u/ButterscotchSad4508

Austin never met his brother; to him, he is only someone who was. Not will. Not is. Was. For his whole life, he was only the boy in the pictures, leaving him only the stories in his imagination to remember him by. Before Austin could even remember, his brother left, gone, nowhere to be seen. All the questions and speculations that he would ask his mother would only be met with teary eyes and faint whispers asking him not to talk about him. When his father was sober enough to ask Austin, he would be met with hostile screaming matches telling him that it wasn’t his place. But Austin wanted a brother; he wanted to play with his brother, he wanted to talk to him, get to know him, and be friends with the boy from the pictures. On cold nights when things would go bump in the dark, he wished he could have had someone to run to. Over the years, on his bike rides from school, he saw the boys out and about with their brothers, and he felt a gaping hole in his childhood.

Eventually, Austin grew into a fine young man, moved past the screaming and yelling at home, and went to a nice out-of-state college, where he could pursue his passion for film. But it was while he was packing up his old stuff and moving it up to the attic that he found a present that had been left there for decades. Several large boxes labeled “Erik” lay behind the numerous amounts of antiques and old photo albums stuffed up there. But the name didn’t call his attention; unlike every other object there, one box had no dust. Was it recently placed there? Opening the box, he saw the boy from the pictures, more photos of him, much older than the ones his parents hung on the wall. But besides all of that, he found several tapes labeled 1-20. Seeing them, he immediately began looking for something to play them, and eventually he found the old family TV. Putting the first tape into the old VCR showed nothing but grainy black footage, interrupted by the occasional burst of static running through the screen.

This greatly disappointed Austin. For a second, he believed that maybe he would learn a little bit more about who his brother was. But years of isolation must have distorted the footage; with no more hope in his heart, he began to clean up. But it was while he began to put the box away that he heard a young feminine voice ask through the TV, “Are you recording?” Austin turned to face the black screen, unsure if he indeed heard it from the TV.

“Yeah,” a young man’s voice could be heard through the darkness.

“Ok, make sure you have the Lens cap off,” said the woman

“Oh shit,” the teen said. For a moment, the screen became blinding white as the camera adjusted to the new light. And in the center of the frame were 2 teenagers, both wearing cheap bargain-bin costumes.

“Action,” the girl said, and so the teenagers both looked at one another and began reciting lines from an unknown script. And as the camera got closer and closer, the two teens shared a small kiss before awkwardly recoiling in embarrassment. “Cut!” the girl yelled before having a quiet conversation with the actors. But while they were out of earshot, the young man turned the camera towards himself, and for an instant a jolt of recognition surged through Austin’s mind. His brother was the man behind the camera.

Austin’s eyes became glossy; for the first time, the boy in the pictures was moving and breathing. “You probably don’t know this, viewer, but she really wants me,” Erik said with a smirk. A faint chuckle escaped Austin’s lungs. For the rest of the tape, Austin was impressed by the care and love Erik put into minute details, from angles to how the light would hit the actors and catch the camera.

Excited to learn more about his brother, he continues to go through the many tapes, seeing the various home movies with him and his friends, until he got to the 5^(th) tape, seeing instead a scene where they are in a hospital. The camera centered on someone who struck a familiar chord in Austin’s mind.  A much cleaner, younger, healthier-looking version of his father sat down waiting for some announcement. “Are you nervous or excited, Dad?” But before he had had a chance to answer, a small nurse came through the door telling him that his wife was ready to push. And just as he appeared, his father rushed into the room of the screaming woman.

With nothing to do but wait, Erik went into the restroom and filmed a short message just for him and his brother. “Alright, bud, before you come and wreck our lives forever, I need to let you know about some ground rules; first: I’m Mom and Dad’s favorite, and nothin’s gonna change that; second: your stuff is my stuff, but my stuff is not your stuff; third and most important of all, if anyone ever gives you any shit, just let me know, and I'll kick their ass.” The thought of a 14-year-old child going out of his way to defend the 18-year-old Austin made him chuckle.  After this, the video cut to a shot of Erik holding his new baby brother in his arms, transfixed on something so small and so fragile. It was here that something caused the floorboards to give a whining cry, startling Austin and causing him to stare out into the empty darkness. And so unnerved by whatever made that noise, Austin continued to play as the collage of early childhood memories of Erik playing with Austin went through birthday parties and family reunions, watching both him and his brother play together like he'd always wanted.

“Austin, come down for dinner!” he heard his mother demand, and so Austin rushed downstairs with the old camera. Now he had a new piece of evidence to ask his parents about.

So he did, asking them about who his brother was, and after several years, his family finally gave him the tearful answer that he had been asking for all these years. How, a week after his sixteenth birthday, he had disappeared; his family spent weeks trying to find him; how, when they eventually did, his parents couldn’t recognize him- not his shredded face, not his mangled hands; nothing was left of Erik. At this moment, his parents took a breath to think about what to say next. “We thought it was some bear or wolf or some sort of animal… but the cops told us… it was a man who did this.”

“Who?”

“They didn’t catch him,” his father said, tears running down his eyes.

Afterwards, Austin returned to the attic, wanting to hear his brother’s voice now more than ever. Starting again with tape eleven, this time Erik had Austin in a low-quality lizard costume. Running rampant around his makeshift city of toys and LEGO people. He would record as baby Austin would put the small toys in his mouth, take them apart, and smash them together, before cutting to the title card with the words ‘Babyzilla by Erik Johnson’ written in red ink.

The dusty and damp attic was starting to take a stronger hold on Austin's mind. It began to fill his memories with ideas of what could have been. By this point in the tapes, Austin had grown up a bit, not enough to remember, but enough to crawl around the house and even begin to stand on his own two feet. One thing stayed the same, however: each time that Austin saw Erik’s face, he began to laugh and smile, cheering as his big brother hugged and picked him up. Austin wanted to see more

Then tape fifteen, a video journal Erik made for himself, talking about his future goals and aspirations, and how he wants to go to school and study film. That hit a chord with Austin, wishing that he could have also started his dream; he imagined how they could have worked together, but unfortunately these dreams were cut short. This realization broke Austin’s heart. And then Erik turned the camera over to baby Austin, who, no matter how much Erik called Austin, stayed transfixed with the small cracks in the walls. Soon Erik flipped the camera, calling his brother a weirdo, before continuing with the journal.

Austin began to weep, listening to what could have been, before some monster took that away from his whole family. Now all he wanted was that moment, to be back with that person ripped away from his life. And so he continued to watch the tapes. Getting all the way up to tape seventeen, another family reunion: aunts and uncles, grandparents who had passed away years ago, all surrounding one person, Erik, with a big brown chocolate cake in the middle and big colorful candles with the number 16 lit for all to see. Dread filled Austin's heart; now he could only count down the days before Erik was gone. Before something awful happened to him. His tears rolled down his cheeks; his heart dropped to his stomach. For the longest time, Austin prided himself on not being an emotional kid, but today all those years of frustration boiled up and released all at once. He hugged that TV, hoping that its warmth would replace Erik’s, but it didn’t work. So, he continued watching the birthday, watched him open gifts full of clothes, cash, and the occasional last-minute toy from Uncle Miguel, the tape ending, freezing on a frame of Erik with Austin in his arms, both laughing and smiling together one last time, before he became the boy in the pictures.

Instinctively, Austin put in the next tape. Number eighteen. This one was black, from start to finish; for several minutes, nothing could be seen. Did Erik leave the cap on again? Austin could only hear the muffled clanging of pots and pans from one of his parents washing the dishes. Before a door could be heard opening and closing, Erik’s voice asked his parents if they had seen his camera anywhere. This struck Austin as odd, since who else would be using the camera?

 The floorboards cried once again. Austin quickly jerked his head around, trying to get a good look into the darkness; nothing. He shook his head, trying to wake himself from this paranoia. Now he played the nineteenth tape. This one also started off in the darkness, but it wasn’t pitch black; instead, it was just some dark and empty room. Slowly, the camera moved, walking down some stairs and into a hallway. His hallway, just outside his and the guest rooms, slowly, the camera moved, swaying from side to side, as each step made the floor creak. And then the camera stopped right outside the guest room. Moving inside, it saw a big lump on the bed, one that Austin had never seen anyone sleep in. And as it moved to the top of the bed, it saw the dark silhouette of a hand slowly pull back the covers and reveal Erik, sleeping soundly. The hand traced Erik’s jaw and played with his hair before the tape ended.

Austin gagged; for a moment, the only thing that he could do was look at his surroundings as he felt imaginary bugs crawl up his arm and down his back. Fear had gripped Austin, but he wanted to continue. He thought maybe this could help him figure out who did it; maybe just maybe, he could help his brother. When he played the last tape, Austin began to shake with fear.

It started with snippets of his brother’s journal, rearranged and mangled to say a new message. “FoR… AusTiN… I… Love… YoU… weirdo," then it faded to black, before revealing a boy walking home from school. And while the tape hadn’t shown the boy’s face, Austin knew it was his brother. Slowly, the recording would fade to black, then appear closer and closer to Erik. Until eventually it was only a few feet away from Erik. But Austin couldn’t keep watching; he felt sick. Quickly running down the stairs. And under his covers. And for hours he couldn’t sleep. When he woke up, he chose to believe that it wasn't real, and he didn’t return to the attic until he returned for college.

One day, Austin was house-sitting for his parents. He became determined to finish that last tape. So slowly he moved up the stairs, this time undeterred by the contents of the video; no matter how disgusting or dreadful it may be, he needed to know that he could turn this in to the police, that this would solve the case once and for all. But when Austin opened that now dusty box. He saw a brand-new label on tape twenty, instead of being covered by one that read twenty-one. Did he count wrong the first time? No, twenty is now missing, and peeling the label off of twenty-one reveals the old tape. Who tampered with it? As Austin inserted the recording into the VCR, dread filled his heart as fear gripped the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine.

The tape began once again with that same message for Austin. But instead of following Erik on his way home from school, the footage was from within the attic. Peeping in on Austin while he watched Erik’s tapes, peeping as he rushed downstairs for dinner, peeping as he cried and wept for Erik, and lastly peeping as he ran out of the attic. Slowly, Austin stood up and turned around, staring once again into the darkness. This time, a small red light stared back at him.

[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/s/2huBfByZdR)

His heart melted, sinking to his burning stomach. He curled up into a small ball, fire blazing around him; tears began at his eyes but couldn’t reach his cheek without evaporating; his vision began to morph into one blurry mess as his eyes began to melt, clothes burned onto his skin before eventually turning to dust, the fat in his body blistered and boiled, this skin melted together as it turned liquid. God knows how long Mac stayed like that: seconds, hours, weeks, maybe even years. But while in that blazing inferno, he heard her voice, beautiful and angelic, singing to his soul, yearning for him to return.

Mac saw the book that tore his life apart, unburdened and unchanged, lying there on that ceramic floor looking brand new. He crawled over to it with a mad look in his empty sockets and began to tear it to pieces; page after page of lies began to feed the fire, burning it brighter and hotter than before. That didn’t stop Mac, however; he dug his fingers into its felt mouth and pressed hard on the other side with his heel, tearing it in two. Then he clawed away at its big white eyes. After everything was said and done, he had completely shredded the book into small pieces.  The fire caught onto the book, each piece of paper giving the fire more rage. Building and rising, it reached its hottest, yet Mac faced the pile of burning pages in anguish as he had been left mangled and disfigured by the righteous fires. Slowly, as the fire consumed the book, leaving nothing but ash on the ceramic floor, the fires began to cool, little by little. The fires around Mac began to dwindle as he began to feel shape return to his melted hand. One by one, he reshaped his fingers and reassembled himself until he was able to function again. He looked at the wall that once sealed him in, and he saw the faint glow of the moonlight coming into the boiler room.

His hands shook as he reached towards the wall and pushed it open with barely any force. Inching to the edge of the small room he had resided in, he dangled his legs off, seeing the floor extend impossibly far, fear striking him in the heart to take this first step. Then he pushed off his legs and knees buckling under the weight of his frail body, unable to stand, he dragged himself. Pulling himself out of the boiler room and in front of a hospital with a sign reading ‘St Dante’s Infirmary,’ in front of it.

Dragging himself to the entrance, he was greeted with minimal lighting and empty desks. He moved around the giant empty corridors, trying to find anything that would help him. Facing those same yellow walls, opaque windows, and dim lights, but as he moved, the walls’ vibrant color began to fade and rot. With them, the floors and ceiling followed, exposed wiring and plumbing from above, tattered tiles and cement foundation from below. Moving deeper and deeper into the rot, all covered with small spots made of red viscous liquid. As the lights began to dim and his surroundings began to darken, the liquid started to rise his body, dragging him deeper into the dark liquid, its warm embrace slowly covering his wounds, until he was fully submerged. In that liquid, he changed; the pain and anguish from the burns dissipating while the muscles in his body recovered. And for a while he swam, covering massive distances in that red river down the halls of the old infirmary. Until he reached a shallow section, crawling out of the red river. There to meet him was a fresh set of clothes and a wheelchair; past that was a sliding door forever stuck halfway open leading into a cold parking lot full of abandoned, snow-covered cars. The red glow of the exit sign invited him into the next part of his story.

He rolled out of the infirmary into the frigid cold, tucking his head deep into the clean jacket he had found, moving through the empty parking lot. His muscles in his arms were still weakened as the cold began to slow down his scared fingers. The constant pattern of rolling for a short while and digging his hands deep into his new pockets to warm up the strength in his fingers slowed his trip significantly. Determined to find an exit from this hell, he did not stop, moving around the tall black fences of the infirmary until eventually he found tall gates towering over him.

As he moved through the gate, he saw a sign that read ‘St Dante’s Infirmary’ with an arrow pointing back toward the building, and another sign underneath it, ‘Lake Cocytus’ with an arrow that pointed towards the left. But Mac didn’t want to go there; looking for any other path, he saw a giant forest with a trail that led deep into the woods. Moving his chair down the dark path, memories filled his mind of times when he would go out with his wife, the fresh cold air in their faces, the smell of the trees and earth filling their minds with simpler things. Then he moved the chair down the beaten path over rocks and small roots, always going down, but never up. Pushing the chair through the evergreens, he saw visions of when he and his wife were children, that first time next to the creek and under the moon. He thought about what his wife would think about if he saw her again. If she was happy, angry, or would she be disgusted with his new scars? His heart began to race at the thought of it.  The anticipation of seeing someone who's disappointed in him but someone he dearly misses makes the back of his neck begin to sweat. Rolling deeper along the trail, he heard the distant sound of a creek. The calming noise of running water instantly transported him back to that first night, back with the woman he so dearly loved.

“It’s a pretty night tonight,” her voice breaks through the sound of the creek. Mac turns to face her: beautiful brown eyes, a small, sharp nose, soft olive skin, a comforting red coat, and soft pink lips. For a moment, Mac can't think; the cool glow of the moonlight reflecting on her face brings sweet butterflies into his stomach. He looked down at her lips and saw her mouthing something he was too distracted to pay attention to. “What?” he muttered. Just then, a Scream from the girls' cabin cut through the moment. “PANTY RAID,” the voice of one of the older boys could be heard faintly from the distance, as the cabin erupted into more screaming and laughter. “What's wrong with guys, huh?” her voice sang to him. Mac turned over to see her once again, instantly getting lost in the maze-like eyes of hers. His heart began to beat faster and faster, while blood rushed from his chest to his cheeks, turning his face a deep red. Finally, he was able to utter the words “I don’t know.” As he looked deep into her eyes, everything slowly became her; all he could see was the beauty of her face, until for the first time he felt her warm, soft, comforting lips on his, in a kiss that felt too short but could have lasted an eternity. “I said we should go see where this creek leads to,” her voice said, reading Mac’s mind.

And then she was gone, leaving Mac with nothing but a creak that led deeper into the woods. With nothing but the words of his wife to guide him, he began to follow that creek, looking up at the evergreens with small flakes of snow coming down from the heavens. Mac followed the creek, the noise of the running water being the only thing he could hear for miles, rolling alongside it. Over rocks and small roots, he rolled into the darkness, moonlight shining on the small snow patches riddling the ground. The thought of his wife being there playing back in his head put his mind away from this terrible journey; Mac, however, was too distracted pushing the chair without paying too much attention to his surroundings, catching one of the wheels in a deep pit in the ground. Falling and tumbled, finally landing on a patch of cold mud. Mac pushed himself up, looking up at the slope; he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the top of the hill with his wheelchair. But the strength of his arms and legs had slowly been returning back to him. He knew that continuing with the chair would be a lie, so slowly he climbed back up, using his legs and arms to do so. Grabbing hold of grass, rock, and dirt, pulling himself with his fingers and his bear toes. Reaching the top of the hill, the cold ground cooling down his overworked muscles. Looking up to the sky, he would see the small patches of moonlight poke through the branches and clouds, taking in the cold air around him.

Mac turned around and pushed himself back to his feet. The cold mud and rocks numbed the scars and burns that he had on his soles. Placing one foot in front of another, he could help but think of the first time talking to the book, his legs once again feeling like jelly, but he had to ignore it this time and continue to move forward. Passing through the trees, he came upon a giant opening with a frozen lake deep in the middle. Limping on the frozen ice, he inched closer towards the middle, trying not to tumble with each step he took. Despite freezing temperatures all around him, a warm feeling kept him going deep within his heart. Looking down at his bare, scarred feet, he saw the dark blue of the lake shift into a black, empty abyss. Looking up at the sky, he saw the moon and the stars shining down on him from heaven, and he thought about his wife, about that night when he should have stayed home, how they could have ordered pizza and had ice cream, how she could have told him about her day at work, or one of the many stories she would tell to scare him when they were younger.

“Did you hear about the axe killer?” she would say, and Mac would think to tell her yes, I did, you’ve told it a thousand times, but he didn’t, instead saying no just so he could hear her voice once again. “It’s this man with a cabin deep in the woods who would chase anyone off with an axe and cut them up to put them into an oven as a sacrifice to the devil.” She would tell him with better detail, of course; Mac could never tell it as well as her.  She would go on and add new details about him trying to steal his love away from his worst enemy while Mac held her tightly in his arms under the warm blankets. But as much as Mac wanted for this to be a memory, he knew it was all made up in his mind. He knew that he didn’t spend the night with her in his arms but instead was the target of Monte’s cruelty. Mac took a deep breath and tried to ease his mind.

Looking off in the distance, he saw a thin cloud of smoke coming from deep within the forest. Mac took a minute to rest his tired body and catch his breath before he searched for what was causing the smoke. Making his way closer to the other side of the lake, he heard a distinct thwack coming from deep in the forest. As he tried to look closer at what was making the noise he heard, he saw a glimmer come from something deep in the forest. Unsure of what that was, he stepped further past the tree line and into the dark forest once again. Thwack, another sound and another glimmer this time closer.

“Mac?” A familiar voice stung him, forming a cool layer of sweat on the back of his neck. “What are you doing out of the oven? I’m fairly certain that you have a couple more centuries before I get what I need. So how about you be a doll and hurry your raisin lookin’ ass back in there, M’kay?” Mac’s heartbeat sped faster and faster. Turning the other way, he began to run with his weakened legs back through the ice and away from the Infirmary. “Now, Mac, I have to uphold my end of the deal; how else am I going to get that fine piece of ass?” Monte said, beginning to gain closer and closer to Mac.

Mac tried running across the ice, his bare feet slipping on the ice and his weak muscles. With every tumble and every slip, Mac would look back at Monte, seeing that him calmy close the distance between them. Monte struck fear in Mac’s heart, wearing a dark blue coat, a bright green cap, his white eyes, and round nose reminding him of that night all those years ago; in his hands, he brandished a long, polished axe perfect to cut wood. “No thanks to you, Mac; I was able to get a new set of clothes.”  Step after step, Mac tried to put any distance between them, using anything at his disposal; he would grab snow and ice around him, throwing it at Monte’s face. “Look, asshole, you just have to get over it. Do you really think Hermelinda is going to take you back with that ugly mug?” Monte said, wiping the snow Mac threw at him off his face. With those words, a part of Mac’s determination wavered, and that warmth in his heart started to cool. “Let’s face it, you’re nothing, Mac.” It said, standing just above Mac.

Mac turned to Monte, who was now holding the axe up high above his head, ready to swing down. Mac quickly moved his head away from the impact, with the axe leaving a huge hole in the ice. Mac quickly got back up to his feet, trying to move away, when suddenly the sharp edge of the axe connected with his cheek, splitting it open to reveal the inside of his mouth. Falling to the ground, Mac held his cheek, looking back to see another swing coming his way, one that Mac moved out of the way of as Monte plunged the Axe deep into the ice, unable to retrieve it. While trying to pull the axe out of the ice, Mac rushed over to Monte, driving his shoulders to the side of his ribs, taking the air out of Monte’s lungs. As both of them crashed to the ground, the sound of the impact reverberated through the ice and drew Mac's attention away for just one second. Near the first impact, he sees the crack in the ice connect to the second one as all the other branches of the crack begin to slowly expand over the ice. Mac gets to his feet as quickly as possible, knowing that he can’t stay on the lake any longer.

As he hastily tries to move away from the scene, an arm reaches and grabs hold of his ankle, bringing him down crashing onto the ice. His head bounces on the ice near the cracks, but this time a squirt of water hits him in the face. Looking up, he sees the surface of the ice has started to crack under their weight and actions. Thinking quickly, Mac grabs hold of the axe next to him and swings it wildly at Monte’s arm. Managing to nick him a couple of times, but unfortunately, he also swings at the ice, causing the crack on the ice to rapidly expand. Monte screams in agony, pushing himself back up to his feet, where he can kick the axe away from Mac’s weak hands. Towering over him, he begins to stomp on Mac, first his legs, bone-cracking underneath Monte’s boots. Then his arms, the scars and burns once again searing with pain over the ice floor. All of the force passing through him and into the ice, the pale cracks on the surface growing faster and faster. Lastly, Monte brings his foot up above Mac’s head; Mac puts his hand up to stop the impact. Bam, the fist stomp lands on Mac, this time pushing his head through the surface of the ice. Bam, the second push pushes his body through the ice, sending blood mixed with water slush flying all around them. But before Monte can finish the job, Mac plunges past the ice and into the cold lake, bringing Monte with him.

For a long time, they slowly sink, Mac looking up at the heavens as they slowly get further and further away from him. Suddenly, a bright light shines behind him. Turning to face it, Mac sees Monte engulfed by the same righteous flame that burned him in that boiler, this time covering Monte deep under water. Monte kicks and screams so loud that Mac can hear it, trying and failing to swim up to the surface. That’s when Mac sees it deep in the void: an arm reaching out towards Monte, multiple elbow-like joints s helping it snake up the water, and a thin feminine hand reaching and grabbing hold of Monte’s neck, squeezing tightly and dragging him into the abyss. As Monte sinks, the light from his fire dimly lights thousands of other hands reaching up and coming for Mac.

Mac’s heart sank to his gut, turning back and trying his best to swim up to the surface, but with the weakened muscles and broken legs, he wasn't able to swim properly. Still, that fire deep within his heart urged him not to give up and pushed and pulled him back to the ice. That’s when the first hand grabbed onto his ankle. Mac was able to kick it off, but when he looked down, he saw that the other hands were beginning to close on him. Fear burned through him like a wildfire, waving his arms frantically, getting closer and closer to the ice until he was inches away from it, when another hand grabbed hold of him. This time pulling him down immediately. The air in his lungs yelled to be let out when another hand grabbed onto his wrist, dragging him even further.

At this point, he didn’t think he could make it out; the fire within his heart had fully begun to dwindle, slowly losing hope in any chance of making it out alive. Letting go of his breath, he looked up at the heavens one last time sadden that he would forever be locked out of them. But something caught him off guard; despite sinking deeper into the ice, the moon and the stars still shone brighter and brighter, the size of the moon seeming to grow bigger. That’s when he realized it was growing bigger, or at least closer towards him. Slowly, the hands began to let go of his arms and legs as a holy and bright light shattered through the ice and moved closer towards him. In that bright light, a familiar, beautiful face that he had convinced himself he would never see again. Soft olive skin, a cute, sharp nose, dazzling brown eyes, and warm lips greeted him in that cold lake. Hermelinda wore a golden white gown adorned with yarn woven in intricate patterns too complex for Mac’s smushed brain to understand. “Mac,” her voice sang to him. “I've missed you, Mac.” Mac reached his weakened fingers up towards his wife, taking her hand and being whisked away above the ice. “Look at me, I'm hideous, baby,” he said in her arms up in the air. “No, Mac, you’re not hideous,” she said, rubbing away his burn scars. “Now please, Mac, you must rest; we have quite the trip ahead of us.” Re-shaping and binding his bones back to how they originally were. “Hermelinda, I’m sorry.” To this, she didn’t say anything, only giving him a soft, warm smile as tears formed on her angelic face. “Shhh, Mac, rest,” she said, floating high above the clouds, closing his eyes and letting him sleep there in her arms.

And so here ends Mac’s story, travelling in the arms of his wife, deep into the night and through the clouds, reunited once again, this time for eternity.

[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/s/2huBfByZdR)

His heart melted, sinking to his burning stomach. He curled up into a small ball, fire blazing around him; tears began at his eyes but couldn’t reach his cheek without evaporating; his vision began to morph into one blurry mess as his eyes began to melt, clothes burned onto his skin before eventually turning to dust, the fat in his body blistered and boiled, this skin melted together as it turned liquid. God knows how long Mac stayed like that: seconds, hours, weeks, maybe even years. But while in that blazing inferno, he heard her voice, beautiful and angelic, singing to his soul, yearning for him to return.

Mac saw the book that tore his life apart, unburdened and unchanged, lying there on that ceramic floor looking brand new. He crawled over to it with a mad look in his empty sockets and began to tear it to pieces; page after page of lies began to feed the fire, burning it brighter and hotter than before. That didn’t stop Mac, however; he dug his fingers into its felt mouth and pressed hard on the other side with his heel, tearing it in two. Then he clawed away at its big white eyes. After everything was said and done, he had completely shredded the book into small pieces.  The fire caught onto the book, each piece of paper giving the fire more rage. Building and rising, it reached its hottest, yet Mac faced the pile of burning pages in anguish as he had been left mangled and disfigured by the righteous fires. Slowly, as the fire consumed the book, leaving nothing but ash on the ceramic floor, the fires began to cool, little by little. The fires around Mac began to dwindle as he began to feel shape return to his melted hand. One by one, he reshaped his fingers and reassembled himself until he was able to function again. He looked at the wall that once sealed him in, and he saw the faint glow of the moonlight coming into the boiler room.

His hands shook as he reached towards the wall and pushed it open with barely any force. Inching to the edge of the small room he had resided in, he dangled his legs off, seeing the floor extend impossibly far, fear striking him in the heart to take this first step. Then he pushed off his legs and knees buckling under the weight of his frail body, unable to stand, he dragged himself. Pulling himself out of the boiler room and in front of a hospital with a sign reading ‘St Dante’s Infirmary,’ in front of it.

Dragging himself to the entrance, he was greeted with minimal lighting and empty desks. He moved around the giant empty corridors, trying to find anything that would help him. Facing those same yellow walls, opaque windows, and dim lights, but as he moved, the walls’ vibrant color began to fade and rot. With them, the floors and ceiling followed, exposed wiring and plumbing from above, tattered tiles and cement foundation from below. Moving deeper and deeper into the rot, all covered with small spots made of red viscous liquid. As the lights began to dim and his surroundings began to darken, the liquid started to rise his body, dragging him deeper into the dark liquid, its warm embrace slowly covering his wounds, until he was fully submerged. In that liquid, he changed; the pain and anguish from the burns dissipating while the muscles in his body recovered. And for a while he swam, covering massive distances in that red river down the halls of the old infirmary. Until he reached a shallow section, crawling out of the red river. There to meet him was a fresh set of clothes and a wheelchair; past that was a sliding door forever stuck halfway open leading into a cold parking lot full of abandoned, snow-covered cars. The red glow of the exit sign invited him into the next part of his story.

He rolled out of the infirmary into the frigid cold, tucking his head deep into the clean jacket he had found, moving through the empty parking lot. His muscles in his arms were still weakened as the cold began to slow down his scared fingers. The constant pattern of rolling for a short while and digging his hands deep into his new pockets to warm up the strength in his fingers slowed his trip significantly. Determined to find an exit from this hell, he did not stop, moving around the tall black fences of the infirmary until eventually he found tall gates towering over him.

As he moved through the gate, he saw a sign that read ‘St Dante’s Infirmary’ with an arrow pointing back toward the building, and another sign underneath it, ‘Lake Cocytus’ with an arrow that pointed towards the left. But Mac didn’t want to go there; looking for any other path, he saw a giant forest with a trail that led deep into the woods. Moving his chair down the dark path, memories filled his mind of times when he would go out with his wife, the fresh cold air in their faces, the smell of the trees and earth filling their minds with simpler things. Then he moved the chair down the beaten path over rocks and small roots, always going down, but never up. Pushing the chair through the evergreens, he saw visions of when he and his wife were children, that first time next to the creek and under the moon. He thought about what his wife would think about if he saw her again. If she was happy, angry, or would she be disgusted with his new scars? His heart began to race at the thought of it.  The anticipation of seeing someone who's disappointed in him but someone he dearly misses makes the back of his neck begin to sweat. Rolling deeper along the trail, he heard the distant sound of a creek. The calming noise of running water instantly transported him back to that first night, back with the woman he so dearly loved.

“It’s a pretty night tonight,” her voice breaks through the sound of the creek. Mac turns to face her: beautiful brown eyes, a small, sharp nose, soft olive skin, a comforting red coat, and soft pink lips. For a moment, Mac can't think; the cool glow of the moonlight reflecting on her face brings sweet butterflies into his stomach. He looked down at her lips and saw her mouthing something he was too distracted to pay attention to. “What?” he muttered. Just then, a Scream from the girls' cabin cut through the moment. “PANTY RAID,” the voice of one of the older boys could be heard faintly from the distance, as the cabin erupted into more screaming and laughter. “What's wrong with guys, huh?” her voice sang to him. Mac turned over to see her once again, instantly getting lost in the maze-like eyes of hers. His heart began to beat faster and faster, while blood rushed from his chest to his cheeks, turning his face a deep red. Finally, he was able to utter the words “I don’t know.” As he looked deep into her eyes, everything slowly became her; all he could see was the beauty of her face, until for the first time he felt her warm, soft, comforting lips on his, in a kiss that felt too short but could have lasted an eternity. “I said we should go see where this creek leads to,” her voice said, reading Mac’s mind.

And then she was gone, leaving Mac with nothing but a creak that led deeper into the woods. With nothing but the words of his wife to guide him, he began to follow that creek, looking up at the evergreens with small flakes of snow coming down from the heavens. Mac followed the creek, the noise of the running water being the only thing he could hear for miles, rolling alongside it. Over rocks and small roots, he rolled into the darkness, moonlight shining on the small snow patches riddling the ground. The thought of his wife being there playing back in his head put his mind away from this terrible journey; Mac, however, was too distracted pushing the chair without paying too much attention to his surroundings, catching one of the wheels in a deep pit in the ground. Falling and tumbled, finally landing on a patch of cold mud. Mac pushed himself up, looking up at the slope; he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the top of the hill with his wheelchair. But the strength of his arms and legs had slowly been returning back to him. He knew that continuing with the chair would be a lie, so slowly he climbed back up, using his legs and arms to do so. Grabbing hold of grass, rock, and dirt, pulling himself with his fingers and his bear toes. Reaching the top of the hill, the cold ground cooling down his overworked muscles. Looking up to the sky, he would see the small patches of moonlight poke through the branches and clouds, taking in the cold air around him.

Mac turned around and pushed himself back to his feet. The cold mud and rocks numbed the scars and burns that he had on his soles. Placing one foot in front of another, he could help but think of the first time talking to the book, his legs once again feeling like jelly, but he had to ignore it this time and continue to move forward. Passing through the trees, he came upon a giant opening with a frozen lake deep in the middle. Limping on the frozen ice, he inched closer towards the middle, trying not to tumble with each step he took. Despite freezing temperatures all around him, a warm feeling kept him going deep within his heart. Looking down at his bare, scarred feet, he saw the dark blue of the lake shift into a black, empty abyss. Looking up at the sky, he saw the moon and the stars shining down on him from heaven, and he thought about his wife, about that night when he should have stayed home, how they could have ordered pizza and had ice cream, how she could have told him about her day at work, or one of the many stories she would tell to scare him when they were younger.

“Did you hear about the axe killer?” she would say, and Mac would think to tell her yes, I did, you’ve told it a thousand times, but he didn’t, instead saying no just so he could hear her voice once again. “It’s this man with a cabin deep in the woods who would chase anyone off with an axe and cut them up to put them into an oven as a sacrifice to the devil.” She would tell him with better detail, of course; Mac could never tell it as well as her.  She would go on and add new details about him trying to steal his love away from his worst enemy while Mac held her tightly in his arms under the warm blankets. But as much as Mac wanted for this to be a memory, he knew it was all made up in his mind. He knew that he didn’t spend the night with her in his arms but instead was the target of Monte’s cruelty. Mac took a deep breath and tried to ease his mind.

Looking off in the distance, he saw a thin cloud of smoke coming from deep within the forest. Mac took a minute to rest his tired body and catch his breath before he searched for what was causing the smoke. Making his way closer to the other side of the lake, he heard a distinct thwack coming from deep in the forest. As he tried to look closer at what was making the noise he heard, he saw a glimmer come from something deep in the forest. Unsure of what that was, he stepped further past the tree line and into the dark forest once again. Thwack, another sound and another glimmer this time closer.

“Mac?” A familiar voice stung him, forming a cool layer of sweat on the back of his neck. “What are you doing out of the oven? I’m fairly certain that you have a couple more centuries before I get what I need. So how about you be a doll and hurry your raisin lookin’ ass back in there, M’kay?” Mac’s heartbeat sped faster and faster. Turning the other way, he began to run with his weakened legs back through the ice and away from the Infirmary. “Now, Mac, I have to uphold my end of the deal; how else am I going to get that fine piece of ass?” Monte said, beginning to gain closer and closer to Mac.

Mac tried running across the ice, his bare feet slipping on the ice and his weak muscles. With every tumble and every slip, Mac would look back at Monte, seeing that him calmy close the distance between them. Monte struck fear in Mac’s heart, wearing a dark blue coat, a bright green cap, his white eyes, and round nose reminding him of that night all those years ago; in his hands, he brandished a long, polished axe perfect to cut wood. “No thanks to you, Mac; I was able to get a new set of clothes.”  Step after step, Mac tried to put any distance between them, using anything at his disposal; he would grab snow and ice around him, throwing it at Monte’s face. “Look, asshole, you just have to get over it. Do you really think Hermelinda is going to take you back with that ugly mug?” Monte said, wiping the snow Mac threw at him off his face. With those words, a part of Mac’s determination wavered, and that warmth in his heart started to cool. “Let’s face it, you’re nothing, Mac.” It said, standing just above Mac.

Mac turned to Monte, who was now holding the axe up high above his head, ready to swing down. Mac quickly moved his head away from the impact, with the axe leaving a huge hole in the ice. Mac quickly got back up to his feet, trying to move away, when suddenly the sharp edge of the axe connected with his cheek, splitting it open to reveal the inside of his mouth. Falling to the ground, Mac held his cheek, looking back to see another swing coming his way, one that Mac moved out of the way of as Monte plunged the Axe deep into the ice, unable to retrieve it. While trying to pull the axe out of the ice, Mac rushed over to Monte, driving his shoulders to the side of his ribs, taking the air out of Monte’s lungs. As both of them crashed to the ground, the sound of the impact reverberated through the ice and drew Mac's attention away for just one second. Near the first impact, he sees the crack in the ice connect to the second one as all the other branches of the crack begin to slowly expand over the ice. Mac gets to his feet as quickly as possible, knowing that he can’t stay on the lake any longer.

As he hastily tries to move away from the scene, an arm reaches and grabs hold of his ankle, bringing him down crashing onto the ice. His head bounces on the ice near the cracks, but this time a squirt of water hits him in the face. Looking up, he sees the surface of the ice has started to crack under their weight and actions. Thinking quickly, Mac grabs hold of the axe next to him and swings it wildly at Monte’s arm. Managing to nick him a couple of times, but unfortunately, he also swings at the ice, causing the crack on the ice to rapidly expand. Monte screams in agony, pushing himself back up to his feet, where he can kick the axe away from Mac’s weak hands. Towering over him, he begins to stomp on Mac, first his legs, bone-cracking underneath Monte’s boots. Then his arms, the scars and burns once again searing with pain over the ice floor. All of the force passing through him and into the ice, the pale cracks on the surface growing faster and faster. Lastly, Monte brings his foot up above Mac’s head; Mac puts his hand up to stop the impact. Bam, the fist stomp lands on Mac, this time pushing his head through the surface of the ice. Bam, the second push pushes his body through the ice, sending blood mixed with water slush flying all around them. But before Monte can finish the job, Mac plunges past the ice and into the cold lake, bringing Monte with him.

For a long time, they slowly sink, Mac looking up at the heavens as they slowly get further and further away from him. Suddenly, a bright light shines behind him. Turning to face it, Mac sees Monte engulfed by the same righteous flame that burned him in that boiler, this time covering Monte deep under water. Monte kicks and screams so loud that Mac can hear it, trying and failing to swim up to the surface. That’s when Mac sees it deep in the void: an arm reaching out towards Monte, multiple elbow-like joints s helping it snake up the water, and a thin feminine hand reaching and grabbing hold of Monte’s neck, squeezing tightly and dragging him into the abyss. As Monte sinks, the light from his fire dimly lights thousands of other hands reaching up and coming for Mac.

Mac’s heart sank to his gut, turning back and trying his best to swim up to the surface, but with the weakened muscles and broken legs, he wasn't able to swim properly. Still, that fire deep within his heart urged him not to give up and pushed and pulled him back to the ice. That’s when the first hand grabbed onto his ankle. Mac was able to kick it off, but when he looked down, he saw that the other hands were beginning to close on him. Fear burned through him like a wildfire, waving his arms frantically, getting closer and closer to the ice until he was inches away from it, when another hand grabbed hold of him. This time pulling him down immediately. The air in his lungs yelled to be let out when another hand grabbed onto his wrist, dragging him even further.

At this point, he didn’t think he could make it out; the fire within his heart had fully begun to dwindle, slowly losing hope in any chance of making it out alive. Letting go of his breath, he looked up at the heavens one last time sadden that he would forever be locked out of them. But something caught him off guard; despite sinking deeper into the ice, the moon and the stars still shone brighter and brighter, the size of the moon seeming to grow bigger. That’s when he realized it was growing bigger, or at least closer towards him. Slowly, the hands began to let go of his arms and legs as a holy and bright light shattered through the ice and moved closer towards him. In that bright light, a familiar, beautiful face that he had convinced himself he would never see again. Soft olive skin, a cute, sharp nose, dazzling brown eyes, and warm lips greeted him in that cold lake. Hermelinda wore a golden white gown adorned with yarn woven in intricate patterns too complex for Mac’s smushed brain to understand. “Mac,” her voice sang to him. “I've missed you, Mac.” Mac reached his weakened fingers up towards his wife, taking her hand and being whisked away above the ice. “Look at me, I'm hideous, baby,” he said in her arms up in the air. “No, Mac, you’re not hideous,” she said, rubbing away his burn scars. “Now please, Mac, you must rest; we have quite the trip ahead of us.” Re-shaping and binding his bones back to how they originally were. “Hermelinda, I’m sorry.” To this, she didn’t say anything, only giving him a soft, warm smile as tears formed on her angelic face. “Shhh, Mac, rest,” she said, floating high above the clouds, closing his eyes and letting him sleep there in her arms.

And so here ends Mac’s story, travelling in the arms of his wife, deep into the night and through the clouds, reunited once again, this time for eternity.

His heart melted, sinking to his burning stomach. He curled up into a small ball, fire blazing around him; tears began at his eyes but couldn’t reach his cheek without evaporating; his vision began to morph into one blurry mess as his eyes began to melt, clothes burned onto his skin before eventually turning to dust, the fat in his body blistered and boiled, this skin melted together as it turned liquid. God knows how long Mac stayed like that: seconds, hours, weeks, maybe even years. But while in that blazing inferno, he heard her voice, beautiful and angelic, singing to his soul, yearning for him to return.

Mac saw the book that tore his life apart, unburdened and unchanged, lying there on that ceramic floor looking brand new. He crawled over to it with a mad look in his empty sockets and began to tear it to pieces; page after page of lies began to feed the fire, burning it brighter and hotter than before. That didn’t stop Mac, however; he dug his fingers into its felt mouth and pressed hard on the other side with his heel, tearing it in two. Then he clawed away at its big white eyes. After everything was said and done, he had completely shredded the book into small pieces.  The fire caught onto the book, each piece of paper giving the fire more rage. Building and rising, it reached its hottest, yet Mac faced the pile of burning pages in anguish as he had been left mangled and disfigured by the righteous fires. Slowly, as the fire consumed the book, leaving nothing but ash on the ceramic floor, the fires began to cool, little by little. The fires around Mac began to dwindle as he began to feel shape return to his melted hand. One by one, he reshaped his fingers and reassembled himself until he was able to function again. He looked at the wall that once sealed him in, and he saw the faint glow of the moonlight coming into the boiler room.

His hands shook as he reached towards the wall and pushed it open with barely any force. Inching to the edge of the small room he had resided in, he dangled his legs off, seeing the floor extend impossibly far, fear striking him in the heart to take this first step. Then he pushed off his legs and knees buckling under the weight of his frail body, unable to stand, he dragged himself. Pulling himself out of the boiler room and in front of a hospital with a sign reading ‘St Dante’s Infirmary,’ in front of it.

Dragging himself to the entrance, he was greeted with minimal lighting and empty desks. He moved around the giant empty corridors, trying to find anything that would help him. Facing those same yellow walls, opaque windows, and dim lights, but as he moved, the walls’ vibrant color began to fade and rot. With them, the floors and ceiling followed, exposed wiring and plumbing from above, tattered tiles and cement foundation from below. Moving deeper and deeper into the rot, all covered with small spots made of red viscous liquid. As the lights began to dim and his surroundings began to darken, the liquid started to rise his body, dragging him deeper into the dark liquid, its warm embrace slowly covering his wounds, until he was fully submerged. In that liquid, he changed; the pain and anguish from the burns dissipating while the muscles in his body recovered. And for a while he swam, covering massive distances in that red river down the halls of the old infirmary. Until he reached a shallow section, crawling out of the red river. There to meet him was a fresh set of clothes and a wheelchair; past that was a sliding door forever stuck halfway open leading into a cold parking lot full of abandoned, snow-covered cars. The red glow of the exit sign invited him into the next part of his story.

He rolled out of the infirmary into the frigid cold, tucking his head deep into the clean jacket he had found, moving through the empty parking lot. His muscles in his arms were still weakened as the cold began to slow down his scared fingers. The constant pattern of rolling for a short while and digging his hands deep into his new pockets to warm up the strength in his fingers slowed his trip significantly. Determined to find an exit from this hell, he did not stop, moving around the tall black fences of the infirmary until eventually he found tall gates towering over him.

As he moved through the gate, he saw a sign that read ‘St Dante’s Infirmary’ with an arrow pointing back toward the building, and another sign underneath it, ‘Lake Cocytus’ with an arrow that pointed towards the left. But Mac didn’t want to go there; looking for any other path, he saw a giant forest with a trail that led deep into the woods. Moving his chair down the dark path, memories filled his mind of times when he would go out with his wife, the fresh cold air in their faces, the smell of the trees and earth filling their minds with simpler things. Then he moved the chair down the beaten path over rocks and small roots, always going down, but never up. Pushing the chair through the evergreens, he saw visions of when he and his wife were children, that first time next to the creek and under the moon. He thought about what his wife would think about if he saw her again. If she was happy, angry, or would she be disgusted with his new scars? His heart began to race at the thought of it.  The anticipation of seeing someone who's disappointed in him but someone he dearly misses makes the back of his neck begin to sweat. Rolling deeper along the trail, he heard the distant sound of a creek. The calming noise of running water instantly transported him back to that first night, back with the woman he so dearly loved.

“It’s a pretty night tonight,” her voice breaks through the sound of the creek. Mac turns to face her: beautiful brown eyes, a small, sharp nose, soft olive skin, a comforting red coat, and soft pink lips. For a moment, Mac can't think; the cool glow of the moonlight reflecting on her face brings sweet butterflies into his stomach. He looked down at her lips and saw her mouthing something he was too distracted to pay attention to. “What?” he muttered. Just then, a Scream from the girls' cabin cut through the moment. “PANTY RAID,” the voice of one of the older boys could be heard faintly from the distance, as the cabin erupted into more screaming and laughter. “What's wrong with guys, huh?” her voice sang to him. Mac turned over to see her once again, instantly getting lost in the maze-like eyes of hers. His heart began to beat faster and faster, while blood rushed from his chest to his cheeks, turning his face a deep red. Finally, he was able to utter the words “I don’t know.” As he looked deep into her eyes, everything slowly became her; all he could see was the beauty of her face, until for the first time he felt her warm, soft, comforting lips on his, in a kiss that felt too short but could have lasted an eternity. “I said we should go see where this creek leads to,” her voice said, reading Mac’s mind.

And then she was gone, leaving Mac with nothing but a creak that led deeper into the woods. With nothing but the words of his wife to guide him, he began to follow that creek, looking up at the evergreens with small flakes of snow coming down from the heavens. Mac followed the creek, the noise of the running water being the only thing he could hear for miles, rolling alongside it. Over rocks and small roots, he rolled into the darkness, moonlight shining on the small snow patches riddling the ground. The thought of his wife being there playing back in his head put his mind away from this terrible journey; Mac, however, was too distracted pushing the chair without paying too much attention to his surroundings, catching one of the wheels in a deep pit in the ground. Falling and tumbled, finally landing on a patch of cold mud. Mac pushed himself up, looking up at the slope; he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the top of the hill with his wheelchair. But the strength of his arms and legs had slowly been returning back to him. He knew that continuing with the chair would be a lie, so slowly he climbed back up, using his legs and arms to do so. Grabbing hold of grass, rock, and dirt, pulling himself with his fingers and his bear toes. Reaching the top of the hill, the cold ground cooling down his overworked muscles. Looking up to the sky, he would see the small patches of moonlight poke through the branches and clouds, taking in the cold air around him.

Mac turned around and pushed himself back to his feet. The cold mud and rocks numbed the scars and burns that he had on his soles. Placing one foot in front of another, he could help but think of the first time talking to the book, his legs once again feeling like jelly, but he had to ignore it this time and continue to move forward. Passing through the trees, he came upon a giant opening with a frozen lake deep in the middle. Limping on the frozen ice, he inched closer towards the middle, trying not to tumble with each step he took. Despite freezing temperatures all around him, a warm feeling kept him going deep within his heart. Looking down at his bare, scarred feet, he saw the dark blue of the lake shift into a black, empty abyss. Looking up at the sky, he saw the moon and the stars shining down on him from heaven, and he thought about his wife, about that night when he should have stayed home, how they could have ordered pizza and had ice cream, how she could have told him about her day at work, or one of the many stories she would tell to scare him when they were younger.

“Did you hear about the axe killer?” she would say, and Mac would think to tell her yes, I did, you’ve told it a thousand times, but he didn’t, instead saying no just so he could hear her voice once again. “It’s this man with a cabin deep in the woods who would chase anyone off with an axe and cut them up to put them into an oven as a sacrifice to the devil.” She would tell him with better detail, of course; Mac could never tell it as well as her.  She would go on and add new details about him trying to steal his love away from his worst enemy while Mac held her tightly in his arms under the warm blankets. But as much as Mac wanted for this to be a memory, he knew it was all made up in his mind. He knew that he didn’t spend the night with her in his arms but instead was the target of Monte’s cruelty. Mac took a deep breath and tried to ease his mind.

Looking off in the distance, he saw a thin cloud of smoke coming from deep within the forest. Mac took a minute to rest his tired body and catch his breath before he searched for what was causing the smoke. Making his way closer to the other side of the lake, he heard a distinct thwack coming from deep in the forest. As he tried to look closer at what was making the noise he heard, he saw a glimmer come from something deep in the forest. Unsure of what that was, he stepped further past the tree line and into the dark forest once again. Thwack, another sound and another glimmer this time closer.

“Mac?” A familiar voice stung him, forming a cool layer of sweat on the back of his neck. “What are you doing out of the oven? I’m fairly certain that you have a couple more centuries before I get what I need. So how about you be a doll and hurry your raisin lookin’ ass back in there, M’kay?” Mac’s heartbeat sped faster and faster. Turning the other way, he began to run with his weakened legs back through the ice and away from the Infirmary. “Now, Mac, I have to uphold my end of the deal; how else am I going to get that fine piece of ass?” Monte said, beginning to gain closer and closer to Mac.

Mac tried running across the ice, his bare feet slipping on the ice and his weak muscles. With every tumble and every slip, Mac would look back at Monte, seeing that him calmy close the distance between them. Monte struck fear in Mac’s heart, wearing a dark blue coat, a bright green cap, his white eyes, and round nose reminding him of that night all those years ago; in his hands, he brandished a long, polished axe perfect to cut wood. “No thanks to you, Mac; I was able to get a new set of clothes.”  Step after step, Mac tried to put any distance between them, using anything at his disposal; he would grab snow and ice around him, throwing it at Monte’s face. “Look, asshole, you just have to get over it. Do you really think Hermelinda is going to take you back with that ugly mug?” Monte said, wiping the snow Mac threw at him off his face. With those words, a part of Mac’s determination wavered, and that warmth in his heart started to cool. “Let’s face it, you’re nothing, Mac.” It said, standing just above Mac.

Mac turned to Monte, who was now holding the axe up high above his head, ready to swing down. Mac quickly moved his head away from the impact, with the axe leaving a huge hole in the ice. Mac quickly got back up to his feet, trying to move away, when suddenly the sharp edge of the axe connected with his cheek, splitting it open to reveal the inside of his mouth. Falling to the ground, Mac held his cheek, looking back to see another swing coming his way, one that Mac moved out of the way of as Monte plunged the Axe deep into the ice, unable to retrieve it. While trying to pull the axe out of the ice, Mac rushed over to Monte, driving his shoulders to the side of his ribs, taking the air out of Monte’s lungs. As both of them crashed to the ground, the sound of the impact reverberated through the ice and drew Mac's attention away for just one second. Near the first impact, he sees the crack in the ice connect to the second one as all the other branches of the crack begin to slowly expand over the ice. Mac gets to his feet as quickly as possible, knowing that he can’t stay on the lake any longer.

As he hastily tries to move away from the scene, an arm reaches and grabs hold of his ankle, bringing him down crashing onto the ice. His head bounces on the ice near the cracks, but this time a squirt of water hits him in the face. Looking up, he sees the surface of the ice has started to crack under their weight and actions. Thinking quickly, Mac grabs hold of the axe next to him and swings it wildly at Monte’s arm. Managing to nick him a couple of times, but unfortunately, he also swings at the ice, causing the crack on the ice to rapidly expand. Monte screams in agony, pushing himself back up to his feet, where he can kick the axe away from Mac’s weak hands. Towering over him, he begins to stomp on Mac, first his legs, bone-cracking underneath Monte’s boots. Then his arms, the scars and burns once again searing with pain over the ice floor. All of the force passing through him and into the ice, the pale cracks on the surface growing faster and faster. Lastly, Monte brings his foot up above Mac’s head; Mac puts his hand up to stop the impact. Bam, the fist stomp lands on Mac, this time pushing his head through the surface of the ice. Bam, the second push pushes his body through the ice, sending blood mixed with water slush flying all around them. But before Monte can finish the job, Mac plunges past the ice and into the cold lake, bringing Monte with him.

For a long time, they slowly sink, Mac looking up at the heavens as they slowly get further and further away from him. Suddenly, a bright light shines behind him. Turning to face it, Mac sees Monte engulfed by the same righteous flame that burned him in that boiler, this time covering Monte deep under water. Monte kicks and screams so loud that Mac can hear it, trying and failing to swim up to the surface. That’s when Mac sees it deep in the void: an arm reaching out towards Monte, multiple elbow-like joints s helping it snake up the water, and a thin feminine hand reaching and grabbing hold of Monte’s neck, squeezing tightly and dragging him into the abyss. As Monte sinks, the light from his fire dimly lights thousands of other hands reaching up and coming for Mac.

Mac’s heart sank to his gut, turning back and trying his best to swim up to the surface, but with the weakened muscles and broken legs, he wasn't able to swim properly. Still, that fire deep within his heart urged him not to give up and pushed and pulled him back to the ice. That’s when the first hand grabbed onto his ankle. Mac was able to kick it off, but when he looked down, he saw that the other hands were beginning to close on him. Fear burned through him like a wildfire, waving his arms frantically, getting closer and closer to the ice until he was inches away from it, when another hand grabbed hold of him. This time pulling him down immediately. The air in his lungs yelled to be let out when another hand grabbed onto his wrist, dragging him even further.

At this point, he didn’t think he could make it out; the fire within his heart had fully begun to dwindle, slowly losing hope in any chance of making it out alive. Letting go of his breath, he looked up at the heavens one last time sadden that he would forever be locked out of them. But something caught him off guard; despite sinking deeper into the ice, the moon and the stars still shone brighter and brighter, the size of the moon seeming to grow bigger. That’s when he realized it was growing bigger, or at least closer towards him. Slowly, the hands began to let go of his arms and legs as a holy and bright light shattered through the ice and moved closer towards him. In that bright light, a familiar, beautiful face that he had convinced himself he would never see again. Soft olive skin, a cute, sharp nose, dazzling brown eyes, and warm lips greeted him in that cold lake. Hermelinda wore a golden white gown adorned with yarn woven in intricate patterns too complex for Mac’s smushed brain to understand. “Mac,” her voice sang to him. “I've missed you, Mac.” Mac reached his weakened fingers up towards his wife, taking her hand and being whisked away above the ice. “Look at me, I'm hideous, baby,” he said in her arms up in the air. “No, Mac, you’re not hideous,” she said, rubbing away his burn scars. “Now please, Mac, you must rest; we have quite the trip ahead of us.” Re-shaping and binding his bones back to how they originally were. “Hermelinda, I’m sorry.” To this, she didn’t say anything, only giving him a soft, warm smile as tears formed on her angelic face. “Shhh, Mac, rest,” she said, floating high above the clouds, closing his eyes and letting him sleep there in her arms.

And so here ends Mac’s story, travelling in the arms of his wife, deep into the night and through the clouds, reunited once again, this time for eternity.

(Part 1)

Unnerved by the whole situation, Mac quickly caught up to Monte, once again looking around for any way of locating where he was. Around him were the same walls on the first floor, now covered in monotone grey; the hallway that they were following led to two massive doors that could be opened by a slight gust of wind. Mannequins in all different colored garments were positioned as if they were taken from something very important around, as papers flew throughout the room; at the top read a sign that read “extremely ridiculous.”

Mac tried his best to keep track of Monte, but the more he moved around, the more awkward he felt standing out of place in front of very busy mannequins. Eventually, the two of them pushed through the doors, being confronted by two mannequins pushing another one lying on a mint colored bed; this one, however, did not have the same attire as the others did, instead wearing a shirt that read “who let the dogs out,” with a bulldog breaking away from its chain, the mannequin itself was different two, being much smaller than the other two, and having a broken face that caved into itself. “What an ugly mug, am I right?” said Monte. “This brings us to our next exhibit. Sorry if it's not as nice as the first one, but just come along with me,” pushing through the next set of doors.

“Here we are,” Monte says, gesturing one face of his cover to a museum display. As Mac entered the display, he saw many sets that struck a familiar chord, all covered with glass and framed as still snapshots from a certain point in someone’s life. The warm lighting shone onto the exhibit, illuminating a couch, a coffee table full of junk food, and blankets covered in potato chips. The couch faced a TV currently playing static, while the light of the TV brought a cold contrast to the one coming into the exhibit. “Here, Mac, we have the natural habitat of the ‘Lazus-Macsimus’, a glutinous creature that takes advantage of all the welfare from the people around him, leaving them to toil away with nothing, while he reaps from their hard work.”

This struck an odd chord with Mac; being insulted with this representation, he asked Monte, “What gives?” to which Monte responded by brushing his concerns aside by stating, “Mac, please, I’m trying to give a tour here,” as he gestured to something behind him. As Mac turned to see what it was, he was met with a variety of cardboard cutouts, all of them idly listening to Monte’s presentation. Men and women stood next to their children, smiling and laughing, but the one that got Mac's attention was a cutout with stitching on his lip and a shirt that read “ready to swim?”

“Mac, please pay attention,” Monte said, making a funny face and getting a recorded laugh from the crowd. “Now, if you all can follow me to the next exhibit, we can see one of the unfortunate victims of the ‘Lazus-Macsimus’,” Mac and Monte both moved towards the left of the first exhibit, while the cutouts stayed in place watching the previous exhibit. Getting a good look at this new exhibit, a cold blue light, similar to the artificial moon from the sitcom, illuminated an exhibit of a kitchen, the model of a woman bent over with a luxurious feast coming out of the oven. The warm light of the oven shone onto the model’s face, illuminating small drops on the top of its forehead, while an apron with the words “kiss the cook.”

“Now, children, what type of monster takes all of someone’s hard work and doesn’t have the decency to share any of it?” Monte says, as a new exhibit to the left of the kitchen lights up, this one of a dining table, two plates sitting on both ends, one with mountains of food similar to that from the oven, and the other with barely any crumbs. Now that the dining room table is illuminated, the sound of audio cassettes switching is heard behind one of the cutouts. “Greedy?” a high-pitched voice from behind one of the older-looking cutouts says. “Selfish,” said another one.  Mac, startled once again, turns to see that the cutouts had moved to face the dining room table. “Great job, kids!” Monte says.

“Lastly, if you all can focus your attention on the middle, you can see what many experts say this beast might have looked like.” A final red light illuminated the rest of the dark room. A wax version of Mac lay in the middle of the exhibit, surrounded by glass in all directions, unabashed laziness on full display, a gut sticking far outside what his shirt could hold, a thick brow sticking out barely covering his soulless eyes from staring into the crowd, jaw far outreaching his upper teeth, taking a bite of food that isn’t his, and skin so grimy and dirty it began to bubble and blister in parts here his skin would touch. But Mac did see he was still one exhibit behind, staring deeply into the model of the woman. Eyes, nose, shape, style, he could make out none of those details, all except the soft, warm lips that he felt back on that night under the stars.

Monte looked around, trying to see if Mac was picking up any of this, but while the crowd of cutouts positioned themselves around the ‘Lazus-Macsimus’ display, Mac was still focused on the second kitchen display, looking longingly at the woman, unable to piece her together. “Hey, Mac, do you just want to stay here?” With those words, Mac’s surroundings began to sink, fading into a deep darkness, those words echoing into his mind.

Until he appeared back at the dining room table, sitting once again with the unfamiliar model sitting across from him, details still failing to reach his mind. “Look, I don’t want you going to something that makes you uncomfortable just to ‘show face’. I have my own qualms with the people there, of course, but I mean c’mon, Mac, it’s just a high school reunion.” Her voice was soft and gentle, the smell of her hair was sweet, and as she reached over to hold Mac’s hand, he felt her warmth easing him into the moment. He tried looking up once again, trying to get a sense of the person she was, but he couldn’t see her, so he tried to feel her. Gliding his hand up her arm, he was able to start to paint a picture of the shape she had, her thin wrists and small arms; her shoulders were broad. He stood up to get a picture of her waist and hips, but she stopped him, pulling back in confusion. “Are you good?” the unfamiliar blur said to him. “Look,” she said, sounding exhausted, “I don’t feel like going out. Those guys were assholes to you, and I don’t want you to fall back on your insecurities, so… do you just want to stay here? We could get some junk food, maybe a frozen pizza?” The words rang in his ears; the smell of frozen pizza coming out of the oven with the signature ‘DING’ began to make his mouth water. “What do you say, Mac? Please, baby, I don’t want you to go.”

Mac’s eyes started to swell; his heart raced; all he wanted to do was stay here with her and look for her face, and he tried, moving on to the next part of the memory, to the part where they were shopping for food together, sitting down watching shows on their couch, blankets and themselves keeping each other warm. But that memory didn’t come. The next time he opened his eyes, he looked into a mirror, with a blue suit, a poorly made tie, and a pink-stained button-up shirt. Staring into his eyes, he saw them red and swollen; his hair had been messed up, and the scar on his lip was ever more present than before. Behind him lay his wife, a lump on the bed sheets, facing that same mirror, sleeping mask over her unfamiliar eyes. he went up to bed and sat down next to her, playing with her hair, rubbing her thick hips and thin waist with his hand and ending at her feet, where he began to squeeze her toes. “You need to take a shower,” she said, smelling the alcohol on his clothes. As he looked over at her face, he saw her rosy cheeks turn into a deep red as streams of tears fell from her mask.

Standing up, he moved toward the shower, feeling that same jelly in the legs as he did in that room. Did he really mess up like this? he thought. Taking his clothes off and letting the cold water hit his skin, washing away the anger he felt, thinking back on what happened at that reunion. Glimpses, only glimpses, small bits of conversations, the snippets of songs- but nothing important. All he saw was himself drifting from punch bowl to snack area with only himself and no one else to join him. Then he remembered something important: “Hey Scarface!” a familiar voice came from the crowd, “Where is that fine piece of ass of yours, huh? Did she finally realize she’s too good for your Quasimodo lookin’ ass?”  Mac turned to meet the man confronting him face to face. The man had bright white eyes and a big round nose; he wore a navy-blue suit and had a green pocket square. “Y’know if she's single that means I got a chance with her tonight, no?” Mac lost it, grabbing his cup full of punch and hurling it at him. Landing on him, staining the suit all the way till it reached his white pants, where it spilled onto his crotch. “FUCK, y’know how much this suit cost, asshole?” he said, gaining the attention of the other attendants, running over and kicking Mac, sending him toppling over the table and getting punch all over himself. As he slammed onto the floor, he snapped back into the exhibit room.

There he saw Monte staring into his eyes, no life in that puppet body of his. “You have to stop doing that,” it said to Mac. A shiver climbed down Mac’s spine as the sweat started to cool the air around his neck. Without saying anything, Monte moved through the door, in a straight, continuous line.

Just above them read a sign: “I see you.” Mac stayed shocked about the whole thing. “Hey, kid, are you just going to stay in there? There is so much more I need to show you,” Monte said, the joy and whimsy returning to his personality. Mac took a deep breath and followed him through the door. On the other side, a set of stairs went deep; after a certain point, the lights on the stairs seemed to turn off, only see the glow from Monte’s pages he quickly followed. As they got lower and lower, Mac began to wonder when they would reach the bottom of the building. “Don’t think of such silly things, Mac; we get there when we get there,” said Monte.

Arriving at the next floor, Mac noticed the distinct marble flooring of the dark halls. Trying to get a closer look, Mac thought that the floor looked like flowing water rushing through the halls. “Don’t get distracted, Mac,” Monte said, trying not to break his whimsy with the constant reminders. But Mac kept looking, starting to notice what looked like faces in the marble, stuck rushing down the river, trying to get out. “MAC!” Monte yelled, but still Mac refused, looking around in the dark corridors and halls, seeing reception desks and opaque rooms once again.

“Where is everyone?” Mac asked Monte, “Where are we going? Who are…” Before Mac could finish asking the question, Monte interrupted. “We are going to the boiler room,” Monte said with a non-serious tone in his voice. “Now, if you want us to find out who your wife was, you’re going to need to follow me once again. And please, this time just stay quiet,” it told him.

Swaying from side to side, dropping glitter everywhere he went, Mac followed as this thing led him to the “boiler room.” At this point, Mac had lost a lot of trust for it, but seeing as Monte was the only thing that gave off light on this whole floor, he stayed close behind so as not to lose him. Following the book, the more that it swayed in the darkness, the more Mac could see from his surroundings area, blue leathery beds surrounded in metal cages, alarms and monitors that stood high above the ground, rooms filled with water, where he could see the occasional arm inside. “Monte, who’s in there?” asked Mac.

“Nobody that doesn’t deserve it, Mac; don’t worry,” answered Monte, as he said, gliding from side to side. As Monte moved from side to side, Mac was able to see a message written on the inside of its cover. Glowing so faintly, he saw the words “-Love Monte.”

“Hey Monte?” Mac asked. “What is the message written on you?”

“The words on my pages? That is a long story, one I do not believe I have the time to tell.” Monte responded.

“No, the ones on the back of your cover.”

“OH, that message? Now, Mac, that does tend to be a little personal, and I hope that you understand that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“Oh ok…” said Mac, continuing to follow the only source of light he had seen in the last several hours. The faint glow that once illuminated the beds and monitors now illuminated a thin tunnel of concrete and pipes, all leading to one location, signs with letters underneath pointing down the long, dark corridor, the deep darkness no longer harsh and cold but instead an evil warmth, one that Mac detested.

Monte moved faster and faster, unable to handle its anticipation, moving in and around corners, losing Mac and plunging him into a deep and unsettling darkness. It moved out of that dark tunnel and into a massive room, cold and burning, the chillers and the boilers fighting to take control of the temperature, creating a nauseating environment that Mac couldn’t stand to be in for too long. Using only his hands to see, he moved around the hot and cold rooms, maneuvering through the massive machines; eventually, he found that familiar warm yellow glow. Moving closer, he looked into one of the big machines, and inside he saw Monte stuffed into a small, cramped cavity barely big enough to fit Mac. He began to move inside, trying to get a better look at Monte and help it out of there.

Pushing through, he finally reached Monte. “C’mon, Monte, we still haven’t figured out who my wife is,” he says as he pulls him towards the exit, opening the pages of the book. But Monte didn’t react; he didn’t move, no silly joke, nothing. The fantastical light that he would emit moved away from its corners and concentrated on one page in the middle. Opening to that page, Mac found the words ‘The last will and testament of Hermelinda Alighieri.’ Those final words hit a chord with Mac as tears began to swell in his eyes.

He continued to read. “To my loving Husband, I leave the memory of our last interaction, one where you screamed and yelled at me, where you said that I was not loyal to you, where you believed a lie rather than the words of your own wife. But I also leave the forgiveness; I leave it to you inside that boiler of yours. I hope that you gain back the faith that you once had in me. I hope that you no longer believe the lies and instead believe me when I tell you the truth: I love you, Mac; my door is always open. Please don’t let your ego be the one that refuses to open it." As he finished reading those words, his heart swelled. Tears rained from his eyes and did not stop; he held on to the book with dear life, bringing it as close to his chest as he could. Memories began to fill his mind, those of a time he once forgot with a woman that he now loved with all his heart. A woman he wished he could cherish just one last time. But one thing was missing from all those memories; every time he saw her, he couldn’t see her eyes. No matter how much he reached, nothing came to mind.

A rattle sound was heard just outside the little boiler, followed by a deafening Bang. As Mac turned to see what had happened, he began banging on the wall where the opening had once been. Looking through the small window in the wall, he saw the man from the reunion standing just outside his small coffin-like room. Stepping closer, he saw those bright white eyes and a big, round nose, and he noticed the familiar navy-blue suit and bright green pocket square. Reaching out of the view of the window, he flipped a lever. The room roared to life, a bright light coming from holes around the room, the spots where Mac rested his hands jumping hundreds of degrees in a second. Mac began to roll around in unbearable pain.

Mac turned back to the book, flipping through its pages, constantly moving his weight from one elbow to the other, knee to knee, foot to foot, hand to hand. Eventually he reached the back of the cover where the message lay. But by now Mac's skin began to blister, his hair began to burn, and his nails began to melt. But Mac continued. “It was lovely seeing you after all this time; that night we had together, the feeling of your skin on mine, the love that we were able to share is one that I would never be able to forget. PS Tell your husband that he still owes me for the suit. -Love, Monte”

‘Tainted,’ he thought that loathsome thing; no memories came to his mind, only rage for that thing outside. He needed to see what else he put into that book. As he flipped through the pages, the raging fire outside began to take a tighter hold on Mac’s body. Black char would be left on his hands and knees, the gas and bile from his intestines began to swell and bloat, and the muscles on his eye sockets began to lose their grip on his eyes. But despite the fire raging outside, the anger raged even deeper inside. Ignoring all the physical changes to his body, he continued to flip through the pages of the book now tainted by that thing’s mind. Scratches and scribbles all over each page, new words that were never there before decorated the page, glowing brighter than the bright light all around him.

He read,

“Mac entered through the front door, finding his wife's favorite book ‘The Count of Monte Cristo,’ lying on top of the coffee table. ‘Honey,’ he yelled, ‘you left your book out again. I don’t want you to lose it.’ Curious, he flipped through the pages, finding the bookmark that he had given her when they went shopping recently.  Reading through the passages, he read a great story about a man in prison. Flipping through the pages, he saw glimpses of a man doing everything in his power to get his revenge. But he didn’t want to lose his wife’s favorite book, so he decided to put it down for now. But as he flipped all the pages back, he noticed a message written on the back of the book's cover. This message infuriated Mac with a rage he believed would last an eternity.

‘HERMELINDA,’ he yelled, his voice echoing through the hallways. But nothing replied. Mac thought about the things that they might have done, truly disgusting things, ones that didn’t involve him; rage stewed in Mac in that empty house.

Then the door opened and in walked his wife, with a beautiful red dress; Mac could only imagine where she had been, and all at once that rage that had been festering inside of him busted out of Mac and into his wife: accusations, insults, and finally a demand for her to leave the house. But Hermelinda protested, begging him not to do this, not to believe those lies, to remember the type of person this man was and the things that he would do, but Mac ignored all of that: ‘If you want Monte so bad, go to him,’ as Mac squeezed his hand, tears swelled his eyes, as he opened the door for her to leave,

Understanding that there was no talking sense into him, she left, taking the very few items that she could have grabbed, leaving, however, her favorite book on that desk. Mac slammed the door behind her as she walked onto the street, both of them alone. Mac stewed in anger on his couch, feasting on all food and alcohol that he could find, until eventually the anger left and reason returned, and with it a deep, unforgivable sadness, one caused by a lie, a lie who’s affects have still not been fully felt.

 Minutes melted into hours, hours into days, until a 2 full weeks had passed without a word from Hermelinda. Until Mac heard a ring at the door; a man in dark navy uniform and a shiny metal star pinned to his chest stood there in front of Mac. ‘Are you the husband of Hermelinda Alighieri?’ the officer asked. ‘Yes, is something wrong?’ Mac asked. ‘Your wife, sir, has been found dead at the residence of a known friend of yours, a Mr. Monte. It is believed that something she ingested had killed her while she was there.’ Mac’s world crumbled with those words, and while the officer kept speaking, he did not hear a word. All noise faded to the background, time choosing to speed up, not letting Mac get a good look at the things happening around him.

Glimpses only, glimpses of a police investigation, and them going into deeply disturbing motives behind what they believed to be a murder-suicide, then of a funeral, him putting down a casket deep into a cold, empty void, and slowly years passed by, but Mac didn’t feel them. Alone, Mac sat without anyone else at that kitchen table, alone on those late-night walks, alone in his bed. For decades, Mac meandered through life unknowing what to do with himself.”

Then he read

“Hermelinda wept as she left through the door; a new life that had not been familiar to her in ages had been thrust onto her without any chance of preparation or adjustment. And for hours she walked, wondering what could have gone down in Mac’s mind, what happened, and who might have caused all of this issue, because in all the bickering and arguing, Mac refused to give up a name.

‘Don’t be coy,’ he yelled, demanding that she confirm false accusations without any idea of who they’re coming from. Step by step her sadness moved into worry; out there in the street was no place for a woman, so she asked around, from couch to couch like a surfer on a wave. For a week it didn’t last longer than sunup, not until she came to her small motel room, hands full of groceries for the next couple of days, when a man she had come to dislike offered to help. First, it was groceries; then he paid for extra days at the motel; this turned into having her over for lunch, until finally asking her if she wanted to stay with him for a while.

Tears filled her eyes when he said this. Generosity that should not be taken for granted, but generosity that reminded her of another man. One who walked home as kids, one who worked late nights to make sure she ate, the one who got on one knee to ask for her hand in marriage.

Still, after everything, she still loves him. The man thought that nothing he could do could change the way things were. ‘No, not in this life,’ he told himself. But that clicked something in his head: one final meal together, he told her. ‘Please, Hermelinda, one final meal is all I ask for,’ he told her.

‘Ok, Monte,’ she said, never to be heard from again”

A long, sharp, high-pitched noise woke Mac like an alarm telling him he was late for school.  Opening his eyes, he saw a simple room, curtains covering the window, a bed with alarm clocks, books, and lamps all over the place. Next to him was another bed like the first; this one, however, had mint-green sheets while his sheets were rose-pink. Mac didn’t know where he was or what he was doing there, but the feeling in his legs made him want to stand up and stretch.

Turning towards the exit, he let his feet touch the ground; however, when he put a little bit of weight on them, his legs began to feel increasingly weak. For a minute, he sat there, slowly getting used to the weight; he looked around once again, taking in a better look at his surroundings. To his left were paintings of what almost looked like bullfighters. Waving massive red squares as great brown blots followed in one quick motion. To his left was a TV with a soccer game on; the men playing seemed to be frozen mid-play. Uninterested in the sport, he gave no mind to it.

Now the weight didn’t hurt, and his legs still felt like jelly; he decided to stand up. Jelly. The taste formed in his mouth; being the last sweet that he’d had, it felt fresh. His mouth began to water as a vague orange memory came to his tongue. His legs became straight, his muscles reactivating as he put one step in front of the other.

“Mac, you’re not going to forget me, are you?” a voice chimed from the desk next to him. Looking around, trying to find where it came from, he landed on the pile of items next to him. “10 years reading me and you still can’t recognize me?” Taking sluggish steps closer to the desk, he noticed under the alarm a thick and heavy book. “Other side, Bud.” Turning the book around, he saw the spine of the thick book; it read "The Count of Monte Cristo” Memories of the pages and conversations about it flooded his mind, from his past all of them filled with adoration for the story. He noticed the lines down the spine caused by repeated use, as well as two out-of-place ridges towards the bottom of the book; they opened to reveal a red felt interior. “Finally,” it spoke, as two large white eyes opened from above the mouth. “Uh oh, something is missing,” it said as it scrunched its face. Poof, a round green nose sat in the middle of everything, complementing its blue cover. “That’s better.”

Mac jumped back in astonishment. How did something so strange find its way into the room? What was it? Who was it here for? “YOU, MAC, who else?” It said, reading his mind. “Now I don’t want you to be alarmed, but the world has ended.” Mac’s heart dropped. “Don’t ask for too many details, kid. I myself am quite confused about the whole situation.”

“What are you?” Mac asked, getting a better look at the book. He remembered times when something similar popped up on the screen while he was watching some show with someone he knew. His memory failed him as if it was trying to scream the answer without a mouth.

“I am your Wife’s favorite book, c’mon Mac, you remember.” Mac tried his best, but the only thing he could conjure up in his mind was a woman with dark hair and what was almost a face. Missing important details that would make it resemble anything other than eyes, nose, and a mouth. His mind reached further for any other details about her style and her body, but nothing came to mind. “Can’t remember, huh? Maybe that’s why I'm here to help you remember the love of your life. Here, come with me. I know exactly where to go.” It said as it began to levitate toward the door, swaying from side to side.

Pushing past the door, they were confronted by long, empty hallways, walls painted in sunshine-yellow, riddled with pictures of clouds. At the side of the halls were large opaque windows, perfectly shielding what lay inside from wondering eyes. “Mac, over here,” Yelled the book as it took a right turn onto another hall. Doing his best to follow behind him, Mac would look around the hall for anything that could give a hint of where he was. But every time he looked away, the book appeared even further than it should have been. Until eventually the book was nowhere in sight.

“Excuse me, Mr. Book,” Mac yelled out into the empty hallway, no longer keeping track of where it turned. “Mr. Book?” The halls remained empty and quiet. “Hello,” the fear in Mac’s voice became more noticeable. Looking around, Mac noticed a wall of glass bricks down the hall to the left. Reaching it, he saw a small water dispenser, a fire exit map, desks and drawers, and a small coffee table. Taking a deep breath to collect himself, Mac was caught off guard by the distinct scent of ammonia, something that the air fresheners had been masking with the scent of birthday cakes. Taking a better look at the fire exit, he noticed it resembled a maze with twists and turns, but no exit, as the dotted path seemed to close off in a loop. But there on the bottom left read a small description, “Don’t tru-...

“Please, Mac, Mr. Book was my father’s name; you can call me Monte,” Monte said from behind him. Catching Mac off guard and breaking his concentration from the map. “Ahh, you found it,” it said, gesturing towards the map, which began to glow in a warm yellow as it floated from Mac’s hands to the front of Monte’s face. “I see,” it said as it began to hum to itself. “Now I know where to go; sorry for the confusion, Mac; that’s just how it is sometimes.” As he said this, the map began to fold into smaller squares until it eventually disappeared with a sudden pop, as glitter and sunshine fell from where it once was. “Now, Mac, please follow me and try not to fall behind again.” It said as it sped off deeper into the monotone yellow hallway. Unnoticed by Mac, however, was a sign that read “Hot spice care.”

As Mac followed Monte deeper into this strange maze, its yellow hallways and photos of clouds began to give Mac a sense of something that he should not be following this thing, but before that thought could fully develop, Monte suddenly stopped in front of a window one that was not opaque but that Mac could see through. “Here we are,” said Monte. Inside lay a man plugged into many machines, all of which had been turned off. The man himself was covered by a thin cloth that fully concealed his face.  Just outside was a sign that read, here lies Mr. Lambert. Reading Mac’s face as one full of confusion, it asks him, “You don’t even remember your old teacher? His class was an important one, Mac; it is where you first met your wife, don’t you remember, sitting behind her in first-grade science class, pulling her hair and calling her dumb, not really knowing how to talk to a cute girl?”

“Is he dead?” Mac asks.

“No, no, no one here is dead, Mac; empty maybe, you see, for most people, lying down is all they have left to do,” Monte said with a smile on his face. “Mac, don’t you remember?” That question put him back on track; in fact, he did try to remember, but all that his mind could come up with was just pulling a girl's hair. No angry reaction afterward, not even a teacher yelling at him to quit it. Nothing came to his mind. Looking around, he started to see that the photos of clouds had turned into landscapes. Big, great canyons and mountains of the Wild West. But in one of them, there was a woman with a white flowy dress, looking at the incoming storm. There was the familiarity, something so nostalgic about the painting, maybe the landscape, maybe the man, but something he could not put his hand on.

BAM

The sudden and loud closing of a book snapped him out of it. “Mac, over here, kid.” Suddenly, more thoughts came to his mind of him in that classroom, a light shining through a dusty window, a tall man in front of the class teaching about the sun and the moon, two snot-nosed boys throwing paper planes at each other, but that girl in front of him didn’t have any shape. Just a blur. “Still nothing, huh?” Mac shook his head. “Well, maybe the next one will help you out more,” Monte said, swaying down the hall.

Next stop was at the entrance to an elevator, an entrance which was guarded by an elderly black woman reading a book. She wore a blue nurse's dress, had grey curly hair, and crescent glasses that sat at the edge of her nose. “Are you supposed to be out of your room, sir?” she said, not looking up from her book.

“Yes, ma'am, the doctor cleared him just an hour ago,” said Monte, not giving Mac a chance to respond. Looking down at her chest, he noticed an ID badge with a photo of her younger self and “Q. Minos.” “Mrs. Minos?” Monte said with an abnormal tone, “Is there a Mr. Minos?” It said to the woman; whether it was genuine or not was lost on Mac, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

With that question, the woman looked up from her story and stared at both for an uncomfortable amount of time, disdain ever-present in her eyes. “The elevator is broken; make sure you take the stairs.” She said, returning her attention to the book.

Walking to the stairs, Mac’s eyes began to wander again, catching the fire escape once again; and for an instant Mac thought he saw the man in the image throw a book into the fire, but once he got a better look, the man had changed directions and run down the stairs. “Now, Mac, how many times are you going to fall behind before you learn to keep up?” Monte asked, “If you stay up there too long, I won’t be able to help you with the ol’ ball and chain.” With that, Mac started to descend the stairs faster. But reaching the next floor, he was surprised to see Monte waiting there at the entrance to the next floor. “Now I know what you’re thinking, Mac, but please understand that we’re not leaving until we help you with your wife.” He said, pushing open the door.

As he stepped through the door, he was able to feel a great wind coming from the vents above him. “Over here, Mac,” said Monte, pushing through the winds. The floor was in complete open darkness, no longer resembling the floor from the one above.  As he looked to his left, the walls expanded; the only things visible were the columns that supported the roof, but the deeper he pressed onto the floor, the higher the roof got and the wider the walls became. Columns began to no longer follow a pattern but instead bundled up close together. Looking for anything that made sense, he saw Monte, its warm yellow glow deep into the dark floor, barely shining through all the columns. “Over here,” Monte’s yell sounded like a faint whisper in the darkness. As Mac got close to the light, he saw what appeared to be the inside of a cabin dressed as an old sitcom set.

“Based on what I just saw, I’m sure you don’t remember much of your youth, but this is one of the first places you and your wife first ever talked. Now this exact scene isn’t that part, but hopefully what led up to the conversation might give you a better idea of who she was. The set was shrouded in darkness; vague silhouettes of beds and shelves were illuminated by the artificial moonlight outside. “Shhh, this is my favorite part.” As he says this, four bright circles can be seen shining just outside the set. When suddenly, the door of the set Bursts queuing the lights inside to turn on. With that in comes in 3 three black silhouetted figures with small sock puppets dressed as young teenage boys on their hands with googly eyes, striped shirts, and backwards caps. With them was a much younger Mac, and for the first time he recognized something that Monte was telling him. His face stood tall above the rest of the puppets, and the scar on his lip reminded him of all the times he didn’t talk to anybody out of fear. Each of them was screaming and chattering the same thing.

“PANTY RAID,” Mac was taken aback. “I didn’t join them in this.” As these words left his mouth, he was instantly transported to another memory, one under the moon and a thousand stars, crickets chirping, frogs croaking, while the sound of the river masked the awkward feeling in Mac’s stomach. “It’s a pretty night tonight,” something to the right of Mac says. Mac turns to face it, and all he can see is nothing, just shapes and blurs. “What?” A sudden yell from the girl’s cabin alerts both; “panty raid” can be heard in the distance. “What's wrong with guys, huh?” the shape asks. “I don’t know,” Mac responds, trying his best to look for any details in that face of hers. But the more he looks, the less he finds the tones of peach, brown, or olive that could’ve made up her skin transforming into the deep blues and greens of the forest behind her. Until a warm, soft, and comforting feeling touched his lips.

“MAC, MAC, MAAAC, you with me buddy? C’mon, I set this whole show up for you; the least you can do is pay attention,” it says as the boy and the puppets start to throw all sorts of shirts, pants, and socks in the air and on the ground. Wild beasts looking for a particular meal, running around, jumping on the beds while 6 other puppets screamed frantically asking the boys to “get the Hell out of the room.” But there were seven beds in that cabin, and on the seventh bed a blurry girl with no distinctive features lay screaming. Except for a pair of warm, soft, comforting, pink lips. “Nothing? Damn kid, the production value on this thing was not cheap; keep this going and we’re not going to have any money for the last floors.” With that, it slammed its own book, cueing the lights and actors once again to shut down and turn off. “C’mon kid, follow me,” as it pushed past the door the actors came out of. Mac followed as quickly as possible, trying not to get lost again.

But as he was trying to get past the door, his younger self grabbed his wrist, leaving a moist, slimy residue on his hand. Once he had Mac’s attention, it pleaded with Mac, asking if it had any change, “two pennies, that all I need,” it said, desperation forming in its googly eyes. “Sorry, I don’t,” Mac responded. Mac turned to leave through the door, but before he could do that, his younger self grabbed on tighter and said, “Then learn to swim,” before releasing his hand and allowing Mac to go through the door. As it closed, Mac turned back to see him one last time; his younger self was staring deep into his soul as he sank into the darkness.

A long, sharp, high-pitched noise woke Mac like an alarm telling him he was late for school.  Opening his eyes, he saw a simple room, curtains covering the window, a bed with alarm clocks, books, and lamps all over the place. Next to him was another bed like the first; this one, however, had mint-green sheets while his sheets were rose-pink. Mac didn’t know where he was or what he was doing there, but the feeling in his legs made him want to stand up and stretch.

Turning towards the exit, he let his feet touch the ground; however, when he put a little bit of weight on them, his legs began to feel increasingly weak. For a minute, he sat there, slowly getting used to the weight; he looked around once again, taking in a better look at his surroundings. To his left were paintings of what almost looked like bullfighters. Waving massive red squares as great brown blots followed in one quick motion. To his left was a TV with a soccer game on; the men playing seemed to be frozen mid-play. Uninterested in the sport, he gave no mind to it.

Now the weight didn’t hurt, and his legs still felt like jelly; he decided to stand up. Jelly. The taste formed in his mouth; being the last sweet that he’d had, it felt fresh. His mouth began to water as a vague orange memory came to his tongue. His legs became straight, his muscles reactivating as he put one step in front of the other.

“Mac, you’re not going to forget me, are you?” a voice chimed from the desk next to him. Looking around, trying to find where it came from, he landed on the pile of items next to him. “10 years reading me and you still can’t recognize me?” Taking sluggish steps closer to the desk, he noticed under the alarm a thick and heavy book. “Other side, Bud.” Turning the book around, he saw the spine of the thick book; it read "The Count of Monte Cristo” Memories of the pages and conversations about it flooded his mind, from his past all of them filled with adoration for the story. He noticed the lines down the spine caused by repeated use, as well as two out-of-place ridges towards the bottom of the book; they opened to reveal a red felt interior. “Finally,” it spoke, as two large white eyes opened from above the mouth. “Uh oh, something is missing,” it said as it scrunched its face. Poof, a round green nose sat in the middle of everything, complementing its blue cover. “That’s better.”

Mac jumped back in astonishment. How did something so strange find its way into the room? What was it? Who was it here for? “YOU, MAC, who else?” It said, reading his mind. “Now I don’t want you to be alarmed, but the world has ended.” Mac’s heart dropped. “Don’t ask for too many details, kid. I myself am quite confused about the whole situation.”

“What are you?” Mac asked, getting a better look at the book. He remembered times when something similar popped up on the screen while he was watching some show with someone he knew. His memory failed him as if it was trying to scream the answer without a mouth.

“I am your Wife’s favorite book, c’mon Mac, you remember.” Mac tried his best, but the only thing he could conjure up in his mind was a woman with dark hair and what was almost a face. Missing important details that would make it resemble anything other than eyes, nose, and a mouth. His mind reached further for any other details about her style and her body, but nothing came to mind. “Can’t remember, huh? Maybe that’s why I'm here to help you remember the love of your life. Here, come with me. I know exactly where to go.” It said as it began to levitate toward the door, swaying from side to side.

Pushing past the door, they were confronted by long, empty hallways, walls painted in sunshine-yellow, riddled with pictures of clouds. At the side of the halls were large opaque windows, perfectly shielding what lay inside from wondering eyes. “Mac, over here,” Yelled the book as it took a right turn onto another hall. Doing his best to follow behind him, Mac would look around the hall for anything that could give a hint of where he was. But every time he looked away, the book appeared even further than it should have been. Until eventually the book was nowhere in sight.

“Excuse me, Mr. Book,” Mac yelled out into the empty hallway, no longer keeping track of where it turned. “Mr. Book?” The halls remained empty and quiet. “Hello,” the fear in Mac’s voice became more noticeable. Looking around, Mac noticed a wall of glass bricks down the hall to the left. Reaching it, he saw a small water dispenser, a fire exit map, desks and drawers, and a small coffee table. Taking a deep breath to collect himself, Mac was caught off guard by the distinct scent of ammonia, something that the air fresheners had been masking with the scent of birthday cakes. Taking a better look at the fire exit, he noticed it resembled a maze with twists and turns, but no exit, as the dotted path seemed to close off in a loop. But there on the bottom left read a small description, “Don’t tru-...

“Please, Mac, Mr. Book was my father’s name; you can call me Monte,” Monte said from behind him. Catching Mac off guard and breaking his concentration from the map. “Ahh, you found it,” it said, gesturing towards the map, which began to glow in a warm yellow as it floated from Mac’s hands to the front of Monte’s face. “I see,” it said as it began to hum to itself. “Now I know where to go; sorry for the confusion, Mac; that’s just how it is sometimes.” As he said this, the map began to fold into smaller squares until it eventually disappeared with a sudden pop, as glitter and sunshine fell from where it once was. “Now, Mac, please follow me and try not to fall behind again.” It said as it sped off deeper into the monotone yellow hallway. Unnoticed by Mac, however, was a sign that read “Hot spice care.”

As Mac followed Monte deeper into this strange maze, its yellow hallways and photos of clouds began to give Mac a sense of something that he should not be following this thing, but before that thought could fully develop, Monte suddenly stopped in front of a window one that was not opaque but that Mac could see through. “Here we are,” said Monte. Inside lay a man plugged into many machines, all of which had been turned off. The man himself was covered by a thin cloth that fully concealed his face.  Just outside was a sign that read, here lies Mr. Lambert. Reading Mac’s face as one full of confusion, it asks him, “You don’t even remember your old teacher? His class was an important one, Mac; it is where you first met your wife, don’t you remember, sitting behind her in first-grade science class, pulling her hair and calling her dumb, not really knowing how to talk to a cute girl?”

“Is he dead?” Mac asks.

“No, no, no one here is dead, Mac; empty maybe, you see, for most people, lying down is all they have left to do,” Monte said with a smile on his face. “Mac, don’t you remember?” That question put him back on track; in fact, he did try to remember, but all that his mind could come up with was just pulling a girl's hair. No angry reaction afterward, not even a teacher yelling at him to quit it. Nothing came to his mind. Looking around, he started to see that the photos of clouds had turned into landscapes. Big, great canyons and mountains of the Wild West. But in one of them, there was a woman with a white flowy dress, looking at the incoming storm. There was the familiarity, something so nostalgic about the painting, maybe the landscape, maybe the man, but something he could not put his hand on.

BAM

The sudden and loud closing of a book snapped him out of it. “Mac, over here, kid.” Suddenly, more thoughts came to his mind of him in that classroom, a light shining through a dusty window, a tall man in front of the class teaching about the sun and the moon, two snot-nosed boys throwing paper planes at each other, but that girl in front of him didn’t have any shape. Just a blur. “Still nothing, huh?” Mac shook his head. “Well, maybe the next one will help you out more,” Monte said, swaying down the hall.

Next stop was at the entrance to an elevator, an entrance which was guarded by an elderly black woman reading a book. She wore a blue nurse's dress, had grey curly hair, and crescent glasses that sat at the edge of her nose. “Are you supposed to be out of your room, sir?” she said, not looking up from her book.

“Yes, ma'am, the doctor cleared him just an hour ago,” said Monte, not giving Mac a chance to respond. Looking down at her chest, he noticed an ID badge with a photo of her younger self and “Q. Minos.” “Mrs. Minos?” Monte said with an abnormal tone, “Is there a Mr. Minos?” It said to the woman; whether it was genuine or not was lost on Mac, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

With that question, the woman looked up from her story and stared at both for an uncomfortable amount of time, disdain ever-present in her eyes. “The elevator is broken; make sure you take the stairs.” She said, returning her attention to the book.

Walking to the stairs, Mac’s eyes began to wander again, catching the fire escape once again; and for an instant Mac thought he saw the man in the image throw a book into the fire, but once he got a better look, the man had changed directions and run down the stairs. “Now, Mac, how many times are you going to fall behind before you learn to keep up?” Monte asked, “If you stay up there too long, I won’t be able to help you with the ol’ ball and chain.” With that, Mac started to descend the stairs faster. But reaching the next floor, he was surprised to see Monte waiting there at the entrance to the next floor. “Now I know what you’re thinking, Mac, but please understand that we’re not leaving until we help you with your wife.” He said, pushing open the door.

As he stepped through the door, he was able to feel a great wind coming from the vents above him. “Over here, Mac,” said Monte, pushing through the winds. The floor was in complete open darkness, no longer resembling the floor from the one above.  As he looked to his left, the walls expanded; the only things visible were the columns that supported the roof, but the deeper he pressed onto the floor, the higher the roof got and the wider the walls became. Columns began to no longer follow a pattern but instead bundled up close together. Looking for anything that made sense, he saw Monte, its warm yellow glow deep into the dark floor, barely shining through all the columns. “Over here,” Monte’s yell sounded like a faint whisper in the darkness. As Mac got close to the light, he saw what appeared to be the inside of a cabin dressed as an old sitcom set.

“Based on what I just saw, I’m sure you don’t remember much of your youth, but this is one of the first places you and your wife first ever talked. Now this exact scene isn’t that part, but hopefully what led up to the conversation might give you a better idea of who she was. The set was shrouded in darkness; vague silhouettes of beds and shelves were illuminated by the artificial moonlight outside. “Shhh, this is my favorite part.” As he says this, four bright circles can be seen shining just outside the set. When suddenly, the door of the set Bursts queuing the lights inside to turn on. With that in comes in 3 three black silhouetted figures with small sock puppets dressed as young teenage boys on their hands with googly eyes, striped shirts, and backwards caps. With them was a much younger Mac, and for the first time he recognized something that Monte was telling him. His face stood tall above the rest of the puppets, and the scar on his lip reminded him of all the times he didn’t talk to anybody out of fear. Each of them was screaming and chattering the same thing.

“PANTY RAID,” Mac was taken aback. “I didn’t join them in this.” As these words left his mouth, he was instantly transported to another memory, one under the moon and a thousand stars, crickets chirping, frogs croaking, while the sound of the river masked the awkward feeling in Mac’s stomach. “It’s a pretty night tonight,” something to the right of Mac says. Mac turns to face it, and all he can see is nothing, just shapes and blurs. “What?” A sudden yell from the girl’s cabin alerts both; “panty raid” can be heard in the distance. “What's wrong with guys, huh?” the shape asks. “I don’t know,” Mac responds, trying his best to look for any details in that face of hers. But the more he looks, the less he finds the tones of peach, brown, or olive that could’ve made up her skin transforming into the deep blues and greens of the forest behind her. Until a warm, soft, and comforting feeling touched his lips.

“MAC, MAC, MAAAC, you with me buddy? C’mon, I set this whole show up for you; the least you can do is pay attention,” it says as the boy and the puppets start to throw all sorts of shirts, pants, and socks in the air and on the ground. Wild beasts looking for a particular meal, running around, jumping on the beds while 6 other puppets screamed frantically asking the boys to “get the Hell out of the room.” But there were seven beds in that cabin, and on the seventh bed a blurry girl with no distinctive features lay screaming. Except for a pair of warm, soft, comforting, pink lips. “Nothing? Damn kid, the production value on this thing was not cheap; keep this going and we’re not going to have any money for the last floors.” With that, it slammed its own book, cueing the lights and actors once again to shut down and turn off. “C’mon kid, follow me,” as it pushed past the door the actors came out of. Mac followed as quickly as possible, trying not to get lost again.

But as he was trying to get past the door, his younger self grabbed his wrist, leaving a moist, slimy residue on his hand. Once he had Mac’s attention, it pleaded with Mac, asking if it had any change, “two pennies, that all I need,” it said, desperation forming in its googly eyes. “Sorry, I don’t,” Mac responded. Mac turned to leave through the door, but before he could do that, his younger self grabbed on tighter and said, “Then learn to swim,” before releasing his hand and allowing Mac to go through the door. As it closed, Mac turned back to see him one last time; his younger self was staring deep into his soul as he sank into the darkness.

A long, sharp, high-pitched noise woke Mac like an alarm telling him he was late for school.  Opening his eyes, he saw a simple room, curtains covering the window, a bed with alarm clocks, books, and lamps all over the place. Next to him was another bed like the first; this one, however, had mint-green sheets while his sheets were rose-pink. Mac didn’t know where he was or what he was doing there, but the feeling in his legs made him want to stand up and stretch.

Turning towards the exit, he let his feet touch the ground; however, when he put a little bit of weight on them, his legs began to feel increasingly weak. For a minute, he sat there, slowly getting used to the weight; he looked around once again, taking in his surroundings more closely. To his left were paintings of what almost looked like bullfighters. Waving massive red squares as great brown blots followed in one quick motion. To his left was a TV with a soccer game on; the men playing seemed to be frozen mid-play. Uninterested in the sport, he paid it no mind.

Now the weight didn’t hurt, and his legs still felt like jelly; he decided to stand up. Jelly. The taste formed in his mouth; being the last sweet that he’d had, it felt fresh. His mouth began to water as a vague orange memory came to his tongue. His legs became straight, his muscles reactivating as he put one step in front of the other.

“Mac, you’re not going to forget me, are you?” a voice chimed from the desk next to him. Looking around, trying to find where it came from, he landed on the pile of items next to him. “10 years reading me and you still can’t recognize me?” Taking sluggish steps closer to the desk, he noticed under the alarm a thick and heavy book. “Other side, Bud.” Turning the book around, he saw the spine of the thick book; it read "The Count of Monte Cristo” Memories of the pages and conversations about it flooded his mind, from his past all of them filled with adoration for the story. He noticed the lines down the spine caused by repeated use, as well as two out-of-place ridges towards the bottom of the book; they opened to reveal a red felt interior. “Finally,” it spoke, as two large white eyes opened from above the mouth. “Uh oh, something is missing,” it said as it scrunched its face. Poof, a round green nose sat in the middle of everything, complementing its blue cover. “That’s better.”

Mac jumped back in astonishment. How did something so strange find its way into the room? What was it? Who was it here for? “YOU, MAC, who else?” It said, reading his mind. “Now I don’t want you to be alarmed, but the world has ended.” Mac’s heart dropped. “Don’t ask for too many details, kid. I myself am quite confused about the whole situation.”

“What are you?” Mac asked, getting a better look at the book. He remembered times when something similar popped up on the screen while he was watching some show with someone he knew. His memory failed him as if it was trying to scream the answer without a mouth.

“I am your Wife’s favorite book, c’mon Mac, you remember.” Mac tried his best, but the only thing he could conjure up in his mind was a woman with dark hair and what was almost a face. Missing important details that would make it resemble anything other than eyes, nose, and a mouth. His mind reached further for any other details about her style and her body, but nothing came to mind. “Can’t remember, huh? Maybe that’s why I'm here to help you remember the love of your life. Here, come with me. I know exactly where to go.” It said as it began to levitate toward the door, swaying from side to side.

Pushing past the door, they were confronted by long, empty hallways, walls painted in sunshine-yellow, riddled with pictures of clouds. At the side of the halls were large opaque windows, perfectly shielding what lay inside from wondering eyes. “Mac, over here,” Yelled the book as it took a right turn onto another hall. Doing his best to follow behind him, Mac would look around the hall for anything that could give a hint of where he was. But every time he looked away, the book appeared even further than it should have been. Until eventually the book was nowhere in sight.

“Excuse me, Mr. Book,” Mac yelled out into the empty hallway, no longer keeping track of where it turned. “Mr. Book?” The halls remained empty and quiet. “Hello,” the fear in Mac’s voice became more noticeable. Looking around, Mac noticed a wall of glass bricks down the hall to the left. Reaching it, he saw a small water dispenser, a fire exit map, desks and drawers, and a small coffee table. Taking a deep breath to collect himself, Mac was caught off guard by the distinct scent of ammonia, something that the air fresheners had been masking with the scent of birthday cakes. Taking a better look at the fire exit, he noticed it resembled a maze with twists and turns, but no exit, as the dotted path seemed to close off in a loop. But there on the bottom left read a small description, “Don’t tru-...

“Please, Mac, Mr. Book was my father’s name; you can call me Monte,” Monte said from behind him. Catching Mac off guard and breaking his concentration from the map. “Ahh, you found it,” it said, gesturing towards the map, which began to glow in a warm yellow as it floated from Mac’s hands to the front of Monte’s face. “I see,” it said as it began to hum to itself. “Now I know where to go; sorry for the confusion, Mac; that’s just how it is sometimes.” As he said this, the map began to fold into smaller squares until it eventually disappeared with a sudden pop, as glitter and sunshine fell from where it once was. “Now, Mac, please follow me and try not to fall behind again.” It said as it sped off deeper into the monotone yellow hallway. Unnoticed by Mac, however, was a sign that read “Hot spice care.”

As Mac followed Monte deeper into this strange maze, its yellow hallways and photos of clouds began to give Mac a sense of something that he should not be following this thing, but before that thought could fully develop, Monte suddenly stopped in front of a window one that was not opaque but that Mac could see through. “Here we are,” said Monte. Inside lay a man plugged into many machines, all of which had been turned off. The man himself was covered by a thin cloth that fully concealed his face.  Just outside was a sign that read, here lies Mr. Lambert. Reading Mac’s face as one full of confusion, it asks him, “You don’t even remember your old teacher? His class was an important one, Mac; it is where you first met your wife, don’t you remember, sitting behind her in first-grade science class, pulling her hair and calling her dumb, not really knowing how to talk to a cute girl?”

“Is he dead?” Mac asks.

“No, no, no one here is dead, Mac; empty maybe, you see, for most people, lying down is all they have left to do,” Monte said with a smile on his face. “Mac, don’t you remember?” That question put him back on track; in fact, he did try to remember, but all that his mind could come up with was just pulling a girl's hair. No angry reaction afterward, not even a teacher yelling at him to quit it. Nothing came to his mind. Looking around, he started to see that the photos of clouds had turned into landscapes. Big, great canyons and mountains of the Wild West. But in one of them, there was a woman with a white flowy dress, looking at the incoming storm. There was the familiarity, something so nostalgic about the painting, maybe the landscape, maybe the man, but something he could not put his hand on.

BAM

The sudden and loud closing of a book snapped him out of it. “Mac, over here, kid.” Suddenly, more thoughts came to his mind of him in that classroom, a light shining through a dusty window, a tall man in front of the class teaching about the sun and the moon, two snot-nosed boys throwing paper planes at each other, but that girl in front of him didn’t have any shape. Just a blur. “Still nothing, huh?” Mac shook his head. “Well, maybe the next one will help you out more,” Monte said, swaying down the hall.

Next stop was at the entrance to an elevator, an entrance which was guarded by an elderly black woman reading a book. She wore a blue nurse's dress, had grey curly hair, and crescent glasses that sat at the edge of her nose. “Are you supposed to be out of your room, sir?” she said, not looking up from her book.

“Yes, ma'am, the doctor cleared him just an hour ago,” said Monte, not giving Mac a chance to respond. Looking down at her chest, he noticed an ID badge with a photo of her younger self and “Q. Minos.” “Mrs. Minos?” Monte said with an abnormal tone, “Is there a Mr. Minos?” It said to the woman; whether it was genuine or not was lost on Mac, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

With that question, the woman looked up from her story and stared at both for an uncomfortable amount of time, disdain ever-present in her eyes. “The elevator is broken; make sure you take the stairs.” She said, returning her attention to the book.

Walking to the stairs, Mac’s eyes began to wander again, catching the fire escape once again; and for an instant Mac thought he saw the man in the image throw a book into the fire, but once he got a better look, the man had changed directions and run down the stairs. “Now, Mac, how many times are you going to fall behind before you learn to keep up?” Monte asked, “If you stay up there too long, I won’t be able to help you with the ol’ ball and chain.” With that, Mac started to descend the stairs faster. But reaching the next floor, he was surprised to see Monte waiting there at the entrance to the next floor. “Now I know what you’re thinking, Mac, but please understand that we’re not leaving until we help you with your wife.” He said, pushing open the door.

As he stepped through the door, he was able to feel a great wind coming from the vents above him. “Over here, Mac,” said Monte, pushing through the winds. The floor was in complete open darkness, no longer resembling the floor from the one above.  As he looked to his left, the walls expanded; the only things visible were the columns that supported the roof, but the deeper he pressed onto the floor, the higher the roof got and the wider the walls became. Columns began to no longer follow a pattern but instead bundled up close together. Looking for anything that made sense, he saw Monte, its warm yellow glow deep into the dark floor, barely shining through all the columns. “Over here,” Monte’s yell sounded like a faint whisper in the darkness. As Mac got close to the light, he saw what appeared to be the inside of a cabin dressed as an old sitcom set.

“Based on what I just saw, I’m sure you don’t remember much of your youth, but this is one of the first places you and your wife first ever talked. Now this exact scene isn’t that part, but hopefully what led up to the conversation might give you a better idea of who she was. The set was shrouded in darkness; vague silhouettes of beds and shelves were illuminated by the artificial moonlight outside. “Shhh, this is my favorite part.” As he says this, four bright circles can be seen shining just outside the set. When suddenly, the door of the set Bursts queuing the lights inside to turn on. With that in comes in 3 three black silhouetted figures with small sock puppets dressed as young teenage boys on their hands with googly eyes, striped shirts, and backwards caps. With them was a much younger Mac, and for the first time he recognized something that Monte was telling him. His face stood tall above the rest of the puppets, and the scar on his lip reminded him of all the times he didn’t talk to anybody out of fear. Each of them was screaming and chattering the same thing.

“PANTY RAID,” Mac was taken aback. “I didn’t join them in this.” As these words left his mouth, he was instantly transported to another memory, one under the moon and a thousand stars, crickets chirping, frogs croaking, while the sound of the river masked the awkward feeling in Mac’s stomach. “It’s a pretty night tonight,” something to the right of Mac says. Mac turns to face it, and all he can see is nothing, just shapes and blurs. “What?” A sudden yell from the girl’s cabin alerts both; “panty raid” can be heard in the distance. “What's wrong with guys, huh?” the shape asks. “I don’t know,” Mac responds, trying his best to look for any details in that face of hers. But the more he looks, the less he finds the tones of peach, brown, or olive that could’ve made up her skin transforming into the deep blues and greens of the forest behind her. Until a warm, soft, and comforting feeling touched his lips.

“MAC, MAC, MAAAC, you with me buddy? C’mon, I set this whole show up for you; the least you can do is pay attention,” it says as the boy and the puppets start to throw all sorts of shirts, pants, and socks in the air and on the ground. Wild beasts looking for a particular meal, running around, jumping on the beds while 6 other puppets screamed frantically asking the boys to “get the Hell out of the room.” But there were seven beds in that cabin, and on the seventh bed a blurry girl with no distinctive features lay screaming. Except for a pair of warm, soft, comforting, pink lips. “Nothing? Damn kid, the production value on this thing was not cheap; keep this going and we’re not going to have any money for the last floors.” With that, it slammed its own book, cueing the lights and actors once again to shut down and turn off. “C’mon kid, follow me,” as it pushed past the door the actors came out of. Mac followed as quickly as possible, trying not to get lost again.

But as he was trying to get past the door, his younger self grabbed his wrist, leaving a moist, slimy residue on his hand. Once he had Mac’s attention, it pleaded with Mac, asking if it had any change, “two pennies, that all I need,” it said, desperation forming in his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t,” Mac responded. Mac turned to leave through the door, but before he could do that, his younger self grabbed on tighter and said, “Then learn to swim,” before releasing his hand and allowing Mac to go through the door. As it closed, Mac turned back to see him one last time; his younger self was staring deep into his soul as he sank into the darkness.

Man in the Woods

I came upon this cabin around a week ago, when I was able to barge through the front door. Books with torn pages thrown all across the room, pots and pans ripped from their cabinets, a closet half empty with broken hangers littering the floor. Whoever was in here left in a hurry and took only some essentials with them.

This was perfect for me, it has been days since I lost the rest of my crew, so seeing this gave me a good shelter to get out of the weather. With winter on the horizon, it is best that I should stay here, and for a week, that’s what I did.

Whoever stayed here previously was kind enough to leave a lot of their supplies behind. Keeping me fed and warm enough to make it through the nights.

As winter approaches, so does the cold, and the time I am allowed to spend outside before freezing is stripped away from me increasingly each day. As the snow drops from the sky, I feel my need for heavier furs becoming more insistent.

Yesterday was my birthday. I decided to treat myself, yesterday I decided that I would leave the fire on for just a bit longer, yesterday I decided that I would eat till  my belly felt full, yesterday I said, “May the lack of food and dwindling firewood be tomorrow's problem, for today is my birthday, and this icy hell is not allowed to take that from me.” Well, now tomorrow is today, and yesterday’s pleasures that were left for tomorrow are now today's issues that should have been done yesterday. Now I must go out and get more firewood in this damp forest.

I woke up early to find a new thin patch of snow covering the once-brown, once-green clearing I had grown accustomed to. Getting ready, I set out on my way to get some more firewood. The freezing wind would burrow into my coat. Every inch of me would be covered in sweat and moisture, and would cool me down even more than before. As I look around all  the branches had a darker, deeper brown color. Whenever I try to snap and break off a branch, it would twist and bend following my movements never relenting.

As I searched, the deep indent of my boot would be left behind as a sign of my existence. Soon the sun reached overhead burring the snow deep into the mud and wood. Each step I took dragged me further into the ground. Each time, I would have to use more power to dislodge my foot from its soggy grave. First my sole, then my ankle, now my shins. I needed to move on to another path; if I kept up like this, it would take hours just to find barely any good kindling.

If I were to find a trail with harder snow, this would also mean that any potentially useful twigs were now buried beneath snow and dampness. It would take a miracle to find anything worthwhile out here.

And a miracle is exactly what I found.

A bundle of sticks out in the open. No snow. No moisture anywhere near them. You could tell from a distance that the lighter color of the wood stood apart from the rest of the forest. They were dry.

How could that even be possible?

As the top layer of snow quickly rose to meet my shins, I knew it would only become harder to find anything useful to build a fire.

But this.

Right here.

Right in front of me.

It was impossible.

I moved closer to the patch. The air around me seemed to release the cold grasp it had held on to me for so long. I knelt down just outside the small valley formed by the snow and placed my hand on the ground.

It was dry.

After weeks out in the cold moister covering every part of my body, feeling something dry, truly dry, was a small heaven in this icy hell.

How could this be?

A bundle of dry sticks, on top of a patch of dry dirt, surrounded by the cold, wet snow.

It made no sense, until I saw it; Twine wrapped around the bundle.

Not once, not twice, but it wrapped around 4 times.

I felt the thick, dense air grab a hold of my neck as cold goosebumps traveled down my back. I was alert now. All around me, I felt eyes digging into me. Something put this bundle out here. I feel it, it's close. I couldn’t turn around. For fear that I am not alone.

“Who’s out there?”

My voice is something that I had not heard in weeks, listening to it then caught me off guard. My breathing slowed, and I could see the mist rise from my mouth and into the sky. I didn’t know what to do. Slowly and patiently, I grabbed the sticks, bringing them close to me, and closed my eyes, unable to open them I rose from my position and turned to face the trail that I took to get here. As soon as I did I felt it, it was no longer all around me, I could feel it staring at me in the face.

I heard it breathing. Short, sharp inhales. Long drawn-out exhales. I could feel the anger in its gaze. That feeling I got sent shivers down my spine. It knows what I did, and it's here to make it right. I couldn’t look.  A lump formed in the back of my throat, and excuses for evil wrongdoings came to my mind, crashing like lightning onto the earth. But still, I couldn’t speak.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

The clouds up above had condensed even more than before, and the evergreen trees rose from the ground and reached up to the sky. The snow around me followed them, stretching to meet them in the clouds. Its breathing began to sync with the winds, was it even there to begin with?

Was I truly alone?

But through the pillars of the evergreens, I saw it. Mist, just like my exhale, comes from out of the darkness. I strained my eyes trying to see what was causing it, but I couldn't see it, even though I knew what it was doing.

Studying

Watching.

Judging.

I could not stay there any longer.

That feeling called up a memory I’ve been trying to bury.

I looked up to see that the sun was beginning to climb back down over the mountains. I moved quickly, following my steps back to the cabin.  Through the trees once filled with greens and yellows, up the hills that rode through the mountain, past the pools now frozen over, once brimming with life. The trail had mutated. Cold, grey, death, and despair followed everywhere I went.

I rushed through the trail back to the cabin, my feet taking longer and longer with each step I took in the mud. It was keeping me here; this forest was a witness to my wrongdoings, and it’s not letting me get away.  Step after step it grabbed me, the earth swallowed my leg up to my knee. I focused all my energy on getting back to the cabin. I yanked on my leg with all my might, but that’s when I noticed a set of fresh tracks in front of me heading back to the cabin.

My head rushed with emotions, pulsating with the worst thoughts imaginable. My chest throbbed and ached. Horror came to me the things that I could possibly find in that cabin filled me with dread. Every sensible part of me called to not go back, to run away. But the tree’s shadows continued to rise and grow, and with their growth the furs lost their use.

Once the sun climbed back down to the edge of the horizon, I began to move faster and faster, until finally, the cabin was in sight. I did my best to trace those footsteps back to the front door making sure to create as little crunch as I could in the snow. That’s when I noticed the steps suddenly stopped at the door.

I looked around.

Tracing the outline of the cabin with my own steps I looked for the prints that led to keeping myself alone.

But there were none.

The cabin looked just like when I first found it a week ago. All the progress I had made organizing and cleaning gone in one afternoon. Everything had been taken out and thrown all over the place. I found clothes torn to shreds and pots with dents so big they became useless. But worst of all was the smell of food in the air. Looking at where I kept my rations, I saw the drawer had been stripped completely empty, but that smell of food came from the floor. Looking down I saw vegetables, meats and fruits all stomped down into the floorboards.

It left me with nothing.

As the sun set, I had to at least keep myself warm. With the little bit of firewood I found, I tried to make a fire but when I went to grab the once lightly colored wood, I noticed it had gained a significantly darker shade. The bark once dry, became deeply cold. As I would try to hit my flint and get a fire started, the sparks would die on impact. The wood was wet, and Everything was for nothing.

Wet, Exhausted, Cold, and Hungry, I go to bed. Rocked to the edge of sleep by the reminder of a gentle voice, I am only kept awake by the violent shaking my body forces upon me. still while remaining conscious my eye becomes very heavy.

“Jeb”

My eye lids shoot up as a familiar voice hits me like a train.

I look around but I cant see anything

“What are you doing here?”

“Jeb that isn’t funny”

Sam?

I open my eyes to see him at the edge of my bed

“Where are you going?”

His cadence isn’t normal, it sounds like someone rehearsing.

“Jebediah”

He sounds like he’s practicing my name. How is he doing this? It’s not possible.

“Come back to bed”

I reach towards him like I’ve done many time before I wanted to see that face once again. My heart raced as my hand got near his shoulder, but when I turn him to face me I see it.

Only for a moment but still I did see it.

Sams face was not the one I had come to know. His cheeks seemed higher, nose was longer, and his face stretched thinner to wrap tighter around his structure.

“Sam?”

He stands up and walks out of the cabin.

“Come… to bed”

I hear him repeat deeper in a voice almost mocking mine.

After a long time tossing and turning, I was woken up by a faint breeze coming from the entrance of the cabin. Through the crack of the door I could see mist coming into the house, once again in sync with my breath. I wanted to go close it, but that same feeling of dread came back to me. everything told me that if I got up to close that door it could be the last thing I did. but even so the more that I laid there doing nothing the colder the cabin got. As snow rushed through the entrance the icy wind would pierce through my coats and furs. I felt small pins and needles in my throat and chest. My body begged and pleaded for me to cough them out, but out of fear of making any noise I stayed still and silent.

“Jeb”

That voice?

“Come… doing here”

That sentence

“What… are you going… do-?”

The way that voice spoke in bits and pieces, a monstrosity of a sentence with no meaning, purely substance.

“Why can’t we stay out here forever?”

I haven’t heard those words since the start of this trip. Back then trees were filled with warm oranges and deep reds when the rivers flowed and cut through the mountains. Back then I wasn’t alone on this trip. But I still needed to pay penance, the sins I committed weren’t ones that I could return with.

“I want to Sam”

It is taunting me.

“Do you think your wife will find out about us?”

With those words my body sprung up rushing over to close the door. I know I had done everything I didn’t need to be subjected to this. Every step I took gave me new life. I did what I needed to. The closer I got the more anger bubbled within me. Did he expect me to just go back with him after all we did.

I reach for the handle and that’s when I see him.

Sam standing just outside the door peering into the cabin.

Those butterflies I had for him now turn into maggots writhing in my stomach.

Now I got a better look at it I could tell that his whole body seemed to contort over a figure that didn’t fit him. He had cloudy yellow eyes and his breath rotted with the smell of death. The most familiar detail I can recall was his bruised neck with stripes of red and purple going down his throat.

I grabbed hold of the handle and pushed with every ounce of my strength. Sam banged and wailed against the door screeching with the cries of the animals of the forest. In between those cries it would drop parts of our conversations.

“You’re hurting me”

It would yell.

“Jebediah please tell me what’s wrong?”

Even with every ounce of strength that I had it was still able to break chunks off the door. a yellow eye peered through it and it began to reach for me. In a quick act of desperation I grabbed a chunk of wood that flew off the door jammed it through its hand. Recoiling, it wreathed in pain with screams so loud it turned and tied knots inside my stomach. covering my ears I fell to the floors but even with that it wasn’t able to stop its bellowing scream to ring inside my head.

As I regained my composure, I looked through the hole in the door and see Sam running on all fours back into the woods. I know it will be back and I would rather take my chances with nature then whatever it was. I will take the rest of the morning to pack only the essentials and write this down for those who stumble upon this cabin.

If you are reading this please take head of my warning. Head back the way you came. Don’t stay here for too long, and do not talk to the man in the woods.

Man in the Woods

I came upon this cabin around a week ago, when I was able to barge through the front door. Books with torn pages thrown all across the room, pots and pans ripped from their cabinets, a closet half empty with broken hangers littering the floor. Whoever was in here left in a hurry and took only some essentials with them.

This was perfect for me, it has been days since I lost the rest of my crew, so seeing this gave me a good shelter to get out of the weather. With winter on the horizon, it is best that I should stay here, and for a week, that’s what I did.

Whoever stayed here previously was kind enough to leave a lot of their supplies behind. Keeping me fed and warm enough to make it through the nights.

As winter approaches, so does the cold, and the time I am allowed to spend outside before freezing is stripped away from me increasingly each day. As the snow drops from the sky, I feel my need for heavier furs becoming more insistent.

Yesterday was my birthday. I decided to treat myself, yesterday I decided that I would leave the fire on for just a bit longer, yesterday I decided that I would eat till  my belly felt full, yesterday I said, “May the lack of food and dwindling firewood be tomorrow's problem, for today is my birthday, and this icy hell is not allowed to take that from me.” Well, now tomorrow is today, and yesterday’s pleasures that were left for tomorrow are now today's issues that should have been done yesterday. Now I must go out and get more firewood in this damp forest.

I woke up early to find a new thin patch of snow covering the once-brown, once-green clearing I had grown accustomed to. Getting ready, I set out on my way to get some more firewood. The freezing wind would burrow into my coat. Every inch of me would be covered in sweat and moisture, and would cool me down even more than before. As I look around all  the branches had a darker, deeper brown color. Whenever I try to snap and break off a branch, it would twist and bend following my movements never relenting.

As I searched, the deep indent of my boot would be left behind as a sign of my existence. Soon the sun reached overhead burring the snow deep into the mud and wood. Each step I took dragged me further into the ground. Each time, I would have to use more power to dislodge my foot from its soggy grave. First my sole, then my ankle, now my shins. I needed to move on to another path; if I kept up like this, it would take hours just to find barely any good kindling.

If I were to find a trail with harder snow, this would also mean that any potentially useful twigs were now buried beneath snow and dampness. It would take a miracle to find anything worthwhile out here.

And a miracle is exactly what I found.

A bundle of sticks out in the open. No snow. No moisture anywhere near them. You could tell from a distance that the lighter color of the wood stood apart from the rest of the forest. They were dry.

How could that even be possible?

As the top layer of snow quickly rose to meet my shins, I knew it would only become harder to find anything useful to build a fire.

But this.

Right here.

Right in front of me.

It was impossible.

I moved closer to the patch. The air around me seemed to release the cold grasp it had held on to me for so long. I knelt down just outside the small valley formed by the snow and placed my hand on the ground.

It was dry.

After weeks out in the cold moister covering every part of my body, feeling something dry, truly dry, was a small heaven in this icy hell.

How could this be?

A bundle of dry sticks, on top of a patch of dry dirt, surrounded by the cold, wet snow.

It made no sense, until I saw it; Twine wrapped around the bundle.

Not once, not twice, but it wrapped around 4 times.

I felt the thick, dense air grab a hold of my neck as cold goosebumps traveled down my back. I was alert now. All around me, I felt eyes digging into me. Something put this bundle out here. I feel it, it's close. I couldn’t turn around. For fear that I am not alone.

“Who’s out there?”

My voice is something that I had not heard in weeks, listening to it then caught me off guard. My breathing slowed, and I could see the mist rise from my mouth and into the sky. I didn’t know what to do. Slowly and patiently, I grabbed the sticks, bringing them close to me, and closed my eyes, unable to open them I rose from my position and turned to face the trail that I took to get here. As soon as I did I felt it, it was no longer all around me, I could feel it staring at me in the face.

I heard it breathing. Short, sharp inhales. Long drawn-out exhales. I could feel the anger in its gaze. That feeling I got sent shivers down my spine. It knows what I did, and it's here to make it right. I couldn’t look.  A lump formed in the back of my throat, and excuses for evil wrongdoings came to my mind, crashing like lightning onto the earth. But still, I couldn’t speak.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

The clouds up above had condensed even more than before, and the evergreen trees rose from the ground and reached up to the sky. The snow around me followed them, stretching to meet them in the clouds. Its breathing began to sync with the winds, was it even there to begin with?

Was I truly alone?

But through the pillars of the evergreens, I saw it. Mist, just like my exhale, comes from out of the darkness. I strained my eyes trying to see what was causing it, but I couldn't see it, even though I knew what it was doing.

Studying

Watching.

Judging.

I could not stay there any longer.

That feeling called up a memory I’ve been trying to bury.

I looked up to see that the sun was beginning to climb back down over the mountains. I moved quickly, following my steps back to the cabin.  Through the trees once filled with greens and yellows, up the hills that rode through the mountain, past the pools now frozen over, once brimming with life. The trail had mutated. Cold, grey, death, and despair followed everywhere I went.

I rushed through the trail back to the cabin, my feet taking longer and longer with each step I took in the mud. It was keeping me here; this forest was a witness to my wrongdoings, and it’s not letting me get away.  Step after step it grabbed me, the earth swallowed my leg up to my knee. I focused all my energy on getting back to the cabin. I yanked on my leg with all my might, but that’s when I noticed a set of fresh tracks in front of me heading back to the cabin.

My head rushed with emotions, pulsating with the worst thoughts imaginable. My chest throbbed and ached. Horror came to me the things that I could possibly find in that cabin filled me with dread. Every sensible part of me called to not go back, to run away. But the tree’s shadows continued to rise and grow, and with their growth the furs lost their use.

Once the sun climbed back down to the edge of the horizon, I began to move faster and faster, until finally, the cabin was in sight. I did my best to trace those footsteps back to the front door making sure to create as little crunch as I could in the snow. That’s when I noticed the steps suddenly stopped at the door.

I looked around.

Tracing the outline of the cabin with my own steps I looked for the prints that led to keeping myself alone.

But there were none.

The cabin looked just like when I first found it a week ago. All the progress I had made organizing and cleaning gone in one afternoon. Everything had been taken out and thrown all over the place. I found clothes torn to shreds and pots with dents so big they became useless. But worst of all was the smell of food in the air. Looking at where I kept my rations, I saw the drawer had been stripped completely empty, but that smell of food came from the floor. Looking down I saw vegetables, meats and fruits all stomped down into the floorboards.

It left me with nothing.

As the sun set, I had to at least keep myself warm. With the little bit of firewood I found, I tried to make a fire but when I went to grab the once lightly colored wood, I noticed it had gained a significantly darker shade. The bark once dry, became deeply cold. As I would try to hit my flint and get a fire started, the sparks would die on impact. The wood was wet, and Everything was for nothing.

Wet, Exhausted, Cold, and Hungry, I go to bed. Rocked to the edge of sleep by the reminder of a gentle voice, I am only kept awake by the violent shaking my body forces upon me. still while remaining conscious my eye becomes very heavy.

“Jeb”

My eye lids shoot up as a familiar voice hits me like a train.

I look around but I cant see anything

“What are you doing here?”

“Jeb that isn’t funny”

Sam?

I open my eyes to see him at the edge of my bed

“Where are you going?”

His cadence isn’t normal, it sounds like someone rehearsing.

“Jebediah”

He sounds like he’s practicing my name. How is he doing this? It’s not possible.

“Come back to bed”

I reach towards him like I’ve done many time before I wanted to see that face once again. My heart raced as my hand got near his shoulder, but when I turn him to face me I see it.

Only for a moment but still I did see it.

Sams face was not the one I had come to know. His cheeks seemed higher, nose was longer, and his face stretched thinner to wrap tighter around his structure.

“Sam?”

He stands up and walks out of the cabin.

“Come… to bed”

I hear him repeat deeper in a voice almost mocking mine.

After a long time tossing and turning, I was woken up by a faint breeze coming from the entrance of the cabin. Through the crack of the door I could see mist coming into the house, once again in sync with my breath. I wanted to go close it, but that same feeling of dread came back to me. everything told me that if I got up to close that door it could be the last thing I did. but even so the more that I laid there doing nothing the colder the cabin got. As snow rushed through the entrance the icy wind would pierce through my coats and furs. I felt small pins and needles in my throat and chest. My body begged and pleaded for me to cough them out, but out of fear of making any noise I stayed still and silent.

“Jeb”

That voice?

“Come… doing here”

That sentence

“What… are you going… do-?”

The way that voice spoke in bits and pieces, a monstrosity of a sentence with no meaning, purely substance.

“Why can’t we stay out here forever?”

I haven’t heard those words since the start of this trip. Back then trees were filled with warm oranges and deep reds when the rivers flowed and cut through the mountains. Back then I wasn’t alone on this trip. But I still needed to pay penance, the sins I committed weren’t ones that I could return with.

“I want to Sam”

It is taunting me.

“Do you think your wife will find out about us?”

With those words my body sprung up rushing over to close the door. I know I had done everything I didn’t need to be subjected to this. Every step I took gave me new life. I did what I needed to. The closer I got the more anger bubbled within me. Did he expect me to just go back with him after all we did.

I reach for the handle and that’s when I see him.

Sam standing just outside the door peering into the cabin.

Those butterflies I had for him now turn into maggots writhing in my stomach.

Now I got a better look at it I could tell that his whole body seemed to contort over a figure that didn’t fit him. He had cloudy yellow eyes and his breath rotted with the smell of death. The most familiar detail I can recall was his bruised neck with stripes of red and purple going down his throat.

I grabbed hold of the handle and pushed with every ounce of my strength. Sam banged and wailed against the door screeching with the cries of the animals of the forest. In between those cries it would drop parts of our conversations.

“You’re hurting me”

It would yell.

“Jebediah please tell me what’s wrong?”

Even with every ounce of strength that I had it was still able to break chunks off the door. a yellow eye peered through it and it began to reach for me. In a quick act of desperation I grabbed a chunk of wood that flew off the door jammed it through its hand. Recoiling, it wreathed in pain with screams so loud it turned and tied knots inside my stomach. covering my ears I fell to the floors but even with that it wasn’t able to stop its bellowing scream to ring inside my head.

As I regained my composure, I looked through the hole in the door and see Sam running on all fours back into the woods. I know it will be back and I would rather take my chances with nature then whatever it was. I will take the rest of the morning to pack only the essentials and write this down for those who stumble upon this cabin.

If you are reading this please take head of my warning. Head back the way you came. Don’t stay here for too long, and do not talk to the man in the woods.

It was really bad

I came upon this cabin around a week ago, when I was able to barge through the front door. Books with torn pages thrown all across the room, pots and pans ripped from their cabinets, a closet half empty with broken hangers littering the floor. Whoever was in here left in a hurry and took only some essentials with them.

This was perfect for me, it has been days since I lost the rest of my crew, so seeing this gave me a good shelter to get out of the weather. With winter on the horizon, it is best that I should stay here, and for a week, that’s what I did.

Whoever stayed here previously was kind enough to leave a lot of their supplies behind. Keeping me fed and warm enough to make it through the nights.

As winter approaches, so does the cold, and the time I am allowed to spend outside before freezing is stripped away from me increasingly each day. As the snow drops from the sky, I feel my need for heavier furs becoming more insistent.

Yesterday was my birthday. I decided to treat myself, yesterday I decided that I would leave the fire on for just a bit longer, yesterday I decided that I would eat till  my belly felt full, yesterday I said, “May the lack of food and dwindling firewood be tomorrow's problem, for today is my birthday, and this icy hell is not allowed to take that from me.” Well, now tomorrow is today, and yesterday’s pleasures that were left for tomorrow are now today's issues that should have been done yesterday. Now I must go out and get more firewood in this damp forest.

I woke up early to find a new thin patch of snow covering the once-brown, once-green clearing I had grown accustomed to. Getting ready, I set out on my way to get some more firewood. The freezing wind would burrow into my coat. Every inch of me would be covered in sweat and moisture, and would cool me down even more than before. As I look around all  the branches had a darker, deeper brown color. Whenever I try to snap and break off a branch, it would twist and bend following my movements never relenting.

As I searched, the deep indent of my boot would be left behind as a sign of my existence. Soon the sun reached overhead burring the snow deep into the mud and wood. Each step I took dragged me further into the ground. Each time, I would have to use more power to dislodge my foot from its soggy grave. First my sole, then my ankle, now my shins. I needed to move on to another path; if I kept up like this, it would take hours just to find barely any good kindling.

If I were to find a trail with harder snow, this would also mean that any potentially useful twigs were now buried beneath snow and dampness. It would take a miracle to find anything worthwhile out here.

And a miracle is exactly what I found.

A bundle of sticks out in the open. No snow. No moisture anywhere near them. You could tell from a distance that the lighter color of the wood stood apart from the rest of the forest. They were dry.

How could that even be possible?

As the top layer of snow quickly rose to meet my shins, I knew it would only become harder to find anything useful to build a fire.

But this.

Right here.

Right in front of me.

It was impossible.

I moved closer to the patch. The air around me seemed to release the cold grasp it had held on to me for so long. I knelt down just outside the small valley formed by the snow and placed my hand on the ground.

It was dry.

After weeks out in the cold moister covering every part of my body, feeling something dry, truly dry, was a small heaven in this icy hell.

How could this be?

A bundle of dry sticks, on top of a patch of dry dirt, surrounded by the cold, wet snow.

It made no sense, until I saw it; Twine wrapped around the bundle.

Not once, not twice, but it wrapped around 4 times.

I felt the thick, dense air grab a hold of my neck as cold goosebumps traveled down my back. I was alert now. All around me, I felt eyes digging into me. Something put this bundle out here. I feel it, it's close. I couldn’t turn around. For fear that I am not alone.

“Who’s out there?”

My voice is something that I had not heard in weeks, listening to it then caught me off guard. My breathing slowed, and I could see the mist rise from my mouth and into the sky. I didn’t know what to do. Slowly and patiently, I grabbed the sticks, bringing them close to me, and closed my eyes, unable to open them I rose from my position and turned to face the trail that I took to get here. As soon as I did I felt it, it was no longer all around me, I could feel it staring at me in the face.

I heard it breathing. Short, sharp inhales. Long drawn-out exhales. I could feel the anger in its gaze. That feeling I got sent shivers down my spine. It knows what I did, and it's here to make it right. I couldn’t look.  A lump formed in the back of my throat, and excuses for evil wrongdoings came to my mind, crashing like lightning onto the earth. But still, I couldn’t speak.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

The clouds up above had condensed even more than before, and the evergreen trees rose from the ground and reached up to the sky. The snow around me followed them, stretching to meet them in the clouds. Its breathing began to sync with the winds, was it even there to begin with?

Was I truly alone?

But through the pillars of the evergreens, I saw it. Mist, just like my exhale, comes from out of the darkness. I strained my eyes trying to see what was causing it, but I couldn't see it, even though I knew what it was doing.

Studying

Watching.

Judging.

I could not stay there any longer.

That feeling called up a memory I’ve been trying to bury.

I looked up to see that the sun was beginning to climb back down over the mountains. I moved quickly, following my steps back to the cabin.  Through the trees once filled with greens and yellows, up the hills that rode through the mountain, past the pools now frozen over, once brimming with life. The trail had mutated. Cold, grey, death, and despair followed everywhere I went.

I rushed through the trail back to the cabin, my feet taking longer and longer with each step I took in the mud. It was keeping me here; this forest was a witness to my wrongdoings, and it’s not letting me get away.  Step after step it grabbed me, the earth swallowed my leg up to my knee. I focused all my energy on getting back to the cabin. I yanked on my leg with all my might, but that’s when I noticed a set of fresh tracks in front of me heading back to the cabin.

My head rushed with emotions, pulsating with the worst thoughts imaginable. My chest throbbed and ached. Horror came to me the things that I could possibly find in that cabin filled me with dread. Every sensible part of me called to not go back, to run away. But the tree’s shadows continued to rise and grow, and with their growth the furs lost their use.

Once the sun climbed back down to the edge of the horizon, I began to move faster and faster, until finally, the cabin was in sight. I did my best to trace those footsteps back to the front door making sure to create as little crunch as I could in the snow. That’s when I noticed the steps suddenly stopped at the door.

I looked around.

Tracing the outline of the cabin with my own steps I looked for the prints that led to keeping myself alone.

But there were none.

The cabin looked just like when I first found it a week ago. All the progress I had made organizing and cleaning gone in one afternoon. Everything had been taken out and thrown all over the place. I found clothes torn to shreds and pots with dents so big they became useless. But worst of all was the smell of food in the air. Looking at where I kept my rations, I saw the drawer had been stripped completely empty, but that smell of food came from the floor. Looking down I saw vegetables, meats and fruits all stomped down into the floorboards.

It left me with nothing.

As the sun set, I had to at least keep myself warm. With the little bit of firewood I found, I tried to make a fire but when I went to grab the once lightly colored wood, I noticed it had gained a significantly darker shade. The bark once dry, became deeply cold. As I would try to hit my flint and get a fire started, the sparks would die on impact. The wood was wet, and Everything was for nothing.

Wet, Exhausted, Cold, and Hungry, I go to bed. Rocked to the edge of sleep by the reminder of a gentle voice, I am only kept awake by the violent shaking my body forces upon me. still while remaining conscious my eye becomes very heavy.

“Jeb”

My eye lids shoot up as a familiar voice hits me like a train.

I look around but I cant see anything

“What are you doing here?”

“Jeb that isn’t funny”

Sam?

I open my eyes to see him at the edge of my bed

“Where are you going?”

His cadence isn’t normal, it sounds like someone rehearsing.

“Jebediah”

He sounds like he’s practicing my name. How is he doing this? It’s not possible.

“Come back to bed”

I reach towards him like I’ve done many time before I wanted to see that face once again. My heart raced as my hand got near his shoulder, but when I turn him to face me I see it.

Only for a moment but still I did see it.

Sams face was not the one I had come to know. His cheeks seemed higher, nose was longer, and his face stretched thinner to wrap tighter around his structure.

“Sam?”

He stands up and walks out of the cabin.

“Come… to bed”

I hear him repeat deeper in a voice almost mocking mine.

After a long time tossing and turning, I was woken up by a faint breeze coming from the entrance of the cabin. Through the crack of the door I could see mist coming into the house, once again in sync with my breath. I wanted to go close it, but that same feeling of dread came back to me. everything told me that if I got up to close that door it could be the last thing I did. but even so the more that I laid there doing nothing the colder the cabin got. As snow rushed through the entrance the icy wind would pierce through my coats and furs. I felt small pins and needles in my throat and chest. My body begged and pleaded for me to cough them out, but out of fear of making any noise I stayed still and silent.

“Jeb”

That voice?

“Come… doing here”

That sentence

“What… are you going… do-?”

The way that voice spoke in bits and pieces, a monstrosity of a sentence with no meaning, purely substance.

“Why can’t we stay out here forever?”

I haven’t heard those words since the start of this trip. Back then trees were filled with warm oranges and deep reds when the rivers flowed and cut through the mountains. Back then I wasn’t alone on this trip. But I still needed to pay penance, the sins I committed weren’t ones that I could return with.

“I want to Sam”

It is taunting me.

“Do you think your wife will find out about us?”

With those words my body sprung up rushing over to close the door. I know I had done everything I didn’t need to be subjected to this. Every step I took gave me new life. I did what I needed to. The closer I got the more anger bubbled within me. Did he expect me to just go back with him after all we did.

I reach for the handle and that’s when I see him.

Sam standing just outside the door peering into the cabin.

Those butterflies I had for him now turn into maggots writhing in my stomach.

Now I got a better look at it I could tell that his whole body seemed to contort over a figure that didn’t fit him. He had cloudy yellow eyes and his breath rotted with the smell of death. The most familiar detail I can recall was his bruised neck with stripes of red and purple going down his throat.

I grabbed hold of the handle and pushed with every ounce of my strength. Sam banged and wailed against the door screeching with the cries of the animals of the forest. In between those cries it would drop parts of our conversations.

“You’re hurting me”

It would yell.

“Jebediah please tell me what’s wrong?”

Even with every ounce of strength that I had it was still able to break chunks off the door. a yellow eye peered through it and it began to reach for me. In a quick act of desperation I grabbed a chunk of wood that flew off the door jammed it through its hand. Recoiling, it wreathed in pain with screams so loud it turned and tied knots inside my stomach. covering my ears I fell to the floors but even with that it wasn’t able to stop its bellowing scream to ring inside my head.

As I regained my composure, I looked through the hole in the door and see Sam running on all fours back into the woods. I know it will be back and I would rather take my chances with nature then whatever it was. I will take the rest of the morning to pack only the essentials and write this down for those who stumble upon this cabin.

If you are reading this please take head of my warning. Head back the way you came. Don’t stay here for too long, and do not talk to the man in the woods.

I came upon this cabin around a week ago, when I was able to barge through the front door. Books with torn pages thrown all across the room, pots and pans ripped from their cabinets, a closet half empty with broken hangers littering the floor. Whoever was in here left in a hurry and took only some essentials with them.

This was perfect for me, it has been days since I lost the rest of my crew, so seeing this gave me a good shelter to get out of the weather. With winter on the horizon, it is best that I should stay here, and for a week, that’s what I did.

Whoever stayed here previously was kind enough to leave a lot of their supplies behind. Keeping me fed and warm enough to make it through the nights.

As winter approaches, so does the cold, and the time I am allowed to spend outside before freezing is stripped away from me increasingly each day. As the snow drops from the sky, I feel my need for heavier furs becoming more insistent.

Yesterday was my birthday. I decided to treat myself, yesterday I decided that I would leave the fire on for just a bit longer, yesterday I decided that I would eat till  my belly felt full, yesterday I said, “May the lack of food and dwindling firewood be tomorrow's problem, for today is my birthday, and this icy hell is not allowed to take that from me.” Well, now tomorrow is today, and yesterday’s pleasures that were left for tomorrow are now today's issues that should have been done yesterday. Now I must go out and get more firewood in this damp forest.

I woke up early to find a new thin patch of snow covering the once-brown, once-green clearing I had grown accustomed to. Getting ready, I set out on my way to get some more firewood. The freezing wind would burrow into my coat. Every inch of me would be covered in sweat and moisture, and would cool me down even more than before. As I look around all  the branches had a darker, deeper brown color. Whenever I try to snap and break off a branch, it would twist and bend following my movements never relenting.

As I searched, the deep indent of my boot would be left behind as a sign of my existence. Soon the sun reached overhead burring the snow deep into the mud and wood. Each step I took dragged me further into the ground. Each time, I would have to use more power to dislodge my foot from its soggy grave. First my sole, then my ankle, now my shins. I needed to move on to another path; if I kept up like this, it would take hours just to find barely any good kindling.

If I were to find a trail with harder snow, this would also mean that any potentially useful twigs were now buried beneath snow and dampness. It would take a miracle to find anything worthwhile out here.

And a miracle is exactly what I found.

A bundle of sticks out in the open. No snow. No moisture anywhere near them. You could tell from a distance that the lighter color of the wood stood apart from the rest of the forest. They were dry.

How could that even be possible?

As the top layer of snow quickly rose to meet my shins, I knew it would only become harder to find anything useful to build a fire.

But this.

Right here.

Right in front of me.

It was impossible.

I moved closer to the patch. The air around me seemed to release the cold grasp it had held on to me for so long. I knelt down just outside the small valley formed by the snow and placed my hand on the ground.

It was dry.

After weeks out in the cold moister covering every part of my body, feeling something dry, truly dry, was a small heaven in this icy hell.

How could this be?

A bundle of dry sticks, on top of a patch of dry dirt, surrounded by the cold, wet snow.

It made no sense, until I saw it; Twine wrapped around the bundle.

Not once, not twice, but it wrapped around 4 times.

I felt the thick, dense air grab a hold of my neck as cold goosebumps traveled down my back. I was alert now. All around me, I felt eyes digging into me. Something put this bundle out here. I feel it, it's close. I couldn’t turn around. For fear that I am not alone.

“Who’s out there?”

My voice is something that I had not heard in weeks, listening to it then caught me off guard. My breathing slowed, and I could see the mist rise from my mouth and into the sky. I didn’t know what to do. Slowly and patiently, I grabbed the sticks, bringing them close to me, and closed my eyes, unable to open them I rose from my position and turned to face the trail that I took to get here. As soon as I did I felt it, it was no longer all around me, I could feel it staring at me in the face.

I heard it breathing. Short, sharp inhales. Long drawn-out exhales. I could feel the anger in its gaze. That feeling I got sent shivers down my spine. It knows what I did, and it's here to make it right. I couldn’t look.  A lump formed in the back of my throat, and excuses for evil wrongdoings came to my mind, crashing like lightning onto the earth. But still, I couldn’t speak.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

The clouds up above had condensed even more than before, and the evergreen trees rose from the ground and reached up to the sky. The snow around me followed them, stretching to meet them in the clouds. Its breathing began to sync with the winds, was it even there to begin with?

Was I truly alone?

But through the pillars of the evergreens, I saw it. Mist, just like my exhale, comes from out of the darkness. I strained my eyes trying to see what was causing it, but I couldn't see it, even though I knew what it was doing.

Studying

Watching.

Judging.

I could not stay there any longer.

That feeling called up a memory I’ve been trying to bury.

I looked up to see that the sun was beginning to climb back down over the mountains. I moved quickly, following my steps back to the cabin.  Through the trees once filled with greens and yellows, up the hills that rode through the mountain, past the pools now frozen over, once brimming with life. The trail had mutated. Cold, grey, death, and despair followed everywhere I went.

I rushed through the trail back to the cabin, my feet taking longer and longer with each step I took in the mud. It was keeping me here; this forest was a witness to my wrongdoings, and it’s not letting me get away.  Step after step it grabbed me, the earth swallowed my leg up to my knee. I focused all my energy on getting back to the cabin. I yanked on my leg with all my might, but that’s when I noticed a set of fresh tracks in front of me heading back to the cabin.

My head rushed with emotions, pulsating with the worst thoughts imaginable. My chest throbbed and ached. Horror came to me the things that I could possibly find in that cabin filled me with dread. Every sensible part of me called to not go back, to run away. But the tree’s shadows continued to rise and grow, and with their growth the furs lost their use.

Once the sun climbed back down to the edge of the horizon, I began to move faster and faster, until finally, the cabin was in sight. I did my best to trace those footsteps back to the front door making sure to create as little crunch as I could in the snow. That’s when I noticed the steps suddenly stopped at the door.

I looked around.

Tracing the outline of the cabin with my own steps I looked for the prints that led to keeping myself alone.

But there were none.

The cabin looked just like when I first found it a week ago. All the progress I had made organizing and cleaning gone in one afternoon. Everything had been taken out and thrown all over the place. I found clothes torn to shreds and pots with dents so big they became useless. But worst of all was the smell of food in the air. Looking at where I kept my rations, I saw the drawer had been stripped completely empty, but that smell of food came from the floor. Looking down I saw vegetables, meats and fruits all stomped down into the floorboards.

It left me with nothing.

As the sun set, I had to at least keep myself warm. With the little bit of firewood I found, I tried to make a fire but when I went to grab the once lightly colored wood, I noticed it had gained a significantly darker shade. The bark once dry, became deeply cold. As I would try to hit my flint and get a fire started, the sparks would die on impact. The wood was wet, and Everything was for nothing.

Wet, Exhausted, Cold, and Hungry, I go to bed. Rocked to the edge of sleep by the reminder of a gentle voice, I am only kept awake by the violent shaking my body forces upon me. still while remaining conscious my eye becomes very heavy.

“Jeb”

My eye lids shoot up as a familiar voice hits me like a train.

I look around but I cant see anything

“What are you doing here?”

“Jeb that isn’t funny”

Sam?

I open my eyes to see him at the edge of my bed

“Where are you going?”

His cadence isn’t normal, it sounds like someone rehearsing.

“Jebediah”

He sounds like he’s practicing my name. How is he doing this? It’s not possible.

“Come back to bed”

I reach towards him like I’ve done many time before I wanted to see that face once again. My heart raced as my hand got near his shoulder, but when I turn him to face me I see it.

Only for a moment but still I did see it.

Sams face was not the one I had come to know. His cheeks seemed higher, nose was longer, and his face stretched thinner to wrap tighter around his structure.

“Sam?”

He stands up and walks out of the cabin.

“Come… to bed”

I hear him repeat deeper in a voice almost mocking mine.

After a long time tossing and turning, I was woken up by a faint breeze coming from the entrance of the cabin. Through the crack of the door I could see mist coming into the house, once again in sync with my breath. I wanted to go close it, but that same feeling of dread came back to me. everything told me that if I got up to close that door it could be the last thing I did. but even so the more that I laid there doing nothing the colder the cabin got. As snow rushed through the entrance the icy wind would pierce through my coats and furs. I felt small pins and needles in my throat and chest. My body begged and pleaded for me to cough them out, but out of fear of making any noise I stayed still and silent.

“Jeb”

That voice?

“Come… doing here”

That sentence

“What… are you going… do-?”

The way that voice spoke in bits and pieces, a monstrosity of a sentence with no meaning, purely substance.

“Why can’t we stay out here forever?”

I haven’t heard those words since the start of this trip. Back then trees were filled with warm oranges and deep reds when the rivers flowed and cut through the mountains. Back then I wasn’t alone on this trip. But I still needed to pay penance, the sins I committed weren’t ones that I could return with.

“I want to Sam”

It is taunting me.

“Do you think your wife will find out about us?”

With those words my body sprung up rushing over to close the door. I know I had done everything I didn’t need to be subjected to this. Every step I took gave me new life. I did what I needed to. The closer I got the more anger bubbled within me. Did he expect me to just go back with him after all we did.

I reach for the handle and that’s when I see him.

Sam standing just outside the door peering into the cabin.

Those butterflies I had for him now turn into maggots writhing in my stomach.

Now I got a better look at it I could tell that his whole body seemed to contort over a figure that didn’t fit him. He had cloudy yellow eyes and his breath rotted with the smell of death. The most familiar detail I can recall was his bruised neck with stripes of red and purple going down his throat.

I grabbed hold of the handle and pushed with every ounce of my strength. Sam banged and wailed against the door screeching with the cries of the animals of the forest. In between those cries it would drop parts of our conversations.

“You’re hurting me”

It would yell.

“Jebediah please tell me what’s wrong?”

Even with every ounce of strength that I had it was still able to break chunks off the door. a yellow eye peered through it and it began to reach for me. In a quick act of desperation I grabbed a chunk of wood that flew off the door jammed it through its hand. Recoiling, it wreathed in pain with screams so loud it turned and tied knots inside my stomach. covering my ears I fell to the floors but even with that it wasn’t able to stop its bellowing scream to ring inside my head.

As I regained my composure, I looked through the hole in the door and see Sam running on all fours back into the woods. I know it will be back and I would rather take my chances with nature then whatever it was. I will take the rest of the morning to pack only the essentials and write this down for those who stumble upon this cabin.

If you are reading this please take head of my warning. Head back the way you came. Don’t stay here for too long, and do not talk to the man in the woods.