. He tried to utter something
around a bunch of nervous stutters.
I interrupted him and continued the door that no one seems to know anything about
has some sort of very real significance. I also don't believe that there are
no surveillance cameras in that hallway. I think it's hidden. And if that's the case, I need you to
secure it for me when I answer it tonight. I need your help getting a master
key to it, which I know you have. If you don't,
then I'll report my findings. My blackmail worked. He slipped me a key
with a handshake later on in the morning before I left for home. I had every intention of using it
as soon as I could.
I waited until the dead of night. The middle of my shift
was the prime hours for isolation. I would exploit the lack of oversight
on my shift. I took unusual routes to get to the door. I knew the action
I was about to take could cost me my job. It seemed like the right thing to do. I slipped the card into the motion sensor. It blinked red at first
and then turned to bright green. If they ever did a reading of the entries
and exits for that lock, it would read the name
of another employee.
I knew it was not my friend Tom's. I wondered how long he'd been pilfering
such top tier company related property. The door cracked open when I walked in. The chamber was completely black. I took a few more steps in. I found a fluorescent overhead light
that illuminated the area. With each step I took, a siren went off. The shriek made me feel
as though my eardrums were about to burst. I looked around to see if any strobe
lights were spinning, but did not see any. I turned around and saw
another lock on the inside of the room. It was near a metal slab
that held stacks of manila envelopes. I put the key into it
and the alarms ceased.
Although I had made the trouble
signal evaporate. I still expected men
with guns drawn to crash in. I expected shouted orders
to get down and surrender. I had a nightmarish vision of someone
putting a black bag over my head. I knew they would bring me to a secret prison on an island
in the middle of nowhere. I gazed around the room. Everything seemed primitive. There were larger machines that looked
as though they came off of a battleship from the eighties. They were rust colored and grimy. There were so many metallic,
spindly and industrial contraptions. Cobwebs and dust blanketed everything. In each corner of the ceiling
were large speakers and they were not a brand I recognized.
It seems as though they were custom
built for this place. I turned the corner and peered
into the adjacent room. I could not believe what I saw. A podium with illustrations of Seraphim
Wings stood in the center of the domain, a circular
glass encasement wrapped around the top. I approached it and peered
through the translucent barrier. A horrible smell greeted me. I found another slot. I used the key once
more to get the glass to retract and fold so I could see the contents
on top of the slab.
It was a thick stack of yellow legal pads. Each page contained finely
printed chunks of text in fine, calligraphic handwriting. I began reading from the top. I flipped through the pages. I found the author
to be a well-known scientist I had small interactions with regularly. Within the last few months,
the document began. I have received a series of acoustic sound
waves. The skills I use to track their sonic
trajectories gave me accurate measurements. I have determined
that it comes from the asteroid Icarus. These readings
make it even more difficult to capture their erratic and unpredictable distances
or challenging the formula needed actual syllables,
albeit unfamiliar ones. Their sounds were guttural
and diaphragmatic. There was a strange aggressiveness
to the vocal cord projection. I transcribed each one painstakingly. I ran everyone through an archive database
to see if there were any matches. My decision to do
so was random and experimental, with the lowest of expectations. What I discovered is they did
formal language from here on Earth.
It was one created by English Renaissance
Occultists, John D and Edward Kelly. I gulped before
I continued on to the next paragraph. Very little fazed me, but something about the paranormal
always left me uneasy. The tellings of Jin and Ghosts
in Afghanistan resonated with me. So did the evidence of curses. After our hard fought battles
which desecrated sacred sites. When translated,
the text is cohesive in its native form. It follows a linear structure
and manages to be comprehensive. It tells a very familiar tale
for anyone who ever went to Sunday school. It is a first person perspective story
about an entity that claims to be a fallen angel. The angelic creatures, benevolent
or malevolent, ended up exiled
from their original galaxy. They stressed the pure destructiveness
of their power. They compare their threat level
to Lucifer and influence. I continued flipping through the pages. There was a variety of strange
charts and glyphs scattered throughout. I went down to open one of the cupboards
at the bottom of the podium and knocked the whole thing over. The scientists
body lay there in a crumpled position. Is innards seeped out of his stomach.
The carvings on his flesh resembled angel wings. My wife Kate, sometimes calls me Jack
when she gets upset. Jack was the name of my wife's
first husband, and that's pretty much
all I know about him. Kate was reluctant
to talk about the marriage. It was unusually brief
and from what I gather, wholly unpleasant. I did my best not to pry. Still, the idea that there was a man
before me sometimes tug on my insecurities. I usually kept my feelings to myself as
I didn't want to open any old wounds. But now I'm starting to wonder
what happened to him. I met Kate shortly after I finished
my undergrad at the Houston Symphony. I'm not sure why I went,
since I never preferred classical music, but I couldn't complain
about free tickets. Unbeknownst to me, I would sit next
to my future wife during Mozart's Requiem. Kate and I talked the whole time. It was like I had known her for years. I mustered up the courage
to ask her for dinner and have been madly in love with her
ever since. He was a bit older than me,
which I had no problem with.
She was just finishing up her
psychiatry residency when we first met. Kate came from a wealthy
and posh English family with long ties to the banking industry
and scientific discovery. They intimidated me because I was the first person
in my family to even complete high school. We didn't see Kate's family very much, and I got the impression
that they disapproved of our relationship. But that didn't matter to Kate. She loved me for who I was. We eloped after only six months
of dating and moved in together. Kate started her practice in our new home,
and life began to make sense.
I didn't have to worry about money
anymore. And Kate suggested
I quit teaching to focus more on my novel. I've been writing a book
about my creativity and willpower. Took a dive when I started teaching. Sitting at my desk
all day was dull and isolating. I sometimes wondered
if I was even meant to be a writer. To decompress, I'd take walks in the park
and watch the landscapers cut the grass and trim the hedges.
I felt an odd kinship
toward them and fantasized about riding on one of their lawnmowers
in the hot sun. Anything was better
than being crammed at my desk. But I knew Kate would be disappointed
if I gave up writing entirely. The boredom got to me one day. I just couldn't stand being trapped
in my study for another 8 hours. She was at a medical conference,
so I had the whole house to myself for a few days. After one or two bottles of wine, I found
myself standing outside of Kate's office. Kate was very protective of her office
space, and I couldn't step foot in there
unless I brought her lunch. But I was drunk,
and my curiosity got the better of me. So I went in.
Kate's
office was smaller than I remembered. It had olive green walls
and was usually dimly lit with candles. There was a relaxing waterfall
fountain in the back corner. And when you lay on the chase lounge, you felt like
you were in a tropical paradise. I sat down to clear my head
when I noticed another door in the room. I was sure that I had never seen it
before. I opened the door and was greeted
by a black room with soundproofed walls. In the middle of the room
was a tiny round table with two lounge chairs,
an old light bulb hung from the ceiling. What the hell was this place? It felt strangely familiar
and I felt anxious when I explored it.
In the corner of the room
was a dusty filing cabinet. It must have contained patient records. I know I shouldn't have opened it,
but I was still inebriated enough to do something irresponsible. I opened the top drawer, but it only contained one thing
a wrinkled composition notebook. I picked up the notebook and realized
it was someone else's journal. The first date was almost ten years ago, written on the top
margin in faded black ink. Jack Taylor. I rushed back to my study
and slammed the door. I knew I would feel terrible
for invading Kate's privacy once I sobered up,
but I started reading the journal anyway.
The first entry was short and many words
were either crossed out or misspelled. Dr. Kate said I should keep a journal
to write down my thoughts. She said, It will help me feel better. So here they are. My name is Jack Taylor. I'm 25 years old. I was born in Waco. I like to be outside. I like to watch the Cowboys on Sunday. I like to drink Lone Star beer. That's all. I guess I almost started laughing. No wonder their marriage
didn't last very long. This guy was a total dud and not at all
Kate's type. I wonder what she saw in him. I decided to keep reading as my ego
prevented me from not making fun of this guy. I glanced over to the next entry. I showed Kate my first page
and she got mad at me.
She said this was a journal
for feelings and emotions. Well, excuse me. It was her idea in the first place. I feel bad, I guess. She's so smart. And I'm just a gardener. I'll have my own business someday, though. And then I'll ask Kate to marry me. I started to feel bad
after the second passage. Jack may have been a bit dim,
but I could definitely empathize with him. I always felt like
I needed to be better for Kate. It could be hard to be with someone
so much more accomplished than yourself. I mulled over whether or not I wanted to continue reading,
but I decided to keep going. The following passage was dated
almost a year later. I know it's been a while
since I've written in this journal because I've decided to only write
when I felt depressed.
Kate keeps bringing up the idea of me
going back to school, and while that sounds nice,
I'm content with our life. I enjoy writing
and I even have ideas for a book. I'm not sure I want to return to college. The landscaping business
is doing better than I anticipated. It's blue collar work,
and I know Kate is embarrassed because her family back
in Cornwall disapproves. However, we said our vows,
which should mean more to her. I'll talk to her tomorrow. I need to put my foot down. I stopped reading to pour
another glass of wine. It was interesting to hear Jack's
perspective on his marriage to Kate. Kate never outright
said anything nasty about Jack, but I always got the feeling
that he was solely the problem. I guess situations are always
more complicated than they seem. I flipped to the next page
with a different perspective. Plus, his writing had improved
dramatically since his first entry. The fighting with Kate is getting worse.
Why can't she just accept me for who I am? I will never be the sensual,
introspective novelist that she desires. I have a business to run. A business,
I might add, that has paid for this house and extra additions for her new office
Once she finishes her residency. I'm just so exhausted from the constant
mental gymnastics with her. It's almost like she's trying
to conform me to her weird fantasy. I like what I do. I shook my head
and took another sip of wine. It was almost surreal reading
Jack's journal.
We were more similar than I had
originally thought. Was Kate doing the same thing to me? I really enjoyed teaching,
but I knew it wouldn't be enough for her. I kept reading. Last night
I had that terrible nightmare again. I dreamt I was sitting in a dark room
and sitting at a chipped wooden table. Kate was there too, and she kept turning the light on and off
while saying terrible things to me. Before I woke up, she was screaming,
almost foaming at the mouth.
I've never seen her that angry before. I haven't been able to sleep very well
recently, and I honestly don't feel like myself anymore. I've called in sick to work for the past
three days. I thought being outside
would help me breathe again. But working is the last thing
I want to do. Perhaps Kate is right. Maybe a change of scenery
would be helpful for me.
I froze after I read the last page. The room Jack dreamt about
had to be the same in Kate's office. Was Kate doing something to him? I crept back into Kate's office
and slipped into the room again. It felt even smaller this time. And the feelings of anxiousness
rose from my stomach again. I grasped my chest struggling to breathe
until I thought I was almost suffocating. What was going on with me? My knees started to buckle and I slid
into the cold wooden tables only chair. I looked up and it felt like the vent. A black wall slowly moved towards me. I mustered up all my strength
and threw myself at the filing cabinet to put Jack's journal back. This time I knocked over a small manila
folder from the top of the cabinet. Was this here before? I grabbed it and rushed out of the room,
collapsing on Kate's Chase lounge. I quickly came back to my senses
and inspected the folder. It was filled with documents,
and on the corner was a rectangular blue sticker labeled Jack Taylor. Inside were patient records
in various essays scribbled in handwriting that looked like Keats.
Was Jack Keats patient
before they were married? That didn't make any sense. He hadn't even started her practice
when we got married. How was she already treating patients? And to marry one. Kate was almost too paranoid
about following ethical guidelines to break her oath
seemed unfathomable to me. Against my best judgment, I opened
the folder and combed through the pages. Jack was undergoing treatment
for dissociative identity disorder and depression. Early forms of the therapy weren't
helping. And Kate wrote in her notes
that she would try a controversial form of the treatment
as an alternative hypnosis. My eyes immediately
darted to the corner room, the door still hanging wide open,
revealing an abyss.
So that's what the room was for. I kept flipping through the pages and found through Kate's notes
that the therapy seemed to be working. Though Jack's disorder
desperately tried to fight it, there were several documents
on hypnotherapy and a letter from a former professor on his experience
implementing the procedure. I knew from Jackson Journal
that he had vague memories of being hypnotized
and that they manifested into his dreams. This was wrong. A photograph slid out of one of the papers
in the folder. I picked it up to examine it. It was a picture of Kate
and a man I assumed to be Jack. He was burly with cropped black hair, a
bushy beard, and an apparent farmer's tan. He looked familiar, but
I didn't think I had ever seen him before. Maybe I learned too much about this man. But I'm deciding to confront Kate
about him. She always preaches that honest
conversations strengthen relationships. So now is the time. I'm going to finish up writing here
and then wait for Kate to get home.
It may be painful,
but I need to do this for myself and maybe even for Jack, wherever he may be. I suppose I owe you an explanation. I'm honestly impressed at
how much of a sleuth you are. I have no idea how you came across
Tom's musings, though it does not matter. Fine. I will grant you this one favor. Jack came to me
as a patient in the early 2000. He was a gardener
who drove his large truck through a bar during a manic episode. I must admit,
he was quite striking when I met him. Tall, muscular and hairy. Exactly. My type. Physically, he wasn't. Oh. How do you Americans say this? The sharpest knife in the drawer. But what if he could be? What if he could be convinced over time
that he was the man of my dreams? Hypnosis is a tricky procedure,
and it takes years to bind someone to your will. I hit an impasse after Jack and I
were married until I had an epiphany.
Jack Taylor would never be
a romantic writer who would serenade me with poems
and beach novellas. But Tom Rhodes could be. I didn't need to bend someone to my will. I needed to get them to believe they were
not the person they thought they were. Through hypnosis,
a gardener could become a novelist. The experiment went extraordinarily
well at first. But alas,
Tom's disorder was incredibly resilient. It was like his dad was leading him
to the truth in a cruel and twisted way. I knew he was getting closer
to finding out the truth when he started drinking
more and writing less. I told him
I was going to a news conference and let him figure out the truth
for himself. Where is he now? Oh, darling, I wouldn't worry about Tom anymore. His job is done and he is now at peace. I'm ready to close the chapter
on this experiment. I'm done with using hypnosis for love. But you won't. Are we going to do with you? The screaming in the hall echoed
and distorted as new voices joined it. Sometimes the subject screamed so loudly, and for so long
they rip their vocal cords apart or would start spewing blood from the torn
capillaries in their throats.
I smiled to myself personally. I had nothing against
any of these men and women here, even though some of them were from
terrorist groups or drug cartels. We had murderers, torturers, rapists, terrorists
and gang members galore to experiment on. But who was I to judge their actions? After all, I wasn't a much better person. I was just on a different side. I tortured people for the CIA
and to protect the USA. Above all, J, a chubby blond secretary
with a moon face, said from behind me. I turned to look at her. Cheryl? I said, nodding my head and smiling
pleasantly. Cheryl was the ultimate
in compartmentalization. At home, she was just a regular soccer mom
with kids and PTA meetings. Here she was an efficient bureaucrat
for a secret black ops project that regularly tortured people,
sometimes even to death. She kept each part of her life separate
and never seemed bothered by switching from one to the other.
Her help had likely prevented
dozens of terrorist attacks and kidnapings across the globe. The screaming was almost deafening now, so I pulled her by her arm
and we headed towards a nearby breakroom where I poured myself
a cup of coffee and lit a cigaret. So I have good news, she said, cheerily, smiling,
a fake sweet smile at me. Your new method of enhanced
interrogation has a 95% success rate. 95%? I exclaimed, Elated. That's higher than waterboarding
or sensory deprivation or anything else. Actually, that's exponentially higher. The new method of enhanced interrogation a euphemism for torture, involves
a drug called Salvia Divine aura. We would extract the main psychoactive
chemical from it, which was called Salvador in a
and run an IV drip into the subjects.
Normally,
salvia divine venom was smoked and created intense dysphoric hallucinations
that rapidly faded. After a few minutes. But by running an IV drip of the drug,
we could keep the subjects drugged in a nightmare horror
state for days or weeks. Their minds would start to snap after
a week straight of the drug, however. At times
we would combine the effects of the drug with sensory deprivation or waterboarding
on the most hardened subjects. Being a scientific man myself,
I had tried a single I.V. syringe of Salvadoran A so that I would
know what the subjects were going through.
Just that one dose was immensely horrible. I saw myself getting cut up into five
pieces, the room falling apart, the fake plastic plants
decorating My office started talking to me
and mocking me with sarcastic movements. It was an incredibly uncomfortable
and disorienting experience for the three or 4 minutes that it lasted, and I could see why even the most
psychopathic killer would start to crack after days straight of living
in that constantly nightmarish world.
Cheryl
held out a folder to me, a top secret label and CIA
insignia embedded into the front of it. I frowned and took it. What's this? I asked, opening it up. You are being moved? She said, putting her hands up. Look,
I tried to argue against it, telling them your research here wasn't finished,
but they insisted they have something far more important for you stateside. They want you to leave Guantanamo Bay
within 15 minutes. They have a helicopter
waiting for you outside already. This is ridiculous. I said, my heart rate rising
and a warm flush taking over my face. I'm not even close
to finishing my research here.
I need at least another week
to finalize the results. She shook her head at me. Orders from the top brass. Sorry, Jay, she said, turning to leave. Fuming. I went to my office and packed up
the most important files in a briefcase, then walked out to the helipad. It was already running. Blowing the salty Caribbean
air around me in a deafening cacophony. The pilot took off
as soon as I was in the helicopter. Looking to my left, I saw Cheryl. She smiled warmly at me,
then looked down at her phone. I sat back in the seat,
feeling the vibrations of the craft resonate through my body
as we headed towards Florida. What could they have wanted me to see
that was so important? It needed me to immediately
leave my current assignment. I wondered. I had seen some horrible things
men breaking their bones as they strained against the drowning,
horror of waterboarding, mentoring their own eyeballs out
after they had lost their sanity.
Prisoners killing other prisoners
by ripping throats out with their teeth. I hoped that what they had waiting for me
would not leave me with any deeper PTSD
than I already suffered. I already had enough nightmares
to last me a thousand years. I had woken up screaming for the past week
straight, and at times I was afraid to fall asleep
for what I would see in the dream world. Soon I could see the white sand
of the Florida beaches approaching. The black up site was surrounded by three
layers of razor wire topped electric fences. Guards and sniper towers formed an outer perimeter
every few hundred feet. No one had ever escaped from this site,
which we simply call the lighthouse. Inside the razor wire
stood a single behemoth of a building pure white,
with no windows or insignia anywhere. It rose up and became narrower
as it did so. Each floor formed in a perfect circle and at the top layer helipad,
where the pilot now aimed the chopper. It did resemble a lighthouse in some ways,
hence the nickname.
That wasn't
the only reason why we called it that. However,
this was also the main hub of psychic research for the entire Eastern seaboard. The prisoners here were chosen for their
supposed paranormal or mystical abilities to be studied at leisure
by the scientists and agents of the CIA. As I got out of the chopper, an agent with black sunglasses
and a black suit was waiting for me. Dr. Salem? He asked me, shaking my hand. You can just call me J. I said, smiling, my fake smile. With a gentle guiding hand on my shoulder,
he led me down to the top level. We have been following your research
with the Salvadoran agent with Rapture,
he said, a deadpan expression on his face. As we entered the staircase,
the fluorescent lights began to flicker. We actually modified the agent
somewhat synthetically, strengthened it, and added some chemical functional groups that make it cross into the brain
more effectively. We are about to test it
on the first patient here Shaman. We kidnaped from the Amazon
after witnessing his ability to levitate objects
to create light out of his hands in pure darkness
as well as other psychic phenomena.
I followed him down a sterile, gray hall to a gray metal door
labeled 1308. He opened it and I followed him inside. A naked, brown skinned man was strapped
down to a metal gurney, an I.V. tube leading from his arm to a machine
from the top of the I.V. pole. Hung this illusion labeled Salvadorian
a foxy Alpha. See a doctor in a lab coat stood
next to him, smiling as we walked in. The CIA agent nodded at him
and he turned on the machine, letting the solution begin
to drip down the clear plastic tubing and into the vein of the restrained man
before me. His eyes widened in surprise and he lifted
his head and looked straight at me. The fires of hell
seemed to dance behind his dilated pupils. His face transformed into a vicious snarl, his frown lines deepening to cracks
as he regarded me with abject hatred. You will see how damned you are, he said, with a Spanish accent,
never taking his gaze off of me.
And you will see hell on knees before you. You are demons in human skin. But the real demons are here
to reclaim the throne. He smiled wickedly, the grin appearing to move unnaturally wide
until it reached ear to ear. The slit wrists of the sky will open up and the horrors of hell will be with you. Why is he still talking? I ask the doctor. Usually subjects become immediately
incapacitated by the intensity
and dysphoria of the experience. I've never seen one able to talk before,
even on Silva, nor any.
And you claim
this chemical is much stronger than that? The doctor shook his head. This is not a normal subject, Dr. Salem. He said to me. This man broke the next of two soldiers
as we brought him in without even touching them
in terms of psychic powers. He's one of the strongest specimens
we've ever seen. We have given him
large doses of other drugs, such as LSD and barbiturates,
and he seems to metabolize them much faster and remain mostly unaffected,
even when he's injected with heavy doses. I looked back at the shaman and immediately
realized something was immensely wrong. Where there had been a white wall
behind him. There now stood a fiery red hallway
that seemed to extend for a thousand feet. His gaze had left me
and now stared into the back of the room. A massive metal door
that looked hundreds of feet tall, stood there with a shriek of metal. It began to slide open slowly.
That door hasn't been open
for a hundred thousand years. The shaman said, his voice rising
with a mixture of euphoria and rage. But I have opened it for you now. Smoke and fire poured forward
from the door as dozens of blackened, grasping hands grasped it,
trying to push it forward faster. The mammoth weight of it
held them in for a few seconds longer. But as more and more hands joined
in, it started to fly open, then smashed into the wall with a deafening roar
like a gunshot going off. I turned to run then,
but found the door behind me locked. I ran to it, trying to open the knob
or turn the deadbolt, but it felt like I was fighting
against the solid metal wall.
Looking back behind me,
I saw the first of the beings had reached the end of the hellish entry way
and reached the CIA agent and the doctor. The beings that ran into our room
had black and sizzling skin. Smoke still billowing behind them. They had no clothes, but only burnt flesh. Their eyes glowed red, their hair all gone
from the constant fires they lived in. And they began to rip the CIA agent
and doctor apart with their bare hands. They tore off their skin, leaving
blackened marks as they flayed them with sheer brute strength, licking the blood
off their hands with sighs of pleasure. At that moment, the door to the room burst open and a team of CIA agents and SWAT
gear entered. Assault rifles raised. I let them all run past me
and then tore off down the hall behind me. I heard screams that echoed after me. I ran back to the helipad
and told the pilot what had happened, and we quickly left that den of horror. I don't know what happened back
at the lighthouse, but I got out alive. The pilot and I were the only ones, as far
as I know, who left that place alive.
Hopefully
the evil was contained within its walls. But if it gets out, it may lead to the end of our world. Hi, everyone. Before we begin,
I'd like to thank the original author, Jordan Crew,
for letting me narrate his story. Jordan is a narrator himself and has a ton
of great content on his YouTube channel. I've linked it below for you to check out. That said, enjoy the story. The job of a Yosemite Park
ranger is in what most people imagine. A lot of people picture us
as law enforcement types, handing tickets and enforcing parking rules when really
that's just a very niche aspect of it. Mostly we're just here to assist you handing out maps, not speeding tickets
and giving people directions to the best views
or to ideal camping locations. We remind people about safety
and weather conditions from day to day, but the main thing we do,
and this is more vital than people realize,
is that we're just here in case anyone gets lost or hurt.
We deal with a lot of belligerent people
who like to think the park is their personal playground,
where they can do whatever they want. It's my job to remind them
to follow the rules, to dispose of their trash properly,
to pick up after their dog, and to clip its leash
back on while walking the trails. Some people take this
as a personal assault on their freedoms when really I'm just looking out
for the safety of the other visitors. Like cyclists and horseback riders
who share the paths, dogs can be unpredictable
and can misbehave on trails. And we have to look out for everyone. Still, I don't often get a lot of positive
feedback for enforcing the rules. Nobody likes to be told what to do. Trust me, I get it. Every once in a while,
something interesting happens to break up the boredom
and monotony of the job.
Last summer I was walking around at night
doing a patrol of the campgrounds when I saw something
rustling around in the bushes. A guy came crawling out
dressed in a furry dog costume. I asked him
if he was okay and he just barked happily, then crawled away in the opposite
direction. Shortly afterwards, I saw him chasing
another person who was dressed as a cat.
A woman who went scampering away
and hid beneath a camper van, laughing excitedly and making purring sounds, licking the dirt from her
fur pants with a long tongue. She saw me watching and clawed the air in front of her face,
hissing territorially. It's not how I would choose
to spend my Friday nights, but I'm not one to judge. By far the most interesting thing which has ever happened to me, Yosemite
occurred last summer. And it wasn't just interesting. It was utterly terrifying. Every night when I fall asleep,
I have nightmares about that day. Every time I close my eyes, I picture
those dark tunnels in the rock face. It all started
when someone called in a report saying they were out on the cathedral trail
when their brother went missing. The pair had been out hiking
when they got separated somehow. At first
we thought it was just a routine mishap. People go missing in Yosemite
all the time. It's no big deal in most cases since usually the missing parties
are found quickly enough. Half the time, alcohol is involved.
And I have to remind people
to pace themselves if they indulge while camping. But every once in a while,
those missing people don't turn up and we have to dispatch much larger
search parties. In this case,
I went out on my own at first, heading to where
the men had called us from. I drove out on an ATV since it was a 16 mile round trip. When I got there, the guy looked frantic. He ran over to me and started speaking
way too fast to understand. I told them to slow down
and just give me the facts. It's important
to stay calm in these types of situations. The guy took a deep breath and let it out. Then he just started talking again
a bit slower. This time we were walking on the trail. He was right beside me. Then I turned to look around at the lake
and when I looked back, he was gone.
Just fucking gone. I tried to get a sense if the man had been
drinking or doing drugs. It's not that I'm trying
to assume the worst in people, but we have to think of these types
of things. The simplest explanation
is usually the right one, after all, and it was much easier to imagine
the two brothers taking sips from a mickey and one of them getting separated and lost
than to imagine one of them being abducted by aliens
or taken in a very selective rapture. Slowed down for a second. Take some deep breaths. What's your name? Let's start with that, Greg. He said, his face
turning a shade less purple as he began to inhale air
with trembling breaths in and out. Okay, Greg. I took out my notepad, jotting this down,
along with his last name, which I'll leave out
for the sake of privacy. And what's your brother's last name? Dave, he said, sniffling. I saw he had been crying recently.
Where was the last place
you saw your brother? Let's retrace your steps. He started protesting,
saying that wasn't going to help. But I convinced him
we had to at least try. Greg led me back a little ways
to where he'd seen his brother last. I walked back here already, and I looked
all around here before calling you guys. I thought maybe he went off the trail
to take a leak and tripped. Hit his head. Something like that. I don't know. I was grasping at straws,
but I think something. He hesitated. Something what? I probed. Do you think something took him
like those stories you hear about? He sounded embarrassed,
but I tried to get more out of him and ask him what stories
he was talking about. You know, you hear stories about Yosemite
and other national parks. I'm sure you've heard about them,
even if you're not in on the conspiracy stories where people go missing like this
and it makes no sense.
Someone turns their back for a second
and their son or their sister or whoever is just gone. Disappeared like Dave. I saw it on YouTube. Huh? I replied. Not sure what corner of the internet
this guy had been visiting. Well, that doesn't happen around here,
I can assure you. Let's keep looking.
I'm sure he'll turn up. But the longer we looked, the less
we found.
It really did seem like
the man's brother had just vanished. I was about to call in for more support. Maybe even a K-9 unit
when the man yelled from a little ways off the trail saying he'd found something following the sound of his voice. I eventually came to find him at the base of the mountain,
face to face with the granite wall. At first, I didn't understand what he was
doing there, but as I got closer, I saw there was actually a cave
which was well hidden in the rock face. It blended in perfectly
with the mountains side until you were almost face to face
with the pale green stone. Good job. I said, patting him on the shoulder. But then I looked at our surroundings,
getting nervous.
We were pretty far from the path
in the thick part of the forest, which was overgrown
and tangled with vines and shrubbery. Do you think he would have gone into this
cave on his own? Greg looked around as if checking to see
if his brother had left a message for him. But there was nothing. I don't think so.
It's not like him to just leave me
on the trail alone either. Especially not for this long. If this were a prank or something,
he'd have come back by now. I can tell something's not right. Has your brother played pranks on
you like this before? I asked. The man was in his twenties and
his brother was probably of a similar age. Young men
occasionally got lost or injured, trying to scare each other by pulling pranks
or filming videos in the woods.
It Was rare, but it had happened before. Once or twice, he admitted. I didn't call you guys for a while
because I thought he was messing with me. I wouldn't put it past him,
but not for this long. I was getting annoyed. Mosquitoes were biting my neck and I
was sweating in the heat of the afternoon. After marching
through the foliage for hours, I imagined the guy hiding inside the cave
trying to scare his younger brother. Maybe he had fallen asleep in his dark
hiding place, or he was just pushing it too far. But either way, I was upset. If this was a prank,
it had wasted most of my afternoon. It probably annoyed me even more
because I had my own older brother who had played tricks on me
more than once in our younger days, and this was bringing back memories.
All right. You can come out of there now. I yelled, marching into the cave,
thinking the young man would be hiding in the small alcove. I turned the corner and saw a dark tunnel, leaning deep
into the darkest recesses of the granite. This made no sense, as far as I knew. There was no tunnel in this location,
especially not one of this size. But it had been well hidden,
nearly invisible in the rock face. I wondered if anyone knew about it,
and I wondered if it was safe. I didn't feel comfortable
going any further. The dark space looked like it went on
for a long, long way into the distance, and I was getting an eerie
feeling standing there.
It felt like I could almost hear
the voices whispering from all around me. The words were lost in the echoing cave, and I got a strong sensation
that we weren't alone. Like,
I see fingers walking slowly up my spine. The other men came in behind me, marveling at the cave for a second
before continuing to press forward. Come on, Greg said. Forging ahead. He might be in trouble. He was anxious to keep going. Not scared enough of this horrifying place with
whispering voices coming from the shadows.
And his apparent
lack of fear made me twice as scared. I'm going back for help. I said, shuffling backwards. It isn't safe. Nobody knows we're here. My training and my instincts
were overwhelming, my curiosity. But Greg seemed not to care
about the dangers. The man continued going forward,
disappearing into the darkness. A few seconds later, he was gone
and there was no indication he had ever existed in the first place.
Greg I called out into the black abyss. There was no response. He might as well have been a ghost. An overwhelming urge to follow him
rushed over me and I took a few steps forward, feeling hypnotized by that black
tunnel, leading on and on forever. But then I shook my head, slapping
my face as I tried to wake myself up from whatever trance I was in,
which was overruling my common sense. I turned around and left the cave, my legs shaking and my hands unsteady
as I called for assistance.
After meeting the search party
back at the trail, we went through the woods again
to find the cave, hiding within the 10,000 foot
tall rock face of Cathedral Peak. I remembered having trouble finding it
the first time and thinking it was, well hidden among the pale
gray surface of the mountainside. You had to be nearly face to face
with the wall to see it, since it was so invisible
among the crags and boulders. I tried to tell my supervisor and the other members of the search party,
but they didn't believe me. They said there was no tunnel there. They looked for hours and found nothing. Helicopters swept the area and more teams with more dogs, bloodhounds
and German shepherds. But nothing turned up. There was no trace of anyone else
having been out there except me, dumbfounded for the rest of the week and for the rest of the summer,
I couldn't focus on anything.
My mind
kept going back to that conversation I'd had with the man on the trail
named Greg, the man who'd lost his brother and then disappeared into a cave
that didn't exist. More and more, I began to wonder what
would have happened if I had followed him. It took a full year for me
to build up the courage to go back out to that exact spot again. It happened to be on the same date
and around the same time of day. Only this time I wasn't on duty. It was my weekend off, so I had plenty
of time to comb the area for clues. My backpack was full of provisions and I had enough to last
for a night or two in the woods.
Maybe longer, if necessary. Somehow I knew. I just had a feeling that if I went back on that day
and that that time, it would be there. The cave that didn't exist, Cathedral Peak loomed over me getting larger as I made my way
through the forest, moving toward it. The gray clouds
above were shrouding the sun in darkness, while the thickening canopy blocked
any remaining light from overhead. A chill ran through me,
causing me to shiver as I laid eyes on the black hole and the rock face
so plain and clear to see now. Taking a step forward, I found myself
standing right in front of it and I reached up my hands to feel the outline of the entryway,
as if to confirm it was real.
It was. I took a deep breath like a diver about to submerge and inside. The air was cold and damp
with a strange coppery smell. My flashlight was on my belt
and I grabbed it, but then decided not to turn it on. I was getting a strange feeling
like I was in an unsafe place
and needed to stay silent and hidden. There was a sound coming from up ahead
which I couldn't place. It was a slurping, chewing sound like someone tearing meat from bones
with their teeth. As I went
deeper and deeper into the tunnel. The air became colder
and so damp that I felt droplets of water running down my face and into my eyes. A trickle of light was filtering
in somewhere as well, causing the cavern
to faintly glow in places. The air seemed to shimmer and dance
in front of my eyes as I went deeper and deeper, feeling entranced
as I stumbled along in the shadows. Faintly,
I realized there was something wrong with me, as if I had been drugged. But I no longer cared. In fact, I found the sensation
to be quite pleasant.
And then I was abruptly awoken from
my daydream as I came around the corner and saw the horror unfolding
within the guts of Cathedral Peak. I can't possibly explain what I saw
down there, and the shadows obscured most of it, drenching
the monstrous creature in darkness. But the impression I got was of something
like an octopus or squid crossbred
with an oversize plant or a fungus sucking in, slurping, chewing and crunching
something between its teeth. After a few moments of inspection,
I realized that it was a person's face that was being eaten,
as the details could just barely be seen in the dim
light of the cave. The skin was being stripped
from its cheeks, the eyelids ripped off and the lips peeled back
and slurped up like noodles.
Tentacles like tangled
vines were everywhere, slithering and sliding across the pale gray stone floor all around me. At first
I thought it was the mud beneath my feet. But as I came fully to my senses, I realized that it was blood, mingling
and mixing with the dust beneath my feet, creating a dark, toxic red slurry
which sucked at my boot heels. The tentacle vine. Things were everywhere. I realized with numb shock. My feet were actually stepping
on some of them, and I was amazed
the creature hadn't noticed me yet.
But it was obviously too caught up with
whatever meal it was currently ingesting. Feeling very glad
I hadn't turned on my flashlight. I begin to back away very slowly, my boots crunching across the writhing
tentacles. A sick knot in my stomach was rising up
and threatening to make me puke. Fear and revulsion twisting my gut. My mind was and my thoughts were racing. Understanding There was a very good chance
I would never leave this place. I tried desperately not to step on
any more of the squirming writhing tentacles which moved and twisted on the floor of the cave,
soaking in, basking in the blood which had been spilled everywhere,
like pigs rolling happily in the mud. There was no possible way
there could be so much of it.
I thought, No person has this much blood. This is like a river. And then I saw the others. They were hanging, suspended from the
ceiling, from the walls, from everywhere. Amidst the purple vine tentacles. They breathed in and out,
still being kept alive, but just barely. Dozens of them were strung up
and down the length of the cave. Their rising and falling
with weak breaths, but none of them opening
their eyes or speaking. It was like they were sleeping. After a few long moments of searching,
I found him. Greg, the hiker from the trail
who was looking for his brother. He was hanging upside down from the wall
just beside me. His eyes closed. Parts of him were missing
a piece of his cheek, part of his hand. But the wounds were slowly healing. The creature, whatever it was,
kept its victims alive down there. I realized it was ingesting them
slowly, perhaps even using pieces of its other victims as nutrients to feed
the ones who were dying of starvation. Like an otherworldly
pyramid scheme of blood and human remains
shaking that mental image away.
I grabbed Greg's
shoulder, hoping to wake him up quietly. His eyes shot open a second
after I touched him, revealing only the whites
and he began to screech. And I don't mean screeching
like you were screaming out of fear of pain or anything like that. This was an inhuman alarm cry
which signified to me immediately that there was no shred of
humanity left in him. He was now part of the hive mind
of the creature and its tentacle army. As his head turned on his swivel,
I saw smaller tentacles were wrapped around him,
going into his brain and into his neck, invading his ears and eyes
and drilled into his spinal column. I screamed involuntarily,
seeing these details and heard the creature in the tunnel
as it recognized my presence. It wasn't fast, whatever it was,
but it was huge. The cave shook around me, dust and pebbles falling from the stone ceiling
as I backed away from the hiker. Beneath my feet,
the vines were suddenly moving quickly, sliding around
so that they couldn't find my balance.
As soon as my shoes
found purchase on the stone floor beneath me, I began to run. The tunnel was alive all around me. Now the weeping vines twisting and bending
toward me, reaching out like greedy hands, trying to grab at me
as I raced past, looking over my shoulder. I saw the amorphous creatures. Central growth
was finding its way through the cave and was moving my way a lot
faster than I would have thought possible. But then again, I wouldn't have thought
any of this was possible before Living in the light
of the entry way was just up ahead and I could smell the fresh air
and could see the sun. Then my feet suddenly slipped,
as if someone had pulled the rug out from under me and I went crashing
to the ground face first. My jaw closed hard
and bit the end of my tongue, causing it to bleed the taste of copper
filling my mouth. A second later I tried to get to my feet. The mental image of those poor, trapped people
could be seen clearly in my mind's eye. But in retrospect, I think the creature, whatever it was,
needed us to be unsuspecting.
If we were aware of what it was doing,
its hypnosis wouldn't work. Maybe it was a chemical it released
which caused people to want to explore the cave. A ferryman
and like insects used to communicate. But it wouldn't work as well if you knew
about it and you understood its purpose. It released some more of that pheromones or whatever
it was using to lure people in, and they actually felt my legs
grow a bit heavier, my eyelids too. It was like I had suddenly just worked three night
shifts and really needed to sleep. But then the wave of hypnosis passed
and I felt the rumbling of the ground beneath me,
and that broke me from the trance again, causing me to scramble my feet
from the cave floor and run. As I neared the cave entrance
and sprinted toward it, leaving my backpack far
behind in an effort to lighten the load. I saw the rocks were actually closing
in, tightening the gap. The entry way was shrinking somehow.
It was the vines. I realized they were
what was camouflaging the entrance, their color changing to match the pale
gray stone. I picked up my pace, the twisting forms
beneath me, making it even more difficult. I didn't dare risk
a glance over my shoulder, feeling the rumbling of the floor
and knowing that the bulk of the creature was just behind me. Closing in with the gap of the exit narrowing even further,
shrinking to the size of a dartboard. I dove head first into it,
imagining my face slamming into a sheer rock wall as it suddenly turned to stone
right in front of me, sealing me in this dark
labyrinth of suffering forever.
My eyes were squinted tightly shut as I
felt the vines pulling and tearing at me. As I went through the gap. For an instant, they squeezed in
around my midsection, threatening to stop me like Winnie the Pooh after
an unfortunate attempt at pilfering honey. When I popped out of the hole
and it sealed up behind me in an instant, I heard a loud crash as the creature flew headlong
into its own obstruction. The trap it had created for me to keep me there had hindered its escape,
preventing it from chasing after me. I could hear it
thrashing and clawing at the vines, desperate
for more flesh to sustain itself. Whatever it was, it was growing too large,
even for its own control. Left alone
to feed in the heart of the mountain. It would eventually destroy itself. It would consume its own flesh
to sate its monstrous hunger.
Like a snake eating its own tail. I had a very strong suspicion
that it was true. With that very specific idea in mind,
I wandered back to my car. It was easier now without the backpack
and all the gear, but the walk back to
the cave would be harder. There would be lots to carry. Next time. After a trip to the hardware store,
I went back out to the trail. It was nighttime now,
and the place was abandoned. I borrowed one of the Ranger ATVs
and took my supplies out to the spot where the cave had been. After bringing a few buckets of water from the lake,
I began my work. Since I had mark the cave,
it was easy to find it again and to begin laying down the fast
drying cement. Is park rangers. Our job is usually to stop people
from vandalizing mountains in this way. But I got the feeling Mother
Nature would forgive me. It was my job to protect this place
and the people who visited. And nothing
could protect people from this thing.
It was best to seal it away forever
and let it slowly consume itself
without a fresh supply of hikers. It would eventually run out of calories. It would eventually expire. It was only a matter of time. The vine tentacle squirmed beneath
the layer of cement, groggily
reaching out for me, trying to pull me in. I grabbed the trowel
and slopped on another thick coating
and watched as it rapidly began to dry and the tentacles began to smooth out and settle down again.
Falling back asleep, that inhuman shriek
could be heard from inside again, much louder
this time, as if all of the hikers who the creature had abducted
had all woken up at the same instant and for just a second
realized their predicament. Sorry, Greg. I mutter to myself,
alone in the dark forest. I told you not to go in there. I think I got scanned and it almost killed me. The listing said Private cabin retreat. Not another living soul around for miles. I guess technically, it wrong. Yes, there were plenty of red flags,
but this was my first vacation by myself, so I thought I was just being overly
paranoid. The drive up was quiet and uneventful, but I got there much later than I had
hoped. It was nearly dusk
as I pulled into the long and winding dirt road
leading to the cabin.
The entry way was shrouded in tall trees,
and for a moment I thought I saw someone watching me
from just behind the tree line. But I looked back and no one was there. I told myself I must have imagined it. I'd just seen one of the shifting shadows
from the setting sun among the heavy foliage when I first entered the address
into my navigation app.
I was disappointed to see
the address was for a campground. The house had apparently cropped
the image on the listing to make it look like a lone cabin. I wasn't all that surprised though. The place was ridiculously cheap
and one of the few rentals in the area that were available at the time. After the figure
I thought I'd seen on the drive up, plus the way the trees nearly choked out
what was left of the sun. I wasn't upset at the idea
of not being totally alone.
I double checked the instructions
I printed to find the combination to the lock box in the notes,
some of which were a bit odd. You may not check out early pool open to guests. There are great
hiking trails in the woods. Enjoy your stay. Please take the trash out
before you leave. The pool is open to guests from the middle of the camp. There is an ancient
looking paved trail, cracked and uneven that wound around the perimeter
through the dense trees. The area itself was beautiful,
but as I walked along, I passed cabin after cabin
in varying states of disrepair.
Some had warped wood and caved in roofs. Others had missing doors and rotted steps. One was nothing
but the remains of a foundation. There had been other cars in the
parking lot, but it was eerily quiet. There wasn't another guest in sight. The absence of any living person was a presence in itself
that loomed over the place. I didn't feel peaceful at all. It was unnerving. I wondered if I'd stumbled upon
an old listing. Somehow, though, they had certainly
accepted my reservation and money. I was about to turn back when I spotted in the distance
the cabin from the pictures. It looked well cared for,
unlike the others. I saw movement from the corner of my eye
and jumped already on edge. After a moment, I realized what it was. The remnants of a torn curtain
fluttering along with the breeze through the busted out
window of the cabin next door. All of the other cabins
looked to be vacant.
The darkness within a parent
through blank and shattered windows. I felt an awful creeping apprehension,
and I strongly debated just leaving. But it was almost dark,
and I didn't feel comfortable driving through the dark woods at night,
especially with nowhere else to stay. I I'd head out in the morning a bit further down from my cabin. I could see an old pool that I doubt
had seen a swimmer in decades. Worn out looking children's toys, shoes, trash and other debris
from the campsite littered the bottom of the deep end, sun
bleached and long forgotten. A wide and streaky rust colored
stain painted one of the walls and bottom of the cracking plaster
ending at the pile of the abandoned items. I thought of one of the pool
opened to guests. Note from the host
I guess they had a weird sense of humor other than the screech
of the rusted hinges. When I opened the door. The cabin was in good condition, although the decor looked to have last
been updated in the 1970s.
While looking around for a bed, I found a few discovered items
that looked to be accidentally left by the previous guest, then
made a mental note to let the host know. I sat inside for while looking out at the grounds and woods around me for a moment out of the corner of my eye. I thought I saw the pool filled
with dark water, multiple pale and thin figures
standing in it up to their shoulders.
But when I turned to look, it was empty,
just like it had always been. I assured myself
I was just imagining things. The solitude was even more apparent
after the sun had fully set. Far removed
from the light of the nearest town. And with the moon drowned out
by the clouds, the campsite was blanketed in a level of darkness, unlike anything
I had ever experienced before. That, coupled with the silence, made
me feel completely alone in the world. The only sounds I had occasionally here
were the wind through the leaves and the occasional
soft slosh of moving water. I decided to call a friend
just to hear another human voice, but I had no reception on my phone
and the old rotary phone in the kitchen didn't work.
I didn't even get a dial tone. Already regretting my decision to stay. I turned in early,
hoping the night would pass quickly. I wondered if they'd give me a refund
on the other two nights, but based on their note about not checking out
early, I figured probably not.
I had almost fallen asleep when I heard the tap,
tap, tap and scraping against the window. It didn't concern me at first. I assumed the wind had picked up
and I was hearing one of the many trees
surrounding the cabin. But then I heard the protest of the metal hinges on the front door. I bolted upright. I must have forgotten to lock it
behind me. The old wooden floorboards of the kitchen creaked under
the weight of whomever had come inside. I like the bedroom door
and grabbed my phone, only to remember that I had no service. Unsure Of what else to do. I put the only other piece of furniture
in the room in front of the door and wedged myself under the bed. Their steps sounded wet and made an awful squelching
sound on the carpet. In the hallway. The sound of their footsteps
became louder. Closer. The intruder paused.
A door opened further down the hall. One of the other bedrooms. Another set of footsteps
continued on after the first had passed. There were more than one of them. Methodically. Slowly. I heard someone enter each room. Walk around it. Leave. They were working their way down the hall,
closer and closer to the room. I was in. I really thought I was experiencing
what were to be my final moments on this earth. That time, it came from the bedroom door,
and in the closer proximity, I could hear the scrape of the long
nails on the rough wood. They turned the handle
and I held my breath, hoping the flimsy looking lock would hold.
When it didn't open,
they alternated between tapping at the door and slamming against it. I heard the slow and deliberate
steps of one of them leaving, and not long
after the tapping on the window resumed. Sometimes I'd hear the painfully shrill sound of something sharp
being dragged along the glass. I spent every moment of that night
wide awake, with my heart pounding in time,
with the taps at the door and windows. It was nearly dawn when I finally heard the last pair of footsteps
fade into the distance. The front door opened and closed
for the last time. I waited another couple of hours
for the sun to be high above the horizon before I felt brave enough
to open the bedroom door. I somewhat expected
someone to be out there quietly and patiently waiting for me,
but there was nothing to indicate there had ever been anyone there at all except for the dried muddy
footprints all over the wood floors. And there's still damp carpet. I gathered my things as fast as I could. Outside,
I could see where the prints continued. They circled my car multiple times,
made trips, and from the bedroom window.
I saw that they originated from and ended at the long dry pool
into which they disappeared. I noticed something else
hard about the prints. They were misshapen. They looked to be made of bare feet,
but the proportions were off. The image they suggested resembled no feed
I had ever seen before. I loaded everything into the back
of the car as fast as I could. I didn't even look back
in my rearview mirror. As soon as I felt safe and had reception,
I went to message the host both to ask for a refund
and to let them know what happened. They never responded to me. I decided to contact the company,
but noticed the listing had been removed. Not long after, though,
it was back up again. I filed a complaint, but
it took a month for it to get taken down. I'm still not sure
if it'll show back up again.
I wanted to share my experience to encourage people
to make better decisions than I did. If things don't feel right,
please don't ignore the red flags. And if you see this listing, do not book it. This is your captain speaking. Welcome on board
Delta Flight 763 with service from. Los Angeles to New York. We are currently third in line for takeoff
and are expected to be in the air
in approximately 7 minutes time. That point, all personal
electronic devices will be prohibited. So if you want to call your loved ones
and tell them goodbye, please do so Now. I laughed when I heard that
during the preflight announcement. The voice was cheerful enough, though, so
I assumed he meant it in an innocent way.
I guess that's why my wife
Mariah didn't even notice. It is odd. That's the thing about Mariah. I love her to death, but she's the least
observant woman on the planet. It would be an understatement to say
she lived in her own world. It's more like her own dimension, complete
with a plethora of alien races with their own languages
and a galactic drama all far more interesting than reality
could hope to compete with.
Even so, I don't understand how she could
still be sitting there complacently reading after the next announcement
when we were in the air. We are currently cruising
at an altitude of 33,000 feet at an airspeed of 450 miles per hour. It might feel comfortable in here,
but have you ever wondered what would happen
if you stick your head out the window? I poked Mariah and gave her my best. Are you hearing this shit face? She nodded, although I doubt
she knew what she was nodding to her eyes never left the page. The air pressure would literally start
to rip the skin from your skull, drone
the amiable loudspeaker. You might not think your body could fit
through one of those little windows, but that's just because you've never seen how far a body can compress
under pressure.
I glanced behind me dozens of shocked and horrified faces
turned toward the front. An airline
stewardess pushing her cart gave a curt, apologetic smile and forced a laugh. One or two people joined in. It's not
the fall that's going to kill you, though. The captain continued. Oxygen levels have dropped to less than
a third of their normal concentration. You'd be panting a marathon,
but it would never be enough. Pretty soon your lungs would feel like
they were on fire as they start collapsing. That's the oldest nations began. An elderly lady who looked like
she might disappear entirely if she removed her fur coat,
stood up in protest, scattered Lights began flooding down the aisle as people
matched the flight attendant button.
The flight attendant darted back towards the cockpit,
waving everyone back to their seats. Don't worry, I'm going to tell him
to put a sock in it, she said. Scattered cheers and chuckles followed her
behind the closed door and the call. Don't even get me started about the cold. The captain said It's -17
Fahrenheit out there. I know that number is pretty abstract,
so here are some things to help you visualize it. The corneas in your eye will freeze solid. Your body will be consolidating
your blood around vital areas, leaving fingers, toes,
even old limbs to rot and die. You'll be long gone
before you reach the ground.
When your body,
the loudspeaker crackled to silence, open applause and laughter down
the entire length of the plane. Too bad I was laughing
along with the rest of them. I was looking forward to hearing about what happened
when our bodies hit the ground. It's not over,
Maria said, flipping another page. Her voice reverberated
with the slightest of tremors. White knuckles
refocused their grip around her book. Don't tell me you let that rambling
bother you. That must all sound like some kid's
bedtime story after the stuff you read. She shook her head, gesturing back towards the cockpit
without lifting her gaze. I glanced to see the stewardess emerge
from the door. Take a look at her and tell me
everything is fine, Mariah said. I couldn't. Frayed hair and wild eyes. The woman looked as though
she'd seen a ghost. The rest of the passengers
seemed to have lost their interest after the announcements had stopped.
But continue to watch as the stewardess
quick stepped over to another flight attendant,
grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her urgently back
toward the cockpit. What do you think is going on in there? I asked. Maria closed her book and her eyes. Rapid, shallow breaths. And now her hands were clutching the books
so tightly that they were rattling the meal tray.
I'm going to go take a look, I said. You stay right here, okay? Everything is going to be fine. My words were punctuated
with a vicious bounce of turbulence. The lights flickered off
and on so quickly that I couldn't be sure if I imagined it. A murmur echoed down the plane, quickly
dissipating as the smooth flight resumed. Too late, Mariah whispered. It's already. I tried not to dwell on her
cryptic anxiousness as I unbuckled my seatbelt and sidled up to the front
where the bathrooms were. There weren't other flight crew around. No one to stop me from walking all the way to the cockpit door
and giving it a push. It drifted open
without the slightest resistance. The two flight attendants were sitting
in the chairs behind a wall of intricate controls, both on the edge of their seat. One of them desperately clutching radio
transmitter between her hands. We don't know what happened. I couldn't make out the static that replied. No, sir.
Both the captain and copilot. The two girls exchanged
the frightened look. The first officer and flight engineer
are also missing. The plane shivered. The lights flashed again. This time it was a full second
before they came back on. Flight control came in from the girl
holding the receiver. Hey, you can't be in here. The second flight attendant
noticed me for the first time. I didn't budge from the door. What's going on? Where's the captain? Wasn't he just talking a moment ago? I asked. The lights went off. Two, three, 4 seconds. Still off. The murmur from the passengers
was swiftly mounting to an uproar. Something dark flashed by the window. For a terrible moment,
I thought it looked a bit like an octopus. But the impossibility of
it made me disregard the idea immediately. The lights were back,
but the passengers were still clamoring. The flight attendant, not holding the transmitter, pushed me aside
to address them. Flight control. Come in. The other girl repeated. Flight control.
Flight 763. Requesting urgent instructions. It wasn't the radio that answered, though. It was the loudspeaker
that said This is your captain speaking. Sorry about getting cut off earlier. No Was I? Who is saying that?
Where is he coming from? The flight attendant with the transmitter
said. I shrugged helplessly. Oh, that's right, the captain continued. Now, this is the sound you'd make
if you started to fall. Screaming Bloody hell. AX in the face from every speaker at once. Gut wrenching, earsplitting,
shrill and piercing. Like a thousand tortured souls
being ripped from their dying hosts. The lights all went off this time. Even the emergency floor
lighting winking out as well. The screaming was shifting. Suddenly, as I ran back towards my wife. It took me a moment to realize
that it wasn't coming from the speakers anymore. It was enveloping me so palpable that it almost like a physical force
that I had to push through with each step. The plane was shaking violently. No more dark flashes, a veritable blizzard of writhing,
formless shapes darting past the windows.
Maria, where are you? Are you okay? It was so loud
I couldn't even hear my own voice. The bellow of the engines
was joining the unholy song, its roar
mounting into a deafening crescendo. I blindly shoved my way through the
teeming bodies surging into the aisle until a familiar hand clasped in my wrist
and dragged me back into my old seat. I hugged my wife, clinging on for dear
life as the mad tumult hurled us through the unforgiving
passage of broken time. The lights came back on all at once. The plane leveled out instantaneously, gliding as smoothly as though
we were adrift on still water. Wild,
gleeful laughter filled every speaker. Shocking and stunning the terrified
passengers into the unity of silence. The only thing that didn't go back to
normal was the view outside the window. Purple and orange clouds rose
in, twisting nebula from the ground to spiral upwards
into an unfamiliar sky. Long, desolate, sandblasted red dunes up
like a surreal painting below us.
Vegetation like I've never seen before
crack the forsaken landscape, some stretching untold miles into the sky and those creatures, tentacled black about the size of a large bird, were swooping through the air
in thick masses of unfathomable number. This is your captain speaking. Not even a breath dared to interrupt. Due to unforeseen circumstances,
we've been to make an unscheduled landing
before we reach New York. Please put away your tray tables
and portable electronics and return
your seats to their full upright position. Well, we can landing shortly. Mariah sat down her book and pulled out
her laptop from her carry on bag. She handed it to me,
but I hesitated accepting it. I was staring at the black, tentacled
creature blazoned across her book cover and the title, which read
Cruising at 33,000 Feet without a pilot. Here, take it, she said,
forcing the laptop into my hands. You're going to want to write this down. He said. No portable electronics. She rolled her eyes at me and I couldn't help but laugh at the sheer
absurdity of it.
I think there are more important things
to worry about now. I finished lamely. I think you're supposed to write
this down. She insisted, her voice firm and level. She set the computer on my lap
and held up her book again. I'd been so distracted by the cover
that I hadn't even noticed the name of the author. I hadn't even registered my own name. We're beginning our descent now, the loudspeaker said, helpless, shaken and utterly bewildered. I opened up the laptop and began to write. Mariah won't let me touch the book. I keep trying to steal glances
during the descent, but she has been jealously shielding it ever since I saw
the cover, the agitation on her face, the strange panic of something
trapped beneath her skin.
I can't tell if she's reacting to
what's happening all around us or whether it's about what is yet to come. The plane is absolute chaos. The flight attendants
have put on a brave face and are doing their best
to be heard over the churning crowd. But the only voice that's reliably audible
is that from the captain. If you look out the left window,
you'll notice the forest of bone. When once inhaled that spores will diffuse through your alveoli
and into the bloodstream. They will then take root in the bone
using your body as nutrients to grow into the mighty trees
you see below on your right. You have a lovely view of the dunes which
stretch almost as far as the eye can see. Fun Fact is,
they aren't sand dunes at all, but the aggregated eggs
deposited by them in Kaka. Their evolutionary strategy
of laying trillions of such eggs may seem inefficient, especially when only a dozen
will likely survive to adulthood. The pupil macaque fight
and devour each other in a brutal test of survival, though,
and the ones who finally emerge will be some of the deadliest and experienced
killers known to this world.
We are hallucinating. Another finally penetrated
the oppressive atmosphere of the cavern. A frail but stern man had clambered to stand on his arm
rest to be seen above the crowd. Salt and pepper hair, thick bristle
beard and heavyset horn rimmed glasses. He projected an air of confidence
that the hungry crowd latched on to an urgent hush, washed over the passengers
as he continued to speak. The oxygen levels have dropped
in the cabin without our noticing, and we've all begun to hallucinate,
he repeated firmly. We simply need to stay calm
until the plane lands, at which point, oxygen will be restored
and everything will go back to normal.
Are you seeing the dunes to ask the
fur coat, which wore the elderly woman? We wouldn't
all be having the same hallucination. If disappointment could be captured as a
sound wave, then it would sound like this. It's the captain's fault, asserted the salt and pepper order. It's just the power of suggestion. We're all in a vulnerable state
and he's hypnotizing us. His confidence was deteriorating
with each word, though,
and tensions were quickly mounting again. I see we've slipped
into another dimension. A young man with a face
like an undercooked turkey interjected. We hit some kind of invisible
wormhole in the air. That's ridiculous.
There's no such thing as. Just because you don't understand
it doesn't mean aliens. We've obviously been abducted
by chaos resumed its rightful place. There were only two people
I trusted to have any real answers. My wife and the captain. Both were Stonewall. Hands off. Maria evaded my attempt to snatch the book
yet again. I'm still reading. I hadn't seen her
flip the page in a long time. It seems like she's been reading the same
passage over and over again.
Where did you even find this book? Picked it up at the airport. She said it had your name,
so I thought it would be worth a laugh. What have you read so far? She made a vague circle in the air
with her finger indicating the general seen around us. Any hint of what's going to happen next? There was the flash of tension again. She hesitated too long
and she finally shook her head. I knew it was a lie. She knew. I knew, too. We locked eyes and she squeezed my hand. Just because written doesn't mean
it has to happen. But everything that was written
so far has been true. I prompted. She nodded reluctantly. I couldn't take it anymore. I tore the book out of her hands, leaping
into the aisle to get away from her. She spring to life like a jack in the box,
flying after me, snatching it back, but not before I caught a glimpse
flipping there to the last chapter. I saw it there in plain neat lettering,
clearly printed by the end of the week,
the last survivor had taken his own life.
The plane lurched
as it deployed its wheels. Maria closed the book and rubbed her eyes. That doesn't make sense, though. I managed at last. How am I supposed to write
the book if I didn't survive? She had no answers for me. The plane lurched again and again. Then one more time. Sudden and powerful. Those who weren't in their seats
were forced to cling on to something or tumble
helplessly backwards. We had landed. There were too many people blocking
the windows for me to see where we were.
The plane swiftly decelerated and stuttering
as it rolled across the uneven surface. What are you waiting for? The young man asked the salt and pepper
speaker. It's just a hallucination, right? Why not step outside and breathe
the fresh air? The man was forced to one uneasy smile. No one moved. Hi, this is your captain speaking? The loudspeaker
rang, clear in the sudden silence. I've got some good news
and I've got some bad news. There was a long
pause before he continued. The good
news is for me, I'm having a great time. How about you, folks? The angry silence
somehow made a sound of its own. It was a bit of a hornet's nest. Glad to hear it. The bad news is that this flight has been officially reclassified
as a one way ticket. Welcome to your final destination. Is Ganga traffic over your hair? Because hell is full
and Delta doesn't have service. There And the next silence was even louder. I'm kidding. I'm kidding. A tough crowd. Seriously, though,
you're here for a very important reason. The pause was broken by the unmistakable
hiss of air decompression.
The Airplane door was opening. You are here because I like humans. And I wanted some of my own. I told you it was an alien. Someone muttered behind me. Shut up, dumb ass. Through the open door,
I could see a short stretch of dune leading to a dense
thicket of unrecognizable. This close, it was clear
that the sand was in a continual state of squirming and writhing, forming short,
choppy waves, almost a storm ravaged sea. Maria was buried in the book once more. The way her hair cascaded around her ear
to hang above the page was beautiful. There was something sacred
in its familiar arc. If I focused on her, really narrowed in, it was almost like nothing
except her was real all. This is how she would look at home,
sitting cross-legged by the window and concentrating so hard on her book
that the rest of the world dissolved around her. Something outside the door screamed. It was exactly like the scream
on the loudspeaker that had played during the flight. Only this time
it was real and unfiltered and, so loud I could feel my blood resonate with it
deep in my eardrum.
Passengers all around me
were clutching their heads. Two of them close to the door,
retching on the ground from the sheer, overwhelming pressure of the sound. The scream terminated abruptly,
and somewhere in the back of the plane I heard a child break into uncontrollable
sobs. Mariah, though she didn't even look up. I wish I could just make it all go away. Thank God she wasn't like me, though,
because shining through the pit of my despair was the mischievous
flash of her subtle smile. It was the smile I fell in love with that said, I know something you don't. And It's going to change your world.
I think I know how to get out of here. She whispered right on cue. I had been unemployed for months
when I saw the job offer for a planner
with no experience required. When I called,
they told me to come down that night. The office was in the middle of two
crumbling apartment complexes with graffiti all over the walls
and ripped open bags of trash strewn across the alleys. Other than a few homeless people
and hooded figures standing on the corner,
the entire area looked deserted. I entered the cracked stucco building and followed the signs
for events planning.
On the second floor,
I knocked on the door. It opened with a loud squeal. On every wall stood posters for old horror
and sci fi movies from Alien, Halloween
to Predator, Phantasm and Hellraiser. A couple dull incandescent bulbs
barely illuminated the room. A large desk with an ancient woman behind
it took up the majority of the room. She motioned the seat across from her,
and I sat. Mr. Bellingham. Jason Bellingham. She asked me in a soft tone. I nodded. I am Dorothy Lam. This will be a quick session. You will be paid for a task. First,
we need you to fill out some surveys. I nodded genially at this and she gave me
a clipboard filled with papers, directing me back out into the lobby
to fill it out. I was expecting the generic name, number, address type forms,
and that's how it started out. But it quickly became weird. Do you believe in God? One question asked. A checklist ran next to it. Yes or no? Do you think hell is real? Would you ever commit suicide? Do you think demons can possess your soul? Do you wish you were never born? I stared blankly at the sheet
for a minute, wondering if there were candid cameras filming me
as part of some joke.
I filled it honestly
and returned the sheet to the woman. She scanned it briefly,
then put it in the top drawer of her desk, pulling a key from her pocket
and locking the drawer. It. You're hired? She said, smiling widely at me. Her beady brown eyes steadied me over her
huge Cheshire cat grin. Can you start training immediately? I nodded, feeling a small, tight
pit of anxiety in my stomach as her smile never faltered. Her eyes looked like tiny black holes and the overly bright fluorescent
lighting of the room.
Something felt wrong,
but I really needed the money. I hadn't had a job in months, and my savings
account was already over drafted. If I didn't pay my rent
by the end of next week, the landlord said she would begin eviction
proceedings immediately. Absolutely. I said, offering her a one smile. She smacked her meaty
hands down on the desk, making me jump. Great, she said. Still showing far too many teeth, Her
disconcerting grin. Follow me to the training center. She got up quickly,
moving much faster than a woman of her stature would appear to be able in motion
for me to come. I followed her down
a hallway from her office. The carpet feeling wet
and squelchy beneath my sneakers.
The fluorescent lights
flickered in overly bright strobes, making me feel nauseated and disoriented. Mrs. Alam seemed totally unaffected. Any of it. She walked with unusual grace for her size
and her age. She turned, suddenly,
opening a random door on the right that looked just like the endless
lines of doors on both sides of the hall. It had no marking or a number on it
to differentiate it. But when she opened it,
I saw it led into a garage.
Men and women in identical uniforms
stood in lines next to vans labeled Celestial Pathway. They all had on pure white pants
and button down shirts for the men or skirts and blouses for the women. Not a single spot
or stain marred the cloth on any of them. They all stared at me like mannequins with identical, blank,
smiling expressions on all their faces. Goosebumps popped out all over my skin
and a thin sheen of sweat began to gather on my forehead as my gut
told me to get the hell out of there. But I really needed the money, so I ignored it and continued forward from the
corner of the room, a man stepped forward in an extremely expensive
black suit from Dolce and Gabbana. It was professionally tailored
and had a silky sheen that glimmered under bright
lights overhead. His pale
green eyes stared at me as cold as iron. His white hair
perfectly cost his skin smooth and totally free of wrinkles
despite his advanced age.
He handed me a business card. I looked down at its embossed
words, frowning car of our. Businessman entrepreneur, enlightened. Being below that, it had his phone number. Fax number and an email address. How are you there? I said, awkwardly, holding up my hand. My name is Jason Bellingham. He shook it, his hand radiating warmth, his grip, feeling like steel
as he crushed my hand under his car bar of NZ. He said, simply giving my hand
a single pump before releasing it. You can call me Carver. However, I am the owner
and operator of this building, as well as many other businesses
in the area.
Most importantly,
however, I operate a spiritual group here, one we call the Celestial Pathway. He motioned at the van's for emphasis,
showing off the professionally wrapped mass of letters that covered
all the sides of the vehicles. First of all, he said, pulling a clipboard from out of nowhere
and handing it over to me. We just need to finish the formalities. This here is your NDA,
which states that you will never speak of what you see
while working here to anyone. And this is your employment contract. $27 an hour to start
and potentially more later. Everything works out for the best.
My mouth dropped at this. Most of the temp
and non-degree jobs around here paid anywhere from 13 to $20 an hour. $27 an hour was a life
changing amount for me right now. All the red flags I had noticed in
this place were brushed by my mind as a flood of hope took over. Thank you so much, I said quickly, excited,
feeling my heart fluttering in my chest. You have no idea how much this job means
to me. Coronavirus smiled politely at me,
waiting for me to finish. Then he produced a blindfold
from the inner pocket of. His jacket. Put this on. He said bluntly. We must go to the work site now. Or at least you must go to the work site. I have
important things to attend to first. I held the blindfold in my right hand like a dead fish
limply strewn over my fingers. Put it on.
He repeated insistently, his voice
turning cold. I did,
as he commanded a trepidation, battling the need for money in my mind,
a strong hand hanging around my arm. And I felt the stinging pain of a needle
going into my neck. Then I lost consciousness. I woke up an indeterminate time later, feeling pine needles and twigs
underneath my fingers. The smell of evergreens giving a pungent aroma to the air
mixed in with that sweet pine smell was an undertone of rotting meat,
urine and liquefied shit. I sat up quickly
thinking that I was blind for a moment before remembering the blindfold
and ripping it off. What I saw in front of me horrified me. A few
hundred feet away, across a grassy field, a pile of nude bodies was stacked
in a pyramid. Legs and hanging out like loose stitches
in an unfinished needlework project. The white clad members of the organization
stood next to a couple of the celestial pathway vans on the dirt road between me
and the pile of corpses.
The largest members stepped forward, and I recognized her immediately
as Dorothea LAMB. Good evening, Mr. Bellingham. She said sweetly, her beady eyes narrowing
as she gaze down at me. I'm glad to see
you return to the land of the living. The time of your training has come. The rest of the organization members,
which I was now beginning to suspect were actually cult members, stared at me
silently. Slight, identical grins, marring
their otherwise expressionless faces. A black man, a shaved head,
stepped forward from the cult members, motioning me to follow him as he turned and began
walking toward the pile of corpses.
Having no other choice, my eyes downcast
as I walked past the expressionless faces. I followed him next to the writing bodies. I saw two things
that sent a sense of shock through me. An industrial sized woodchipper
and a black hole in the ground about five feet across and perfectly level
with the grass and dirt around it. As we walked closer, though,
I realized that the hole was not a hole
in the traditional sense. It shimmered and sent up
sparks of iridescent light. The surface of it resembled an oil stain. The blackness
mixing with the dying light of the day to form rainbows
that shifted morphed into one another. Behind that blackness, I saw what looked like a humanoid shape,
swimming and dancing. But as I tried to focus on them,
my hand began to pound and they seemed to disappear or swim away.
I don't recommend you stare too deeply into that portal,
the black man said with a growl. Sometimes it can hypnotize people,
and those it hypnotizes have been known to jump in
from time to time. We never see them again. Tearing my gaze away, I looked up at him. What's your name, friend? I asked, trying to be as nice as possible, hoping I would still out of here alive. You can call me Kay,
he said, extending his hand. In our religion,
the monks and nuns give up our names. Only the workers, like Mrs. LAMB or the leaders like carve out of NZ
keep theirs. I shook his hand as he talked,
making eye contact. He didn't smile.
His shaved head
reflected the light of the sunset as the sun began to disappear
behind the trees. Now listen up,
because I'm only going to say this once. Your job is to dispose of the traitors. He pointed to the pile of bodies behind us and to feed the ossuaries. With this
he pointed to the shimmering black hole. The ossuaries don't like full bodies,
so we provide them with assistance. He pointed to the woodchipper. Any questions? I had many, many questions,
but I wasn't going to say that. What are the ossuaries? I asked. I thought he would slap me, but instead he simply stared daggers at me
before responding. They are from the stars, he said. They came down from heaven and they will
return to it, bringing us with them. But until that time comes, we need to feed
them and keep the organization pure. The celestial pathway is literally
that the pathway to the stars, the way to heaven for all of us,
you included.
If choose to accept what is given. Now get to work. I hate to admit it, but I did get to work. Can you turn down the woodchipper
with a raw? And I grabbed the first body
and dragged it over. He didn't want to touch it
or help me in any way. I had a feeling none of the cult members
like to touch the bodies, which is very likely
why they hired me in the first place. The body was still fresh. The blue eyes staring blankly up at me
as if asking why, grunting. I pushed the feet up into the conveyor
belt of the woodchipper, then grabbed the shoulders and lifted it.
The belt did the rest of the work,
carrying the body into the interior machinery
with a wet, crushing sound. The body began to disassemble
pieces of bone and flesh began to roar out into the black
shimmering hole. I heard a harmonic sound of joy from
the hole as the slurry disappeared into it and the opening scene to expand outwards
as the rings inside fit on the human meat key indicated for me to continue. So I did. Some of the bodies were worse
shape than the first. The skin sloughing off in my hands,
the bloated flesh releasing rancid smelling gases
that made me gag and cough. There were men and women of all races
and ages and even a few children under the baleful gaze of Cain with all the other cult members
ready to come at a moment's notice. I knew I had no choice but to continue
my task until it was completed. I only hope they would let me go home. Once I got to my seventh body,
things started to go wrong.
I picked up the fresh
looking body of a young Asian woman, but her eyes flew open. She was covered in blood and gore,
but apparently not dead. Her breath began to come in, heavy gasps
as she looked straight at me, whispering, Please help me. Instinctively, I dropped her like I had
accidentally picked up a poisonous snake. I almost started to scream,
but at that moment, she roughly pushed past me, pulling a syringe from his pocket
and shoving it into her neck.
Then he indicated that I should continue. I Can't continue. I will. Plaintively. She's still alive. What if the other ones
are still alive too? They are dead to us. So Therefore they are dead to the world. We are the path of life. We are the celestial path. Now move these bodies made of meat,
you maggot. My hand downcast. I did as he said,
grabbing her by the ankles. I began to pull the naked body
towards the woodchipper. I didn't notice any breathing
any more from the woman, and I had hoped for her sake.
She was dead. Out of pity, though, I put her into
the conveyor belt head first, wondering if any of the others were actually alive
when they put their bodies in. I shuddered at the very thought. My stomach
turning in quick, nauseous flips. But I knew that if I refused,
they would kill me.
I could see it in the eyes of Kay
and all the other cult members. Actually, speaking of the other cult
members, what were they all doing here? I wondered to myself. Sneaking a peek in that direction. The dying light of the day
illuminated a horrifying scene. They were gathered in a circle around
a shimmering black being 30 feet tall. It skin center frame bows
as if made of oil spots on the pavement.
And it had no features, no eyes, no mouth, no hair, nothing besides the human shape
of a black behemoth. I saw the cult members
praying on their knees to it, and as they murmur, the beings seemed
to grow and solidify the air around it. Cracked with electricity throwing off
sparks of light in all directions. The longer I stared at it,
the more hypnotized I felt until Key came from behind me
and smacked me in the back of the head. Don't stare at the observer
as he said to me. You think you are worthy to even
look upon it. You aren't worthy to lick the dirt
from its feet. I nodded silently, then went back to work, dragging more bodies into the woodchipper.
The hole continued to grow until wondered if it would suck in the woodchipper itself
eventually. The circumference of it
was only a few feet away by this point, and the hole had grown to over feet
across. Looking down into it,
I saw the oily black beans beneath the surface were writhing
and dancing at an amazingly fast speed, almost too fast for my eyes
to see anything more than a constant blur. Cain came up beside me, looking down into the hole
for a second. I pretended to walk back to the pile
of bodies, but I kept a close eye on him. He continued to stare down, hypnotized, and I knew This might be my only chance
to lose him and escape. I got a running star from
ten feet behind him, trying to sprint as quietly as I could. Despite this,
he heard my footsteps and began to turn
as I plowed into him at full speed. The half turn ended up
being to my advantage as his legs tangled
as he went flying into the black, opening his mouth open in a silent scream
as hundreds of black arms all covered in that oily of rainbows
and colors, flew up and grabbed him, pulling him in different directions
as his body tore into pieces,
then sunk beneath the surface.
I Took the chance and began to run
towards the forest, away from the cult members
praying to the black God behind me. As I passed a pile of corpses,
I saw some of them stirring, trying to fight their way out
from the tangle of arms and legs rising up from the rotting bodies
that surrounded them. Once I was in the woods
I just ran randomly changing directions multiple times. I was caught in bushes and my skin torn. But due to the adrenaline,
I barely felt in. Eventually, I heard the roaring of traffic
and followed it to a highway where I flagged down
a car.
Who called the police? I told them the entire sordid tale and they gave me
the benefit of the doubt, even allowing me to show them to the original building
where I had interviewed. But now it was abandoned. All the posters and desks gone, all the fans missing from the garage. Not a person in sight. They said they'd follow up with me
if they found anything. But that was weeks ago
and I never heard anything back from them. But I did hear from my old friend
car of our events businessman, entrepreneur,
enlightened being. At least he sent me a piece of mail. It was a check for the hours I had worked. True to his word, he had paid me $27
an hour for the entire time I had disposed of those bodies for them, even including payment for the time taken
to interview and travel to the site.
And yes, I did deposit the check. After all, I really needed the money. I work as a cell tower technician. You've probably seen videos
on YouTube of some guy clinging to the top of a metal tower
in the middle of a huge empty nothing. That's me. It's about the best job you can get. Where I live
without a high school diploma. And the only real source of entertainment
to boot. As a perpetual screw up
with an appetite for adrenaline. I was basically a star candidate. Really? The only two requirements
are a basic level of physical conditioning and a complete lack of fear,
both of which I have. Or at least I thought I did. Two weeks ago, the company I work for who shall remain unnamed lest
the corporate overlords find this post, sent me out to a job site
about 50 miles out of town.
Rarely do I have to cross state lines,
but the tower in question was about as far out of the way
as it gets. Big one, two, 400 something odd feet meant to bounce signals
all the way across the Appalachian Mountains
from one sleepy mining town to the next. That suited me fine. I prefer working where prying eyes
won't see me for one reason. Base jumping. For the uninitiated, base jumping entails throwing yourself off of a big object
with a parachute on. You know, when you jumped off of the roof
of your house as a ten year old with a blanket and broke ankle,
and your stepdad came out and beat you with a belt
before he drove you to the hospital? No. Maybe it's just me. Anyhow, base jumping
is basically the grown up version of that, minus the broken ankle and the beating,
hopefully. Luckily for me, secluded
cell towers happened to be the perfect place
for this kind of hobby. The morning I was supposed to head out
there, there was a fine mist sinking down into the hollers around
where I lived.
The locals call it moonshine weather, which translates to stay the hell inside
and get drunk instead of go to work. As tempted as I was to do
just that, I'd been hoping they'd send me out that way for months
and I couldn't pass up this opportunity. I should have trusted my Gut. Instead, I brewed myself
a shitty thermos of coffee, threw my gear into the back of my shitty
jeep, and, well, you get the idea. I drove a few hours out to the site,
fooling myself all the way that the weather
would clear up soon and it would be a sunny climb
all the way up to the top. I'd packed my parachute
along with my other gear. I used to bring a GoPro along
until I realized that recording the sort of behavior that would give an OSHA rep
an aneurysm probably isn't smart. I can be smart when I remember, too. Anyway, I parked my jeep outside the fence around the tower and typed the code
into the electronic gate.
Someone had strung
razor wire over the top of it, but I doubted anyone visited much
and the wire crumbling in places. I figured anyone who really wanted to wouldn't
find it hard to bypass. My suspicions were confirmed as I drove past tiny maintenance
shed sitting on the corner of the line and found every inch of the corrugated
metal covered in graffiti. I admired it as I opened the padlock and retrieved one of the bulbs
from the inside. The work order said this tower
needed an aircraft warning light replaced. You know, those blinking lights that let you know there's a giant tower out there
in the dark. I took one from a dusty shelf
and tucked it into my rucksack, threw on my climbing rig, checked my chute
one last time, and started to climb. The start of a climb is always boring. One hand over the other rung by rung. You're almost impatient waiting for that thrill that comes with dangling
hundreds of feet above the earth. Or at least I was.
But you have to pace yourself. A fall from 30 feet
can be just as fatal as a fall from 400. And if I was going to go out,
I knew which one I'd rather take. Most of the time you'll see tower
climbers clipping a Caribbean or two each rung
to fasten themselves in place as they go. I Don't bother with that
unless it's a windy day.
It wasn't. In fact, the air seemed unnaturally
still as I climbed. If I were a wiser man,
I would have paid more attention to the prickle at the back of my neck
or the sense of foreboding in my gut. But as you probably guessed, I am not. So didn't. Instead, I chalked it up to coffee jitters
and doubled my pace. Probably just needed to take a leak. Have you ever gone off of a 400 foot tall
object? It's just as awesome as it sounds. I was around halfway up
when I realized that the fog around me had grown more dense than less,
which was strange. Usually when you get a bit of height
and the sun starts to burn away, the mist,
you can see just fine. Typically,
it's all but gone by 2 p.m., leaving you free and clear to jump from the top.
I'd already picked out
a nice little meadow to the southeast, the tower where I could land
and have an easy hike back to the jeep. If I couldn't see it
though, that would be a problem. I'm not suicidal after all. It looked like
my dreams were shattered for the day. The fog around me was so dense
now that if I hadn't known better, I would have thought a storm
was rolling in. But the weather forecast hadn't mentioned any chance of a storm
and there was still no wind.
It was strangely silent
except for the dull ringing of my boots on the rungs
and my own breath in my ears. I paused to take a break around. Halfway up there are altitude markers painted on the cell tower
so you can mark how far you've come. And I just passed 150 feet clipping a Caribbean or on to the rung
above me for the first time that day.
I leaned back and stretched,
enjoying the feeling of weightlessness. I glanced down something the veteran climbers tell
you never to do, and that's when I saw it. Down below me, shrouded in mist,
a shape clung to the side of the tower. I say shape because I didn't get a clear
look at it. Just the shadow, maybe 100 feet below so far away
that I couldn't really even tell if it was moving the fog. Now I know I'm not Shakespeare,
but I doubted old Bill would have reacted
any differently than did. I mean,
why would anyone be climbing a cell tower in backwoods
Appalachia on a day like this? Anyone besides me, that is. My first thought was that
it was one of the graffiti artists who, finding their skills limited
by the canvas of the old maintenance shed, had grown the balls to climb the tower
and add a little color to the gray steel.
Good on them might make for a bit of an awkward meeting
when they caught up to me, but I wasn't about
to call the cops or anything. I even debated hanging around until they got a little closer,
but I decided against it. That was my first
and only good decision that day, probably the one that saved my life. I kept climbing, reasoning that
if my fellow climber made it to the top while I was still around,
I them on their courage and ask them nicely to paint over
one of the lights so that the company would send me out here in a month or two
and I could get my jump on.
I reached the 200 foot mark
and took another break feeling the cold, wet air on my cheek,
scratching under my thick beanie. The company tells you to wear a helmet,
but I figure that it heights like this. I'd prefer my cranium to liquefy on impact
if I fall quick and painless. I took another look down to see
how my mysterious friend was doing. It was closer. I see it because it took my brain
a few seconds to register that the thing climbing up
the tower towards me wasn't human.
It had close the distance between us by a few dozen feet,
and it was impossible to mistake. Its arms were too long, its body
too short. I caught a glimpse of the dark
glistening skin through the mist, a face twisting on a knobbly neck, two eyes that were as pale and milk white like an old man's cataracts. I blinked. It was still there. One long arm
swung over the other with unnatural grace, a hand large to swallow the entire rung, curling around steel the fuck once more and with feeling. Now I'm not super Scottishness
or religious or philosophical or political
or really anything at all. I'm a monkey brain tower climber. And when I saw the thing that was following me up the tower,
my monkey brain took right over. I scurried up the rungs,
throwing caution to the wind, my brain trying to account for what I was seeing,
some kind of a prank. A TV show. Right. With an absolutely insane budget. A dozen half hearted attempts at reason
flew through my mind.
Each one is pathetic as the last I climbed until I was out of breath
and my mind looking for excuse as and coming up empty
swung back around to. Did I really just see that I risk the glance down? The thing was still below me and gaining it climbed in eerie silence, not growling or snarling
like a wild animal. Just a quiet fluid
determination of a predator stalking prey. I kind of flash of movement of a snub
nosed face of naked skin
and a mouth full of black teeth. There was only one way down now,
and that was up. I climbed as quickly as I could,
throwing caution. The wind,
the 300 foot mark passed in a blur. 350. I was starting to flag. I could taste copper in my mouth
and my eyes were blurry. I started to get clumsy. I missed the run with my foot
almost falling. I clung there, terrified that I would feel
long fingers close around my foot. I kicked the runs once, then managed to get my boots back in place
and kept going.
I reached the towers uppermost platform. The trap door was locked,
secured by a padlock. Of course it was locked. I tore off a glove with my teeth
and let spiral away, fumbling in my pocket for the key. Nothing. My entire body was seizing with fear. The pistol that I'd been saving for
the top of the tower was running down my leg. I unhooked the hammer on my tool belt
and bashed the padlock. It came open, bouncing off my arm. I shoved open the door and hold myself
through, landing on the small platform
at the top like a trout from a creek. Through the grates. I could see the thing right below me. It opened its mouth, jaw cracking,
to reveal a mouth that was too wide.
Inside that mouth was another mouth. And another. And another. I screamed. Well, I did my best
with whatever air was left in my lungs. It sounded more like a whimper or a sob. I stood with my back
to the top of the tower, watching as it moved
half head and below me. I slung one leg over the railing
at the edge of the platform
and checked the straps of my parachute. The sky was gray in every direction. Nothing but endless mind numbing gray. Looking back, I feel as though I should have had
at least some idea of where the sun was. But there was nothing. Just an endless field of twilight. I couldn't tell what direction
I was facing or where the meadow I planned to land
could be in. I'd be jumping blind into the fog. No idea of where I was headed
or even how close I was to Earth. It was insane. It was my only option. As the creature lifted one
glistening arm over the edge of the tower, ready
to haul itself up after and grabbed me.
I threw myself off. Normally this is where I let out a woop. Revel
in the feeling of the wind on my face. The weightlessness. This time I fell in silence. Eyes full of freezing tears as the cold
wind scoured my skin in the air. I had a pair of goggles
slung around my neck to shield face,
but I'd forgotten to put them on. I seized the ripcord and pulled for all
it was worth. There was a reassuring snap of nylon
against their. Followed by a bowel loosening tug
and my feet kicked out in front of me. Thankfully, instinct took over,
giving my overtaxed brain a break. I glanced up in over my shoulder
when whistling in my ears, but I could see no sign of the creature
above me. I hold on the steering lines, straining
to see any sign of the ground below. There was nothing. A few long moments passed. Then I caught sight of a tree
spearing through the mist. Another followed. Then another. And then I was sailing between them,
branches, slapping my face, battering my arms and legs. I flew free of the trees
and straight into the side of the fence, at the base of the tower.
Razor wire slashed my hands as I struck the top of the fence with enough force
to knock the wind out of me. I fell backward, landing in the dirt, shredded
nylon billowing down to cover my face. I struggled free from the remains
of my chute and unbuckled the pack, leaving it all in a heap by the fence. I limped for the jeep above,
could see no sign of the creature. I hold the door open and started
the engine, praying that the faulty spark plug I'd been meaning to replace
for months would do me this one last. The engine sputtered to life.
Something flew overhead. A blur. I caught sight of long limbs spread wide of membranous wings billowing in the sky. Eyes locked on mine
as the predator glided silently overhead, banking turning toward me. I threw the jeep into reverse
tires spinning in loose dirt. My head bounced off of the headrest
as I crashed through the gate. Then I was off
jostling down the gravel packed road. I didn't stop driving
until I reached home. Autopilot must have kicked in
because I drove myself to the E.R.. They must have thought
I was some kind of crazy person. Eyes wide, pants soaked with piss. They had to peel my fingers
from the bloody steering wheel before they could get me inside. It's been two weeks now, and the stitches across my arms
and hands are only just healing. I'll have the scars
for the rest of my life. I'm writing this with the doors locked and my step dad's old 12 gauge
against the desk next to me. I should get a dog. Maybe, too. The mist is back, and somehow the mountains just don't seem as safe as they used to.
The screen of my phone just lit up. A text from the company. Another job. Another site. I don't think I'll answer. My feet rest on solid ground, but my mind is far from easy on the pathway to the edge of sanity. I approach the abyss until standing on the brink. I am as vacuous as the unfathomable beyond the savage wound gouged into
the earth is terrible to behold. Yet my eyes are drawn to inexorably probe
the heart of darkness, leading
to the infernal depths of the mind. Even my eyes must travel lately for staring induces a pressure
like a heavy object tearing its way through a suspension of thick fabric. If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
I try to focus on the thick web
of interlocking ground tunnels, shoots and or homages
that network across the chasm. But without fail, my eyes
return to the emptiness of the void. How quickly an awareness turns to a fear. And just as swift does fear transform
to a self-destructive fixation. Warm air rises from
below is a lover's seductive whisper. And though I am mortified with terror
at the prospect of falling, it's impossible
to deny the liberation promised that endless release. My name is Ender or Sergeant Marston,
as I'm referred to by my true. I have been contacted to perform
a security sweep of the impending mine in South Africa,
the deepest mine in the world. The squad was boisterous on the way here, but no one has spoken a word
since we've entered the parlance.
The mine's cage elevator. We are lowered incrementally
for the first few feet before the parlance is dropped
to plummet downward at a sickening rate. It takes just 6 minutes
to travel the first one and a half miles into the ground
and one of my men is already puked. By the time the metal chain screeches
and catches at the bottom. Out of respect for his dignity, I pretend not to notice
the sound of his retching. From there,
we have to walk to a second shaft, which takes us an additional mile downward
to where stone walls can reach up to 140 degrees Fahrenheit
and will immediately fry the oils in your skin
if you're careless enough to make contact. The tunnels of impending gold mines spread 300 miles,
many of which have been infested by rogue miners and thieves
who live down here for months at a time. A combination of poor nutrition,
absence of sunlight and refining gold with mercury and other toxins
earned these miners into pallid ghouls. The ghost miners
we are hunting are difficult to locate and often retaliate
against their discovery with gunfire or explosives to demolish the tunnels.
I never would have dared this expedition if we didn't already have someone
on the inside. Romo's one of the ghost miners
who now accompanies us, has betrayed his operation for a prize of $10,000 promised upon our safe return. He sold us maps
detailing the location of the US gang, an elusive subterranean
refinery of pirated gold maintained
by one of the criminal syndicates. He walked at the forefront, now, navigating the endless black corridors
without hesitation. His ivory glowed with an almost
internal radiance under our flashlights, a translucent sheen giving clear view to the blue
veins in his neck and arms. I didn't take my eyes off of him
for a second. My finger
hovered on the trigger of my M9 handgun. One wrong move
and he'd be buried deeper than the devil. I didn't discount the possibility
that his allegiance was a ruse and, that rounding a blind
corner, we'd lose track of him only to be buried
by an immeasurable payload of rock. He kept glancing over his shoulder
with pale orbs that bulged from his emaciated face, constantly
licking his lips against the dry air.
His eyes traced the gun in my hand
each time, fully understanding the risk
he accepted in this undertaking. Close now the word slipped past his darting tongue. Flashlights off my hand. Tighten on the gun. You do not want them to see you coming. Ramos Said it impatiently, though
not collapsed before you fired a shot. I go alone. Give pass away, then come back for you. I looked back at my troop behind me. Six men
each putting their lives in my hands. Now, Ramos was asking me
to trust their lives with him as.
Well. The more trust is spread, the thinner
it becomes. But I couldn't see another option. I could almost hear the skin of my face
cracking in the silence. And my eyes were so parched that I wondered
if the fluid had begun to evaporate. What abominable conditions men will subject themselves to for gold. But how could I pretend
that I was any better when I accepted the contract to come here? I relented and gave Ramos a nod to speak loud in English. I instructed him. We'll put out our lights,
but you keep your eyes on. I didn't have to tell Ramos
that I wanted his light on to make him easier to shoot in the back
if he pulled anything funny. His maniacal grin told me
that he already knew. Put your worries to bed, my friend, Ramos
said, smiling with teeth
as bleached as his skin. I need you more than you need me. I flashed the signal and the lights behind me cut with military precision. I turned mine out at last, intent on Ramos face for any sign of deceit. His fake countenance was impossible
for me to read, however, and relinquishing my own life
to the encompassing darkness felt like surrendering
my soul to the mercy of a prayer.
Ramos held his own light over his head
to illuminate himself like an actor,
bearing the focus of the stage. He walked purposefully down
the deserted way, humming to himself with careless ease. The proximity of the light gave his skin
an even more pellucid shine. And for a second, I'm positive
I could make out the contrast of his cervical spine and collarbone
as he moved away from us. The full weight of the darkness
bore down upon me and the troop. The presence of the mountain of earth
looming overhead had never felt more evident. And the atmospheric furnace
which engulfed us, filled our lungs
and begged escape with each breath. No movement, no sound. Despite the intolerable conditions, my men held their composure
while we bore out the pregnancy silence. I couldn't help but grin at the mutual
respect we all felt for each other. This wasn't the first group of pirates we'd brought down, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.
The void calls us to her. He articulated loudly
to no one in particular her. And you will answer the call. A hundred years may rob me from those. I love my side
and the very memory of my name. But no eternity
will diminish the scar on my psyche that voice branded upon me. I can only imagine the universe being born in response to such a voice,
and even more likely it will end with the last reverberation
of its utterance. The sudden silence after it faded was broken only by a uniformed thud as the six men behind me
fell to their knees as one.
A similar compulsion gripped me
as my survival instincts lying dormant since the mankind's first sentient
thought devoured my consciousness. But I stubbornly refused them to maintain my line of sight on Ramos. The ghost miner turned back and flashes
light in my direction, illuminating the gun still level
that his face. I hope the distance did not betray
how violently my hands shook, but perhaps my authority was already robbed
from the cowed men behind me. What was that? I asked. What is down here? Come and see for yourself, Ramos replied. At my signal,
I heard men return to their feet, although I didn't glance
back at them, lest I reveal the terror
blazoned across my face.
I flared my light on the approach,
crouching and pressing myself to the wall in a vain attempt
to regain some control over the situation. The terminal end of the tunnel Ramos had stopped beside
had vanished, replaced only by a black wall of emptiness, which my meager light
could not hope to puncture. I turned the beam on Ramos, instead,
bringing to life the fleeting vision which had passed before the light shone
straight, his skin.
My eyes traced the outlines of bones, the suspension of his organs,
and even the whisk, his blood running sluggishly
through, his body back to his face. The cartilage of his nose and ears
block the light more thoroughly, making them appear to hover distinctly
apart from leering skull. I ignored the horrified gasps from behind
and did not allow my men to see me falter. We have arrived at Diaz Gangi, Ramos
said as we drew level with him. But I do have something to confess. If you believe you are being brought
to a refined hurry, then I'm afraid you have been misled. I wanted nothing more than to plant
a bullet straight through that sardonic grin. But years of violence and bloodshed
as a mercenary soldier has taught me that the will to restrain is a more important
lesson in knowing how to kill.
I lowered my gun to the floor. If he had been afraid of death,
he would have shown it by now. Instead, I moved beside him to the light
into the opening, revealing a descending stairway
cut deeply into the solid bedrock. I don't know what bothered me more than here at the bottom
of the deepest mine on earth. There was a secret passage
that continued downward past all sight and reason,
or that each step was worn smooth and to places as though eons of footsteps
have passed up and down this way before us.
Ganges, the temple which lies below us
still. Ramos continued each word, shedding
some of the accent and hesitation. He previously decorated
the English language with the pretense was an unfortunate necessity
for bringing you here, but the essence of your mission
remains unchanged. I desire your assistance
in eliminating your subterranean evil. Just as you had already set out to do, I offer compensation for your service. Just as you were prepared to receive both will be greater than you anticipated. Will you continue this way with me? There it was again. The whisper of the unknowable darkness, the temptation of the void
which fixates my senses until sight and sound and touch all combine
into a single insistent pressure to leap.
The demands of my curiosity
gripped my heart with iron claws, which dragged me toward the topmost stair
from the idle dreaming days in my youth to each operation
in my professional career. I hungered for the insatiable
thrill of adventure. And now, faced
with the greatest mystery of my life, my whole spirit was kindling to his fire. That is why it was so difficult
to turn around, to bark the commands, to follow my lead on the long
trek back toward the mundane world above for all the wonder promised
by this discovery, so too I was filled with looming dread for all this selfish
longing of my desires.
I could not purchase them
with the lives of the men who trusted me. I do not wish to portray myself
as a hero in this instance because I swear to you, I am not. I have once knocked on the door
where one of my men once lived and eased his weeping
mother to the ground in my arms. It was nothing but cowardice, which made me unwilling
to do so again. Under Marston, I could hear
Remus break his composure behind me. I need your help. It's good that I didn't turn around. If I had, then I might not have the wooden support beams
that were painted with a metallic gloss. I shouted a warning to my men
and as though thrown by the momentum, my words,
an explosion ruptured from the ceiling.
Splintering timbers, like breaking bones,
heralded the shifting weight of the untold
millions of tons of rock and soil above. Perhaps we could have struggled
through the hail before the avalanche of the cascading rock
blocked off retreat. Again, it was my cowardice, though,
which lent strength to my desperate effort to pull my men back. Within seconds, all opportunity for decision had passed. I am sorry. Ramos moaned.
A real tremor
running through his woeful voice. I hadn't wanted to that. But you left me no other choice. I hope your surprise won't spoil
the good fortune that has brought us together. Restraint saved his life for a second time
today. Somehow, I didn't expect it to be strong enough to endure a third test. Despite his apology, his skull was still
grinning beneath his thin mask of skin.
He must have known what I was thinking because I wore the same expression
as every man in my troop. There was no way onward but down. I was a correctional officer
at a supermax prison. It was near Florence Colorado. I stayed as an employee
there for half a decade. I saw almost everything you can imagine. Escape attempts, stabbings and riots. Also sharp weaponry that was hidden
in places you would rather not visualize.
These are only some of the more unpleasant occurrences
I have dealt with in the past. I am currently writing this on
an encrypted wi fi from an undisclosed but safe location. I have had a change of careers
following the events of the tale I am about to share with you now. I hope that people thinking
about becoming prison guards read my story and reconsider
any future life choices. They will look back on as a mistake. The warden called me into his office
on a monday. During the entire walk there
down the hallways. I thought of the trouble I could be in. Shut the door, he said
as he looked up at me from his desk chair as I entered those words,
sealed it in my mind how much hot water
I was in for some sort of infraction.
I was not aware of yet. Bureaucratic micromanaging and constant
procedural changes were nothing new to me. I still hated petty political grievances. I nodded and sealed the entranceway. He demanded I take a seat. So I did. You're the best officer here, he said. I waited for the. But I anticipated news of,
the termination. I saw a force transfer to some mundane
prison filling paperwork headed my way. I want to give you an opportunity,
he said. You will make 600,000 in one year. Your benefits will remain unchanged. You will have less oversight. And what is present for you now? You would be in a leadership
position, albeit an isolated one. That sounds ideal. I said as my mind swam
in the possibilities of how much profit he offered. There are only two things we ask of you. One is that you cannot tell anybody
about your new position. Two is you locate somewhere else. There's a prison in the Arctic.
And that's where your life will be
for the next 365 days. The confusion must have
been readable on my face. If your wife asks, tell
her that you're going to Federal Academy. There's no cell service or Wi-Fi there. Any contact you make with her
must be through snail mail. We will handle the addresses. If you decline this offer,
then this conversation never happened. Do you understand? I contemplated the pros and cons
before I became law enforcement. I was a bodyguard.
I was gone from the house
for extended periods, even though it would be time with the wife, lost
the fortune, would help both of us. I agreed the prison facility was a large compound. Not much bigger than the place
I had patrolled before. A few things jumped out at me
when I first laid eyes on the populace. They all had wounds on their faces
and they spoke a strange, guttural language
I was unfamiliar with. Why do they talk in such a bizarre tongue? Asked myself
as I would walk down the blocks.
The new warden I
worked under had the last name of Buckley. He had noticeable
scar tissue beneath his eyes. His attitude towards me at
the beginning was hardly welcoming. If anything, he acted
as though I was a burden. He seemed to resent me due to the mere
possibility having to train me on things. One evening, Buckley
ordered me to do a cell extraction. Christopher Aluko
was the name of the inmate we had to deal with on the walk there. I asked my boss
what Aluko had done to end up here. I'm not allowed to tell you
what these scumbags have accomplished to wind up here. Buckley said he started his career
in crime by cannibalizing his sister, though tonight are only goal
is to get him moved to the hole. He's proven himself to be way
too dangerous to share space with anyone.
The doors of each cell were closer
to that of an insane asylum than a prison. They were complete barriers
that you could not see through. It was me, three other guards who were about to deal with this
high profile detainee. The supervisor was present doing the thing
the bosses generally do. That is to say he remained standby
and did not get his hands dirty.
Upon walking in, the first thing I saw was Aluko
sitting upright on his cot. I noticed he was huge. At least six foot
eight and £320 of pure muscle. His skin cracked all over his face, had the normal scarring I associated
with most people in the place. I'm going to need you to stand up
and put your hands behind your back. I said. I kept my hand near the holster
where my pepper spray was. Show me respect
and I'll show you the same. I continued. You won't have handcuffs on you for long
if you cooperate.
You are not better than me, Aluko said. His voice had a baritone quality,
which I expected from a man of his size. What I did not was how weird it sounded. It was as though four or five people
were chanting the words in unison. All right, I said, Let's get
you move to where you need to go. The faster we do this, the better off
you'll be. You shot at someone in broad daylight
when you were in a gang years ago, Aluko said.
It took ten years for the paranoia
to go away. The fear of the cops
coming to arrest you for potential murder before you became a low grade
one yourself. To this day, you don't know if any innocent civilians
got caught in the crossfire. We had to restrain his huge arms and place
the metal bracelets on his wrists. He laughed all the while
as we brought him to solitary. I thought of his words
and how much they unsettled me. They were true.
And that story from my past was one
I had not told anybody. Near the end of the shift, Buckley went into one of the sniper towers
and smoked a cigaret. Since my duties the day were complete,
I took the spiral staircase to the level he stood on. When I saw him, I was only a
few more inches away from where he puffed. He did not seem to mind or even care
about the footsteps behind him. He focused on the distant
and lowering winter sun. The caged animal back there said something
which he shouldn't have. I said Part of
the job is having thick skin, he said as he flicked
his cigaret over the edge into the snow. He turned around to face me. It's not about that, I said. Did he hurt your poor little feelings? He had an insight into my past
that no one has.
I said as a bitter taste
filled in my mouth. Well, that's unfortunate. Means you lied to the oral board when you
got into the position you're in now. You shouldn't lie to your employers. I need to know.
What kind of prison this is? I said as I felt blood rushed to my head. Why does everyone have open
sores all over their body and face? Are they exposed to some kind of virus. And if so, are we susceptible? Either that or they're always high on something that would explain
why they're always speaking gibberish. Also, how in the hell do they know things that I haven't
even told the closest people in my life? Better to do the job assigned.
Don't worry about things
that are above your pay grade. Buckley pulled out another pack of Cigarets
and lit one. I hope we're not exposed to dangers
we weren't warned about. I'll have to find a way
to get the word out. If you break your nondisclosure agreement,
it would be far worse than the termination. Your wife back home, the one with the dark
curly hair and the nice curves. I'd hate to see the impact
of your decisions on her.
That was when I grabbed him by the lapels
and shoved him into the ground. I considered throwing elbows. The idea of making him taste
his blood was satisfying. I did not to be incarcerated
in this den of misery, though. Of all places. Buckley started laughing. What he did
next took me by complete surprise. He patted me on the back
with his free hand instead of trying to defend himself
or resist. You've proven my point,
he said as he pushed on my chest. Now get off of me. I don't want to give signal
to one of my buddies in the next tower. He has a modded Remington
700 pointed at you. I released him after
he stood and brushed some frost off. He made eye contact with me. I respect you for your bravery. Most people wouldn't
be willing to do that to me, especially someone beneath me in rank.
Tell you what, I'll shed a little bit of light on
what kind of place this is for you. And if I ever found out you told anyone,
you'll wish you would have died at birth. I felt the adrenaline
start to wear off as my energy lowered. I nodded, thereby giving the tacit
agreement to his new offer. I looked to my left and saw the sniper. He was referring to. It occurred to me that if he wanted
to take action against me, he could have had me executed right then
and there. Buckley waved at me to follow him
as we made our way down the steps. He escorted me through the yard ice, case
the weight sets and pull up bars. We follow the chain link fence
to another facility that had coded key access after we put in the correct digits. He swung the door open. We made our way down a hallway
that did not seem modern.
There were lit torches on the walls,
the flooring was pallid cobblestone. He brought me into another room,
which was the size of an auditorium. A man stood up. He wore all black clothing with a white collar and took me a while
to recognize him as a priest. I saw rows of long tables once
fit for a king in an ancient era. Crucifixes, rosaries, chalices of water and stacks of dusty books
lined every corner. I skimmed some of the titles and saw that
a few were in a different language. Father La mora Buckley
said as he stared at the man of the cloth. What are you doing down here? The priest pointed to his left. When I shifted my eyes in that direction, I did not immediately notice the presence
of a fourth person in the room. This was one of the inmates
tied down on a slab. As soon as we focused our collective
attention on him, the man came to life.
He started struggling
against his restraints. A red tinged substance poured
from his mouth like foam from a rabid dog. I have almost driven the evil entity out. The priest said. Buckley turned to me.
What is going on here? I asked. I had the irresistible urge to run
screaming in the other direction. I knew I could not take my chances out
in the harshest cold, but a part of me was willing
to at least try. This prison's budget
comes from the Vatican. We only take possessed by something
greater than general sadism or psychopathy. In the official government paperwork. They call this place
the house of the demon. Liam. If you want atone for the sins
I know you're guilty of. Now would be an excellent time. Help us read the incantation needed
to cleanse this heathen. Our possessed inmates
were flown in from around the world. The evening
the young girl came to our gate via the bus was an unusual occurrence. The transporting officers
rolled her towards me on a gurney. She fought against her restraints. She screamed in the dense and layered
voice I had become used to at that point.
She wore a tattered and old, beige
colored dress. Bloodstains marked her clothing. I made a mental note
to try and get her some blankets when she was in her new home. Her name was Anna. There were a few things
that made her different from the others. For starters, her eyes were milky. She retained the same faraway gaze
they all had.
But it was as though her pupils indicated
narcotic use. Her eyes never got any clearer during
the entirety of my time monitoring her. There was one singular trait
that made her stand out from the others. She often quieted down in her
yelling when. She was in the presence of the staff. The inmates usually never cared
who they were in front of unless it was to unearth our secrets
or to shame us. She minded her manners. This was as alarming
as much as it was respectful. One take place during the cell. I knew I had to bind her to the bed
after removing her from the gurney. As soon as I am
buckled, one of the straps on her wrists, she reached up
and tried to claw at my face. I ducked her strike. I reached towards my belt for a canister. If this were a normal person,
it would have been filled mace. Mine brimmed with holy water. Instead, I sprayed at her. Smoke emanated from her skin
as she let loose a cry of anguish. I ended the rest of the straps
and moved her to the bed. I shut the door and went to lunch.
The lodging for the employees
was three separate rows of cabins, the most luxurious ones
belonged to the leadership. The second most comfortable apartments
were the priests. The third, and needless
to say, the most decrepit provided shelter for the officers. Even though my space was hardly glamorous,
it became my sanctuary. I was able to work out, read
paperback books and journal. These activities
helped maintain mental sanity. I stared at the ceiling and thought
about how unsettled I was about the girl. Every inmate had a glimmer of humanity. Something about her. Me want to investigate her past? Word spread
amongst the new employees. How? There was only one computer
in the entire facility. It contained the reports database. It was in our warden's office. Rumor also circulated that he had access
to the inmates rap sheets. Buckley had verified this for me
in one of our prior conversations. Even though it was an accident. I waited until after hours
to enter Buckley's space.
I managed to bribe one of the janitors
with extra snacks. Never the power of common items
in the penitentiary. Buckley had left his computer on
without signing out. Navigating the digital database of various
profiles was tricky. While I wanted to look up different names,
I decided to focus on the young girl. I searched for every and until I found
the one I was looking for, a few things
stood out to me about her right away. The main body of text on her infractions
had many redactions. I printed it out and grabbed the papers. I closed the door behind me and headed
down the hallway back to my lodging. I read the document on my walk,
even though she was only 20 years old.
She was also a nuisance society. She burnt down a halfway house
she was staying at. She was there for many DUIs. Several judges gave her breaks. They decided to put her in mental health
facilities instead of jail. She kept assaulting the staff there. The worst of these was
when she stabbed a nurse in the jugular. The aunt survived, but had to talk through
a voice box for the rest of her life. I was right outside my door
when I heard a familiar voice. You're out late, C.O., Nwosu said. I turned around and saw his large
frame in the two months I had been there.
I got to know the man well. He had come here from the Arizona State
Prison complex. We had swapped similar stories. His tales of the encounters he had
with death row prisoners intrigued me. What do you have there? Also asked a guidebook
on how to perform a successful exorcism. I lied. I didn't think you like to work off duty. We do what we have to. How did you get it? They won't let us use the Internet here.
Found it under the seat of the mobile. I said I did not feel good
about falsifying information to a peer and respect for. Oh, I see. I came here to ask you
if you had any extra coffee. I'm out and I don't want to go all the way
to my locker to get some in the morning if I can help it. No problem. I said as I unlocked the door
and invited him in. I stuff the papers under my mattress
so he would not be able to read them. I reached into my backpack
and pulled out some instant packets. I gave them to him and saw that
he stared at my collection of books. At the far end was a Bible. His eyes locked on it. He grabbed the coffee packets
and looked at me. Do you believe what they're telling us? Most? Who asked. What do you mean about God and the devil? All these biblical villains
taking control of all the people here. It seems farfetched to me. There has to be something going on. What if this is an asylum
for those with undiagnosed mental illness? The kind researchers
aren't advanced enough to understand yet.
Have you ever thought of that? I sat down. I don't think science has the answer. I said. The ones in here are gifted
with preternatural abilities. It's like they can read our minds
or at least our pasts, no matter how secretive we are. I never felt as though I have less
power than I do since I came here. All I know is I can't pretend to understand everything
whether it's celestial or empirical. I cannot feign understanding of the evil
within these walls.
To pretend otherwise is arrogance. Buckley Nwosu,
a priest and I walked together to a.l. We could hear her screaming
from within a 300 foot distance. The other of prisoners
became drowned out by her wails. We entered her cell. Words written in blood were on the wall. There were Latin. She stared at us with a smile. Her face seemed puffier than usual,
which emphasized the wounds on her face. The priest pulled out a rusted
black crucifix. He raised it in her direction
as he approached her. Her screams
grew louder with each advancing step. He pulled out a small pocket bible
and read a prayer from it. Saint Michael
the Archangel Defend us in battle.
Be our protection against wickedness
and the snares of the devil. May God rebuke him. We humbly pray and do thou prince
of the Heavenly Host by the power of God thrust into hell, seen in all evil spirits
who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen. Her eyes became less opaque. I was able to make out their green color
for the first time. She gazed that me and spoke intelligible words for the first time
since her forced visitation. Your mother died an early death
because she found out you joined a gang
and said with a mocking laugh. I looked around to see if anyone
were staring at me with judgment. The expressions were neutral
until they turned into worry. Everyone in the room knew they would have to wait their turn
for public humiliation. You accepted a bribe to stay silent after
an inmate stabbed another one to death? She said to Nwosu,
also muttered something under his breath. He stated the inmate was a horrible person
who mistreated children.
He commented on how the earth was lighter
without the presence of such a person weighing it down. You and I said as she stared at Buckley. You are the worst of everyone. Your wife dies by drowning and
you received up her life insurance money. Wait until they look deeper into that. But I saw next horrified me. Buckley screamed out the word no. He lunged at her, his hands wrapped around her throat
before one of her legs broke free from its binding
and kicked him in the ribs.
He must have forgotten
to wear his vest that day because he folded
and landed on the ground. The priest placed a cross on the forehead
and left the permanent mark there. She passed out her exaltation
before she lost consciousness,
her body deflate into a natural thinness. Buckley called me into his office
the next day. He asked me to take a seat
with a menacing tone. He slammed the door
and sat behind his desk. Do you even want to work here anymore? I know this employment
opportunity is a very unique one. It's not for everyone. You knew when you became a CEO
that this type of job requires more mental fortitude
than most professions. This isn't any different because we're
operating in uncharted territory. Have I done something wrong? I asked. You entered my office after hours, he said
as he banged his fists on the table. I don't know what your motivation. Are you starting to believe what
some of these inmates are saying about me? They don't see our sins
with full impunity.
They know enough about our interior lives
and what bothers us enough to get under our skin. It's us versus them. Once you side with the enemy, then you're
no good to the team here, let alone me. If you're running some kind of vigilante
against me to complete that. Believe me when I say
you don't want to be on my bad side. If you're going to fire me,
I said I won't make excuses.
You should know. I was not trying to get you in trouble
or dig up any dirt. I wanted to look up
all the information I could on Anna. She seemed to be more in control
of what possessed her than the. I wanted to figure out
what made her so unique in that regard. I figured if I ever wound up possessed,
I could weaponize whatever she used. You're like a child, he said. He stood and paced back and forth. Do yourself a favor
and stay within your pay grade.
The Vatican has hired scientists
to study behavior during possessions. In the old days, they would have
dismissed it as different demons. You don't have a degree in microbiology
any more than I do. We are muscle hired to make sure the demons all just are safe
when they do their job. So you do yours? Yes, sir. I felt as though I had backed down
and given him some sort of sovereignty over me. I also knew if I lied to resist it,
it would only lead to a loss of money for my family and me. Count yourself lucky, he said
as he sat back down and picked up a pen. I'm not reporting your mistake
to any of my superiors. Do not make me regret
giving you this break. Now get out of
here before I change my mind. I made my way to the threshold. I faced him as I began to turn the knob. One question, I said. Most of the time, inmates come shipped
here in groups and arrived alone.
Why Was she given special treatment
during her transport? Is she a celebrity? The daughter of a famous politician? It's within my rights to know
if someone has to check up on her. Anna is my daughter, Buckley said as he scribbled on iPad
and motioned me to leave. As time went on, I saw humanity behind the violent demeanor
of many inmates. A common fear of correctional officers
is susceptibility to manipulation by the incarcerated. Tried
not to become a victim of my empathy. One of the prisoners
named Aluko managed to escape. I collected information on how he did it. Rumors that he had turned
a toothbrush into a pic.
He allegedly weakened
the concrete around his barred window. Another tale given was how he overpowered
one of the correctional officers. The officer was too embarrassed
to admit it, so they tried to cover it up. Aluko was a massive man. There was no shame in losing
an unarmed combat match. Him. The lack of weapons used left me baffled. The strangest part of the story was not
how he escaped. It became obvious
the inmates had some sort of intelligence. They were not as impulsive
as we judge them to be. They had the basic one to freedom or
the cruel entities that controlled them. Did. The most unsettling part. A Lucas fleeing was not how he managed
to scale the barbed wire. Nor was it his willingness
to traverse the tundra.
What perplexed me
the most was how his life ended when he was less
than half a mile away from the prison. It was not the elements that took him,
something that torn him apart. The theory of it
having been a polar bear spread. They wanted a meal to go with their coke. One of the officers
joked in the briefing room, I did not find the lame quip funny,
and neither did the warden. Our general lack of civility
was not uncommon, but some jokes were intolerable. While many of us wrote
it off as a polar bear attack, there was one aspect of the butchery
not in alignment that Aluko was.
Eyes were missing from his skull. A member of the search team said something carved an upside down
cross carved into his chest. Or what's left it. Medics came back
and told us everything they had seen. The brass took over the investigation
shortly afterward. I asked one of the priests
what could have ended his life. What kind of Wraith like me could perform such a precise
and terrifying mutilation? I asked. This has the makings of an attack
by Azazel. The priest said that particular type
of demon wanders the wilderness. It can take on many forms. Be on the lookout
for anything resembling a goat. If you see horns
when you are doing an outside perimeter check,
be sure to recite a prayer and use this. He handed me a crucifix. My stubborn agnosticism did not want
to accept it as a believable weapon. I relented because he was so polite. Buckley called us into his office. When we got there, he did not slam
the door as I expected him to call Nwosu. I gazed at each other with alarm
as Buckley waved at us to follow him. He took us to an elevator
in one of the back chambers that I had earlier
dismissed as a room for the cleaning crew.
An elevator was there. He opened it, had a step inside
and let us down to the basement. The subterranean cellar
was completely bare, except for two items. One was a stained glass window that
depicted the Virgin Mary coated in ice. The second was an electric chair. I not know the prison had such a chamber. Everything about the seat looked old. It seemed to belong to a medieval era,
rather than having come from decades ago. The arms of the chair had the faces
of gargoyles at the end of them.
I've been talking to officers about this,
he said. As a team,
everyone is culpable except for me. The procedures we maintain of checking
on the subjects every hour are important. It wasn't written as a flexible guideline. It exists for a reason. An inmate to manage a successful escape
attempt does not look good on us. Or to the higher ups in Rome. I don't know if you were lazy
or scared to do your jobs, but either way you need to toughen up
and develop a work ethic. Otherwise it's going to get ugly fast. I had the policy changed
regardless of how understaffed we may be. You are now going to do six routine
checks on the inmates every hour. If I hear a single complaint
coming from your lips, you will regret it beyond measure. Are we clear? After silence ensued, Buckley called us incompetent
once more and dismissed us.
Walsh, who took the elevator up,
I turned around and spoke to Buckley. Warden, I have question. I did not permit you to ask one. I suppose after the beatdown
I gave you, I'll allow it out of pity. Do any of the inmates
have demons driven out them? And if so, where do they go afterward? Do they go back to the prison
they came from? Are they granted immunity
and allowed to go back home? Do the exorcisms,
make them than what they were before? You are nothing more than pond scum
with a badge, Buckley said with a sneer. Don't ask questions
if you're wage doesn't merit it. How many times do I have to tell you? I was only wondering
because I haven't seen Anna in a while. Watch what you say and get of my face.
You are a hair breath away from me,
documenting your insubordination. Although I loved pushing his buttons,
I did not want negative consequences. I left the room. I did not yearn to be
the newest execution there. I went up into one of the towers. I looked out the expansive plains
of frost and woodland. Buckley's threats and bullying were
starting to get to me more than usual. Verbal
abuse in my industry was not uncommon. Something about his irate tone under these
conditions made its thing much worse.
It filled me with a certain anger
that I did not know how to resolve. I figured getting some fresh air,
doing a bit of investigating would help me stay preoccupied.
I needed to clear my mind. Aluko. His escape gave a negative impression
of my work performance. I still to believe his death
was some sort of natural phenomenon. I brought a sniper rifle with me. I looked through the scope. The bullets had a cross
carved into each of them. I tried to trace the exact path Aluko took when he made his final attempt
at getting back into society. I carried a night vision device
to help me see through the darkness. A half hour later, I saw movement. It was subtle at first. Snow fell from tree branches. My heart raced as I saw a figure wandering
through a thick cluster of pines.
It was a woman in a nightgown
as white as the hills around her backward,
arching horns protruded from her forehead. The way she moved was peculiar. Her steps did not seem to telegraph
any sort of movement as though she was floating. There were no indentations
in the snow behind her. Her tilted to the side. The last frozen feeling
she wore on her face was one of pain. She seemed to suffer
a sort of paralytic neck injury. A black tailed deer
was only 20 feet from her. She snuck behind it predatory. What I saw next disturbed me. The deer's torso opened a crimson spurt
littered snow with puddles of red fluid. The ethereal woman reached down
and tried to grab some of the eviscerated body parts. Her hands sunk through the chunks of meat. She at that moment. I squeezed the trigger, connected her
chest to two sheets, splitting apart. Her scream became even more voluminous. She exploded like an effigy,
incandescent in the Arctic. She evaporated into ashes. The flames went away.
And so did the spirit.
A pile of blackened and smoldering
embers got carried by the wind. They decorated the trees as though
it was a macabre Christmas stage set up. The next
night I visited Nwosu in his room. His Place was a mess. He was usually clean and organized. His few paperback
books, sci fi, military adventures, were strewn about on the floor. I noticed. Also had a half bottle of scotch
on his nightstand, which was a definite violation.
We were not allowed to drink. The threat of an emergency
forced us to maintain sobriety. Still, I was not going to snitch on him. I think I killed a demon. I said as I took a seat across from him. I searched high and low for the body,
and I couldn't find it. One of the preachers told me it was
a particular type of evil called Azazel. I looked at Nwosu and saw that his eyes seemed to stare out
for a thousand yards toward. His ceiling. What's wrong, man? I found the death ledger.
He said. I don't understand. Whoever flipped the switch on the electric
chair we saw yesterday a logbook. Everybody whose life he ended. There have been exactly
106 people killed in that chair. Sure, some of them were repugnant
before their possession. Others got locked up
for a seatbelt violation. There's no consistency in regards to why
they were worthy of capital punishment. Nwosu pulled out a manila volume. He tossed it my way. I flipped through it and saw many names. Some struck me as familiar. Did you have any suspicion
they were killing people under our noses? No I said. I searched the papers for dates to see how recent
the old incidents of annihilation were. All were within the last year. There was a weird energy
in the electric chair room.
Also said
what you banished out in the woods may have been the spirit
of an already possessed yet dead person. It's possible that when they're killed,
their demonic selves stay on this plane. They could choose to haunt us. Could be that every ghost story written since the beginning of time
is the darker half of a human lingering. I must admit, I don't know who would want
to stay a place like this at all, though. I nodded. I also began to wonder if it was correct
or if he was losing his sanity. I helped Aluko escape Nwosu
as he turned to face me. The conditions of this place appall me. I want to assist many more. I had never seen a prisoner transported
via helicopter. My sixth month
of working at the facility changed that. It landed on a helipad
made of yellow and blue paint. The pilot in the car
took the detainee out of the chopper. There were both army personnel.
The stripes on their uniforms indicated
they were not low level within the military. As I watched this from one of the towers,
I could not help but wonder who the new inmate was. The person tried to give the captors
a struggle. Both were strong
and did not seem particularly worried. They kept the person under control. I observed the subject's clothing
during the escort down to the top floor of the cells.
A black burlap sack was over their head. A large blanket covered them. It was impossible for me to even gauge
the basic silhouette of the individual. I had seen many kinds of transport,
but none so high profile. It made me contemplate
they were an insurgent from some faraway land. I pondered if they were a kingpin
of some nefarious domestic terror group. I asked one of the officers
if they knew anything about the person. They told me the subject was in the hole,
the most isolated cell on the grounds. Orders were not to take the burlap
sack off of the person's head. This perturbed me a great deal. I asked if we had any information
on the person. I already knew the answer would be vague
if there would be any sort of concrete back story at all. I met the warden in one of the break rooms
as he was eating steak. It was better than the freeze dried
and prepackaged artificial slop
they gave to those of us lower in rank.
I became jealous in a matter of seconds. You told us to watch the prisoners more? I said as I folded my arms. Who is looking out
after the one in solitary? What makes them get room floors
above the rest of the general population? Is this person the country's most prolific
serial killer or something? What would merit such severe? I don't create the law here,
he said with a mouthful. Believe it or not, I'm kept in the dark
about a lot of things as well. Don't assume because I'm not a
that I have all the details you so crave.
Do me a favor. When you get out of here next month, take it up with the big guys in Italy,
Especially the one with the funny hat. I'm sure they'd to hear your thoughts
while you're there. Tell them I deserve a promotion. That same night, I went up to the top
level and walked past the door. That led to the solitary cell. Though I could not see inside
because it was a wall of pure concrete. I did hear the wails of the prisoner. They sounded familiar. I was doing my routine
checks and I passed one of the cells belonged to an inmate named Andre. He sat straight up and stared at me.
I could tell
something was different about him. He was not writhing on his car,
nor was he struggling. The usual muscle contractions. He walked up to me. The barrier between us did not give me
a perfect feeling of protection. I am cured. He said, the usual milky pupils and me. Tad was a thing he was now devoid of. You were doing so much better, I said. I've never seen anyone
look as clearheaded. You do now. Not around here anyways. How are you feeling? Paranoid. Do you know what they do to people like me
after they've driven the evil lot of us. They send us to a mega-church
in the Rockies.
The church has its propaganda machine. They turn us into pamphlet writers
or social media manipulators. Missionaries for their so-called God. I would rather have Beelzebub as my host
than be a door to door Bible salesman. Who told you that? Your boss, Buckley. I wouldn't worry about that. He tends to see a lot of mean things
to get a rise out of people. You don't understand. The transporting officers
told the other inmates the same thing. They can't. All on one big lie like that. No offense,
but none of you were that organized. I won't argue with you there. He's saying that ones were sent to their
cult like compound must comply. If we refuse to work for the church. They put demons back inside of us. They know how to weaponize those demons. It's Not all about exorcizing them. If it ever was. It's about using them to control us. Andres
hands slipped through the metal food flap. He held a shank. The tip of the blade pierced
through the midsection of my vest.
I grabbed his wrist and wrestled the knife away from him
until it clattered on the floor. I got hold of webbing of his hand
and broke a few of his fingers. I yelled for backup. Another correctional officer came by
and sprayed holy water into the slot. When it did nothing, we switched over to
pepper spray and sent him to the ground. Inmates
using dirty tricks and distractions to try to get one over on me
was nothing new. That particular incident
made me very spiteful and paranoid, though
when I patrolled the cells the next day. Andre was nowhere to be found. I found they shipped him somewhere else. I wondered if it was true. The nightmare place of
forced worship he describes. Nwosu had lent me a copy of Milton's
Paradise Lost.
I felt obligated to give it back to him
after I finished the last page. I went outside and knocked on WOSU store. There was no answer. I went back to my room
and grabbed a flashlight. I walked up to the door again and banged
on the barrier with the metal device. Even with the reverberation, Nwosu still
did not call out or come to the door. I had seen him fall into unhealthy habits
which were worse for wear. His motivation to help
people flee had gotten the best of him. His drinking had spiraled out of control
due to the stress level he was under. I kicked the door down. Could not tolerate
the thought of letting him die by choking on his vomit
after an intense bender.
The room was empty and clean. None of his stuff was there. I walked into Buckley's office
the next day. One of the inmates smuggled a pistol in. I said, impossible,
Buckley said as his eyes widened. I need your help
in assessing the cell, sir. There might be some ballistics evidence. You believe he used the gun? Yes, I said. I escorted Buckley to the. It was a mess. Items were strewn about everywhere. Where's the gun? I braced my knuckles with a small baton
and punched Buckley in the temple. He fell. I took his service weapon and master keys. I walked out into
the hallway and shut the door immediately. I waited for him to recover and come to
when he did. He shook his head like he was waking up from a deep sleep
and gazed at me with pure hatred. What do you think you're doing,
Lieutenant? Buckley said as he touched
the side of his head for blood. I want you to tell me
what happened to my best friend. No lies this time.
Where did you want to go? You do too much.
Nothing worse than someone a kid picked on
in high school who gets into this profession. They always overcompensate. Sometimes it's better not to be proactive. Wait till you get out in the field. You'll learn that lesson
in even harder way if you live that long. I'll tell the boys you gave a direct order
to leave this level alone. You'll be here
until you starve and dehydrate. I don't want to be cruel, but you need to start answering my questions
or we're going to have problems. Who is the prisoner who came in cloak
the other day? Is it Nwosu? Is he possessed? Buckley glared at me and did not answer. I stared down at the master keys. Last chance to tell me. I continued. I'm going to do my investigation
if you don't help me, fuck off. There is something I will say, though. Ever since Anna came,
they changed some procedures. One on how those related to the officers
get booked in here.
Don't hate me. I don't make the rules. I wanted to ask him to elaborate,
but I was getting angrier with him by the second. I left him there
and went to solitary confinement. I went to the most isolated
holding chamber on the property. When I opened the door, I found a yellow
hallway that ended in darkness. I turned on my torch and walked down the vestibule
with a hand on my service weapon. I found the prisoner in the corner,
their hands tied to the bed. The burlap sack was still over their face. I ripped it off. My wife stared back at me. Her face had cracked skin and
was even paler than I can even remember. I stumbled backward at the sight of her.
No. I said through gritted teeth. As the dawn of my new reality
cascaded over me. I punched the wall. I broke a few knuckles. I knew what I had to do. I ended the restraints, the bedding
and zip tied her wrists together. I did not want the presence
which controlled her to fight me. You never told me you were in a gang
that used to rob innocent people. She said as I let her down the hallway. Her voice was not my wife's, but sounded
the way an actress might unscramble television. I brought her to the first level. I walked her past prison bar doors after I used the master keys
to gain access to them.
It was snowing when we went outside. Where are you going? I turned around and saw Officer
I had met many times. Michael Patterson
had the face of a bulldog. He never allowed anyone to think he was
anything but a consummate professional. Humor was something he was incapable of. The most powerful priest
is out on sick leave, I said. He's possessed himself. I have direct orders
to take her to the city. I'm Going to drive her
to one of the churches there. Did Buckley give you any of the paperwork
authorizing this? It's in the prisoner
transport vehicle over there, I said, pointing at the vehicle.
300 meters away. Let me get her situated for the drive
and I'll be right back with it. Patterson nodded and gave tacit approval. Once we were in the car, I hit 60 miles per hour and drove far away
from that wretched place. It took
two weeks to get back to our home state. I returned to my house
in the middle of the night, so neighbors would not see my wife
in the street She was in. The next morning,
I restrained her to our bed. I went to the local church and managed
to convince a priest to help me. I Had to persuade Father Park
I was not a delusional person. When he arrived in our bedroom,
he knew the case was legitimate. Park performed a lengthy
seven hour exorcism. I walked him to the door. My wife had already become lucid again. She did not have any memories
of what led her to being in my workplace. I have tried to pray and purify
this house. Park said as I opened the front door. If I were you, I would consider moving. As the priest walked up to his car,
I got his attention again by calling out his name.
Father, I said. I've been meaning to ask, How do we protect ourselves
from possession so I can. This never happens again. Demons are like falsehoods, Park said. No matter how intelligent you may be,
you could fall victim to believing something,
not based on facts. We have to guard ourselves against lies
and deception in the same way. We have to always be on the ready
when our senses tell us. Something evil is afoot. I closed the door and went upstairs. I embraced my wife. How did the assignment go? She asked. I'm changing industries..